Samir whistled low and shook his head. “You really do hate Christmas, don’t you.”
“I don’t hate Christmas!” Blowing out her breath, she nodded. “Okay, I will teach you how to make mincemeat pie. Next time you want to cook, please ask for help.” Before he could voice his victory, she put her hands up to stop him. “This does not mean that I’m embracing your Christmas spirit. I’m simply trying to keep you from making more work for me.”
That and she needed something to keep her mind off her family. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she pushed Samir aside and dumped his mixing bowl down the sink.
He’d already cored the apples. At least a third of the apples were crudely chopped away in his attempt to peel the fruit, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Good job,” she managed. “Why don’t you quarter these while we get the rest of the ingredients together?”
Grabbing the rest of the fruit ingredients, she measured them out and watched as he expertly twirled the knife. Surprised, she stared at him. He held the knife like it was a weapon and felt completely at ease. He’d obviously been trained to defend himself.
Or maybe even attack.
Her mouth dried. Just how dangerous was Samir Shadid?
Suddenly, she realized that he was butchering the apples. “Whoa!” she said suddenly. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his arm. He froze under her touch, and she felt the zing of electricity between them. Her body responded, and she snatched her hand away. “Sorry,” she whispered. “It’s fine. The fruit is going in the food processor anyway, but for future reference, quartering the apples just means large chunks.”
“Show me,” he commanded. She felt hypnotized under his glittering stare and nodded. Reaching out, she gently took his hands and manipulated them so his slices were easier and wider. The air grew heavy around them, and her heart slammed in her chest. It had been so long since she’d been this close to a man. The heat radiating from him, threatened to scorch her. When the apples were done, she dropped her arms to her side and stepped back. Clearing her throat, she gave him a faint smile.
“Just like that.”
“Just like that,” he repeated softly as he stepped toward her. Afraid that he was going to try to kiss her, she turned away and grabbed her bowl of ingredients.
“We’ll toss the apples in the food processor along with everything in the bowl. Raisins. Cherries. Figs. Beef suet. Brown sugar,” she announced a little too loudly. A small smile played on his lips, but he didn’t say anything.
“Now, we just need to add the spices and brandy, and we’ll mix everything together.” Straightening her spine, she tried to face him with courage. Just the sight of him sent liquid heat pooling between her legs, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. “Do you know the spices that we need?”
“Nutmeg, allspice, clove, and ginger,” he said in a low voice. “And a zest of orange juice. I can read a recipe, Poppy.”
“Reading a recipe is different than experience, Samir. It takes getting your hands dirty to understand the magic of cooking.”
Samir stepped closer and rested his hands around her waist. Trapped between him and the counter, she froze. “Poppy, I have no problems with getting my hands a little dirty. And I’m all for learning a little magic. A little sensuality.”
He let her go without trying to kiss her, and she couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated. Was he trying to drive her crazy?
“Measure out the spices. I’ll do the orange zest. You know, normally these ingredients are supposed to marinate for a few days before baking. I’m not sure how they’ll taste if we take the short-cut and bake it tonight.”
“So we won’t take a short-cut.”
With an orange in one hand and the grate in the other, she blinked and frowned. “Excuse me?”
“There should be no short-cuts at Christmas. Everything should be done properly. That way we can experience things as they should be experienced.”
Were they still talking about the mincemeat pie?
“What will we have for dinner?”
Samir shrugged. “We can order something in.”
“Are you kidding me?” Poppy asked incredulously. “There’s a foot of snow out there. You’re going to make some poor guy drive out in this because you don’t want to cook?”
He opened his mouth to argue before snapping it shut. “I never thought of it like that.”
“Obviously,” she grumbled. “We’ll make shepherd’s pie. It’s one of my favorites. You can put the ingredients for the crust away.”
She dumped in the rest of the ingredients and pulsed them in the processor before sealing it in a container and placing it in the fridge. Grabbing everything she needed for dinner, she shooed him away. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
With an amused expression, he leaned against the counter. “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. I find that I like watching you work.”
“Chauvinist,” she grumbled. “Maybe I don’t like being watched.”