Stirring Up Trouble (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t hear a word I said, did you? I saw the bored glaze over your eyes as I educated you on the fascinating history of baklava . I had to get your attention somehow.” He grabbed a couple of plastic bowls and measuring cups from the shelf above the counter and slid the food processor down the counter.
    Bored? Not even close. “Desserts have a history?”
    “Of course. Like music, food tells a story.” He dumped the walnuts into the food processor and turned on the power. The blades whirred and pulsed loudly, grinding the nuts into smaller pieces. He spoke above the noise, “You only have to open your mind to the experience. For example, baklava . Greeks and Arabs both claimed to have created the first baklava , but in reality, it was the Assyrians in the eighth century B.C.”
    “That’s an . . .” she shouted until he turned off the food processor, then returned to normal volume, “. . . old dessert.”
    He added cinnamon and sugar to the nuts, but didn’t bother using measuring spoons. “Yes. The Greeks can take credit for inventing the thin, crisp phyllo dough. Before that, they used a thick Assyrian bread in the recipe. As merchants traveled the seas, baklava spread throughout the world and each region added their own touch, including the type of nuts they used.” He brushed melted butter to the bottom of a large pan and added layer after layer of phyllo, brushing each with butter then sprinkling the walnut mixture over it before adding more phyllo and sprinkling more walnuts. She lost count of how many layers of phyllo he used after he repeated the process a couple more times. When he’d run out of ingredients, he popped it in the oven.
    Now she knew why he always smelled sweet. The baking he did at home lingered on his skin. She watched his hands as they moved effortlessly and mindlessly, mixing and sprinkling in a sensual and seductive rhythm which sparked a flame in her chest. She’d swear if she looked down, she’d see her heart pounding against her flesh.
    She drew a ragged breath through her mouth and walked toward the refrigerator. “Hmm. I didn’t know there was such a variety of nuts . . . in baklava . Different strokes for different folks, I guess.” She opened the fridge, relieved to feel the cool air, and bent for a bottle of water.
    “Most Americans use pistachios,” Braden said from right behind her, his voice tight and low. “Authentic Greek baklava calls solely for walnuts. Do you know why?”
    “Because they’re yummier and easier to crack? Or because they’re large and meaty?” she quipped, still bent.
    In this position, her ass was awfully close to his . . . nuts. The cool air turned hot and she twisted the cap of the water bottle. She took a long swig of the cold liquid, hoping it would ease the sexual burn heading south from her chest. Didn’t work. She needed a few minutes in the freezer. But first, she’d have to escape from the fridge.
    She spun around and straightened, spilling a bit of water on her chest. That didn’t help either because now she was caged in by Braden, who had his hands on both sides of the appliance.
    His eyes tracked the trickle of liquid running between her breasts. “And they have aphrodisiac powers.”
    “No way. I don’t believe that,” she tried to say convincingly, but hell, she hadn’t even eaten one and the nuts were already working their magic.
    He leaned in close. His gaze lifted from her breasts to her mouth and his eyes turned as dark as the churning sea she’d dreamed about last night. She moistened her lips and his head moved closer and closer. Her lids fluttered shut.
    Then nothing.
    She opened her eyes to see Braden had bent down and stuck his head in the fridge to her right. She wanted to slam the door on him. Instead, she bit her tongue and tried to remember he was a shameless flirt. His teasing meant nothing and it never did.
    That’s why she preferred to date Jon. He was responsible, stable, and yeah, a bit boring most