“It’s really good. But like I said, you don’t have to prove?—”
He presses a finger to my lips, and I shut up, my thoughts immediately spiraling in far different directions. I’m imagining the pad of his finger brushing farther over my lips, a tease, a soft kiss that tastes like sugar.
“I do, Mabel. And I will.” He doesn’t move his finger from my mouth. Just leans in closer and keeps going. “You do this for a living. You’ve built a business from the ground up. You have reviews online for your cookies and cakes.” He somehow manages to make those two words sound vaguely dirty. Or maybe it’s that he says them while looking at me with flames flickering in his green eyes. “I’m going to show you what I can do and bake for you right now.”
I part my lips to protest, but there’s no point. And really, I’m not sure I’m wired to say,Don’t bake for meto a man who clearly stayed up late baking all sorts of goodies to prove he knows his way around a whisk and a spatula.
“Bake for me, Corbin.”
I don’t bother to make apologies for my tiny kitchen and my tiny stove and my tiny apartment. This is the obstacle course he’ll have to complete. He retrieves ingredients from the bag he brought with him. Baking soda, flour, chocolate chips, brown sugar, butter that looks like it’s already soft.
Mmm. This man knows what he’s doing. “Can I preheat your oven?” he asks.
I stifle a laugh, then say with a straight face, “I think you already have.”
He freezes, then turns around slowly, eyes flashing with mirth and innuendo too. “Good to know, Mabel.”
After he sets the temperature to 375º, he gets to work mixing ingredients, then stops and winces. “I forgot the salt.”
“Cabinet to the right of the stove,” I say, but of course I’m standing in front of that cabinet. “I’ll grab?—”
Before I can pivot to open the cupboard, he reaches past me. “I’ve got it,” he says, in a husky voice that’s dripping with restraint.
As he stretches an arm over my shoulder, I catch the scent of him again. Campfire, and a fresh lake, but now mixed with flour and the sweet smell of brown sugar. Yep, this kitchenistoo small. That’s my only explanation for why I steal a whiff of him. I want both for him to find the salt quickly and never find it at all.
As he roots around the cabinet, his chest is almost,almosttouching mine. I clench my fists at my sides so I don’t impulsively grab his apron and jerk him against me. Demand another kiss. Grind against his hard-on. Is he hard?
Don’t look.
With him this close, my head is swimming with longing for a man who wants to bake for me. Who wants to prove his prowess in the kitchen. Who wants to show me what he can do with…cookies.
Has anything been sexier? Nope. It’s so hot that a soft gasp escapes my lips unbidden.
But not…unheard.
Corbin lowers his gaze, eyes locking with mine. “Your hair looks good with and without frosting in it.”
“Thanks,” I say, reaching up to touch my messy bun.
His eyes track my hand as I lift it. As I touch. As I lower it.
“Really good. The color…”
But he doesn’t finish the thought. I want to ask,What about the color?but I’m already achy all over just being near him.
I can’t rub up against my potential new business partner. I’ve got too much at stake to risk ruining it with romance. One year to make this business work, and if I start hitting on him, hot-mess me would inevitably fuck it up.
When he grabs the salt at last, I clear the fog of lust from my head. “I already know what you have in the abs department. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got in the chocolate chip cookie division?”
“I think you’ll be pleased,” he says, and the sparkle in his eyes tells me what’s coming next, “with both.”
I slip away from him, even as I dream of him fucking me while the cookies heat to 375º—the same temperature as me.
Thirty minutes later, he offers me a warm, gooey cookie. It melts on my tongue and makes me moan. “Oh my god, that’s good. That’s so good. That’s incredible.”
Pretty sure I sound like I’m coming. Pretty sure the cookie makes me feel like I am.
“Ten out of ten?” he asks.
