Page 275 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
46: FOOD AS A LOVE LANGUAGE
JADE
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HE SLIDES THE mixing bowl to me but stands far enough away that I can’t touch him.
“Alright, first, we’re going to sift the flour into the bowl.”
“We?” I take the bowl, tilting my head and dragging my teeth over my lower lip. “Are you going to show me how?”
He growls so deep in his chest that he sounds like an animal.
I love it.
“You haven’t sifted flour before?” His fingers curl firmly around the chipped green-painted handle of my mama’s sifter.
“Maybe.” I step closer.
His jaw ticks.
“You look scared of me.” I don’t know how to describe the thrill of knowing he’s barely holding onto his ability to keep his hands off me.
Exhilarating.
Spiralling.
Fiercely untamed.
“That’s an understatement.” He lifts the shoulder of my robe to cover my skin.
My head tilts, watching the action, and then I meet his eyes. “Was that distracting?”
“That’s another understatement.”
I smile.
“Don’t smile like that, all knowing and teasin’, and—”
I take the sifter. “At this rate, we’ll still be baking at midnight.” I turn my back to him and grab the flour. “How much?”
He tells me, and I dump the white dust into the measuring cup.
I feel his body press behind me. “You do know how to do it.”
I laugh. “I baked with my Meemaw Landry when she was alive. Not Meemaw Fox, she was always at the lodge with my parents.”
I begin pouring the flour into the sifter when his fingers skim my nape, and he pulls my hair aside.
The shiver that follows nearly makes me spill the flour. Then his mouth is on my skin, warm and claiming.
“This is not fair.” I pull the trigger, and the mesh inside starts spinning, releasing a soft cloud of flour. “You wanted to bake a cake and now I’m baking it, while you’re playing.”
He nips my neck. “You’re right.” His mouth is gone, and I instantly miss it.
I should’ve kept my darn mouth shut.
His palms press the counter on either side of me, and I crave those gorgeous, rough hands running all over my skin.
