One of them still holds my wrist. Holy shit. Corbin grazes my forearm with his thumb, a slow and steady back and forth. Is it supposed to feel that good? That tingly?
My thoughts scatter when, with a smirk, Corbin adds, “What are you waiting for, Mabel? Try the cake.”
I quickly connect the dots. The only place to try the cake is…on his lips.
I’ve never been one to back down from a dare.
I don’t think too long about his challenge. I rise on the tiptoes of my sneakers and press my lips to his. A quick, firm, thank-you kiss, I tell myself. But it’s a lie because I don’t stop kissing him.
Corbin doesn’t stop either. As his lips brush mine, he lets go of my wrist, cupping my chin instead. He holds me in place, nice and firm.
He slides his thumb along my jawline in a slow caress. He takes his time, teasing me with his sweet, sugary mouth that tastes like what should have been a winning confection. His other hand roams up my arm, and suddenly my arm—my freaking arm—is aroused too.
His touch is so light, so tender, and so…good that I don’t feel like someone who got dumped for a reality show. Or someone whose ex just bitched about her on national TV. Or the silly baker who’s been failing to catch her dream for years.
Right now, I just feel…wanted, hot, and irresistible.
I rope my arms around his neck above the starched collar of his dress shirt, twining my fingers in his hair. I inch closer so I can press myself against him. The second our bodies touch, my brain forgets everything beyond that door.
He hums, a rough, inviting sound, then wraps an arm around my waist. Presses a firm hand to the small of my back. Tugs me flush against him. And…yes.
I kiss him back harder, trying to say things with this kiss. Like,Tonight would be a good time for you to strip me to nothing, the way I’ve imagined you doing.
He’s getting the message. His fingers dig into my ass, squeezing me tight, kneading me through my jeans. Yanking me closer.
I grind against him, and my brain pops. I should stop. Truly, I should. But my head swims with lusty thoughts. My body pulses. And Corbin hooks my right leg up around his waist.
Like he needs a better angle.
Time is running out, and yet this feels too good to quit. I push back against him, seeking friction. He bends his knees, and we’re fucking against the door with our clothes on.
My cells are buzzing. My legs are shaking. This is so utterly risky, making out in a trailer that’s not even mine, where anyone could walk in, but I just don’t care.
A loud knock echoes through the trailer and straight into my very bones.
We jerk apart, Corbin ripping away from me, backing up to the sink. I blink, then brush my hands down my stained apron. I reorient myself to the present, not the filthy future of my dirty dreams. Not the pulsing between my thighs. Not the fact that I wasthis closeto using my brother’s best friend to get myself off in a trailer.
What the hell is happening to me?
“Yes?” I croak out as Corbin smooths his shirt and adjusts himself from a safer distance.
“It’s Poppy, and it’s photo time,” says the cool, feminine voice of Ronnie’s assistant.
“Okay,” I say, sounding breathless and, I suppose, horny.
Well, I am.
But that’s not good. I need to get back out there to pose for the photo and maybe salvage something from this contest. I need to think about something, anything, other than what I just did in the trailer of the host of the cake contest.
Iama hot mess.
But at least my panties aren’t. Not entirely.
I try to clear the fog of lust by thinking about a recipe for something challenging to make…like a chocolate éclair.
Choux pastry is the lava pit of bakers, just waiting for you to misstep.
I review the first round of cooking the dough, but it’s hard to erase that kiss when Corbin’s gaze sweeps over me like he’s adjusting to a new reality too—one where he’s kissed me on an unspoken dare. He’s staring at me with a furrowed brow…and a hard-on that hasn’t deflated.
