Page 20 of Catching Mr. Right

Chapter Eight

MANDY

“You will never believe who I came across on my run this morning.” I grab an apple off the counter, toss it in the air and take a bite out of the crisp flesh.

I might be persistent, obsessed, downright adamant about getting Sam Sweets to fall in love with me, but this morning, running into him while jogging was a pure stroke of luck. I’m still high on how close he came to kissing me. He did. I could tell. My lips tingled and my pulse shot up like a rocket as his mouth grazed my cheek. A sensation I can still feel. And he’s jealous of Cas. Even now, I have that whole flip-flop happening in my belly at his admission.

“Do you have to eat the ingredients?” Casper mock growls at me from where he’s mixing flour and eggs and other stuff. There’s a bowl of apple slices already cut up beside him.

Wiping the tart juice from the side of my mouth, I grin. “Didn’t you tell the kids that they should learn about food by popping it in their mouths? I’m pretty sure that’s the words I heard you say.”

“It’s a good rule.” He shrugs. “Especially since you’re acting like a fucking teenager. Now put your apron on and grab the loaves of bread. You’re on sandwich duty. They’re going on some nature walk today, so we need to get this shit done.”

“Ah nature. It’s beautiful.” I do as he orders, getting out the fixings he’s already made, lining up slices of bread in neat rows, and putting them together like an assembly line. “I ran into Sam. He’s not very happy about you and me.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.” Ham and cheese. Ham and cheese. Chicken and mayo. “I’d go so far as to say your plan is working. Or almost working. He admitted he might be jealous. A little bit.”

The room is suddenly silent, and when I glance up from what I’m doing Cas is watching me intently, the spoon in his hand paused over the bowl he holds with one arm. “It’s going well then?”

“I think so.” He should probably ease up his grip on the spoon. It’s a wooden one, and I can practically hear it cracking with how tightly he’s holding it. “For a second, I actually thought he was going to kiss me.”

“That’s what you want,” he says, frowning as he scoops the mixture into muffin cases.

“It is.” I’m not a fan of Cas going quiet like this. It’s almost guaranteed a storm is on the horizon. I hum softly to myself, and double down on preparing the sandwiches. Cas isn’t an ogre, not to work with and not personally. He’s just not good with people. And I’m not entirely sure that isn’t because he goes out of his way to ensure people keep their distance. The way he did with me when we first met. Only the more time I spend with him the easier it is to see there’s another layer to this onion. In another reincarnation, he was probably a nice guy. Sometimes I catch glimpses of it in the way he looks at me or talks to me. I’d bet my life that underneath the saltiness he’s actually nice, and attentive, and I’m almost certain hung like a donkey. Or is it a horse?

I covertly glance across to where he’s bent over, shoving trays of muffins into the fancy schmancy oven. It really is. Three doors, one fully for baking with six shelves. The other two for whatever he puts in there. And his tight ass right there for me to ogle. I swallow and lick my lips. A girl could bite that ass, hard. She’d probably lose her teeth, but it would be so worth it.

What the hell is wrong with me? It’s only Cas. The same man who hates me most of the time, and could never ever be as dreamy as Sam. His mouth on mine, though. It was exquisite.

I tap the tip of the butter knife against my collarbone. He’s all man. So much man. Solid muscles and sinew. Hard kisses, and equally hard other bits. Dark appearance and intense gazes. Stubble and a jawline that could change a girl’s whole opinion on life. My insides clench. My mouth waters.

What am I doing? I want Sam, not Cas. Sam, who’s a little bit jealous and who won’t be able to hold out forever. I probably shouldn’t have lied to him though. About my virginity. But I’ve used my vibrator so many times it’s practically like I’m not. Well, it should be. Sometimes I imagine my battery-operated friend is all the man I need. That in the end I’m only going to be disappointed by the real thing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Cas glowers at me as he eats up the space in the kitchen in two easy strides to grip my wrist and yank the knife free with his other hand. “Are you ever going to fucking learn, or are you always going to be this stupid?”

“What?” I blink. The storm hits full force. A mask of fury darkens his eyes, and his fingers bite into my wrist. “Do you know how easily you could hurt yourself? Do you?”

“With a butterknife?” I glance at the metal cutlery in his fist, its tip still coated in butter. Great, I probably have butter on my neck now. “That’s, like, a completely blunt object.”

“Oh it’s blunt is it?”

“Clearly.” I squint up at him. What could possibly make him overreact so badly to a bit of silverware?

Using his grip on my wrist, he yanks me closer. He’s a wall of broad muscle. Hot marble under my palm. I want to push my hand up under his shirt. Want to explore the hard ridges of his torso and those tattoos I’ve only been able to look at from a distance before now. Sam probably wouldn’t have any tattoos, but Cas… Hot damn… I clench my thighs. What the hell has gotten into me? And he’s yelling at me again, holding me trapped. “Blunt or not, accidents fucking happen. What if it hadn’t been the butterknife in your hand? What if you cut yourself?”

“Then I would have needed a Band-Aid.” I clamp my lips shut as thunder rolls across his expression, but his grip on me relaxes as he drops the offending silverware and brushes his fingers over my collarbone. It tickles and sparks. A kaleidoscope of sensation twisting from his touch that makes my insides squeeze. “I’m okay,” I try to reassure him. “It really was completely blunt.”

“What were you thinking about?” He studies my face, moves closer so he can peer into my eyes. His are full of worry and something deeper that tugs at my heart and makes me need to comfort him however I might.

My fingers find his cheek, smooth above scratchy stubble. It brings back the sensation of his lips against mine. I want that to happen again. I shouldn’t. It doesn’t make any sense. Not with Cas, who is always so mean… but he isn’t, is he? He’s hurting, and I want to ask him why. I want to climb into the circle of his arms and ease whatever pain is behind this look on his face.

His fingers knead along the line of my neck, smearing the traces of butter over my skin. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Of course not.” But maybe I’m having one. Is that what this is? The way my chest flutters unsteadily. The dampness at my hairline. The need, the urge to touch as much of him as possible until I can’t take it anymore. I slide my other hand up his chest, lean into him. He smells like apples and cinnamon and mint. With a little clean sweat mixed in. My panties are soaked, and it’s not that I don’t understand the anatomy, the science, the experience, but it’s Casper freaking Morgan. Who only just finished telling me I’m stupid, although I’m pretty sure that is his way of saying he cares. God, that sounds screwed up, and no I’m not the kind of girl who likes a man who puts her down, which is why this isn’t anything. It’s nothing. Not even a moment. But it feels like a moment. The kind of moment that happens in romance novels and movies. The kind I don’t have any experience with. Other than that one kiss with Cas.

“Then tell me,” he orders. “Were you thinking about Sam? Is that why you forgot to use your brain? Is that what had you distracted? You should keep your distractions for when you’re not in the kitchen. If you’re too preoccupied with—”

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