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.Gives them a sense of superiority.Holly’s very good at appearing helpless, when actually she’s capable of just about anything she puts her mind to.She wouldn’t be where she is in her profession if she couldn’t.Brilliant talent isn’t enough.You need discipline, determination, ruthlessness….”“And that selfishness we talked about earlier,” Noah added, shredding the lettuce in large, capable hands before tossing it in the bird’s-eye maple salad bowl.“Selfish with their time, their energy, their emotions, their love.”“Not to mention their money,” Anne added wryly, remembering the cost of the cognac.“You sound like you’ve been through it before.Have you known many artists?”“I was married to one.” The words were short, clipped, the expression on his face shuttered.Anne stared at him for a long, silent moment, trying to still the absurd rush of jealousy that had swept over her at his terse words.There was no doubt in her mind that he didn’t care to talk about his marriage, no doubt that if she did pursue it he would abandon her in the kitchen.And even if that was a very sensible idea, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.“Well, then, you know as well as I do what it’s like.And it’s even worse growing up with them,” she said easily, slicing onions.“I hope you like carbonnades à la Flammande?”“What kind of beer do you have to go with it?”“German and Dutch.I wanted to find some Flemish beer but I couldn’t think of any.”“I can’t either.” There was still a note of strain in his voice, and he whirled on her suddenly, his lean, strong body taut.“Do you know what the definition of blemish is?”He looked so very serious, the smile wiped from his dark face, and all sorts of things ran through her mind.The scarring of a bad marriage, the wounds left by petty jealousy? “No, what?” she questioned, her voice as tense as his.“The language they speak in Felgium.”“Damn you!” She collapsed against the sink, weak with laughter.“I thought you’d like that,” he said with a smirk.“Do you know how they torture seasoned criminals?”“They make them listen to your jokes?”“No, Annie love.They torture seasoned criminals on a spice rack.”“Oh, no,” she moaned.“Go away.I’d rather do the salad myself.”“Sorry, but I haven’t found a willing victim for a long time.I was almost kicked out of law school for that last one.”“I’m not surprised.You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr.Grant.”“I can’t help myself, Ms.Kirkland.It comes over me sometimes, this dreadful compulsion to tell bad jokes.I need help.”“You do indeed.I think you should corner Holly and tell her.Then she’d leave you alone for certain.”“And then I could spend the rest of the weekend backing you into dark corners.” There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes.“That sounds like an excellent idea.”“On second thought, maybe you’d better spare Holly the disillusionment.She told me you were the sexiest man alive—I’d hate to see her illusions shattered so completely.”“You think telling bad jokes diminishes my sexuality?”She paused midway through her third onion.“It quite effectively unmans you,” she said, gesturing with her knife for emphasis.“If you didn’t have that knife around I could very easily prove you wrong,” he murmured, the gleam in his eyes more pronounced.“That’s not a challenge I can let pass by.”“Too bad.I’ll defend my virtue at all costs.”“Then I’ll have to wait until I can catch you without a knife,” he replied, undaunted.“And when Wilson and Holly are out of the picture, and when I’m as addled as I was last night and this morning,” she added sternly.“That’s a tall order, and one I don’t think fate is likely to fill.”“Addled, were you?” he queried, much interested.“I wonder why?”“How could I help it with the sexiest man in the world bent on adding me to his list of conquests?” Anne replied, her voice wry.He started to say something, then changed his mind.“I don’t have a list of conquests,” he said quietly.“That’s not what Holly said.” She was concentrating very hard on the onions, but she could feel those mesmerizing blue eyes watching her, feel the heat from him as he moved closer to her slender body by the sink.“I’m not a monk,” he said finally.“I have normal, healthy urges that I try to fill in normal, healthy ways.And having to bed every woman in sight isn’t a healthy, normal way as far as I’m concerned.” Abruptly he changed the subject.“Why don’t you have a food processor? Any cook as good as you deserves one.” Reaching deftly around her knife, he took half-a-dozen onions with him to aid in her slicing.“Don’t I know it.” She sighed covetously.“At this point we can’t afford it.Every penny goes into this old house.” She looked around her with mingled exasperation and affection.“I’m afraid a new roof is going to have to come first.I only wish we could afford to replace the slate.”“It must be rather expensive—the upkeep of a house this size,” he observed casually.“It’s like pouring money into a hole in the ground that never gets filled,” she admitted.“But I love it—I don’t begrudge a penny of it.”“Do the others feel that way?”Anne shrugged.“Not really.But then, very little of their money ever makes it to New Jersey.Their life-styles eat up almost every cent they make.”“So who supports the house?”“I do.Proffy’s half-salary just about covers food and gas—most of it goes into his retirement fund.And then there have been the medical bills this year, not to mention that the foundation is crumbling.” She gave herself a tiny shake.“So no food processors for me for the time being.Let’s talk about something more cheerful for a change
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