Page 18 of Devil's Advocate
“Good,” he murmured.“Keep pounding it.Don’t stop until it’s smooth.”
The words hit deeper than they should have.I glanced up, and he was watching me—eyes dark, unreadable.
I swallowed hard.“Like this?”
He stepped closer, peering into the bowl.“Almost.You’ve got to put your weight into it.”His hand covered mine on the handle of the masher, guiding it down.“Like this.”
Our arms moved together, rhythm steady and slow.My breath caught.
He leaned in, close enough for his voice to drop to a whisper.“See?It’s perfect.”
I gulped.“Yeah.”
“Cooking’s all about timing,” he whispered.“Too fast, you ruin it.Too slow, you lose the heat.”
Mama Jo clanged a pot on the counter.“If you two are done making love to those potatoes, maybe stir the fucking gravy!”
Lucien bit his lip, smirked, and stepped back.“You heard the lady.”
I tried to focus on the gravy, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.Every move he made drew my eyes — flipping vegetables in a skillet, wiping sweat from his temple with the back of his wrist.
Mama Jo elbowed me lightly as she passed, smirking.“Careful, sugar.You stare too hard, you’ll burn your britches.”
I almost dropped the ladle.“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, grinning like the devil herself.“Stir faster.And loosen up that apron before you pop a seam.”
Lucien chuckled under his breath.“She’s right.You’re wound tighter than a drum.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.”His gaze slid over me.“Very fine.”
ChapterSix
Lucien
Iwasn’t sure how much longer I could take it.The kitchen was already hot enough to melt the paint off the walls, but Jimmy Tanner—sweet, nervous, pure-as-spring-rain Jimmy—had turned it into an inferno.
That combination of innocence and desire was rolling off him like sun-baked asphalt.You could practically see it in the air—his flushed cheeks, the way his fingers fumbled over the spoon, the way his breath caught when our shoulders brushed.
It was doing something to me.
I’d always prided myself on patience.I didn’t chase.I didn’t beg.I let a man come to me—literally and metaphorically.Desire was stronger when it bloomed from choice, not persuasion.
But with Jimmy, that rule was cracking apart one heartbeat at a time.
Every glance at him—his damp hair curling at the temples, the slight tremor in his voice when he spoke—it hit me like a match strike.
And I wanted him so badly it freaking hurt.
Not just to kiss him, but to claim him.To see that rigid self-control break.To make him say my name like a confession.
“Lucien,” Mama Jo barked from the other side of the room, snapping me out of my daze.“You gonna stir that pot or just stand there drooling like a fool?”
“Working on it,” I said, reaching for the ladle—anything to get my hands moving before I did something stupid.
Mama Jo laughed, deep and wicked.“Mm-hmm.You better watch yourself.”
