Page 32 of Bad Blood Wolf

“Then it better be able to make itself useful in the kitchen,” Jasmin said. “Because I’m about to make dinner for the crockpot, and those who do not help do not eat.”

Brody only wished he’d be able to stay for dinner, but he was supposed to meet his contact tonight. He wasn’t about to bring that up now, though. Not if she was going to let him stay.

“I can do that,” he said. “Just tell me what you need.”

“Brace yourself,” Xander advised. “Those who do help get yelled at a lot. Hope you’re not a sensitive little puppy.”

“I hope you can tell the difference between cubes and slices,” Jasmin said. “Unlike certain asshole panthers.”

Brody saluted. “Yes, Chef.” Her smile got a little bigger, even though she was trying to hide it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Xander said. “It’s like one of those evil chef shows on TV. You get abused no matter what you do.”

“Not scared,” Brody said. “I’m going to wow you with my knife-wielding prowess.”

There were snorts and snickers all around the kitchen.

“Sucker,” Sloan coughed behind his hand.

Jasmin handed Brody an onion, a cutting board, and a French chef knife. “I need this diced,” she said. “For those unaware of it, dice are cube-shaped.”

“I like the sexy Iron Chef thing you have going on,” he murmured.

She just gave him a sideways glance and said, “Impress me, Tornado.”

She turned away, but not before brushing her hand over his ass. Brody willed his dick to stay down, but it was a losing battle.

Jasmin started gathering ingredients and measuring things into bowls. She was just as beautiful doing that as she was fighting in a cage. She had a fluid economy of movement that just made him want to pull her on his lap and bite the side of her neck to feel her writhe…

“Hey!” Xander elbowed him in the ribs. “Better slap down that boner and get to work, or that knife will probably end up where the sun don’t shine.”

He leaned on the countertop at Brody’s elbow, giving him ‘the benefit of his knife-wielding experience,’ explaining the difference between chopping and mincing in excruciating and totally inaccurate detail.

Brody knew Jasmin was watching, even though she pretended to ignore him. Sloan was peeling potatoes and smirking.

Showtime.

Brody set the onion on the cutting board and the knife slipped effortlessly into his hand. He hadn’t cooked much lately, but…

With three strokes, he slashed the onion into four sections. Blade flashing at warp speed, he moved down the row until he had four piles of onion, each cut to a different size.

He pointed with the knife blade. “Sliced, diced, chopped, minced.” In one quick movement, he wrapped his left elbow around Xander’s neck and held the blade to his throat. “Dead.”

The whole room went still. Brody released Xander. “Any questions?”

Sloan turned to Jasmin, potato peeler poised. “I like him,” he said.

Jasmin was staring at him as if he were Thor defeating Loki in a superhero movie. She walked over, hooked her finger through the belt loop of his jeans, and whispered in his ear, “That was so hot.”

Brody melted.

“Dude,” Xander said. “That was amazing. You’re like, Jasmin’s perfect wife.” Jasmin head-smacked him again.

A deep voice came from behind them. “Who the fuck is that?”

Brody sighed.

“Hey, Dad!” Xander said. “It’s a puppy. It followed Jaz home. Can we keep it?”