had become a disaster within a twenty-four-hour period. She shouldn’t even be lusting after some guy, no matter how hot and bothered just looking at him made her.
“Boring,” he said. That way-too-charming smile never wavered.
He started pressing buttons on his phone then reached for the pad of paper and pen her grandmother kept handy on the counter.
Emily stepped as close as humanly possible to theopen refrigerator, hoping the cool blast of air would quell those hot, hot images spurring to life. A wasteful wish if one ever existed.
“Would a BLT be exciting enough for you?” Maybe she could even manage to convince him to fry up the bacon since she usually charred the stuff beyond recognition. The beauty of living in New York was that just about anything could be delivered practically every hour of the day, even a BLT. A service she took advantage of plenty on a regular basis.
While Drew continued to jot down phone numbers, she wondered if Cheatin’ Charlie’s new lady lawyer cooked for him.
Drew flipped his cell phone shut and slipped it back inside his pocket, then shrugged those incredible line-backer-wide shoulders. “Why not? Want some help?”
This man had to have angel wings hidden somewhere on his body. Too bad she wasn’t interested—much. Obviously her pregnancy-induced hormones were running rampant because she had a feeling exploring that heavenly body to find them could be a whole lot of fun. “You do the bacon, I’ll do the rest.”
While Drew started the bacon, she avoided anything to do with actual meal preparation and set the table. Her tummy grumbled again thanks to the mouthwatering scents floating on the air. Thankfully Drew’s good manners kept him from commenting. Her own good manners fled the scene when she caught sight of the notepad on the counter.
She counted. Thirteen telephone numbers? And the names of thirteen different women.
Thirteen?
She glanced over her shoulder at Drew. Thirteen?
“Excuse me?”
“Uh…” She hadn’t realized she’d even spoken out loud. “You always this popular, or are you running a sale?”
He turned his head slightly to the side, a bewildered expression on his handsome face. “What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes. What had her first impression of him been? Oh yeah. A charmer. The kind of man incredibly dangerous to women who made a habit of picking the wrong guy. The kind she’d never be so foolish to ever fall for again. Especially when he was the kind who collected messages from thirteen different women.
She picked up the pad of paper and started reading. “Leanne, Karenna, Dora, Elise, Sophia and, oh—please—Tiffany?” She laughed and continued reading. “Wendy, Frenchie? Gee, I wonder what she’s known for. Debbie, Amanda, Tilly, Nina, and…”
She peered closer, but the last name was nearly illegible. “H.B? What is that? Code for hot babe?”
A true scoundrel’s grin curved his mouth, and heaven help her, she almost found him irresistible.
“No,” he said, his voice coated with humor. “It’s shorthand for Hannah’s Bakery.”
She dropped the tablet back on the counter, pretending disgust. “I don’t think I want to know what baked goods and a baker’s dozen of women have in common.”
“Since you asked—”
“I didn’t.”
The teasing glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Debbie is my aunt,” he explained. “Amanda is my brother’s fiancée and Tilly is my best friend.”
She pulled plates and soup mugs from the cabinet. “Strange name for a guy.”
“Probably because she’s a woman.”
Now why wasn’t she surprised to learn a sweet-talking, drop-dead gorgeous specimen of male perfection had a woman for a best friend?
“Debbie called to see if I could pick up the cake for Amanda’s bridal shower at the bakery by noon on Sunday,” he said.
“You really don’t have to explain.”
“Tilly,” he said, ignoring her, “wanted to let me know she’d taken care of Cale and