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“Seriously, did you have to do that? We aren’t anything. Stop it.” Olivia mixes the ingredients together and throws the dough hard onto the counter.

Smack.

“You know you’re making me hard, right? I love my women feisty.”

She’s now poking the dough like it’s her worst enemy. “I’m not your woman.”

Chuckling, I slowly get behind her and step close until our bodies are a hairsbreadth apart. Reaching around, I cover her hands with mine.

Her breath hitches. “Wh-What are you doing?”

“Teaching you how to knead dough. You’re doing it all wrong.”

“And what makes you the expert, mister I have a personal chef my entire life?”

“You’re making it worse,” I murmur as I press her hands down, using the heel of our palms to work the gluten.

“What’s worse?” Her voice is breathier now.

“This.”

I look around the room, noting everyone focused on their cooking. Under the guise of teaching her, I press my hips forward, letting her feel the raging hard-on threatening to dig its way out of my pants. Thank God the island is tall enough and perfectly hides our hips away from prying eyes.

Sharp frissons tremor through me the moment her curvy ass cradles my shaft. I want to succumb to my urges, toss her over my shoulders, and carry her back to my stateroom to show her all the ways we’re perfect together, even if I can’t give her everything she’s asking for.

Yet.

The smallest moan slips out of her and she shakes—she fucking shakes in my arms.

Scratch that. I’ll just toss her onto the counter and have my way with her.

But then everyone would see her come around my cock, and no one gets to see her orgasm face except me.

Fucking shit. Now I’m most definitely indecent now.

“So damn sensitive, little Olive,” I rasp. “Are you just this sensitive to me?”

I punctuate the sentence with a small forward cant of my hips—one tortuous grind of my cock against her legging-clad ass.

I want to take her there. I wonder if she’s experienced it inside her little rosebud yet?

Someone giggles and I jolt, suddenly aware we’re in a room with other people.

Shit. Get yourself together, Rex.

Thankfully, everyone seems to be busy with their tasks and Valenti is currently hovering over Bree and Lana’s disaster that’s more water than flour. No way I’m going to taste test that shit.

Clearing my throat, I take a small step back.She has a reputation to uphold,I remind myself. I can’t jeopardize her career because I’m selfish.

I guess the Anderson manners were drilled into me—Maxwell would be proud.

Biting back a bitter grin, I curve her hands in mine, showing her the proper way of preparing the dough.

“Feel this?” I ask as I fold the dough in half and then push it away with the heel of my hand. Then, I turn it ninety degrees and repeat. “You want it smooth and elastic. Fold. Push. Turn. Easy rhythm. The texture should be just right—springy but not sticky.”

She whips her head around. “How do you know this?”

Smiling, I wink. “Rex-a-Million is not only good in the sheets.”