Page 91 of Ruthless Oath

“Okay.” My knees buckled like a silly teenager when his sculpted chest pressed against my back. “What now?”

“Let me lead.”

“Your favorite thing.” I smiled as he guided my hand to the side of the bowl.

“Put your thumb on the center of the egg and your finger on top.” He positioned my fingers, caressing them. “Like that.”

“Now what?” I looked over my shoulder to find him staring into my eyes.

“This.” He pressed his lips against mine, kissing me softly. As we kissed, he hit the egg against the side of the bowl and managed to get the liquid into it without the shell following.

“How did you do that?” I studied the egg, making sure there weren’t any remnants of the shells.

“I have skills.”

“I guess I can’t argue that,” I said.

“You argue everything else.”

I didn’t respond. Why give him the satisfaction of being right?

“Now you try this one.” He handed me another egg. “Just like I did it.”

“Okay.” I positioned my fingers like he showed me, smacked the egg on the side of the ceramic bowl, and both the slimy inside and a few slivers of the shell landed into the brownie mix. “Shit!”

“Language.” He glanced inside the bowl. “It takes some practice.”

He took the bowl from me, brought it to the sink, and carefully fished out the pieces of the shell.

“It’s not so bad.” He returned the bowl to me. “Now you can measure out the water and the oil. Do you think you can handle that?”

“I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were.” He brought the pan over to the island. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think you’re an idiot at all.”

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“Making brownies hardly qualifies as cooking.”

“You’ve made more than brownies. I can tell.”

“My mother made sure Milo and I were self-sufficient.” He handed me a wooden spoon. “Stir until it’s all blended.”

“We don’t have to use one of those electric things?”

“A mixer?” He laughed from deep inside his chest. “No.”

“Your mom taught you to read great books and cook.” I stirred the thickening batter. “She sounds like a wonderful mom.”

“She was.” He cleaned up around me as I continued to blend the mixture into a rich, chocolate temptation.

“How old were you when she…”

“Eighteen.” He put the egg carton into the refrigerator. “The same age she was when she had me.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize your parents were so young.”

“My mom was eighteen and my father was twenty when they had me.” He put the oil back in the pantry. “A year later, they had Milo, and we all seem to have grown up together. We had a lot of fun.”

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