She blinked and startled color rose to her cheeks. This was about cooking? Quickly, she looked at the skillet, hoping she hadn’t done anything to give away what she’d been thinking. “Is that why you’re doing them in different skillets?”

“That, and you don’t have a wok, sad as that is. Anyway, if you do it in the right order in a wok, you can get them to all finish at the same time. Since you’re a beginner, though, I thought it’d be best to master one at a time.” He handed her the spatula and started discussing the differences between the needs of zucchini and those of bell peppers.

He smelled like pine trees and rain. Andra stared down at the stove, trying to focus. That was not remarkable. Everything smelled like pine trees and rain this week. It was more like something about being caught between the heat of his skin and the heat of the stove, where olive oil and bright-red bell peppers sizzled. That damn rainwater scent on the smooth skin of his chest that she could picture all too clearly despite his shirt.

“Okay, but how can you tell when they’re ready?” she asked.

“Bite ’em.” He grinned and snagged a bell pepper out of the skillet, white teeth flashing as he popped it into his mouth. “But if you aren’t so brave and dashing as me, or if your tongue burns easy, poke ’em with a fork.”

He got one out of the drawer and folded it into her fingers, guiding her hand as they tested one of the pieces of the bell pepper. His hand was huge, each finger so much wider than hers, and not at all hesitant about holding her. Her heart beat so fast, spots danced in front of her eyes.

“You should feel the tension of a little resistance,” he said, “but softness, too.”

She nodded, backing up as she tried to ignore the tingles rippling up her inner thighs. “Right, yup. Got it.”

He let her go, cocking an eyebrow at her expression. “You feeling okay? You’re looking a little flushed, as my mama might say.”

She leaned against the refrigerator where it stuck out from the counter, and closed her eyes. She was not imagining the double meaning to his every word. Nobody’s mind was lower in the gutter than LJ’s. He was flirting with her, had probably always been flirting with her, according to her father. It was just a different brand of flirting than she knew what to do with. All possibility, no pressure. And he was certainly doing it on purpose. The man missed nothing. Not the tiniest flick of a horse’s ears, not the morning he brought her coffee because her belt had missed one loop on her jeans and he figured that meant she’d been in a rush that day.