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accountant…the embezzling?”
    He nodded coming to her side. “You’re in finance. Thought I’d bounce a few ideas off you…an unbiased opinion, of course,” he suggested and dipped his head indicating the wine fridge, “Wine?”
    “Please,” she replied.
    He crossed the short space to the little fridge, pulled out a bottle of red then grabbed the glasses, and set them and the wine on the table. Kenya’s focus trained on him moving through the room. Their bodies brushed over one another as they moved around the kitchen. Kenya made a low satisfying moan. He’d missed the sound of her in his home. Breathing in her scent, he let his hand caress her shoulders before he moved and retrieved linen napkins from the top drawer. 
    He didn’t bring up their relationship again. Instead, he rested a hip along the counter's edge folding his arms under his chest. That would keep him from running his hand down her back to cup her sweet ass. In that moment Kenya turned to look at him then moved to the pantry coming out with the cling wrap. There was still a little tension between them, and uneasiness when she looked at him. 
    “So what’s going on in Ireland?” she asked, wrapping the meatloaf in a platter and she placed it in the microwave.
    “My accountant’s stealing from the farmers. Skimming off the top using a bogus account he has set-up.”
    She stood at the sink, washing her hands with her face tipped back over her shoulder. “Jonathan, you’re in finance. What can I offer that you don’t already know?”
    “I’m not a banker, Kenya. I’m an investor,” he said getting past her. He held her waist then drew the drawer open, reached into the bottom, shelf lifting out two plates. “Slide your hip over some, babe. I need to get at the silverware.”
    “Oh.” Kenya blushed, the color moved up to her eyes. She still wanted him just as he thought. She cleared her throat, she continued, “nice flatware, family antiques?”
    “No, I like the intricate carving.” He stood at her back, leaning around her shoulder turning the fork back and forth.
    “It’s beautiful. You have nice taste,” she admitted, peering over her shoulder. He wanted to kiss those soft lips but wouldn’t. He wanted her, but he refused to chase her.
    She slipped on an oven mitt. Removing the platter with the meatloaf, she placed it on the marble counter. Making thick slices, she plated up their dinners.
    “The farms. I need to set up an account where they self-monitor their land payments.”
    Kenya sliced open the bag of spinach and poured some in a large glass bowl. Comfortable in his home, Kenya scanned his refrigerator. Pickled beets, feta cheese, and some romaine lettuce out of the fridge filled her arms as she stepped around the counter. The sight of her warmed his heart.
    At the table he switched on the overhead light dimming its bright glow. Opening the wine, he poured two glasses. Kenya set plates of salad on the table. 
    She set the knife down and took the glass. They stood for a moment in silence staring at one another as they sipped their wine.
    “That’s nice,” Kenya praised.
    “I’m partial to red,” he said.
    “I know, Blakemore. I haven’t completely wiped my memories of you.”
    He tapped a finger over the bridge of her nose, wanting to test that theory, drag her to the floor, and see if she remembered his favorite position. “Good to know, Pretty Lady.”
    Kenya smoothed her dress down under her and accepted the chair he offered. “Thank you, Jonathan,” she said. Her thick hair bounced over her shoulders as she scooted her chair in. “How far is the bank from the majority of the farmers?”
    He lowered into the seat across from her at the small table and started on his dinner. “In town…fifteen minutes from most farms.”
    “Hm…We can set up a mother account, assign each person a rotating password which allows them to change it after each deposit. It’s a costly program because of the