Page 62 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

I reach out to peel off a corner.

She doesn't even look before she slaps my hand away, a flat-palmed smack across the knuckles I feel in my soul.

"Hey! I helped with your dishes!" I pout.

"And I appreciate it. But this isn't for taste-testing."

"One tiny taste. Please!" I beg.

She shakes her head, hand ready in karate-chop position over the loaf. "No."

"What about after you slice it — one sliver, no one will ever know."

"Marcus!"

"I'm wasting away over here, Lexi-Lou!"

She puts her hands on her hips, staring me down. "You had a giant serving of lasagne an hour ago. I washed the container before I washed the other dishes."

I put my hands up. Actual surrender. "Fine. But I want my own loaf sometime. For being such a good dishwasher."

She huffs and turns to check the oven, bending over as I reach for the tea towel, and I end up closer than either of us planned, her hip brushing my front.

Fuck.

She smells like cardamom and brown sugar and butter, and she feels even better. I step back, hands in my pockets, as she clears her throat and fusses with the oven like nothing happened, even though her hitched breath says otherwise.

I’m instantly fucking hard. It’s bad enough trying not to have my body responding to the mere sight of her in my house, but now the feel of her? I’m a mess.

To distract her, I reach for the bowl of frosting on the sideboard.

"Marcus!" She lunges for it.

I hadn't thought this through. I'm holding the bowl over my head, and she reaches across my body to grab it — her whole body pressed against mine.

Her hair flies out of its bun, her shampoo washing over me as my face nearly buries itself in the crook of her neck. I get drunk on a single long inhale of her.

And there’s no way she doesn’t know her affect on my body, on my cock, right now.

"Give me the bowl, Marcus," she demands, no anger in it, just the unmistakable lilt of playfulness.

Standing a good eight inches over her, there's no way she reaches the bowl, even on her tiptoes.

But her disastrous dishwashing has splashed water across the floor, and as she stretches, she slips against me.

My free hand catches her waist, pulling her in as her hands come up around my neck.

"I got you, Lexi." I murmur it against her hair. "You're safe with me."

We freeze.

Her body, soft against me, feels like heaven, and I wonder how long I can stand here like this.

Forever, if it were up to me.

She pulls her face back, arms still around my neck, looking up at me.

"Sorry, I slipped."