Page 34 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
The song changed to Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” as he transferred the pasta to the nearby pan containing the creamy sauce he’d prepared. From the corner of his eye, he caught Claire’s glance over her shoulder, the roll of her eyes.
“What’s that look about?”
Claire shrugged as she scooped icing into her piping bag. “I always thought this song sounded like a complete waste of perfectly good sugar.”
A burst of laughter escaped him. Setting the colander in the sink, he did something he would normally never do—he abandoned a dish in progress to cross the room to Claire. “You know it’s not about actual sugar, right?”
Claire blushed. “Still a waste of sugar.”
“Is that so?”
She focused intently on her icing. “That’s so.”
He dried his hands on the towel stuck in his waistband, then circled her waist to pull her back against him. Lord, the woman had curves that got his cock hard even in the kitchen. Cuddling said cock against her delectable ass, he bent to nuzzle her neck. A sigh escaped her, and when she tilted her head to give him better access, he obliged, nibbling up her throat until he could give her earlobe a tiny bite.
The shiver that ran down her spine made him feel like puffing out his chest. Nuzzling the fine hairs that had escaped her ponytail just behind her ear, he whispered, “Remind me of this later and I’ll prove to you that you’re wrong.”
Claire choked. With a laugh, he spun her around to face him, enjoying the shocked look in her eyes before he took her mouth. Sweet and spicy, that was the taste of his Claire. A taste he couldn’t seem to get enough of.
She pulled back finally, breathing heavy. “You better get back to your stove before the food catches on fire.”
“I am obviously not doing a good enough job if you can remember that.”
“Oh, you’re doing fine.” She winked, then turned back to her cookies.
A few minutes later he held up a spoon, the creamy sauce he’d been working on dripping over the sides. “Come try this, Claire.”
“What is ‘this’?” she asked, creating finger quotes in the air as she crossed the room.
“Crawfish carbonara.” He’d made the stock for the sauce earlier with the heads of the crawfish he’d gotten in yesterday, turmeric, garlic, and white wine. The crawfish meat was soft and delicate, a perfect complement to the crispy pancetta he’d added. Grilled ramps, a kind of wild leek common in the Appalachians that was becoming more readily available thanks to commercial growers, added a smoky garlic flavor to the cream of the sauce, spiced with a bit of Old Bay.
Claire stopped in front of him, opening her mouth to accept the slide of the fork. When her lips closed around the food, he felt a kick in his groin, desire heating back up just that quickly. When he groaned, Claire gave him a mischievous look from beneath her lashes.
“Problem?” she mumbled around her bite.
“Not for me.”
A chuckle escaped her. “That’s really good, Lincoln. I like it.”
She licked her lips, and his gut tightened. “Would you stop? I have cooking to do.”
“Hey”—she jerked her head toward the cookies, reminding him that it had been him causing distractions earlier— “two can play at this game.”
She turned back to her side of the kitchen, but he managed to land a swat to one luscious ass cheek before she could escape. “Oh!”
“That’s what you get for teasing me.” He winked. “Don’t stop.”
While Claire went back to work piping the royal icing to outline her cookie designs, he plated carbonara for both of them, topping the pasta with fried crispy ramp slivers and a side of garlic Texas toast. He carried her plate over, setting it to one side, away from the long table that held her work, and waited, content to watch her artistry. When she’d finished the last cookie, she set down her piping bag and joined him to eat.
They were almost finished when a heavy rapping came from the front of the bakery. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and tossed it into his empty bowl. “That’ll be Shel.”
Claire frowned. “Do we really have to do an interview?”
She’d been uncomfortable with the idea since he’d proposed having the food journalist come to her shop, but he wanted to include her, not hog all the spotlight. Not that he had a problem with being the center of attention, but Claire’s food would be a big part of the resort as well and he wanted to highlight that. “Yes, we do,” he said as he headed for the door. “We want the publicity for the ground-breaking next week. Shel can help with that.”
Claire grumbled behind him. Catching the doorjamb, he leaned back to meet her eyes. “Don’t worry; Shel’s not too bad.”
“Better not be.”
