Page 29 of Combust
“I—I can’t.” She stiffened, and tore herself out of his embrace.
He saw confusion and regret in her expression, and cursed silently.
“I’m sorry, I have to go now.”
Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and strode around her car, yanking open the driver’s side door so hard that Cade expected it to tear free of its hinges.
“Thanks for helping me with the tire,” she said.
Then she slammed the door shut and started the engine. Her station wagon kicked up a spray of gravel and fishtailed a bit as she sped away.
He stood in the downpour for a few moments longer, sleet stinging the exposed skin of his face as he watched her taillights recede.
The sweet taste of her lingered on his lips. He couldn’t tell if he’d just taken a big step forward in his courtship or completely destroyed his chances with her.
Chapter Nine - Birthday Cake
Cinnamon + Sugar
Wednesday, November 12
It had been three whole days since Cade had kissed her, and Maggie could still feel his lips against hers.
It was distracting. It was maddening.
It was also the hottest kiss she’d ever experienced.
In retrospect, only the storm, with its sharp needles of frozen rain, had saved her dignity. Otherwise, she probably would have torn off his clothes…and hers…and let her bear take control of the encounter.
That would have been bad. Really bad, she thought.
Her treacherous body had other opinions. The memory of Cade’s rough, urgent mouth claiming hers, and his strong arms around her, holding her firmly against him, rekindled a hot pulse between her legs.
“Maggie?”
She jumped a little, startled out of her dangerously distracting train of thought.
“What’s going on?” Mom asked, pulling a tray of turkey-shaped sugar cookies out of the oven. “You’ve been awfully distracted for the past couple of days.”
“What? No, I’m fine,” Maggie protested.
“Areyou?” Mom pointed at the tall stack of cardboard egg trays sitting on the bakery’s wide stainless-steel work counter, right next to a large bowl of rum-soaked raisins, dried currants, and chopped, candied orange and lemon peels which wouldn’t be added to the dough until after the first rising. “Because it looks like something’s missing from your Stollen dough.”
Maggie surveyed the height of the stack, and the dozens of pale brown eggs displayed in the trays, and did some quick mental arithmetic.
Mom was right. Maggie had been so caught up in reliving that kiss, she’d completely spaced on adding the eggs to the mixture for the traditional German Christmas bread.
“Crap.” With a sinking feeling, she peered down into the Hobart mixer’s huge stainless-steel bowl. There, the “J” hook attachment was vigorously kneading a large batch of sweet yeast dough.
To her relief, it didn’t look ruined, just a little dry.
At least Mom caught the mistake before it was too late. At this stage, Maggie could still incorporate the eggs, and the dough would probably turn out all right. But it was a stupid,stupidbeginner-level error.
“I’m so sorry!” Maggie’s face grew hot. She was suddenly very glad that Mom wasn’t a shifter and couldn’t sense her arousal.
“Sweetie, what’s going on? You’re not normally this distracted.” Mom reached for a clean mixing bowl from the stack on the shelf above the counter, and began cracking eggs into it.
Maggie joined her mom at the counter, plucked an egg from the tray, and cracked it into the bowl.
