Page 56 of Go Cook Yourself

“Cinnamon,” she exclaims with a grin.

“Yes, and something else.”

We start tidying up, but I don’t want the evening to end. She might not let me bake with her again. I check the clock. It’s already getting late. We’ve been here for three hours.

She licks her lips and breathes me in. She’s so damn sexy. I avert my eyes. This isn’t what I’m here for.

“I can’t work out what the other smell is.”

“You will,” I reply covertly.

“I’ll get it out of you eventually,” she says, popping a bit of frosting on my nose from our practised biscuits.

“I don’t doubt it.” I dip my finger in it and lick it off. Her eyes are tight with frustration that she can’t get to me, and soon, she’s picking up icing sugar between her fingers and tossing it at me.

“It’s like that, is it?” I grab some and chase her around the kitchen.

She squeals in delight. Suddenly, we’re on either side of the demonstration bench. Her eyes light up as she swishes her fingers under the tap, ready to flick water at me, but instead, I reach forward and fling icing sugar down her blouse.

“That’s for earlier when you teased me.”

“You were a dick,” she says between laughter as she throws water at me. Droplets collect in my curls.

“It’s what I’m good at.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” She’s walking back around the demonstration counter.

I throw my hands in the air. “Hey.”

She grabs an iced biscuit and shoves it in my face like a cream pie.

“You cheeky cow.”

Frosting covers my nose as I peel off the biscuit and wipe it across her lips before popping it in my mouth.

“You bastard. Maybe you should help me reach all the icing you’ve got on me.” She runs her finger through the icing on my face and slides her finger against her neck. Arousal rushes me as I lean down to suck on her neck. She braces herself, her hands wrapping around my biceps.

The desire that’s toyed with me all day overwhelms me. I brush my lips against her skin. The taste of vanilla frosting mixed with her scent of passion fruit makes every part of my body ache with need.

But then her brother’s reaction in the pub and her response pushes through my consciousness.

“Ruby, we shouldn’t. I don’t want to cause problems in your family, and I can’t give you a relationship.”

Ruby sighs and leans against the counter. “I know. I like you, Garett, but you’re right. Sorry for getting carried away. And sorry for saying I didn’t need your help with baking. I was rude. It’s the family stuff.” She gives me a tight smile, and I nod. “Shall we tidy up and head off separately?”

As much as I’ll do the right thing, the hardest part of me tells me to head to her little cabin in Amber’s back garden and share everything I’ve imagined doing with her.

But I can’t.

Instead, I nod.

I owe Ruby’s family more than I can repay. This isn’t how to thank them. And I can’t offer her a relationship or a future. We must stay away from each other, or we’ll be ripping each other’s clothes off. Our inability to resist each other is in her lingering gaze as we tidy, and it’s in mine every time she bends over or reaches for something that I should help with.

Tidying up takes less time than expected, and soon, we’re ready to leave. We step outside, and Ruby yelps.

“Kath was right,” I stutter.

Inches of snow blanket the car park. It’s not powdery stuff like icing sugar. It’s more like thick buttercream. It must have started minutes after I entered the cookery school and continued heavily since.

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