Page 25 of Lipstick Kiss

“I don’t know what I want to make,” Freya confessed, feeling defeated.

“What about a bowl for the pitcher to sit in?”

That was a great idea. She prepared the lump with water and reshaped it into a dome. Luke stood from his place and then dragged his stool to sit behind her. He sat close to her back, so close she could feel the heat from his body on her back. Luke scooted forward so his legs were on the outside of hers, his knees brushing her thighs. Then he rested his chin on her shoulder and rested his hands at her waist.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly. “Start peddling.”

She held back her shiver at his closeness. He’d acted soextreme to her having a fiancé. Now he was as close as a pillion rider on a motorcycle. Luke’s quiet encouragement fanned over her cheek. All she wanted to do was fall back against him and let him take over.

She had to remember she belonged to someone else.

“All right, put your hands on the clay. Get used to the texture.”

“What about my ring?”

“It’s just a ring. It’ll get dirty, and then you’ll clean it. Put your hands on the clay.”

Freya did as he asked.

“Make a fist with one hand and put the palm of your other on the side of the clay. You’re going to push down with your fist, making it a wider and shorter piece of clay.”

He was still talking quietly into her ear, resting his chin further over her shoulder, so his chest was now plastered to her back. Her body was rigid to concentrate on the clay in front of her. Gilbert Philbott had already demonstrated how to make the jug and the bowl. The other four people in the class were busy making their creations and paying no attention to Luke as he slipped an arm around her waist, flattening his hand on her belly. His other hand was resting on his leg, just in her peripheral vision.

“That’s great. Now slip your thumbs to the centre and push inside, making a well.”

“Okay,” Freya replied, blowing her stray hairs out of her face but not succeeding.

Luke brought his hands up, smoothed back her hair, and then retied her hair in the ponytail holder as she made a well.

“You’re doing so well. Now with one hand inside, use your fingers inside to press against the clay and then theknuckles of your other hand on the outside, and you’re going to pull up the sides as well as make it curve out.”

“It’s going to go horribly wrong, Luke.”

“It won’t. Just keep focussed. Look, let me show you.”

Luke took her one hand and spread her fingers so his were interlaced inside the moving pottery, then he pressed his knuckles next to hers and showed her the action. Finally, when she got the hang of it, he pulled his hands away, placed them on her thighs over her apron, and put his chin back on her shoulder.

“It’s looking good. Keep going with that action. Keep the clay at the bottom, so there is a heavy base, and then sculpt the sides, so they come out wide.”

“Are you sure this is your first time?”

“I may have done a bit of pottery before,” he confessed.

“Luke,” she snapped.

“Don’t blame me. You’d know I’d done pottery before if you’d paid attention to the letters I wrote to you. Focus, we don’t want it wobbly. You can tell me off for lying later. I’m sure lying isn’t something you’d ever do. So it’s not like the pot calling the kettle black.”

Freya kept quiet, concentrating on her fingers slipping against his. It was evident what Luke was referring to. How long until she had to admit there was no fiancé. She shifted on her stool. Luke must have thought she was trying to wriggle away because he pressed closer.

“Keeping fucking still,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re making me lose concentration.”

Freya’s concentration had flown out the window with Luke wrapped around her, doing all kinds of new things to her body. It looked like she was doing all the work to make the clay into a wide shallow dish, but she was along for the ride.

“You two make a great team. The pot looks fantastic,” Gilbert said as he passed.

“Thanks,” they both said.

“I contributed nothing to this enterprise, Luke.”

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