His eyes went stormy dark. “Yeah. You?”

Edging closer, she felt the power of him, the way his gaze tracked her as she nearly touched him. “Starving.”

He smelled good, and it had been a really long time since she’d been with a man. And she’d never been with a man like Logan. All the guys she’d slept with before had been actors, and honestly? Not exactly tough guys.

She’d just bet Logan McCormack had never had a manicure in his entire life. She’d bet his hands were rough, worn with calluses. She’d love to feel his work-roughened hands gliding over her skin. There would be no refinement in his touch, no practiced moves that she’d wonder if he’d learned them on a movie set.

She swallowed, and his gaze tracked to her throat. She watched his lips, and really wanted his mouth on her neck.

“Des.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are.”

She cocked a brow. “What is it that you think I’m doing, Logan?”

“Looking at me.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Here it is.”

“So . . . you want me to look at you somewhere else?”

The back door opened and Logan stood. “Anything I can do to help?”

Luke took a look at them and grinned. “No, I think I can turn on a gas grill by myself. Anyone need a beer refill?”

Logan finished his off in one swallow. “Yeah, I definitely need another.”

She played with the dogs while the guys talked.

Emma came out of the bedroom a short while later, her hair still wet. She had thrown on a pair of capris and a tank top. “I feel so much better now. How about we get started on that chicken?”

Logan followed his brother outside. She washed her hands and helped Emma slice up the chicken and skewer it onto the rods, along with vegetables and pineapple.

“I have this supersecret sauce I marinate the kabobs in,” Emma said.

Des watched her add ingredients to a container. “Supersecret, huh? I have to admit, I love food, but I’m never home enough to do more than grab takeout.”

“You don’t like to cook?”

“I love cooking. Or at least I’d love to learn to cook. Whenever I’m home, I dabble with cookbooks. But I’m just not in one place long enough to get the hang of things, which is why I do the whole takeout thing. Obviously I don’t have a lot of patience—or time.”

Emma laughed. “I know how that is. I ate a lot of frozen meals before Luke moved in. But now that there’s the two of us, we both like to experiment on the food front, and I find myself cooking more than I used to. Plus, this marinade is easy.”

She showed Des the ingredients she used.

“You’re sharing your supersecret recipe with me?” Des asked.

“Well, you do need to do more cooking, right? It’s only fair I give you a leg up on the easy stuff.”

Des grinned. It wasn’t all that difficult to make, and Emma laid the skewers in the marinade.

“Now we’ll let those settle for about fifteen minutes, and we can start the rice cooking.”

“You’re right. That wasn’t hard at all. You’re really good at this.”

“I’ve failed at a few things, but Luke is nice enough not to say anything. It’s mostly a learning experience.”

“I guess I’ll have to practice, since food is one of my favorite things, and I’d like to cook more.”

Emma reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of wine. She opened it, then pulled two glasses from the cabinet. “Come on, let’s grab a seat. The guys can take it from here.”

Emma peeked her head out the door to let Luke know the kabobs were in the fridge and marinating, then led Des into the living room. They took a seat, and Emma poured the wine.

Des took a sip. “This is very good.”

“I’m sure you have great wines out in California, with all the wineries out there, but, you know, we have liquor stores out here,” Emma said with a grin.

Des laughed. “It’s all the same thing, right?”

“I guess so. And as far as cooking, I’m sure it’s hard for you with all the travel you have to do.”

Des leaned back. “Honestly? It’s a little tiring. I mean I love the work, and I want to do as many movies as I can while I’m still popular. But the lifestyle is rough.”

Emma nodded. “I can imagine it is.”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I know there are thousands of actresses out there who would kill to be in my shoes.”

“But it’s exhausting, right? I don’t know how you do it. You released . . . what? Four films last year?”

“Yes. And thank you for knowing that.”

Emma’s lips curved. “I’m a fan.”

“Thank you. And like I said, I’m so grateful for being able to do what I do. I’ve had countless opportunities, and the chance to work with amazing directors.”

Emma looked at her. “But?”

“I don’t know. It’s almost like I feel if I stop, the offers will dry up. And at the same time, I’ve been working nonstop since I was nineteen. That’s seven years, which I know isn’t a lot, but I’m ready for a break, which sounds awful.”

“I don’t think it sounds awful. I’m not an actress, but I went through veterinary school for four years, then immediately started working with a group of doctors in South Carolina. I had intended to do that for several years, but the opportunity to buy my own practice here came up last year and I jumped at the chance, even though it was going to be a huge financial burden. The past several years have been intense. So I understand what it’s like to feel as if you’re running nonstop without taking a breath.”

Des liked Emma. Emma didn’t judge her or treat her any differently just because she was an actress. She even understood where she was coming from. Work was work, no matter what type of job you had. She was so grateful Emma understood that.

Des didn’t often talk about her feelings, figuring no one would really understand how she felt. She worked long days a lot of the time, and she was often on location, moving from state to state or country to country, losing track of time—and time zones. She’d often wondered what it would be like to settle somewhere permanently, to have a home instead of a rented condo.