Page 69 of Right With You
“Less important? Than donuts?” he asked, his tone sounding almost casual, though the way his fingers splayed out along my abdomen, the tips of his index and middle finger brushing along the top of my jeans, and his voice low and rich in my ear were anything but casual.
Dear sweet Nestlé, the man was melted chocolate itself. He was decadent and delicious and more tempting than, well, melted chocolate.
The thing was, I didn’t want to beconsumedby melted chocolate. And right now, with his perfectly trimmed stubble and his graveled voice and what I could swear was a more intense accented lilt to his words, I wanted to drown in him.
“Elise,mon ange?”
His prompt came low and sensuous, but the use of French, for once, didn’t lull me into a melty daze. It spurred me into action.
I fed the dry ingredients into the slow-moving mixer and explained. “Certainly less important than cake. Overmixing cake batter can ruin its ability to rise completely—it wipes out the leavening agent due to eliminating the—” I breathed out heavily as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck. “The air. And, uh, donuts vary, but since most of mine at Glazed are yeast donuts, they have that leavening power.”
And was I really going to keep talking about leavening agents while he was… doing what he was doing?
“Fascinating.”
Both of his hands explored me now—nothing more than a slow slide of his thumb arcing over the fabric of my shirt to the left of my navel, or the soft, almost ghosting of his palm along my forearm.
Never had I imagined this simple contact could set me on fire. He was a double boiler, and I was the unsuspecting chocolate chips helplessly losing shape against the heat of him. Or… something. I couldn’t describe it.
As soon as the dry ingredients were combined into the mixer, I turned, took his face in my hands, and pulled his lips to mine.
The press of our mouths was like lighter paper, one edge singeing and the burn racing to unravel the rest of the surface. One press, then he took over, his mouth as hungry for me as I was for him. But just as we got going, he pulled back, his fingers pinching my chin lightly to keep me in place.
I blinked, coming to the moment with surprise at the sudden halt and frustration. “Why?”
He knew the question. “Because. I shouldn’t be distracting you. And you—” His gaze flickered away, his jaw flexed, and then his eyes came back to meet mine. “You didn’t ask me to.”
A rough exhale preceded my next words. “I would think me kissing you supersedes you needing to be asked. It’s asking without words, isn’t it?”
Those eyes bore into mine, digging into me in the most delicious, intense way. My gaze fell to his lips again, and he dropped his forehead to mine.
“Oui. T’as raison. But I—I can’t think when you touch me, and?—”
I leaned back, shooting him all the skepticism fizzing through me.
“Youcan’t think whenItouchyou?” My laugh had never been more incredulous.
This man only smirked, though it wasn’t irritating. It was alluring.
Okay, so we’ve entered the phase of finding every darn thing he does attractive. Noted.
“I may have gotten carried away. But when my…” Something flickered over his face but disappeared before I could figure it out. “When I find you here making cookies you intend to share, am I supposed to keep my hands to myself?”
I burst out laughing. “I see how it is. It’s really the cookies.” I didn’t even feel bad he was essentially saying it wasn’tmewho had drawn him in, but the classic chocolate chip cookie ingredients.
“Exactly. Not at all you.”
But his eyes seared a path so laden with desire from my eyes to my lips, I reached up to touch my mouth as though it might’ve been burned, not merely kissed. Interest flared in his gaze yet again.
“So if it’d been Michele here, you would’ve done the same thing?” I asked, moving to the sink to wash my hands and give me space.
His low laugh sent a shiver through me. “Mais oui. Though maybe not exactly since I don’t think Aurelie would appreciate it. An abbreviated version, let’s say.Peut-être seulementa high five.”
I shook my head, surprisingly charmed by his refusal to tell me the truth. Normally, it would bother me, but what he said with his words directly contradicted everything else. It certainly contradicted this sense that he was holding himself by a very thin leash.
Where was this coming from? And why now, right as we were about to part ways?
He watched as I moved through the motions of adding the chocolate chips, then joined me as I scooped spoonsful of dough onto two pristine cookie sheets I’d found in his glorious kitchen.
