Page 14 of Provoking Bryan

Sara’s expression softened, her usual defenses slipping. “And that’s why you left?”

Bryan nodded. “I wanted to feel like I was making a difference. Out here, I can do that. It’s messy, and it’s dangerous, but at least it’s real.”

Sara’s gaze dropped to the ground, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re braver than most people I know.”

“Brave or stupid,” Bryan said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “Maybe both.”

She looked up at him again, her eyes searching his. Bryan reached out, his fingers brushing hers where they rested against the railing. She didn’t pull away, but the slight tremor in her hand didn’t go unnoticed.

“You don’t always have to be in control, Sara,” he said softly.

Her breath hitched, and she took a step back, breaking the contact. “I can’t?—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Bryan asked, his voice calm but firm.

Sara didn’t answer, her eyes darting away as she headed back into the cottage.

By the time he followed her inside, she had a number of ingredients and a heavy mixer on the kitchen island.

“In my old life, I loved baking bread. It relaxes me.”

“You bake bread?” he asked, incredulously.

“Not as often as I’d like mostly because I’d eat the whole damn loaf with a pound of butter.”

Bryan laughed. “Better get two spreaders so I can help. I can think of few things better in this life that hot, homemade bread with melted butter.”

Sara grinned at him and turned back to making her dough. When the dough was mixed, Sara turned it out and began to knead for ten to fifteen minutes. Once her hands were immersed in the dough, Bryan stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and added his own hands to hers to help with the process.

Bryan folded and pushed the dough, letting his frustration out as he pressed down on the sticky surface. About two minutes into the process, not knowing what he was doing, Bryan simply covered her hands with his and let her guide the process.

“Why?” he whispered.

She stopped moving her hands and turned her head about an inch, trying to see his face. “Why what?”

“Why did you have to have a craving for bread?”

“Because it’s delicious.” She obviously had no idea how she was affecting him.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, struggling to maintain some kind of professional decorum. “I was planning to behave like a perfect gentleman, and then you do this.”

“And by this, you mean kneading dough?” She bent down and snuck out of his embrace. “That’s what set you off? Really?”

“The way your hips were moving,” he closed his eyes and shook his head. “And being so domestic. I don’t know; it just got to me.”

She burst out laughing and went to the sink to wash her hands. “That—” she pointed to the dough on the counter— “is what triggered you?”

“Yeah. Why, is it a problem?” He turned toward her and leaned a hip against the counter.

Shaking her head, she pushed him out of the way and placed the dough in the prepared bowl. The woman made him want to grab a bottle of bourbon. Her words and attitude took him way past frustration.

“No. Just never heard of bread being a turn on.”

“Well, it is.”

Sara reached around him, her boob lightly touching his forearm, and he had to bite back a groan. He uncrossed his arms and moved away from the contact. He didn’t give a shit about anything other than making her talk to him. Without thinking, he moved closer, placed his hands on her hips and made sure his body was touching hers.

She looked up at him then. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

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