I silently hold out the box; he takes it with a brush of his fingers over mine, sending a shiver across my skin.
The immediate reaction to his slightest touch exasperates me. He turned away from me last night, shut the door in my face—andnowhe’s brushing his fingers over mine? It makesme want to chuck the box ofkanelbullarinto his chest instead of letting him make my body react like this. But it would be only slightly more effective than hitting him with a tea bag.
“Lou told me you’re going out with Austin again.” Hunter’s words are clipped. His eyes are on mine, disconcerting in their intensity.
My stomach clenches.That’swhat she got out of our conversation last night? “She did?” I hedge.
“I have to say I’m a little surprised.”
“Well, he’s my friend’s boss and—”
“That’s a terrible reason to go out with somebody.” Hunter’s shoulders tense beneath his button-down shirt. It’s rolled up to his elbows and open at the throat today, exposing those strong, tanned forearms. It’s incredibly unfair that he looks so freaking good while I’m covered in flour and cinnamon, wearing a T-shirt that saysOur Buns Bring All the Swedes to the Yardwith our logo above it, an apron, and jeans.
“And what would be agoodreason?” I jab back. “I don’t think you have any right to lecture me on who I should or shouldn’t go out with.”
“Isthis a lecture? I thought I was merely making conversation.”
“That look on your face says it all.”
“Oh, now I have alook?”
Somehow, we’ve both taken a step closer, our gazes locked. “You know you do.”
His cologne is intoxicating—as are the green flecks in his eyes. His long fingers tighten around the box he holds. The traitorous part of my brain wants to have those hands holdme.
He has too many unjust advantages. It makes me want to punch something.
“Why do you care if I go out with Austin again?” I seethe.
“Why would youwantto go out with him again?” he shoots right back.
My chest is rising and falling hard; we’re close enough that I can see the brushing of freckles across his nose. I’m flushed and breathless but in a way entirely different from when I was sick a few days ago—when Hunter dropped everything to take care of me.
And admitted the secret torment he combats every minute of every day.
My stiffened spine softens. “Hunter ... why do you care if I go out with him again?” I repeat more quietly.
His gaze is unwavering. He’s silent for so long I think he’s going to ignore me. Then, quiet and husky, he says, “You know why.”
Every nerve in my body is attuned to his—to the subtle shift of his stance that brings him close enough that when I inhale sharply, our shirts brush. My veins feel as though they’ve filled with fire. His free hand moves at his side, the edges of his fingers slide along mine. I can barely draw breath. There’s no way he’s unaware of the effect he has on me. But I can’t bring myself to care.
He lifts his hand, it hangs in the air near my face for a moment, and then he hesitantly brushes my forehead, his touch featherlight, and yet I feel it in every nerve in my body. He murmurs, “There’s flour ...”
Sparks ignite where Hunter’s fingers linger on the skin of my temple and race straight to the depths of my body. He’s so close his warm, minty breath caresses my lips. His gaze drops to my mouth, and everything in me goes taut.
His fingers trail down my face until his thumb grazes my lips. His eyes return to mine. The fire in his gaze stealsthe breath from my lungs. Almost involuntarily, my mouth parts beneath his touch. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat and—
The sound of a pan banging in the kitchen fractures the haze. We spring apart as if we are caught doing something wrong. In a repeat performance of last night, Hunter’s face shutters as he retreats to the other side of the bakery. Cool air—and reason—swoop back into the sudden space between us.
What wasthat?
“I should get back to the office.” Hunter won’t meet my eyes.
I rush back behind the safety of the counter on unsteady legs. I hope he doesn’t notice the way my fingers tremble as I ring up his purchase. My heart thumps unevenly in my chest. My skin is still aching for his touch. My lips burn for a kiss thatdidn’t evenhappen.
Hunter slides me the corporate credit card, and I silently run it. He signs the receipt, picks up the baked goods ... but doesn’t turn to go.
When the silence stretches to the breaking point, making my hands slick with nervous sweat, I finally look up and find his eyes on me.
