Page 17 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
As if sensing my gaze, Elliott turns towards the stands. Our eyes meet, and even across the distance, I feel a jolt of electricity. He raises a hand in a small wave, and I wave back, grinning like an idiot.
"Oh, honey," Sandra chuckles beside me. "You've got it bad."
Elliott jogs back to his position, all fire and focus and grace. I can’t look away, and I think she might be right.
I wait by the stadium exit, my heart racing faster than it did during the match. When Elliott emerges, still flushed from the game, his eyes light up as they find mine.
"Liv!" He jogs over, a grin breaking across his face. "You came!"
"As if I'd miss seeing the great Iceman in action," I tease, raising an eyebrow. "Though I have to say, you didn't seem very icy out there."
Elliott chuckles, running a hand through his damp hair. "Ah, well, I had some extra motivation today." His eyes meet mine, and I feel a warmth spread through my chest.
"Oh?" I step closer, unable to resist. "And what might that be?"
"I'll give you a hint," he says, his voice lowering. "She makes the best pastries in Ponsonby."
I laugh, swatting his arm playfully. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Snow. Speaking of pastries, how about we headback to mine? I promised to teach you the art of cannoli-making, remember?"
Elliott's eyes light up. "I thought you'd never ask. Though I warn you, I'm rubbish in the kitchen."
"Don't worry," I say, linking my arm through his as we start walking. "I'll be gentle with you. Can't risk damaging those star player hands, after all."
As we make our way through the bustling streets of Auckland, I steal glances at Elliott. The fierce competitor I saw on the field has melted away, replaced by the warm, slightly shy man I've come to adore.
Back at my apartment, I lead Elliott into the kitchen. The familiar scents of vanilla and almond envelop us as I gather ingredients. Miss Lemon, my shaggy cat, welcomes us with chirps and purrs.
I watch with delight as Elliott soothes her and pats her. Evenshelikes him.
“What a nice pussycat you are.” Elliott rubs her cheeks, and Miss Lemon lies down, exposing her belly.
"Right, before my cat Miss Lemon steals you away," I say, clapping my hands together. "Ready to become a master pastry chef?"
Elliott eyes the array of bowls and utensils warily. "I make no promises."
I laugh, handing him an apron. "First step, measure out the flour. Think you can handle that?"
He washes his hands thoroughly, then takes the measuring cup, a determined set to his jaw. "I've faced down 300-pound forwards. I can handle a bit of flour."
I watch, amused, as he carefully scoops the flour. His brow furrows in concentration, reminding me of his intense focus on the field. It's endearing, seeing this softer side of the 'Iceman'.
"Perfect!" I exclaim as he finishes. "Now, for the real challenge – mixing the dough."
As I guide Elliott through the steps, I marvel at how natural this feels. The way he listens intently to my instructions, the brush of his arm against mine as we work side by side – it all feels right in a way I never expected.
"You know," I say, watching him struggle adorably with the dough. "For someone so graceful on the rugby field, you're surprisingly clumsy with pastry."
Elliott grins sheepishly. "Different skill set, I suppose. Though I have to admit, I'm enjoying this a lot more than tackling practice."
I feel a flutter in my chest at his words. "Is that so?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light. "And why's that?"
He pauses, his flour-dusted hands stilling. When he looks at me, there's a warmth in his eyes that takes my breath away. "The company, for one," he says softly.
For a moment, we stand there, the kitchen fading away around us. Then, a dollop of dough plops onto the counter, breaking the spell.
I clear my throat, fighting back a blush. "Right, well, let's see if we can salvage these cannoli. Nonna would never forgive me if I let you ruin her recipe."
As we continue working, laughter and the sweet scent of pastry filling the air, I think that this – flour-covered hands, shared smiles, and all – might just be the start of something wonderful.
