“I’ll have you know I survived through college on tuna-noodle casserole.”

“‘Surviving’ looks like the applicable word,” Greer teased.

“Now, don’t judge until you’ve tasted.” He speared a small amount on a fork and aimed it at her mouth.

Their eyes met for a fraction of an instant before her lips enclosed the morsel. His were very blue, very warm, and oddly intimate. No man had looked at Greer like that in a very long time.

She swallowed hurriedly, having to remember to taste the bite on the way down. “Have you considered buying a basic cookbook?” she asked sympathetically. “There are some good ones that even beginners can cope with.”

Ryan sighed. “There’s nothing more annoying than a chauvinistic woman,” he mentioned to the ceiling.

“Hey. That wasn’t a sexist comment.” Greer paused. “Although if you had lived in caveman times, I think you’d have done better waving your club around and looking cool while you invented the wheel than fussing around the old cooking fire. I don’t want to imply that mankind would have totally died out from this recipe, but…”

“I’ve tickled my sisters half to death for far less offensive insults than that,” Ryan informed her.

Greer chuckled even as she felt a slight wariness at the reference to tickling. “Luckily, I’ve never had that particular sensitivity,” she said smoothly. “Even my little toes aren’t ticklish-and heaven knows, my older sister used to try.”

Ryan received and acknowledged the tiny warn-off signal. He couldn’t help it if he still wanted her alone for an hour on a king-sized mattress in order to check out her ticklishness personally.