“It’s just cookies.” I move toward the pantry, checking what ingredients Adrian has. “Nothing complicated. And it might be nice to pretend we’re normal for an hour.”
Adrian looks skeptical, his jaw clenching in that way that means he’s fighting himself. “I don’t bake.”
“You will today.” I pull out flour, sugar, butter. “Come on. When’s the last time any of you did something just for fun?”
Marcus is already rolling up his sleeves, revealing more of those tattooed saints and sinners inked into his olive skin. “I’m in. What do you need?”
“Enthusiasm and patience.” I set the ingredients on the counter then turn to face them. All three are watching me with an intensity that has nothing to do with baking. “And you have to follow my instructions exactly.”
“We’re good at following instructions,” Elijah murmurs, his French accent thickening slightly. The way he says it makes heat pool low in my belly.
Adrian finally moves from his position by the counter, and suddenly the small kitchen feels even smaller with all four of us crowded into it.
His body radiates heat as he stands beside me, close enough that I can smell his soap mixed with something uniquely him.
“What first?” His voice is carefully controlled, but I hear the strain beneath it.
I hand him the mixing bowl and wooden spoon. “First, we cream the butter and sugar together. It takes patience and the right technique.”
I demonstrate, my hands working the spoon in practiced circles.
Adrian watches with those storm-cloud eyes, tracking every movement of my fingers.
When I hand him the spoon, his hands cover mine, and electricity shoots up my arms at the contact.
“Like this?” His body presses against my back as he follows my movements, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of every point where we touch.
The solid warmth of his chest. The way his hips align with mine. The rapid hammer of his heart that I can feel through the thin fabric of his undershirt.
“Exactly like that.” My voice comes out breathier than I intend.
Marcus moves to my other side, ostensibly to watch the technique, but his tattooed arm brushes mine as he leans in. “Looks easy enough.”
“It’s all about the rhythm.” I try to focus on the task, but Adrian’s hands are still covering mine, guiding the spoon, and Marcus is close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck. “You have to be gentle but firm.”
Elijah laughs from where he’s measuring flour, the sound low and knowing. “I think we can manage that.”
The double meaning makes all of us pause. The air in the kitchen shifts, becomes charged with something dangerous and inevitable.
Adrian’s hands tighten on mine, and I feel his body go rigid against my back. Marcus’s fingers find my hip, just resting there, possessive.
“Chocolate chips,” I say, trying to break the tension before we combust. “Someone needs to measure them.”
Elijah brings the bag over, but instead of measuring, he pops one into his mouth.
Then another.
His crystalline blue eyes hold mine as his tongue catches a smear of chocolate from his thumb, the gesture obscene despite its innocence.
“You’re supposed to put them in the dough,” I manage.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He moves closer, and now I’m surrounded by all three of them in this tiny kitchen. “Here, try one.”
He holds a chocolate chip to my lips, and I open my mouth without thinking.
His finger brushes my lower lip as I take it, lingering just a moment too long.
The chocolate melts on my tongue, but all I can taste is the salt of his skin.
