“Maybe you should consider yourself lucky. I’m not much of a cook.”
“Says the gal who runs a bakery.” He traced the scar on her forearm. “What happened here?”
His gentle touch sent a jolt of electricity through her body. She shivered.
“I burned myself pulling a loaf of bread from the oven.”
“That must’ve been some loaf of bread.”
“They can get pretty big and heavy.”
He slid his thumb across the thin slanted scar on her index finger. “And where did you get this from?”
“Electric bread knife.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were accident-prone.”
“When I was a little girl, my dad sent me to school with a note telling the teacher not to let me use scissors.”
Ben snickered. “No joke?”
“The teacher thought my dad was paranoid.” She breathed a laugh through her nose. “I have several scars on my stomach to prove otherwise.”
“Hmm.” He combed his eyes over her body. “You’ll have to show me the scars sometime.”
Face on fire, she nodded. This was so much better than earlier. The way he looked at her, with eagerness in his eyes, was nice and kind of scary.
“You ready to go back to your place?”
“Yeah,” she said softly.
His cool, musky scent enchanted her, lured her in. Closer. Just a little farther and his lips would touch hers.