Page 10 of Single Mom for the Mountain Men
I listen to Lena listing the ingredients of the soup, endeared by how enthusiastic she is about the meal. It’s the simplest recipeever from what it sounds like, but her excitement is contagious, and I find myself grinning along with her.
“So, apparently the noodles are supposed to boil for ten minutes.”
“Uh, I’m no expert at noodles, so I might be wrong, but isn’t that overcooking them?” I comment, rubbing the tip of my pointer finger against my chin.
“That’s what the recipe says,” she defends and reads the notes she has written down.
“All right, boss, whatever you say goes.” I smirk.
She sniffs haughtily and says, “That’s right, Aiden.”
As she absentmindedly stirs the pot, her eyes reading the sticky notes in her hand, I observe her silently. Her hips move in a silent rhythm, the curve of her ass visible in the loose-fitting pants she has on.
“So, the broth was actually supposed to cook for ten minutes, not the—ouch!” She yelps, dropping the ladle noisily into the pot.
I’m immediately at her side as she holds her palm loosely, breathing through her teeth.
“What happened?”
“Burned my hand,” she explains, and I grab her wrist firmly. She tries to free it, but I don’t let her. Once she relaxes a bit, I check the burn around her thumb and the seared skin of her palm, which are both completely red.
“This is gonna blister,” I murmur and lead her toward the sink. I put her hand under cool water, then I whip out an ice pack and hold it against the burn. I reach over and turn off the stove, so that the remaining soup won’t boil over.
“Come, sit,” I instruct her.
“No, Aiden, it’s not that big of a burn. I’ve had worse,” she says without budging.
“I’ll handle the rest, Lena. You need to ice your hand properly in case blisters start forming.”
“Aiden, I’m fine, I swear,” she insists, pulling her injured hand away from the ice pack I’m holding for her.
“I won’t ask you again, Lena,” I nearly growl.This stubborn woman. She never knows when to stop fighting.
“Aiden! Listen to me,” she protests while trying to snatch her hand back, her eyes wide and persistent.
“No! You listen to me. You put this ice pack on the burn, and sitdown. I’ll deal with the rest.”
My grip tightens on her wrist subconsciously, drawing her closer without even thinking twice about it.
“Aiden, I swear,” she protests firmly, her hand tightening on my wrist that grips her hand.
“You swear onwhat? Why don’t you ever listen?”
“It’s not that big of a deal! Why are you overreacting?”
“It’s not overreacting, Lena! I care about you! You just fucking burned your hand, and you wanna ask me whyI’moverreacting?”
My admission makes her freeze for a moment. Those green eyes of hers stare up at me guilelessly, her petal-like mouth parted open in surprise. My gaze drops to her lips, and I’m unable to look anywhere else.
“Aiden…” she breathes, her voice equivalent to a siren’s call as she looks up at me. There’s this electric current between us, charged to its full potential. I can feel it as it races up my spine, sharp and quick.
“I don’t want you to be hurt, Lena,” I admit softly. My other hand traces her skin from her elbow, up her bicep, to her jaw. I feel possessed by this urgent need to touch her, to let her know the effect she has on me.
She maintains eye contact, those glittering doe-like green orbs looking deep into my soul, asking me to give in and fall into them.
And fall into them, I do.
Before I know it, the distance between us has closed, and our lips are but a breath away. The scent of jasmine floods my senses from being this close to her, driving me beyond the point of sanity.
