Page 10 of Harvest His Heart
“I’ll teach you.”
She stands in front of me, and I wrap my large body carefully around her without touching. Still, I’m close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. Intoxicating. Alluring.
My big paw dwarfs her dainty hand as I guide the knife with one hand and show her how to grip a parsnip, keeping her fingers safe as our hands move in unison. The scent of her shampoo mingles with garlic and earth, something wild and home all at once.
“I thought I had decent knife skills, but nothing like you, Iron Chef Cowboy,” she whispers, leaning back ever so slightly until my blood flames.
I swallow hard, willing my body to keep it together. But it’s a losing battle, want rushing straight to my cock. I have to pull away, turn, and adjust myself before she sees, muttering, “City girls need sharp knife skills, too.”
She eyes me curiously, her cheeks glowing, her pupils blown.
“How about you take over the vegetables. Show me those skills in action, and I’ll start on the elk steaks?”
“Elk steaks? That sounds amazing. Did you hunt it yourself?”
“Of course,” I say, avoiding eye contact. My whole body feels on edge, my desire highly inconvenient. I’m trying to build a rapport with her, earn her trust. The last thing she needs is to see me with a semi.
“Would you teach me how?” she asks. “Like you did with the knife?”
My eyes flicker to the cutting board. She could use another lesson. But my body? Not so much.
“Elk tag was archery only. I’m guessing you’re asking for firearms training, though?”
She stiffens slightly, her chin rising like the empress she is. “Yes, like you said. I should know how to defend myself.” Fear. It’s like an unwanted smell that enters the room. Again.
My fists ball at my sides. No telling what she’s been through. I’m coiled and ready to kill the motherfucker who put that subtle tremor in her chin.
“That’s right. You need to know how to defend yourself. So that you feel safe again.”
She looks away. I’ve hit the mark.
“Want to talk about it?” My brows furrow.
She’s breathing through her mouth now, voice raw. “Not yet.”
I nod, resigned to the fact I’ve crossed one line too many. I have to remind myself we only met a few hours ago, though it feels like much longer. “When you’re ready, then…”
“It’s just… I’m lovingeverythingabout this moment. For once, I don’t wantthatto ruin it.”
Thatorhim?The question lingers in my mind and on my lips. But I respect her words and their meaning.
“Then, we won’t let anything ruin this,” I say with a wink. Her face relaxes. Reassuring her makes my whole goddamned life suddenly make sense. “Want to know the secret to perfectly pan-seared steaks?”
The corners of her mouth lift. “Yes, please.”
“Cast iron, garlic, and my secret herbal blend.”
She cocks her head, curiosity etched in her features. “Secret herbal blend? Do tell more.”
“Not on your life,” I tease. “Do I look like a one-night-stand kind of guy?”
Her jaw drops.
“I mean, when it comes to giving away my secret recipes?”
She giggles, watching my every move as I sear each steak with care, flipping it. “Rare? Medium? Well done?”
“Medium-rare, please.” The skillet hisses, smoke curling upward like incense. Garlic, butter, and rosemary blur the line between hunger and desire.
