Spiral of Bliss 01 Arouse by Nina Lane Page A

heated with a flush of pleasure. Dean settled on the other end of the sofa, the lines of his body relaxed.
    I let my gaze sweep over him, appreciating the way his shirt stretched over his muscular chest, the jeans molding to his long legs. As much as I liked the way he looked in his tailored suits and ties, I loved the way casual clothes fit him to perfection, loved the rumpled look of his hair and stubbled jaw.
    “What about you, Olivia Winter?” he asked. “What are you going to do with your life?”
    “I don’t know yet,” I answered honestly. “I’m hoping for library work or maybe something with a publishing company.”
    “And where do you want to end up?” Dean asked.
    “Wherever I feel at home.” The confession slipped from my mouth before I realized it was out. I ducked my head to take a sip of wine, embarrassed by the Pollyanna nature of the remark. “So, uh, what’s for dinner?”
    I felt his gaze on me, intent and curious, then he unfolded himself from the sofa and stood. “Baked eel, pickled cabbage, and parsnip pie. Recipes from a medieval cookbook.”
    “Oh.” I tried not to look disconcerted.
    He chuckled. “I’m kidding. We’re having manicotti, green salad, and focaccia bread.”
    “That sounds much more appetizing.” I followed him into the kitchen as he took a pan of bubbling pasta and cheese out of the oven. “Did you make it?”
    “No, sorry. Ordered it from a restaurant downtown. I can’t seduce you with my cooking.”
    “You don’t need cooking to seduce me,” I said without thinking.
    Wow. Where did that come from?
    Dean flashed me his gorgeous, hint-of-wicked grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    After he showed me where the utensils were, I set the table in the dining room while he finished getting the food together. I moved an open shoebox from the table to the windowsill, noticing that it was half full of various types and lengths of string.
    I picked one up. It was a worn piece of white string, the frayed ends tied together in a knot. Why would anyone have a shoebox filled with loops of string?
    Dean came in with the plates and put them on the table.
    “What’s this for?” I asked, holding up the string.
    “String figures.”
    “What?”
    He took the string from me and looped the ends around his middle fingers, then did some quick maneuvers with his other fingers, tucking them under the loops and pulling the string taut. He extended his hands to reveal a pattern of three triangles between two parallel lines.
    “It’s like the game cat’s cradle,” he explained. “You make figures and patterns with a loop of string.”
    “Oh,” I said. “That’s…”
…about the dorkiest thing I have ever heard.
    It also made me like him even more.
    “… interesting,” I finished. “Where did you learn to do that?”
    He shrugged. “Practiced a lot when I was a kid.”
    “Kind of a different hobby,” I remarked.
    “Yeah.” He unhooked the string from his fingers. “Spent a lot of time in my room. String figures and the knights of the Round Table.”
    “You were into medieval history even as a kid?”
    He nodded. “The King Arthur tales anyway. Excalibur, Mordred, the Holy Grail, all that stuff. Guess that planted the seed.”
    I had the sudden sense he’d just revealed more about himself in those few lines than anything else he’d told me so far.
    “Did you have a favorite knight?” I asked.
    He gave me a wry smile. “Galahad, of course. Proclaimed the greatest knight ever.” He tossed the string back into the box. “I’ll show you how to do string figures one day.”
    “Can’t wait.”
    He chuckled at my less-than-enthused tone, then went to retrieve the food before we sat down. My nervousness eased a little now that I had a bit of insight into his childhood. Still a polar opposite to mine, though. At least he’d had a room to call his own.
    Over dinner our conversation flowed comfortably—I told him about the classes I was taking, he talked about