Page 8 of Savoring Addison

His palm still itched, though.

No amount of logic or calming breaths stopped him from wanting to spank the brattiness right out of her.

CHAPTER 3

Addison

If Addison didn’t stop taking her frustration out on the dough, her artisan bread would be tough and dense—not at all the light, fluffy consistency she required of her best work.

It wasn’t a big deal when she kneaded the dough an hour ago, giving it several satisfying punches. But she already set it aside to rise by this point. Nothing ruined artisan bread faster than knocking all the air out of it while shaping the loaf.

Willing herself to focus on the smell of yeast and the feel of soft dough between her fingers, she grabbed a piece from the outside of the misshapen ball, pulling it up toward the center. At the last second, she couldn’t help picturing Mason’s stupid, superior face right in the middle. She pushed her hand down on top of the dough far too hard, knocking the air out for at least the fifth time.

“Calm the fuck down,” she muttered, forcing herself to continue the process with slow, careful movements. Artisan bread was delicate, and she wasn’t about to give Mason the satisfaction of seeing her fuck up. Especially not on her first day serving guests.

When the dough no longer stuck to the marble countertop, she flipped the ball over and transferred it to the waiting proofing basket. After washing the flour off her hands, she covered the basket with plastic wrap and placed it to the side. Setting a timer for thirty minutes, she began cleaning up her mess and getting her station ready for the next order of business—dark chocolate orange scones. She had just set aside the orange zest and started dicing some candied orange peel when the kitchen door swung open.

Addison looked up, expecting another member of the kitchen staff. She looked forward to finally meeting Luca and Kendra, who worked breakfast and lunch during the week.

Mason St. John strolled through the door in his perfect, stupid suit, with his perfect, stupid face and that thick, perfectly wavy brown hair that practically begged her to run her fingers through it.

Absolutely not. Mason was a giant dick, and she refused to waste her time lusting after him. She’d learned her lesson about fooling around with sexy assholes with her last Dom. Ryan never gave a fuck about anything but his needs and desires, and she had a gut feeling Mason was cast from the same mold.

“Good morning,” she said, going for politely bland, but ending up somewhere closer to frosty disdain.

Mason’s brows arched slowly upward, and he looked at her in that way all truly spectacular Doms could. The way that made her want to drop to her knees and beg forgiveness.

Yeah, no thanks.

“Breakfast isn’t served until eight,” she said, happy when she sounded significantly less hostile.

“I own one-sixth of this resort. I know what time breakfast is served.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m only here to get some coffee while I wait for my guest to wake up.”

Heat climbed up her neck and flooded her cheeks, making her want to disappear. “Right,” she said, returning her attention to the candied orange peel she made yesterday. Gabriel and his dinner staff didn’t arrive until two on Sundays, so she spent the previous morning familiarizing herself with the kitchen and prepping things she needed in the coming days.

“Addison, look at me.” When she ignored him, he added a softer, “Please.” Only the barest hint of a command lurked in his voice.

With a sigh, she put down her knife and raised her gaze to his perfect, stupid eyes. Goddamn, they were gorgeous. A deep, riveting blue, the color of lapis lazuli. “How can I help you?” she asked, trying and failing to look anywhere but his eyes.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot.” Mason’s gaze skittered away from hers before he added, “And I know it was my fault.”

He didn’t sound like he thought it was his fault. In fact, he sounded like he just swallowed a bug. He still had that infuriating superior look on his face, too, the bastard. Unable to help herself, Addison narrowed her eyes.

Clearly noticing the change, Mason’s brows shot up again. “Are you always this terrible at accepting apologies?” he said, his voice cold enough to freeze water.

Planting her hands on her hips, she fired back, “Are you always this terrible at making apologies?”

Mason’s nostrils flared—the only outward sign he’d even heard her. He took several deep breaths, his eyes boring into hers the entire time. At last, he said, “I was rude, and I apologize. You can either accept my apology and we can start over, or you can continue being a hypocritical brat. It’s your call.”

“Excuse me?” Addison said, her spine stiffening. “I am not a hypocrite.”

“You’re mad at me for being rude to you when I didn’t even know you were there. In retaliation, you’re being rude to me on purpose. How is that not hypocritical?”

Never in her life had she wanted to slap someone across the face before. And yet the desire coursed through her like a raging fire. “You were rude before you even knew anything about me, and you did it behind my back.” She did her best to look down her nose at him, even though he loomed over her by a foot or more. “At least I have a reason, and I’m honest enough to do it to your face.”

He reeled back as if she actually hit him. It took him several seconds to recover, which gave her a surge of pleasure. She had a feeling it was about time someone put him in his place.

That pleasure melted away when he gave her a cool, icy stare and said, “Be that as it may, I’m still one of the Manor’s partners, which makes me your boss. You don’t have to like me, but you will show me the proper respect.”

---