Bring the Heat, Margot Radcliffe [best novels to read to improve english .TXT] 📗

intensity banked. “I knew what you meant, Molly.” Then his eyes dropped down to her bare legs and back up to meet hers with a cheeky grin to ease the brewing tension. “Concerning the other, I’m sure we’ve both picked up some new tricks over the years we could introduce each other to.”

Molly swallowed, struggling against the wave of heat flushing her skin. Not having a response, she popped a big piece of pineapple into her mouth, the juice leaking at the side of her mouth, and watched his eyes bore into hers as she licked it off. “Um,” Molly finally managed, wanting to get them back to equilibrium, “so avocado toast?”

Oliver stared at her for a beat and then started laughing. His eyes were a sparkling green when they returned to hers. “Molly, I’m glad you’re here. Yes, avocado toast. Why don’t you quit poaching from the fruit salad and make yours how you’d like it. I chopped up some pico de gallo if you want to put that on top.”

Molly nodded and went about making the toast, feeling uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. Being around Oliver was easy. But the more she had to watch him move, cook, smile... Even with the scent of cooking eggs and the melting cheese he’d crumbled into the pan, it was already challenging.

Her sex life with Max had been good, at least at the beginning. However, even before she’d caught him cheating, she’d been so distracted by work that at least a month or two had gone by without them having sex. Which meant that she was now even further into a serious dry spell with Oliver, who had appeared back in her life like basically a sex oasis in a desert.

Making avocado toast had never required so much of her concentration.

But she was determined to stop thinking about Oliver and his enormous bed. She scooped the fresh veggies on top of the avocado Oliver had previously cut into thin and perfect slices with an inward sigh. It was as if the man wasn’t bad at anything.

“Drinks!” Molly realized with a burst of inspiration. “I can make mimosas. Does that sound good?”

Oliver smiled his wide smile with crinkles in the corners of his eyes. “It sounds perfect, Molly. But I don’t want you to think you have to do anything. This trip is for you.”

She nodded, but she still wanted to pull her weight, especially if he was planning on cooking all their meals. Opening the walk-in fridge, she pulled out oranges and a bottle of sparkling wine. She’d seen the stews make these drinks countless times when she’d worked on yachts.

“Oh,” Oliver said, seeing the pile of fruit in her arms, “you’re really going for it, then?”

“Hell, yeah,” she shot back. “I’m not going to be the weakest link on this boat.”

Oliver turned the heat down on the eggs and found the juicer in a cabinet for her. After juicing the oranges she had enough to make maybe too many beautifully bright mimosas, which she carried as they made their way up the stairs to the upper deck where a dining table was set up so they could eat outside in the sunshine.

Molly shook her head when she saw the places had already been set. Oversize white chargers rested on pale blue mats and a squat glass of puffy blue hydrangeas sat in the middle of the long rectangular table, soft petals strewn delicately around it.

“Chief stew did this,” Oliver explained, and Molly blew out a relieved breath. She was already so much in his debt.

“It’s lovely,” she said. She’d grown up taking things apart so she could put them back together and mostly getting hella dirty while she was doing it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like flowers, too.

Oliver shrugged, not caring one way or another about the table setting. Molly dug into her eggs and then stared at Oliver in surprise. “No, really,” she said, already digging her fork back into the fluffy yellow pile on her plate, “best eggs I’ve ever tasted.”

Oliver snorted, but he was grinning. “I’m going to choose to believe you, but, Molly, I now feel personally responsible for your culinary education. What are you doing with your life? And why wasn’t that asshole ex cooking you breakfast ever? Have you not heard of brunch, for Christ’s sake?”

Molly knew he was kidding, but the words hit an unexpected soft spot. No, Max had never cooked her breakfast and maybe they’d gone out to brunch in the beginning but hadn’t for years. “I guess not,” she told him, keeping it vague. Oliver didn’t need to know the details of her relationship, nor was she particularly keen on sharing them on the first morning of the trip.

But Oliver, ever insightful, reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. It was a totally innocuous, friendly gesture, but Molly felt it in her toes along with genuine gratitude that he truly cared about her. Despite the years and the miles, Oliver was a good friend.

“Hey,” he said, getting her attention so she met his eyes, his green ones brilliant jade in the morning sun. “I didn’t mean it like that. Brunch is stupid and overrated anyway.”

Molly sent him a wan smile. “I know brunch is great, don’t deny it.”

“Only when I make it,” Oliver allowed, a corner of his mouth quirking up.

Giving his hand a squeeze of her own, Molly said, “I look forward to eating your brunch.”

“Eggs for days,” he promised, the heat of his hand literally burning her skin, but he didn’t let go. “But you can talk about it, you know, Molly. I know you’re still processing everything, but I’m here for you. I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t want you to be able to share what happened.”

Then he picked up their hands from the table and dropped a light kiss on the back of hers, and holy hell, her pulse rocketed through her body. He let go