Page 75 of Trust Again

While the onions were browning in a frying pan, I stole a look over Spencer’s shoulder, or actually along his right arm. “Can you dice instead of slice?”

“Of course.”

Standing next to him now, I surveyed his earlier work. “And the eggplant a bit wider.”

He saluted me with the knife. “Yes, ma’am.”

Spencer was a very good sous-chef. He handed me the utensils I couldn’t reach and didn’t get in my way. Gradually I added ingredients to the sauce. I let the vegetables sauté, then tossed in the tomatoes. There were no spices—Spencer only had salt and pepper.

“Actually, we should be putting a whole bunch of different spices and fresh herbs in here,” I mumbled while tossing another pinch of salt in the pan.

“I’ll make sure to have a supply of fresh herbs and spices here from now on. In case you come by more often and feel the sudden need to abuse my kitchen,” he quipped.

“This stove is here to be used. We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

I put the salt back in the cabinet and, standing on tiptoes, rummaged around in the little containers on the shelf. There was a small brown container with some tablets in it, but before I could grab it, Spencer’s arms were on either side of me, his hands pressed against the counter.

“Need help?” he asked, his breath tickling my neck.

The hairs on my arm rose up; everything in me felt charged with electricity. It was amazing how he could do that without even touching me.

“Spence.” My voice sounded breathless.

“Hm?” he murmured, this time closer to my ear. His lips brushed my throat.

“The sauce,” I croaked.

“Yeah.” He nibbled my skin, and I sighed. Then he sucked underneath my ear.

Oh my God.

“Stop.”

“Mhhh.”

“I came here to cook with you, not to be distracted by you.”

His smile tickled my throat. “But I like to distract you.”

I turned to face him. He still held me trapped between his arms. His eyes were dark and I recognized the glowing desire in them.

“Don’t look at me that way,” I whispered.

His mouth twitched and he closed his eyes. “Okay.”

He stroked my sides and let his thumbs run across my ribs just under my breasts. He leaned forward and pressed his entire body against mine.

Sauce or Spencer, what should it be? Spencer or sauce? Feeling his body against mine, I started to melt. And the decision was not so difficult after all.

I raised myself on my toes to meet his lips and opened my mouth to deepen our kiss. Spencer curled one hand around the back of my neck and pulled me closer; his tongue slid into my mouth and rubbed against mine. A shower of sparks enveloped me and he caught my sigh in his lips. It was as if he held all my senses in his hands. He could do whatever he wanted with me—I wasn’t capable of resisting.

With one hand behind my neck, Spencer placed his other hand on my lower back and held me tight. Heat spread through my body, and with it a tingling from head to toe.

Panting, he detached himself from me but only molecules separated us. He kissed a trail along my jawline. I savored his touch until the suspicious smell of something burning hit my nose.

“Oh, shit!” I tore myself away from Spencer and rushed to the stove, turning it off and lifting the pan from the burner. I stirred the sauce and assessed the damage: Luckily, only a few veggies had burned. I spooned the rest of the sauce into a bowl while Spencer drained the noodles. He insisted that we hadn’t ruined the meal, and tried to reassure me.

This time we ate at the table instead of our usual spot on the sofa.