“Sure. I want to help.”
The butterflies in her belly did a series of somersaults. Or maybe those were her Shadows? She didn’t know, but she liked it either way.
She found him an apron and set him to work making cheese scones, an easy enough recipe and guaranteed to be delicious.
They worked well together, settling into an easy banter. Zach didn’t smile much. The furrows on his forehead seemed to have been engraved long before he came to find her, but he was interesting and intelligent, and clearly cared a great deal for his friends. And when he relaxed, little snippets of dry humor started to emerge, almost as if by accident.
Zach scowled as he focused on cutting the scones out with the careful diligence of a surgeon and she couldn’t help chuckling. She grabbed another cutter and helped him finish, then slid the scones onto the prepared tray before sprinkling them with extra grated cheese.
“Would you like some coffee?” Emma asked as she set the scones aside, ready for the oven.
“God, yes.” He stretched up, easing his back after hunching over, and his shirt rode high, revealing smooth, tanned skin.
He was so close. It would be so easy to reach out her hand and touch him on that exposed flesh. She could almost feel the heat against her fingertips. What would that be like, to touch him whenever she wanted?
She didn’t know if she could. She didn’t know if sheshould. Everything still felt so unsettled. And she hadn’t touched him intentionally yet. He had initiated every contact between them so far. But, damn, it called to her, that glimpse of skin and muscle. And she ached to put her hands on him.
Zach lowered his arms slowly, watching her, his eyes darkening. He must have seen the look on her face because he stepped closer, and then closer again.
He lowered his face until his lips were almost brushing hers. “Do it.”
“Do what?” she whispered.
“Whatever you were thinking.”
God. She had spent years learning not to touch. More than a decade of keeping her hands to herself. But he was so close, and he smelled of heat and soap and skin. And he was Zach. Every single one of her senses was attuned to him, drawing her toward him.
The air stilled, almost as if a storm was about to break. He didn’t step closer and he didn’t step back. He waited, watching her with complete attention. “Touch me, Emma,” he said in a low voice. “I want you to.”
He was the first person who had ever seen all of her—down to the most broken, fragile parts of her—and he wanted her to touch him.
She’d been wanting to touch him for days. It was impossible to resist. She slid her fingers under his shirt and rested them on the heat of his abdomen. Skin to skin. His muscles bunched, rippling where she touched him, sending licks of fire over her hands, up her arms, and into her belly.
Her breath caught as she slid her hands higher, beneath his shirt, through the rough hair on his chest, and over the hard tips of his nipples. She wanted to touch him everywhere. To strip him out of the shirt that was in her way and run her tongue over the path her hands had taken.
Zach’s breathing deepened beside her ear, but he didn’t move. He stood still and let her touch him.
Sparks of awareness traveled through her, igniting a deep well of need for contact. She could almost imagine their Shadows reaching out, swirling around them. Emma ran her hands back down, following the V of muscle all the way to the top button of his jeans. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, and Zach groaned. And then he moved. He pulled her hands away and threaded his fingers through hers. “Do you want to do that here? Standing in the middle of your kitchen. Because we can… but I want you to be sure.”
God. She did. She really did. But she also didn’t. Not when her staff could arrive at any moment. Not when she was still coming to terms with everything he’d confessed.
Zach huffed out a strained laugh as if he knew everything she hadn’t said. As if he felt the same. His grip on her fingers tightened as he lowered his head and took her mouth instead.
He kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough. As if she was melted chocolate over caramel ice-cream. As if he would starve if he didn’t get one more taste. It was a sensory overload. His skin, his hands, his heat, and his mouth surrounded her.
When they finally broke apart, their breaths were unsteady, their hands still locked together, and Emma was seriously considering closing the bakery for the day.
She took in a deep breath and tried to clear her head.
Zach grinned at her. It was the first time she’d seen him with no lines down his forehead, and she couldn’t help grinning back.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and then he stepped back, giving her space. “What’s next, boss?”
The butterflies settled slowly, coming back under control, but the sense of rightness, of joy, hope, and connection stayed.
“Now,” she replied, “we bake a cake.”
Not just any cake. An epic novelty cake for a teenager who wanted to be a marine biologist. The rich chocolate sponges were already carved, stacked, and covered in ganache. Next, they needed to make the shells and sea creatures from modeling chocolate and get ready to flood it all. It was going to be an island cake. And it was going to be awesome.
