"Why?" She shakes the can, the sound far too erotic for early morning. "You scared I won't leave any for you."
I wrinkle my nose. "Whipped cream doesn't belong on pancakes."
She gapes at me. "Take that back."
"I can't. It belongs on a few things," I claim.
She arches her eyebrow. "Which things?" She adds a heap on her pancakes.
I gesture down at the obvious tent in my sweats.
She slowly follows my gaze. Then she smirks. "What's that about, dear hubby?"
I lean closer, drag my knuckles down her arm, and grin. "It's about you doing whatever the hell you want and me dealing with the consequences."
She lifts the can of whipped cream and gives it a single shake. She threatens, "You really want to test me, O'Malley?"
"Be careful, Minx," I warn.
She beams with defiance. "I'm always careful." She presses the nozzle and leaves a cold strip of whipped cream across my forearm.
I blink at it.
She covers her mouth to hide a laugh and fails miserably.
"Really?" I ask.
"It looks good on you," she sings.
I close the space between us. She backs up a step, and I snatch the can from her hand.
She gasps. "Don't?—"
I spray a perfect dollop onto the center of her collarbone.
She freezes, glances at it, then bursts out laughing.
I taunt, "Keep laughing, Minx. I haven't even started."
She lunges for the can. I hold it above her head. She jumps, and my shirt shifts up her hips.
"Give it back!" she demands, stretching on her toes.
"Try harder."
Her hands slide up my torso, and her body presses into mine. Her breath hits my throat.
Chuckling, I give in to a moment of weakness and relax an inch.
She snatches the can out of my hand like a thief. She shakes it.
I reach for her wrist, but she's quicker than I am. She sprays a line down the center of my chest.
"Shit, that's cold!" I blurt out.
Her laugh echoes in the kitchen. "Nowyoulook ridiculous."
"Funny," I growl, stepping forward and grabbing the can.
