Spice by Seressia Glass

light spilled into the room during the day, emphasizing the openness without making it seem cold or sterile. Overall, the place was bright, warm, and comfortably sexy without trying, quite like its owner.
    Nadia returned a few minutes later, brimming with energy and smiles, her earlier uncertainty gone. He nodded at the stack of index cards in her hand. “What are those for?”
    â€œI thought I’d write down each of the sundry positions mentioned in chapter six,” she answered. She dropped the cards and a couple of pens on the breakfast bar before joining him in the kitchen. After a quick survey of his preparations so far she pulled out a package of metal skewers for the vegetables he’d cubed. “That way we can randomly choose one when we get together.”
    â€œGood idea.” He gestured toward the satchel he’d left over by the coffee table. “I have a couple of different copies of the book. Feel free to pick whichever version you want. Oh, and write down a few wild cards too.”
    â€œWild cards?”
    He began to thread the vegetables as she retrieved his bag. “If you draw a wild card, it means that person can choose whatever they want to do, from the book or otherwise.”
    A speculative gleam lit her gaze as she settled onto a barstool. “Whatever we want, huh?”
    â€œWithin reason. You may have some hard limits that will have you using your safe word.”
    She nodded as she mulled that over. “What about you? Do you have a safe word, or hard limits?”
    He brushed a balsamic marinade over the vegetable kebabs. “I’m not into blood play, so no needles or knives. As for a safe word, why don’t I use yours? That’ll make it easy for both of us.”
    â€œOkay.”
    He glanced at her as he turned on the gas to the grill attachment. The wickedness that danced in her eyes flipped his switch, making him hard again. “Do I even want to know the ideas spinning in your head?”
    She gave him a cheeky grin. “Probably not.”
    â€œConsidering our first date, I’ll just have to hope that you draw a wild card sooner rather than later.” He transferred the swordfish steaks to the grill. “I hope you don’t mind me making myself at home in your awesome kitchen.”
    â€œSurprisingly, no.” She flipped open the Burton translation, then drew the stack of cards closer. “But that’s probably because you screwed me into acceptance. Though I must say, I think having a man who’s not my father cook me dinner is very sexy.”
    â€œNoted. I look forward to impressing and arousing you with my culinary skills.”
    â€œGo easy on me,” she said, laughing as she began to make notations. “Thanks to you, I’ve gone from zero to two hundred in the sex department. Not that I’m complaining, but I still need to be able to function. I do have a café to run, you know.”
    He did know, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t have a negative impact on her and her schedule. “What are your hours at the café? I’m assuming your day starts really early.”
    â€œIt does,” she answered with a nod. “We open at seven. I’m usually downstairs by four to start the breakfast pastries that I prep the afternoon before. I have an assistant who comes in about an hour after I do. After the breakfast goods we bake our designer cupcakes and pastries and whatever breads Siobhan needs for her lunch menu. Since we’re in the business district, our business dies off at two, and we close by three. We do a limited menu on Saturdays with breakfast items from nine to eleven and lunch from eleven to one. Sunday is my sleep late day since we’re closed, though for me that’s usually somewhere around seven, and I’m usually doing planning and prep work for the start of the week.”
    He filed away the information. “What made you decide on a bakery and