I frown as he straightens to his full height. His long fingers move to his jacket button, unfastening it. Slowly. Methodically.
Still staring at me.
Oh.
My.
Panties.
They’d be wet if they weren’t already, you know, drenched from the rain.
Sure, Kal.Definitely just the rain.
“I promise you,” he says, voice like velvet, “no garlic has ever been present in this establishment. We’re completely garlic-free.”
He gestures toward a bench near the front door, perfectly positioned in full view of the counter.
“Have a seat over there, Daisy love, and I’ll have your pizza ready in twenty.”
I blink. “But you didn’t ask what I?—”
“I’ve got it, love,” he interrupts, cutting me off with a tone that leaves no room for argument.
My brain sort of short-circuits at the pet name, again, and I shift awkwardly.
Well.
All right then.
He slides out of his expensive jacket, custom tailored, if I had to guess, and folds it neatly on the counter before slowly rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, like he has all the time in the world. His fingers flex with the movement and I stare, transfixed.
His gaze is locked onto me as well with an intensity that chases the cold from the rain, his dark eyes drawing me into their depths. Now that his skin is uncovered I notice his muscled forearms are entirely covered in intricately detailed tattoos, though I can’t quite make out what they are from here. I squint like an idiot, trying to get a better look.
“Sit,” he barks, his tone firm and unyielding. Then adds, more softly, “You’ll love it. I swear.”
I startle and quickly scramble to sit, almost falling on my ass in my haste. Then quietly grumble under my breath at how fast I obeyed.
Bossy much?
It’s impossible not to watch as he pulls a ball of dough from the fridge and plops it onto the counter. With a casual flick of flour, he begins kneading it like he’s giving it a massage. His arm muscles flex and shift, hands moving with the kind of confidence that saysI’ve done this a thousand times.
Maybe he has.
Maybe his massaging skills don’t stop at dough.
His dark eyes stay focused on his work, his head tilted down, and there’s this one little strand of light-colored hair that falls over his forehead. It’s… unexpectedly adorable, especially compared to how composed the rest of him is. His hair is so light it borders on white, which should make him look older. But it doesn’t. Not until you catch the wisdom and intelligence sparkling in his eyes.
He flips the dough, tosses it in the air, catches it, and continues stretching it into the perfect circle.
All while wearing a white dress shirt.
And somehow not getting a single speck of flour on himself.
I’m mildly impressed. I’d be dusted like a sugar cookie by now.
“Have you been in the pizza industry long?” I blurt. “It looks like business is booming. Is it always this busy this late? You know, I live close by and I’ve never noticed this place before, but boy, am I glad I did tonight because?—”
I slam my mouth shut and growl at myself.Shut up, Kal.
