my bottom lip to stifle a yawn, half-heartedly singing along to the music under my breath as I sprinkle flour to prepare my surface to knead. The sound of the front door unlocking and opening must have been drowned out by the music playing over the speakers, because suddenly there’s a giant figure looming behind me.
Turning, my heart stops at the man standing just a foot away, my hands flying to my chest in a cloud of flour and startled curses. “Fuck, Callum!” I breathe when my heart finally restarts. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“What are you still doing up?” His question has me looking at the clock on my phone that’s laying on the counter next to me. Since when is it three-thirteen in the morning?
“I’m baking and must’ve lost track of time,” I say with a shrug. It’s technically the truth, but a strategic one so he can’t read the lie on my face with those all-seeing eyes of his. The hazel gaze pins me where I stand, narrowing slightly as he reads me.
“Baking what?”
“Oh,” I pull in a deep breath of excitement that promises to overshare and go into painful amounts of detail. “I found a recipe for strawberry cake on Pinterest. The picture caught my attention, because it’s pink cake—and who wouldn’t stop to look at pink cake? I’m a sucker for it every single time. Plus it looked light and refreshing, kinda like strawberry shortcake but a little different since the strawberries are baked right in instead of just put on top. And I knew we had that carton of strawberries in the fridge that was about to go bad. So I had to try it before it was too late.”
“That’s strawberry cake?” Callum asks skeptically, nodding to my covered bowl on the counter next to the floured surface.
“Of course not,” The look I flash at him says duh. “The cake is in the oven.” I point to the timer counting down the last few minutes on the fancy convection oven.
“This,” I announce, pulling the cloth off the bowl with a flourish. “Is bread dough that I found on the same page as the cake. It was the pin right under it, so I just had to look at the recipe to see if we even had all of the ingredients—which we do by the way. It’s for artisan bread, which is apparently supposed to be super crusty and perfect for bruschetta. And you know how I feel about bruschetta.”
“Yes, I do,” the deep rasp in Callum’s voice has my train of thought flying off the rails as my eyes meet his. Despite the ingredients scattered around the kitchen, Callum’s ravenous perusal remains solely focused on me. He’s looking at me like I’m the cake that he wants to savor on his tongue then fully ravage. A tongue I can still feel seering through me until I’m weak at the knees.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what? How am I looking at you, Dewdrop?”
“Like you want to eat me alive,” I deadpan.
“I’d like to devour every edible inch of you. I remember exactly how good you taste.” Dammit, if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. My insides are quickly liquifying, despite my best efforts to reason with my own hormones. How can I feel like this from just a few words and a look from Callum? I need to shut this down.
Luckily my battery operated boyfriend took the edge off just enough for me to remain skeptical instead of swoon like I’m tempted to.
“Really, this does it for you?” I look down at my pajama shorts and matching top, pink with a pattern of cartoon ice cream cones. The eyeful he’s getting from me is probably a complete mess—curled blonde hair piled high on the top of my head in a messy bun, my full glam from the party still covering my face, and all with an uneven dusting of white bread flour. Yet Callum’s gazing at me like an addict looking longingly at his drug of choice.
“I thought I made myself clear.” His voice is rough and hungry. “You do it for me.”
“Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m used to taking care of myself. Which is exactly what I did tonight. I don’t need you.” My eyes slide down his body to look pointedly at where his erection is pressing against his pants.
“Time to end that habit, starting now.”
“Move on, Callum. We had a moment on that desk.” His eyes darken lustfully at the mention of what happened between us earlier tonight. “The moment’s over.”
“You’re lying to yourself if you think tonight was a fluke or a fleeting moment. What happened on that desk wasn’t the end for us, Dewdrop. It was only the beginning.” He steps closer, his hand surprisingly gentle as his thumb brushes a smudge of flour from my cheek. Eyes caught passionately, my breath hitches in my throat making his gaze flicker to my lips.
He wants to kiss me, I can read it in every tensed muscle in his body. And god, do I want him to do it. If I was thinking clearly, I’d probably have a little alarm bell ringing in my head right about now.
Callum is danger. But right now I’m feeling reckless without a cause.
If I tilt my head even a fraction, he’ll take the invitation without hesitating. He’ll swoop in like a predator pouncing on his prey. And just when I’m about to give him the green light, the oven timer goes off to announce that it’s time to take the cake out.
Shamed by the bell.
“And just like that, another moment gone,” I murmur, stepping away from his caress. “I should get the cake out of the oven before it burns.”
“This conversation isn’t over, Dewdrop.” Even facing away from him I can feel the determination pouring from the man behind me.
I can’t argue with him, because I can feel the truth of his words. So instead I simply say “Good night, Callum.”
