Page 16 of The Naughty Elf

I laugh, head falling back. For some reason, he tickles my sense of humor something fierce. My hand grips his forearm as I take the mix off the heat. “Glad you have some sense.”

He follows me, rather than returning to the stool and his lunch. I start whipping as he hovers.

Turning to him, I poke him in the center of his chest. “Time for the waiting game. This will take about fifteen minutes. It has to cool down.”

He looks at where my finger lingers between his pecs. That tension blooms again, and my hand flattens against the broad expanse of his muscles. We both take in a sharp breath. God, the way Sawyer is looking at me now drenches me in heat and longing.

I bite my lip, but as the moment stretches. Neither of us is brave enough to take advantage of the opportunity, so I let my hand drop.

Sawyer doesn’t move, and that gives me a small twinge of hope.

We watch the whites fluff up and become glossy. I wait until I can touch the bowl before I move to the next step.

“Time for the butter. The trick to a good Swiss buttercream is using high-quality butter. This one is my favorite.” I hold up the box before I slice some off and drop the pieces one by one into the mixing bowl. “Can you measure me out a teaspoon of vanilla? Then you can mix one of those espresso packets into this.”

His brows furrow, but he does as I say.

I drop half of thebutter into the bowl and start mixing it in.

Sawyer offers me the small green bowl, and I slowly take it from him, letting my touch linger on him again.

Once the frosting is done, I taste it with a small spoon. God, it’s my favorite kind of frosting. Buttery and not too sweet. Creamy and silky. “Mm.”

His intake of breath is sharp, and his nostrils flare as he watches me lick my lips.

I use another spoon to scoop out a taste and slink a little closer to Sawyer. My hand slides up his chest again, his heart thundering under my palm. I breach the collar of his t-shirt, and his skin is so fucking hot.

The spoonful of frosting hovers off to the side, waiting as we stare into each other. My nails are curling into his skin because of how much I want him.

Sawyer clenches his jaw, the muscle flexing as he grinds his molars together. The restraint in this man is unbelievable.

Finally, I swing the spoon between us and grin. “Did you want a taste?”

8

SAWYER

Watching Ginger bake—or mostly watching and partially helping—amplifies my attraction to her. I’m immersed in her scent, and it’s enhanced by her baking. The chocolate and butter smells perfectly compliment her own spicy, sweet perfume.

She’s so close, and she’s touching me. She’s not subtle about it, but there are always so many people around that I hesitate.

That red-stained mouth looks lush and soft. The fantasies I’ve had of Ginger’s mouth plague me now.

Fuck, her pretty pink tongue peeks out. The number of times I’ve imagined that tongue on my body…

I suck in a sharp breath as her nails dig into my chest.

Would it be such a bad thing to lean down and kiss her? To just drop my mouth over hers for a little taste…put my hands around her waist and tug her closer.

Grinding my teeth, I clench my hands into fists. I would be bad, very bad, to do that here. I can behave myself.

I can.

The spoon appears between us, but her teal eyes are mischievous. “Did you want a taste?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

I stare at her until I can unclench my jaw, lean in, and take the dollop from her spoon. The absolute decadence of her frosting makes me purr. A woman who can make something that tastes like that needs to be taken care of.

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