Page 44 of The Spark Between Us

Chapter Fifteen

Sarah

Maybe I said too much.I definitely said too much.

I blamed the wine.

And the guy. It was impossible to have Braden Michaels standing in front of me in all his abdominal splendor and not wax rhapsodic about the kind of orgasms I’d only read about in romance novels.

From the way Braden was looking at me, I had the sense I’d freaked him out with my candor, or maybe it was just that he didn’t really want to know all the details. Either way, I watched as he made a herculean effort to close his mouth and blink back the shock from his eyes.

“I’m not saying it has to be all those things, but if we’re talking about the ideal, then I stand by what I said...within reason. I’m a scientist, after all. It’s only possible to have what exists in the real world.”

I looked at Braden, a little alarmed that he still stood frozen with his arms crossed in front of him. Was he ever going to move, or had I turned him to stone?

“Anyway...” I turned the mixer on and used the noise to fill the dead air. I loved watching the butter mix with the sugar into a perfect buttercream frosting. I dribbled a little vanilla in, along with some chocolate I’d melted earlier—it was still soft enough to blend well into the frosting, and the dark, rich color took over.

A moment later, I felt the warmth of Braden’s body next to mine as he peered into the bowl of the mixer. For a chocolate lover, it was hard to stay away. “That looks pretty good,” his voice rumbled near my ear. I tried to fight back the shivers it caused.

“It’s sinfully good.” Once it was perfectly mixed, I tipped the whisk attachment out of the bowl and scraped down the sides with a spatula. “Can you grab the tray of brownies? You can have the honor of frosting them since you were patient enough to wait.”

Holding out the bowl of the mixer, I waited until he moved the brownies to the counter in front of us. Then I handed him the spatula. When he took it, I felt like his hand lingered on mine longer than it needed to, the touch of his fingers sending heat through my veins that hadn’t happened with a man since...ever.

I took it as scientific evidence that Braden Michaels had raw animal magnetism that other men didn’t have. Fascinating.

Even if I only experienced it through the occasional brush of fingers, I had no doubt he was turning my very core molten like the velvety melted chocolate. And it felt so good I found myself looking for more ways to innocently touch him.

“How should I do this?” he asked.

“Exactly the way you are...”

“Huh?”

Huh?

Nope, he wasn’t asking how he should touch every inch of my remaining skin. He’d brushed past me by accident.

“Um, I meant, hold the spatula like you are, then spread it in one even layer. If you spread it in too many small strokes, you might tear the tops of the brownies.”

“Fine, if I can eat my mistakes.”

“Nope, you can eat them when they’re perfect.”

He cast me a side-eye and his lips twisted into a smirk. “Has anyone ever accused you of being bossy?”

“Only my sisters. It’s kind of my role to be the responsible backbone, in other words, bossy. I may or may not have a history of making sweeping decisions on their behalf. Just ask my sister, Becca. Story for another time. Anyway...” I grabbed the green and white box of sea salt and got ready to sprinkle the tops.

“What’s that?” He raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“The secret ingredient. Well, one of them. Sea salt brings out the chocolate flavor. I promise you’ll approve when you taste them.”

“Don’t make promises lightly. I’ll hold you to them,” he smirked.

“I’d expect nothing less.” He finished spreading and I finished salting and we looked at each other. “Moment of truth.” I took the knife and sliced through to make sixteen squares in the pan.

I wasn’t worried. Despite a litany of botched recipes I laid claim to, this one never disappointed.

“What do I get if these brownies don’t live up to your promises?” He leaned against the counter with one hip, his snug dark jeans highlighting the taut muscles in his legs and his tight black long-sleeved shirt leaving no ridge of his six-pack to the imagination.

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