Page 70 of Snowed In with Four Firemen
I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to grab her and haul her back against me. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She glances over her shoulder, eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe a little.”
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. “You’re a dangerous woman, you know that?”
“Only when I want to be,” she murmurs, and the sultry note in her voice sends a fresh wave of heat shooting through me.
I force myself to take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand—because apparently, that’s the only thing that’s going to keep me from losing my mind right now. Emily is working on spreading the base layer of frosting, humming softly to herself like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Meanwhile, I’m standing there like a complete idiot, staring at her like she’s the most beautiful, infuriating thing I’ve ever seen. And she is. That’s the problem.
“Here,” she murmurs, handing me the bowl of frosting, her fingers brushing mine. Even that light touch sends a jolt of electricity through me. “Can you start on the sides?”
“Yeah,” I manage to say, my voice rough. I grab the spatula and get to work, smearing the frosting along the edges of the cake, trying to ignore the way her presence makes my entire body feel like it’s on fire.
“Like this?” I ask, casting her a sideways glance.
She nods approvingly, and I catch the way her gaze lingers on me, drifting over my arms, my chest. It’s quick—subtle—but it’s there, and it’s enough to make my pulse spike.
“Yeah, just like that,” she says softly, her eyes flicking back up to meet mine. There’s a challenge there, a dare, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me and wants to see how long I’ll last.
It’s like a slow, delicious torture.
“Perfect,” she murmurs, stepping closer. I can feel her heat against my side, the subtle scent of vanilla and something uniquelyherfilling my senses. “Now just smooth it out, like this.”
She reaches out, covering my hand with hers, guiding the spatula in slow, deliberate strokes. My breath catches as her chest presses lightly against my arm, the feel of her body so close making it impossible to think about anything else.
“Emily…” I growl softly, a warning.
She glances up, her eyes wide and innocent, but the smile playing on her lips is anything but. “Yes?”
“You’re testing me.”
Her lips twitch. “Am I?”
“Yes,” I grit out, leaning down slightly, my gaze locking on hers. “And if you keep it up, I’m not going to be held responsible for what happens.”
“Is that a promise?” she whispers, her voice low and breathy.
Before I can respond, she pulls back again, flashing me that maddening smile before turning her attention back to the cake. I watch her smooth the frosting, my hands clenched so tight around the spatula that my knuckles ache.
“Relax, Tanner,” she says softly, not looking at me. “We’re almost done.”
But it feels like a damn eternity. She’s taking her time, adding little flourishes, smoothing out the edges.
“Okay,” she finally says, stepping back and wiping her hands on her apron. “I think that’s it.”
I stare at the cake, my pulse thundering in my ears. It looks perfect—smooth, even, the decorations simple but elegant. I should feel proud. I should feel satisfied that we got it done.
But all I can think about is how desperately I want to grab her, pin her against the counter, and show her exactly what happens when you tease a man to his breaking point.
“It’s done?” I ask, my voice strained.
She nods, smiling up at me. “It’s done.”
“Good.”
Before she can react, I drop the spatula, grab her by the waist, and haul her against me. She gasps, her eyes widening, but she doesn’t pull away. She just looks up at me, breathless, her lips parting in surprise.
