“Uh-huh, well, let Holly show you how it's done,” I said, and started creaming the butter and sugar in the stand mixer.
“You don't need a recipe?” Owen asked. He was standing right behind me, his breath slightly cool on my neck.
“Please. I could make these cookies in my sleep.” I snorted, measuring out the flour. I had Owen crack an egg in a bowl and whisk it up with the vanilla. Then I mixed it in with the dry ingredients.
“Perfect!” I said, taking a pinch of cookie dough and eating it.
“That has raw eggs in it,” Owen protested.
“It's from farm-raised, free-range chickens,” I countered. I took another pinch and held it out to him.
“Eat it!”
Owen grabbed my hand and carefully licked the dough off. The feel of his tongue on my fingertips kicked off a rousing round of Christmas carols in my hoo-ha.
“Is it tasty?” I squeaked.
“Very good,” he said against my hand. He pressed his lips to my fingertips then released me.
“So I'll just put this in the fridge. It needs to cool down.”
And so do I!
Wait, what was I thinking, trying to bang one ofThe Great Christmas Bake-Offjudges? I was about to default on my student loans. The storage unit with all my grandmother’s beloved Christmas decorations was about to be auctioned off because I couldn't pay the bill. And here I was jeopardizing my only shot to fix everything.
But Owen looked so delicious standing there, and I had never been the most rational person. Exhibit A being quitting my job and starting that ill-advised baking subscription box company.
“So what do we do to pass the time while we wait?” The look on Owen's face said he had one and only one idea in mind.
“Buttercream frosting,” I practically shouted and dumped the ingredients on the counter.
“Because you want some frosting on your cookies?” Owen said, slow smile spreading on his face.
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds dirty. Christmas cookies are supposed to be wholesome,” I said, measuring out powdered sugar.
“Are they?” he said in his deep voice. “Because there's that whole naughty-nice dichotomy with Christmas.”
“I've been very nice this year,” I said primly. “And I expect Santa to bring me a very nice Christmas package all wrapped up in a bow.”
“I'm sure I can put a bow on my package if that's all it takes to convince you to put your hands on it.”
I switched on the electric mixer, hoping it would drown out the slight moan that escaped my lips when I thought about Owen's Christmas package.
When the frosting was done, I slowly licked a spoonful of it. Owen followed the motion with his eyes.
“It's very tasty buttercream,” I told him. “I would lick it off of literally anything.”
30
Owen
“If you want my tongue on your whole body, then you can cover yourself in frosting,” Holly added, scooping up another dollop of frosting and sticking her finger in her mouth.
Erotic was the only word for it. Before I knew what was happening, I had taken two steps across the kitchen and grabbed her hips, my hands pressing against her, feeling the softness of her curves through the skirt. Holly arched up against me in surprise, her chest heaving in the laced-up bodice.
She blinked up at me. My hands drifted up the curve of her back, one hand tangling in the tousled brown curls, the other cupping her face.
“I think the cookie dough is cold enough now,” Holly said slightly breathlessly. “I should start rolling it out. Otherwise we'll be here all night.”
