Page 94 of Oathbreaker

As we’re walking out to the car, I snake an arm around her waist and draw her back, whispering in her ear, “What are the chances of you calling in sick today?”

She smiles up at me, batting her eyelashes playfully. “They’re pretty good if we stop for condoms on the way home.”

Twenty-Nine

Briar

I whisk the Béarnaise sauce so vigorously that my arm feels as though it’s going to fall off.

But I can’t stop whisking, not if I want my sauce to survive.

And seriously, what had I been thinking, making a Béarnaise sauce to go with the carefully seared and roasted with lots and lots of butter and garlic and thyme steaks. Steaks are now resting, cooked to a precise medium rare (thanks, meat thermometer). Steaks that will accompany the scalloped potatoes. Oh, and the huge Caesar salad and roasted brussels sprouts that I threw together to accompany Colt’s favorite meal.

And to get some vegetables into my family.

Our arteries will thank us.

Dessert is chilling in the fridge, an intricate chocolate lasagna.

Also Colt’s favorite dessert.

I’ll be serving it with huge hunks of lemon pie.

Colt’s second favorite dessert.

Yeah, I may have gone a bit overboard.

But Atlas is coming to dinner (Lily is on the road), along with Royal and Jade, Banks and Aspen and Maisie, and Willow.

And…Dash.

Mostly because Willow forced him to come.

But also because I asked—or well, made it a Mandatory Sunday Dinner.

Then gave Dash my sad, little sister, puppy dog eyes to get him to agree to attend.

So, everything has to go perfectly.

Because if it doesn’t then my family?—

“That looks good.”

I jump as Colt’s voice comes from very near my ear, realize I’ve stopped stirring.

And now my Béarnaise is at risk of breaking.

Shit.

I whisk more vigorously, ignoring Colt when he sweeps the hair off my nape, bending to brush my lips against the now-exposed skin, making me shiver, threatening to break my focus.

“I need to finish this,” I tell him, continuing to stir, but doing it as I’m sidestepping his big, tempting, hard body.

So I can focus.

His hand settles on my waist, and he draws me back against him, lips at my ear now. “Baby?—”

I jerk when the timer on the oven goes, sparing one more look at my sauce before pulling it off the heat. It looks perfect, so I exhale a relieved breath, set it aside, turn off the burner, then hurry over to the oven.