Page 85 of When Death Whispers

But when Hudson glances at me, his eyes drag slowly over every inch of me—hungry, focused, like I’m the only thing in the room worth watching.

Like I don’t look awful.

Like I look likesomething he wants.

The thought sends heat spiraling through me. I grip the edge of the prep table tighter, trying to focus on anythingbuthim.

It doesn’t work.

I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that we are the only two working tonight. There are no distractions to keep my attention from him, there is also nothing breaking the delicious view he makes.

He reaches for something near me—deliberately close—and his arm brushes mine again. Bare skin to bare skin. A jolt shoots straight through me.

“You spacing out over there?” he asks, too casual. But there’s a curl at the corner of his mouth that betrays him.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, aiming for sharp—but it comes out breathy instead.

He leans in enough that I feel his breath near my ear. “You sure? You look a little… flushed.”

I turn to glare at him, and the second our eyes meet, my breath catches.

Because he’s not grinning anymore.

His gaze drops to my lips, then slowly trails back up. His pupils are blown wide, blue swallowed by black.

And suddenly I’m not thinking about cookies or closing duties or the fact that it’s nearly 3 a.m.

I’m thinking about dragging him into the back room and watching that smug grin crumble when he remembers what it means to feelanything—not just play at it.

His eyes linger a second too long, and I forget what I was doing. Where I am. Why I haven’t shoved him up against a counter yet.

The timer beeps on the oven and I jump, breaking the spell.

Hudson smirks like he knows exactly what that look in my eyes meant.

Asshole.

I move to the oven, pull out a tray of chocolate croissants, and set them aside to cool. Hudson picks one up, takes a slow, deliberate bite. A smear of chocolate clings to the corner of his mouth. He wipes it with his thumb, then licks it clean.

I turn away before I do something stupid. Like pull him into the walk-in just to cool us both down.

I’m halfway through decorating the last cake when he slides in behind me again. No warning. No distance. His chest brushes my back as he reaches for the powdered sugar.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs, his hot breath against my neck.

My body reacts before my brain catches up. A shiver runs down my spine.

“You ever heard of personal space?” I snap, elbowing him lightly as he backs away, grinning.

“Sure,” he says, dusting the cookies. “I’ve just chosen to ignore it around you.”

I glance at him. His hair’s curling at the edges from sweat. There’s a smudge of chocolate on his jaw. I want to wipe it off with my thumb.

Or my mouth.

Instead, I grab a spoon and flick powdered sugar at him.

He blinks.

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