Taming Precious Sinclair by Sasha Combs

filled with passion. Images pinpointing parts of his body. Ways in which she desired to satisfy him. In the past, she hadn’t lent credence to the myths pertaining to feet and shoe sizes. In spite of that, she was certain of a few things. Hamilton’s feet were long and his hands were broad, strong and wide. On a few occasions, when she’d gone unnoticed. Precious had admired his body. Beneath the cover of lowered lashes, she’d studied the way he positioned his length; snaking it down his pant leg, nestled alongside his thigh. She reasoned, if his feet were this alluring; the other parts had to be nothing less than spectacular.
    While Precious admired the sensuousness of his manly plantar; Hamilton remained unaware, and he’d wordlessly focused on his kitchen duties. He gathered an assortment of foods to prepare their breakfast. As he did this, Hamilton’s mouth curled up, charming her with one of his sexy smiles. Then he laughed because he’d thought of something funny.
    “You know... When I brought you here, I just assumed that you wouldn’t mind my cooking.”
    He turned around, still smiling at her. While Hamilton’s gaze centered on her hazel eyes. She didn’t respond in kind because Precious was admiring his luscious lips. For the first time, she noticed something about his smile. Along the sides of his face, two small dimples creased his cheeks. In her head, she could clearly hear a lyrical admiration. Oh man, he looked so darn sexy to her. Now she dreaded that she’d stood, gawking at him through her bedroom window this morning. Seeing him in that context was fodder for her brain. She’d made a grave mistake, and now the price would be too much to pay.
    Precious had remained quiet, so Hamilton said...
    “I am a good cook, you know.”
    She forced a smile, while bobbing her head up and down, affirming that she believed him. Hamilton smirked, then he turned back to the stove, wielding fryers and butter. She imagined that he probably was a good cook. Each of his moves in the kitchen were purpose driven. He appeared at ease; much like he confidently conducted his business. As she watched him, Precious tried to downplay his offer to prepare their meal. Cracking eggs didn’t require a special talent and she had offered to help but Hamilton had refused. Still, if she had insisted, perhaps her hands and mind would be occupied with a chore of her own. Because with nothing left to do, her only other option was to watch him.
    Hamilton was humming some offbeat song and Precious wasn’t really listening. She was too busy studying his moves, his sways and his motions. With every twist of his wrist or turn of his perfectly toned arms; all she could see was Hamilton with that ax in his hand. She couldn’t stop her eyes from mentally undressing him and she imagined that this was how women felt who worked in male dominated environments. On display, like meat on a platter. She closed her eyes, choosing to leave, rather than have him find her gawking at him.
    “Hamilton, I’m a little tired. I’ll be in my room for a while.”
    He turned away from the stove, concerned for her wellbeing.
    “Can I get you something? Maybe a bottled water.”
    He was headed for the refrigerator but Precious stopped him when she said...
    “No... I’m not thirsty. Just, call me when breakfast is ready.”
    She needed time to clear her head. Time to wash the lascivious visions from her brain. She didn’t see his worried expression and she couldn’t chance, turning to look at him. Precious left the room, without hesitation.
    When Hamilton was alone in the kitchen, he heard the sizzling sound made by the heat warming the waiting skillet. Then he smelled the pungent odor of cast iron and burning butter.
    “Dammit!” He said aloud, while turning back to the stove. He moved the pan, then dialed down the burner. Hamilton stepped away from the stove, staring at the kitchens entrance. He questioned if he should go to her room, to see if