Page 12 of 40 and Flashing (the Scotsman)
“Hey!”
He straightened. “Hay is for horses, my gran always said.”
Scarlett rubbed at her nose, but he noticed she looked about as upset with him as he’d been with the apron. “Did she spank your bottom for being naughty, too?”
“Course not. I was a perfect angel.” He let his grin break through. “Sounds kinky though.”
Scarlett backhanded him in the stomach, drawing anoofwith the impact. “Ice your gingerbread man and stop being…”
He raised a brow when she paused. “Stop being…what?”
“Stop being…you!”
He chuckled as he drew a plate holding a naked gingerbread man cookie close to him. “That might be hard ta accomplish, but I’ll try.” He looked over the array of bags and plates of sprinkles and candies scattered over the table they were standing at. “Where do we start?”
Since Claire had moved to the next table down to help a couple of young lads with their gingerbread men, he let Scarlett instruct him. Of course, watching her handle the plump bags of icing was… Well, he best get his mind on other things, hadn’t he?
“This is royal icing,” she was saying as she traced the outer edge of her cookie with a line from the bag.
“Apropos.”
She gave him a side-eye. “You outline the area you want iced, then use the flood icing to flood the space. It dries smooth.” After completing the line, she switched to a different bag and began to fill the space inside it with a thinner icing. The puddle of white pooled out to meet the edge, contained by the original line she’d drawn.
“Flood. Got it.” He eyed his gingerbread man, whose one leg appeared to be slightly offset. “I think my man here has an issue.”
Scarlett was focused on the icing she was slowly spreading over her gingerbread woman’s skirt. The tip of her pink tongue stuck out between her plump lips, giving him ideas he shouldn’t be having with ten-year-olds in close proximity. “Uh-huh,” was all she said.
He should’ve taken the time to give himself a good wank before leaving the mansion this morning. His rest had been deep, but the morning hours had been filled with a dream about Scarlett that had stuck his mind in directions he was having trouble pulling away from now, with her so close to him. Like how to best put that tongue to use. How to show her exactly where he’d like her to be focused—on him, not a silly cookie.
He rolled his eyes. Striving to focus on something besides the tightness behind his zipper, he pursed his lips and began to whistle, releasing a merry holiday tune as he adjusted the limbs on his gingerbread man. He began with the black icing. Then some red. He popped a bit of one leg into his mouth and enjoyed the sharp flavor of the ginger and clove as he continued decorating. Claire was bonnie one in the kitchen; his tastebuds attested to that.
A pair of candy buttons came next, for eyes. A small licorice mouth, opened wide to scream—the rest of the licorice went down his throat along with the cookie bits. By the time he added some coconut hair, tinted with green food coloring (that was probably provided for grass, not a rockin’ hairstyle), Scarlett was almost finished with her gingerbread woman.
“What do ya think?” he asked, anticipation filling him at her reaction.
Pulling her gaze from her plate, Scarlett shifted over to his. Her eyes rounded with far more drama than he deemed necessary. “Gavin!”
“Aye?”
She sputtered. “I’m— You—”
“That good, eh?”
Claire walked over to see what they were doing, and burst into laughter. “I should’ve known it would be you.”
He pretended to be affronted, hiding his lurking grin. “What would be me?”
She gestured to his plate. “You would be the one to make your gingerbread man do something besides just stand there.”
“Standin’ there is borin’.” He looked down at his cookie. His gingerbread man was dressed in a black karate gi, a yellow belt around his middle. Green coconut hair stuck out in every direction, and one leg was raised as if to kick an opponent.
Not very effectively given that the leg was a bloody stump. So was one hand. And his head might be coming off too.
He swiped at the blood dripping down one side of the cookie’s neck and brought it up to his mouth. “I think it’s perfect.” The icing tasted sweet on his tongue, sweeter than the cookie.
“You would,” Scarlett said, amusement filling her voice. “Such a little-boy thing to do.”
He leaned into her space. “But it made you laugh.”
