slightly, but the rolling pin stuck. Not
much else happened.
“Put your back into it,” Matt prodded.
She glanced at him cheering her on from the sidelines and
then gave it her all, heaving her might into that little wooden spindle in her
hands. Dough splatted out like an egg cracked fresh from its shell, transparently
thin on the cutting surface. “Oh no!” she cried with dismay. Even she knew there was no way to bake
cookies from that .
“Here, let me help.” He sidled up behind her and calmly
collected the mess, transforming it into a new ball. “It’s all in the technique,”
he said, his voice a light tickle at the side of her neck. He drew nearer still,
enveloping her in his warmth, and every inch of her came alive. He smelled so
good and manly standing so close, the sleeves of his sweatshirt just brushing
hers as he positioned himself around her.
He stepped a fraction of an inch closer, and Sarah feared
she might faint from his proximity. It was intoxicating being enveloped in his
arms, his solid chest pressing into her back as he steadied his hands around
hers on the rolling pin. The “Love Lessons” song had ended, and a more
provocative one had started to play. “Just like this,” he said, swaying
forward. She moved with him, letting him lead as dough glided into a flat
plane. “And like this…” he whispered in her ear, lifting the rolling pin and
repeating the process again as the sexy music played on.
Sarah felt breathless, as if she might faint at any moment,
lost in the rhythm of Matt’s embrace.
He held her more tightly in his arms and whispered, his
voice husky. “What do you think of home cooking?”
In many ways, this felt more intimate than dancing, almost
as if they were in bed. But Sarah had never been with a man who moved with such
grace and care for her comfort.
“I think I like it,” she said, barely breathing the words.
He stopped rolling, wrapping his fingers around hers.
“These are going to be damn good cookies.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
The seconds ticked by like hours as Sarah’s heart beat
furiously. Was it her imagination, or could she feel Matt’s heart beating in
his chest behind her as well? All she could think of was Matt turning her in
his arms and kissing her, just as wonderfully as he had on that dance floor all
that time ago. But then the kitchen timer went off, indicating the previous
batch of cookies had baked.
Matt nestled his chin on her shoulder. “I think we’re done.”
“What?” she asked, her knees on the verge of collapse. The
timer beeped louder, intruding once more on their moment. He lightly squeezed
her hands in his.
“The dough, Sarah. It looks like it’s perfect.”
And it did, a perfect quarter-inch slab. They were ready to
cut.
Matt broke his embrace and headed for the oven, which
couldn’t have burned any hotter than she felt right now.
Sarah excused herself for a moment and strode quickly to her
bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face. Then, she dampened a
washcloth to dab the front, sides, and back of her neck. That Matt Salvatore
was one hot man in the kitchen. Look at the mess she was in, and all from one
teeny little glass of wine. But inwardly Sarah knew it hadn’t just been the
alcohol that had sent her head spinning and her heart racing. That had more to
do with being deliciously wrapped up in the sexy Italian’s arms while moving to
that sultry music. When he captured her in his deep blue gaze, liquor was beside
the point. She was drunk on him, Matt Salvatore the man, and all the wonderful
things he was.
And one of those, Sarah reminded herself sternly, was
someone who wanted to be a father. She swallowed hard, gathering her nerve to
go back out there and face him. She needed to nix the wine and find a way to
get through the rest of this day on more even footing. Perhaps she could offer
to fix dinner and shoo Matt out of the kitchen for the next little while. There
was clearly too much
much else happened.
“Put your back into it,” Matt prodded.
She glanced at him cheering her on from the sidelines and
then gave it her all, heaving her might into that little wooden spindle in her
hands. Dough splatted out like an egg cracked fresh from its shell, transparently
thin on the cutting surface. “Oh no!” she cried with dismay. Even she knew there was no way to bake
cookies from that .
“Here, let me help.” He sidled up behind her and calmly
collected the mess, transforming it into a new ball. “It’s all in the technique,”
he said, his voice a light tickle at the side of her neck. He drew nearer still,
enveloping her in his warmth, and every inch of her came alive. He smelled so
good and manly standing so close, the sleeves of his sweatshirt just brushing
hers as he positioned himself around her.
He stepped a fraction of an inch closer, and Sarah feared
she might faint from his proximity. It was intoxicating being enveloped in his
arms, his solid chest pressing into her back as he steadied his hands around
hers on the rolling pin. The “Love Lessons” song had ended, and a more
provocative one had started to play. “Just like this,” he said, swaying
forward. She moved with him, letting him lead as dough glided into a flat
plane. “And like this…” he whispered in her ear, lifting the rolling pin and
repeating the process again as the sexy music played on.
Sarah felt breathless, as if she might faint at any moment,
lost in the rhythm of Matt’s embrace.
He held her more tightly in his arms and whispered, his
voice husky. “What do you think of home cooking?”
In many ways, this felt more intimate than dancing, almost
as if they were in bed. But Sarah had never been with a man who moved with such
grace and care for her comfort.
“I think I like it,” she said, barely breathing the words.
He stopped rolling, wrapping his fingers around hers.
“These are going to be damn good cookies.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
The seconds ticked by like hours as Sarah’s heart beat
furiously. Was it her imagination, or could she feel Matt’s heart beating in
his chest behind her as well? All she could think of was Matt turning her in
his arms and kissing her, just as wonderfully as he had on that dance floor all
that time ago. But then the kitchen timer went off, indicating the previous
batch of cookies had baked.
Matt nestled his chin on her shoulder. “I think we’re done.”
“What?” she asked, her knees on the verge of collapse. The
timer beeped louder, intruding once more on their moment. He lightly squeezed
her hands in his.
“The dough, Sarah. It looks like it’s perfect.”
And it did, a perfect quarter-inch slab. They were ready to
cut.
Matt broke his embrace and headed for the oven, which
couldn’t have burned any hotter than she felt right now.
Sarah excused herself for a moment and strode quickly to her
bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face. Then, she dampened a
washcloth to dab the front, sides, and back of her neck. That Matt Salvatore
was one hot man in the kitchen. Look at the mess she was in, and all from one
teeny little glass of wine. But inwardly Sarah knew it hadn’t just been the
alcohol that had sent her head spinning and her heart racing. That had more to
do with being deliciously wrapped up in the sexy Italian’s arms while moving to
that sultry music. When he captured her in his deep blue gaze, liquor was beside
the point. She was drunk on him, Matt Salvatore the man, and all the wonderful
things he was.
And one of those, Sarah reminded herself sternly, was
someone who wanted to be a father. She swallowed hard, gathering her nerve to
go back out there and face him. She needed to nix the wine and find a way to
get through the rest of this day on more even footing. Perhaps she could offer
to fix dinner and shoo Matt out of the kitchen for the next little while. There
was clearly too much
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