Page 42 of Shades of Mercy
She took two pitchers to the table, one with tea and the other lemonade. She squeezed next to Jag, and his arm brushed her hip. She jerked spilling some of the lemonade onto his lap.
She set the pitchers on the table and picked up a napkin from a basket. “Can you handle wiping the wetness yourself?”
They exchanged a heated look.
“I think I can,” he whispered.
She stepped back into the kitchen and tried to get beyond the brain fog. She turned and bumped into Jag’s iron-hard chest. “Sorry,” she said, looking into his smiling expression.
“We’re missing a jar of jalapenos,” he said evenly.
“Okay. Let me see.”
“You’ll find one in the pantry.”
“Okay. The pantry.” She stepped inside the room, which was filled with stocked shelves.
She didn’t realize he’d followed her inside until she caught his scent—a lethal combination of leather and masculinity.
Nervously, she found a row of jars, each containing a wide variety of jalapenos: pickled, mild, hot, and southern-style. “Do you have a preference?”
“I like spicy.”
The top shelf was too tall for her so she climbed atop the step-stool.
“Do you need some help?” he asked.
“No, I think I got this.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, leaning back against the door frame and watching her.
That only made her more anxious, so when the jar came down a little too fast for her expectations, she lost her balance and landed in his capable arms.
She heard a moan and realized it came from her.
He grinned, but he made no move to put her down.
“A panther, huh?”
One brow lifted over his dazzling eyes. “The tattoo? Yeah. It was my first.”
She nodded.You can put me down now, she thought, but didn’t say the words aloud. Did she want to be back on her feet? It wasn’t a top priority.
“How’d the first day go?” He sounded breathless.
“Bryar helped. I’m on my own tomorrow.” At least she had the cookbook Bryar had given her.
“You’ll be fine. It smells delicious,” he said, his tone slightly tremulous.
“Thank you.” She stared up at him. Would he kiss her? She wanted him to kiss her.
Then one brow curved. “Do you smell something burning?”
“Burning?” Then she remembered. “Oh no! The cornbread.“
He quickly put her down, and she ran to the oven.
She opened the door and a puff of black smoke rolled out. She took the pan out and set it on the stove. Waving away the last cloud of smoke, she saw that the top was golden brown. Thankfully, she caught the bread just in time.
