I look up, lifting a brow. “I made a big deal because you eat them daily, and I need them later. There’s an egg wash.”
“An egg wash?”
“Yes. It’s exactly what it sounds like. Don’t look at me like I’m the weird one.” I giggle. “You really don’t know a thing about baking, do you?”
“I know enough to help you mix that up.” He tries to move me aside, reaching for the bowl and nudging me with his hip. Unlike last time he tried to help, I don’t let him.
“I’ve got it.” I laugh and nudge him with my hip, playfully pushing him out of my space. “You’ll probably mess something up. You don’t even know what an egg wash is.”
“Then teach me. C’mon.”
“Why don’t you focus on your soup? Hm?” My hand seems to move without permission, reaching up to swipe flour on his nose.
The moment I realize what I’ve done, my cheeks blaze. My chest rises and falls erratically with each breath I take. His gaze softens. Our eyes never drift.
“You’re kind of a control freak in the kitchen,” he murmurs; soft, teasing words. He shouldn’t speak to me like that. I shouldn’t like it.
“I’m a control freak everywhere. I thought you would understand that by now.”
“Everywhere? You sure about that?”
The prodding comment carries more weight than it should. Why do I have a feeling we’re not talking about cooking anymore?
I swallow past the dry feeling in my throat, and my lips part. “Well… almost everywhere.”
What I want is to lose control with him. I’ve held myself back since we met, and certainly since he offered me the job. It’s harder to keep myself in check in this cottage, with no one but the mountains to witness us break the rules.
I must. Everything is going exactly as planned. I’ve only been working for him for a few weeks, but I’ve already saved up enough for a month of rent…
Just keep going. Don’t get distracted. Don’t lethimdistract you.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m already distracted. His dark eyes penetrate me, and I’m moving forward without thinking about it—like he’s pulling me in. He isn’t. He never does, always standing too far, always setting up walls between us.
The wall is gone now.
“What is the exception to your need for control?” he asks. “When will you let go?”
We both know it’s a dangerous question.
My lips curl up at the corners, and I fix him with a playful smile. “I think you know the answer. Use your imagination.”
“Evie…” He leans in, and finally, I know he’s searching for me, too.
No more patience. No more waiting. No more perfection.
My arms fling around his neck, and his hands find my waist. Our lips crash together; any sense of control melts away as I finally breathe him in. He lifts me easily, setting me on the countertop—a mess of flour and discarded vegetable skins. For once, I don’t care about cleaning.
I moan into his mouth, my lips parting, silently asking for more.
He gives it to me—gives in to me—his tongue shoving into my mouth. My hunger for him has been asleep, but it awakens, becoming ravenous. I claw at his shirt, my fingers slipping under the fabric. I trail my nails along his abdomen, and he clenches under the gentle scrapes.
He presses his hips between my thighs, and I jolt back to reality. There it is—proof he wants me how I want him. He’s hard, throbbing between my thighs. I wrap my legs around his waist and draw him in closer. A low, needy groan emits from his lips.
“Wait…” He pulls away, staring up at the ceiling. “I need a second.”
The dream we’ve been living in for a few moments crashes around me, slamming me back to reality. Left without his touch, I’m cold.
“Theo—”
