Page 30 of An Unholy Affair
Each time she thought she had control of her reaction to Jack, one smile, one considered gesture, would shake her up all over again. Her parishioners weren’t thoughtless people, but they expected far more from her than her elderly—and male—predecessor. The women of the parish had cooked and cleaned for him for free. However, they hadn’t extended the same favours to her when she took on the post. It was simply unconscious bias. They assumed, as a woman, she already knew how to do everything and therefore didn’t need any help.
But working sixty or more hours a week and without a partner to help shoulder the burden, keeping up the house and garden was an impossible task. She sneaked a glance at Jack as he carefully smoothed the top of each sponge layer. He was painfully handsome. Just the sight of him did funny things to her insides, and when he showed kindness, her heart melted.
He surveyed the ancient Aga stove, one hand on his jaw. ‘Which oven should I use?’
She stood. ‘The top one, but be careful with the handle, as it can get hot. Have you ever cooked with an Aga before?’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t remember the last time I usedanyoven.’
‘Do you eat mostly salad in France?’
Opening the door, he slotted the tins inside. ‘No, I always eat out.’
‘What, everyday?’
He shrugged, picking at the chipped enamel of the ancient stove with his fingernail. ‘I guess I don’t like washing up.’
She set the timer for the cake. ‘Well, you’ve managed to overcome your aversion this morning.’
He lifted the wooden spoon and silicone spatula, covered in cake batter.
‘There are always more creative ways to clean up,’ he said, holding them out to her with a smile.
‘What, er… Do you want me to do with them?’ she asked, knowing full well what his unsaid question really was.
‘When you bake, what do you do with these before you take them to the sink?’
The answer suddenly felt far too indecent to vocalise. There was no way she was going to say the word ‘lick’. She swallowed and shrugged, her heart thumping in her chest.
‘Don’t you want to taste it?’
I really want to taste you.
‘In case I’ve mixed up sugar and salt and poisoned the parish council?’
His words and his expression may have been bland, but Eveline felt as if she’d just drunk a bottle of Tabasco.
She fluttered her hand at the utensils. ‘It’s the cook’s prerogative to, erm, pre-clean them.’
‘Pre-clean?’
She nodded.
He passed the wooden spoon to her. ‘One each.’
She took it. This was a moment which Estelle would have handled with aplomb. Her friend would have licked the spoon with such sexiness that whoever was watching would be reduced to a puddle.
She, however, was not Estelle. Spinning around with the pretext of looking at her notebook, she stuck the whole spoon in her mouth, sucking the batter off. The combination of butter and sugar made her want to moan.
‘Very good,’ she said, keeping her gaze averted as she took it to the sink.
‘Bloody hell—I mean, that’s delicious,’ Jack said behind her. ‘Makes me remember I haven’t had breakfast yet.’
She turned. ‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘It’s not your fault I overslept.’
‘Yes, but I should have noticed.’ Taking the spatula from him, she put it in the sink. ‘Please, let me get you something.’
