Page 60 of Stolen Dreams

As I empty my pockets and toe off my shoes, a faint knock echoes in the foyer. My answering smile is immediate as I open the door and gesture for Kaya to come in. She sets her bag down and takes off her shoes, stowing them near the door.

I linger in her orbit, a subservient moon pulled in and hooked by her gravity. Every cell in my body aches to touch her, kiss her, wrap her in my arms and memorize her soft, golden-brown skin. But I keep my hands at my sides and absorb her radiating warmth. Inhale her subtle, sweet, earthy-floral scent. Bask in the way she wakes every part of me with her proximity.

Spinning to face me, we come nose to nose. She gasps, wobbling slightly, and the buzz in my chest intensifies.

As much as I want to stay in this moment forever, I tip my head in the general direction of the kitchen. “Help me cook?” My voice a ragged blend of sandpaper and need.

She bites her bottom lip, releases it with a pop, then swallows. “Yes.”

Slipping my hand around hers, I amble toward the kitchen. Lead her to the stools at the island, lift her hand to kiss her knuckles, then release her and move to the opposite side of the counter.

Fire dances over my skin as she follows my every move.

I was born to be in the kitchen, to create art with food. But her eyes on me as I cook for her… is titillating, borderline euphoric. The most delicious form of foreplay.

After a quick wash of my hands, I fetch ingredients from the fridge and pantry. Sirloin, fresh herbs, mirepoix and other root vegetables, green beans, garlic, pine nuts, red wine, and parmesan. Like second nature, I sort the ingredients in the order I’ll need them. From the cabinet, I grab cutting boards, sheet pans, and pots. Knife of choice in hand, I start on the mirepoix.

“How often do you film for your followers?”

My hand pauses midchop as my gaze lifts to lock onto hers. Curiosity sparkles in those coppery-brown irises.

“Seems like you post less often than you used to.”

The corner of my mouth creeps up into a wicked smirk.Well, well, well. What do we have here?A fresh wave of heat spreads through my veins and prickles my skin.

Doesn’t shock me that the majority of Stone Bay has seen my cooking videos. I get regular commentary at work and when I frequent businesses in town. What piques my interest is when the supposedly sweet, wholesome, or proper people speak up.

The night I met Kaya, her friend made several suggestive comments that not so subtly told me she’d seen my videos. Kaya had been more reserved. Not quiet, just selective of her words.

I like that she doesn’t word vomit everything on her mind.

Oddly, I can’t picture her watching me in food porn mode. But damn do I love the way it makes me feel.

Eyes latched on to hers; I chop celery stalks. “Before Tucker moved back home, I posted four or five times a week. I was working at the diner with my dad and missed making gourmet dishes from culinary school.” I shrug and glance down long enough to slide the carrots closer. “Dad let me experiment in the diner kitchen so long as I didn’t waste food. The staff loved my creative days because they reaped the rewards.”

Her long fingers trace invisible lines on the counter. “Surely no one complains when you cook for them.”

There will always be someone who lives to whine and be heard. I want to tell her just how snobbish people are when they believe they’ve had the best of the best somewhere else. Doesn’t matter what industry you work in, there will always be sour lemons in the bunch.

“Let’s circle back,” I say as I get to work on the onion.

“Circle back?”

“Mm-hmm.” With a tilt of my head, I lick my lips. “My videos.”

A luxurious shade of pink stains her cheeks.

“How do you feel about them?” At this, I drop my attention back to the cutting board. One, I need to focus on my hands while I cut the potatoes. Two, maybe it will help her open up if I don’t stare. Regardless, she remains in my periphery. Always.

“Enthralled,” she whispers, breathy.

With me or the food?I want to ask but keep to myself. “Enthralled is good.”

When she doesn’t say anything for a moment, I peek up to see her staring at my hands. I rock the knife slower on the cutting board and her brows twitch a moment before she glances up.

“What else?”

Faint lines appear between her brows as they tug together.

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