Then my mind shifts.
What does never mean? He never invites women to cook with him?
Why me?
Why now?
What’s this pull between us?
I certainly didn’t start a month-long adventure to fall for the first guy I bump into naked?
Fall for?
We’ve known each other for a day. There’s no way I’ve fallen for him.
Cash glances at me. It’s quick. Just a catch as he moves his head, but his eyes find mine. And the moment doesn’t feel quick because no one has ever looked at me the way he does in that second.
No one.
And I’ve never felt the way I do in this second.
Panic and uncertainty arise.
What is this feeling?
Lust?
Love?
Foolishness?
I’m on my feet before I can think, and I’m down the hallway and in my room as fast as I can.
Cash Can Cook.
I flop into one of the cozy chairs with my cell and open my social media.
“Cash. Can. Cook.” I say each word as I type it in.
There he is.
The naked cook.
The naked baker.
Never-ending reels of him making love to the ingredients. Not literally, but damn, if he touched a woman the way he touches the food.
I shouldn’t scroll.
I do.
I should stop three reels in.
I don’t.
How can I tear away from forearms flexing, flour-dusting muscles? An apron hangs low on his hips, but he’s naked underneath. Glimpses show no pants—no briefs.
The pan sizzled when the bacon hit the heat.
