Page 17 of The Naughty Elf

My nostrils flare as I look down at her. I want to take care of Ginger, to be here with her in the kitchen every day, to put together meals, to taste and learn together. To have that tactile experience.

I pull the spoon from my mouth, wanting more, to lick thefrosting from her skin, to feast on her.

Being this close to her makes me lose myself. I can’t think of anything but her.

I squeeze my hands into fists again before I turn to wash the spoon.

“Oh, you can just leave it. I have plenty of dishes to do.”

I have already started, though, so I wash a few of hers, too. It’s worth it to help out. Plus, I need to keep my hands busy.

Ginger appears beside the sink with her arms crossed. “You don’t have to do that.”

“My hands are already wet.”

She laughs, and her hand appears on my arm again, at the short sleeve of my T-shirt. Those long fingers play with the fabric, teasing my skin. A wave of heat engulfs me as I peer sideways at her. She’s watching my hands before her eyes lift to mine.

If Ginger bites her lip one more goddamn time…the way she worries it makes me want to soothe it with a kiss.

Fuck, it’s a good thing my hands are wet, or they’d be in her hair, crushing her against me and kissing her until her knees give out.

The blue of her eyes blazes brighter.

Sucking in a slow breath, I return my attention to the dishes, cleaning the two bowls and random utensils slowly and methodically. Her fingers stroke a few inches of my bicep. Every swipe back and forth threatens my restraint.

How easily she takes my silence. Most people would grow uncomfortable, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

I clench my jaw again as I finish the last spoon and grab a towel to dry my hands. The step to grab it makes her hand drop from my arm.

Ginger smirks at me and pivots on one foot to check the cake with a different fingertip. Nodding, she procures a spatula and loosens the cake from the parchment.

She brings the whole thing to the island and scoops frosting onto the center.

I watch the little wiggling motions of her hips as she spreads the frosting to the edges. That skirt hugs her so nicely. I can see every little movement of that round ass.

Clenching my fists and grinding my teeth, I push off the counter and stand next to her to see what exactly she’s doing.

Her smile is wide and silly, and I swear to God, the sun fills the room with more of its light.

She piles a thick layer of cream on nine-tenths of the surface. “This is like a Swiss roll cake but fancier.”

I bite back a smile and nod.

Her eyes twinkle at me. “That’s why I’m leaving this part unfrosted. It’s where I’ll start. Hopefully, it won’t break while I roll it. I’ve only tried this kind of recipe once before, and it fell apart. Gracie and I pulled it the rest of the way apart with our fingers.”

“Tastes better that way.”

Her grin makes me want to reach for her. “So, you obviously know your way around a kitchen, although you don’t seem to be a baker. Am I right?”

“I can make brownies.”

“From scratch or from a box?” Ginger’s challenge makes me almost smile back.

“Scratch.”

She gasps in shock. “Shakespeare and Chef Boyardee? Be still my swooning heart.”

I watch as she grows serious, using the parchment paper to help her start the rolling process. Some of the frosting oozes out of the sides, but the cake stays in one piece.

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