Page 51 of Not Your Average Vixen
He raised an eyebrow. “We?”
“Um, yeah! You know, doing maid of honor and best man duties,” she answered, rocketing around the kitchen like a petite baking ninja.
He popped the last bite of the sandwich into his mouth. “I tried to exercise my best man duties. I sent strippers, but your sister didn’t seem to like that.”
“Neither did your best friend,” she shot back, now operating a giant mixer.
She was like the Energizer Bunny of bakers.
“Don’t you need a recipe?” he asked as the distinct scent of peanut butter filled the room.
She tapped her head, and he couldn’t help but notice the strands of dark hair that had broken free of her bun and brushed past her chin.
“It’s all in here, Scooter. Don’t you worry,” she offered, piling on a nice helping of condescension.
This woman!
“What are you making?” he inquired, maintaining a neutral demeanor as the memories came flooding back.
“Weare baking peanut butter blossoms, andyouneed to unwrap all the chocolate kisses. Wash your hands, then get started. The bag is on the counter,” she instructed, then gestured with her chin to the bag containing a hell of a lot of the foil-wrapped Hershey’s chocolate kisses.
He eyed the bag. “Are these the peanut butter cookies where you have to plop the kiss on top right after they’re done baking?”
She glanced up from making the dough balls and smiled at him—a real smile this time. Baking clearly made her more amenable.
“Yes, they are. They were a Christmas staple at my grandmother’s house. Have you made them before?”
Had he made them before?
That would be a yes.
Crammed into Janine’s cozy kitchen, the day before his mother fired his favorite nanny, he’d helped Janine’s sons unwrap the tiny chocolate treats. ‘Open five kisses, and then you can eat one,’ she’d said as he sat at the table, legs dangling, with the boys. And for the entire afternoon, he’d felt normal, like he was a part of something real.
“Yeah, I made them with Janine,” he said over his shoulder as he turned on the sink to wash his hands.
“You call your mom Janine? That’s a little bizarre,” Bridget remarked with a thread of humor.
“Janine isn’t my mother. She was my nanny. Well, one of many nannies,” he answered, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“Many, huh?” she echoed, focused on her work.
He steadied himself. He sure as hell wasn’t about to pour his heart out to Birdie Dasher and share his sad, lonely tale of his parents not giving a damn about him.
He needed to change the subject.
“Are you a lawyer, like your sister? Is baking your hobby? Is this how you de-stress, or do you prefer picking up strangers in hotel bars?” he pressed, throwing in a healthy dose of jackass as he unwrapped the chocolates.
And he was slightly curious. He didn’t know a damn real-life thing about her.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true.
To be fair, he did know a few things. Number one: she and her sister were a serious threat to his happiness. But he also knew other things, intimate things—like the way she bit her lip and released the sexiest of breathy moans before he made her come. And how, when she entwined her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, he damn near forgot his name. Just the thought already had him rock-hard.
He had to stop thinking of her like that!
He glanced at her and noticed a muscle tic on her cheek as she formed tiny balls of dough between her hands, then placed them delicately across a giant baking sheet.
“No, I didn’t go to college. I’ve worked in bakeries since I was eighteen,” she answered without taking her eyes off the task.
