Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(66)

Her cheeks turned a pink hue, eyes lighting up. “You mean that, don’t you? I’m making you hot.”

Jasper watched her over the rim of his coffee cup as he sipped, then set the mug down on the marble island with a resounding clack. “Come over here.”

Rita took her time sauntering around the island to stand in front of Jasper. But he let her stall, enjoying the sound of her bare feet on his floor, the way she teased him without the visible reservations from before. She leaned back against the island and quirked an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

She’s cute on top of everything. God help me. Jasper framed her face in his hands, careful not to let their bodies make contact. The plan was to spend at least some part of the evening not fucking the stuffing out of her, and Jasper was determined to see it through. “If you made me any hotter, Rita, you’d singe off my damn eyebrows. I’d have to draw them on with a Sharpie or something. Not even Rosemary would be seen with me in public.”

Her warm chuckle made his chest ache. “No, I wouldn’t blame her.”

“So you just keep those eyes above my neck until I tell you otherwise.” He pressed his thumb against her full bottom lip. “I don’t know who led you to believe you aren’t white-goddamn-hot, but I’d like to have a conversation with them.”

“A conversation?”

“I’d like to break their nose.” He nodded. “Twice for good measure.”

“Better.” She shook her head, her fingers toying with the buttons of the flannel shirt. “It was no single person. So much of my time was spent in the kitchen, everything outside of it felt awkward. Unnatural. I just…” A frown worked its way between her eyebrows. “I just didn’t think there was any point in trying. Wouldn’t I let them down eventually?”

“No.” Rita jumped at his tone, so he grabbed her arms to steady her, squeezing them in apology. “No, you wouldn’t have. But I’m a selfish man, so I’m glad you didn’t date someone smart enough to make an effort. They would have tried to hold on to you at all costs.” Realizing he was revealing too much, Jasper cleared his throat. “And then I’d have to break more than their noses.”

A heavy moment passed as she studied him, her lips spreading into a smile. “I want to cook something.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.” She sounded surprised, her gaze darting around his kitchen. “Now.”

Oh, God, there was no chance of getting his pulse to simmer down now. Had something he’d done brought on this sudden urge to face her fear? Damn, he prayed that was the case. Prayed like hell. “I don’t have too much here, but…” He dropped a kiss onto Rita’s forehead and turned to open the fridge. “Eggs, milk, butter, cheese…I think Rosemary stuffed some spices into the back of the pantry.”

“A cheese soufflé,” Rita murmured, opening his cabinets to remove bowls, utensils from the drawer. “You have everything to make my least favorite dish.”

“Sounds like a good time waiting to happen.”

She took the carton of eggs he handed her. “The eating part will be the good time.” There was a slight hesitation in her movements now. “If I don’t screw it up.”

Jasper was still new at comforting a woman. Anyone, really, since his only living family member was perpetually positive and happy. The two times he’d tried to reach into Rita’s head and repair things, he’d gone and fucked up good. So he was betting the inclination to bear-hug her into being brave wasn’t the soundest course of action. Although touching her did have incredible appeal. Still, he needed to do better this time.

“You might screw it up,” Jasper started, rubbing the back of his neck, because his words sounded all wrong. Resist the bear hug. “I might screw up tomorrow at the restaurant opening, too. It could be a total disaster. Everyone in town—they all want me to go back to being the Jasper they could laugh about. I don’t reckon they want me to succeed at all. Until you gave the place a name, I wasn’t even sure I’d ever open the doors.” He couldn’t gauge her thoughts, but he barreled on through his own. “You gave me that…lift. You’re going to help me through tomorrow, so let me help you through the soufflé. That way, if it turns out like shit, it’s on both of our heads.”

Okay, that might have come out sounding ridiculous, but what he’d meant was Trust me, take my help, let me be your other half. Please. He’d just said it in a way that wouldn’t put the fear of God into her.

Rita pursed her lips. “Does this mean if the opening doesn’t go well, you’re going to put half the blame on my shoulders?”

“Sound fair?”

“I’m in either way.” Seeming to battle a smile, she flipped open the egg carton. “Let’s get this party started.”

When Jasper came up behind Rita, laying his hands on hers, he realized what a brave face she’d been putting on, because she was shaking. A protective streak about a mile wide mowed down everything in its path, hardening into a bridge he silently begged her to walk over. The air around them buzzed a little, as if it were anticipating something. “When I said let me help you, I meant it. I want to feel where your hands go,” Jasper said, kissing the top of her head and smelling his shampoo. “I want you to talk me through it. If I’m going to be culpable in this soufflé’s potential demise, my guilt needs to be authentic.”