“Coffee?”Luca asks, cutting in front of my view and nodding to the coffee machine.
“Always,” I respond, falling in sync with the gorgeous man dressed in a Christmas apron and looking fine as hell.
I could definitely get used to this.
When I’m finished with one of the best pastries I’ve had in my entire life—not exaggerating—I slip over to the counter and attempt to ease into my apron, but the straps twist awkwardly in my hands.
“Allow me,” Luca offers, stepping closer, his delicious scent happily invading my nose.He wraps the straps tightly around my waist, and then ties it around my neck, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.
Is that intentional?My heart does a little pitter patter.
We get to work, adding all the necessary ingredients to make a not-so-close-but-I-appreciate-the-attempt version of my mother’s famous Christmas cookies.When Luca’s back is turned, I add my mom’s secret ingredient.
“Just a little sprinkle of love,” I whisper to myself, adding an imaginary dash.
I know it sounds silly, but you can always tell when they’re made with love, which is probably another reason why I haven’t made them.I know they wouldn’t have turned out.I swear dough can feel vibes, and I haven’t been putting off good ones since I lost my mom.Making her favorite Christmas tradition without her didn’t feel right until this moment.Being here in Luca’s kitchen, pushing myself out of my boundaries and attempting to go with the flow feels right.I know my mom would agree.Plus, look at him in that apron.That sight alone would draw anyone back to the kitchen.
When it’s time to roll the dough, I nudge him with my hip, smacking the rolling pin from his hand.“I need to do this step.My mother always said, ‘Not too thin, not too thick.’”
I sprinkle a dusting of flour on my rolling pin, focusing intently as I roll out the dough, making it perfect.I lean in for a tree cookie cutter, feeling Luca’s eyes on me.“What?”I whisper.
“You have a bit of flour—” he reaches out, his thumb gently swiping my cheek.
“Oh,” I whisper, embarrassed, but eager for his touch.
“Got it,” he says, letting his magnetic blue eyes linger on mine.
My breath catches in my throat.
Luca leans in and softly says into my ear, “I’m so glad you ran into me.”
My skin tingles, practically vibrating.“Me too,” I say, biting my bottom lip.
“There is something about you—something different.It’s hard to describe.”
I twist my mouth.
“No, it’s a good thing.Like, I know we just met, but I can’t help but feel there’s something bringing us together.Like a connection—pushing us.I don’t know.”He shakes his head.“Maybe I’m crazy.”
“Maybe you’re not.”I bite my bottom lip, leaning into him, begging for him to take me.
Luca reaches around me, hooking his hand around my waist, closing the distance between us.
“But the cookies?—”
“Can wait,” he says, cutting me off with a sultry grin.
In one fluid motion, he lifts me effortlessly and places me onto the counter, positioning himself snugly between my thighs.
His eyes meet mine as if he’s staring straight into my soul.“You’ve captured me, Jemma Jones.I’ve never met anyone like you before.Gosh, how do you have me feeling like this?”
I playfully shrug my shoulders, batting my eyelashes.
“J’ai envie de toi,” he says, leaning in, his voice low and wanting, his breath hot on my skin.
My mind wanders to Colette as his hand travels along my inner thigh.
“Is this okay?”he asks.
