She stops pacing and glares at me, but there’s no real heat in it. If anything, she looks like she’s trying not to smile.
“Fine,” she snaps, pointing a finger at me. “But I’m writing the prenup. And you’re not touching my company.”
“Deal,” I say, standing and extending a hand.
She stares at it for a long moment, suspicion flickering in her eyes, before finally taking it. That’s when I pull her up, catching her off guard, and tug her into my arms.
“Oh, darling,” I murmur, my lips grazing hers as her breath hitches. “We’re sealing this with a kiss.”
Before she can protest, I tilt my head and claim her mouth. The kiss is anything but polite. It’s fierce, unapologetic, and hot enough to burn every rule we just laid out to ash. Her hands press against my chest as if to push me away, but then they curl into my shirt, holding on.
By the time we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. I’m grinning like a fool, and she looks . . . furious. And stunned. And far too tempting for my sanity.
I’m in deep trouble.
“Don’t push your luck,” she finally mutters, though there’s the faintest twitch of a smile on her lips, like she can’t quite help it.
I release her, taking a step back, though I’m already memorizing the flush on her cheeks. “See you soon, Mrs. Timberbridge,” I call over my shoulder as I head for the door.
“Not yet,” she fires back, sharp as ever.
I chuckle, turning the knob. “Give it time, sweetheart.”
Her scowl follows me as I step outside, but the sound of the door clicking shut behind me only makes my grin widen.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already mine.
ChapterFifteen
Galeana
“What’s the emergency?”Aiden says instead of greeting me when she answers her phone, her voice clipped and slightly breathless. “My apprentice is kneading the dough, and it might be a disaster—he’s not that good.”
If this weren’t arealemergency, I’d tease her about the kneading—oh, how good can he knead, Aiden?—but I have to stay focused.
“So,” I say, a little too brightly, “what do you have to do this upcoming weekend?”
“Next weekend?” she repeats distractedly. I hear the unmistakable slap of dough hitting a counter, followed by a loud, “You’re going to fuck that up if you keep kneading like that. Do it gently—gently, Tommy. Like it’s a baby’s head, not a punching bag.”
I blink. “Um. You okay over there?”
“I’ve been better,” she snaps.
“What’s going on?”
Aiden huffs, her exasperation pouring through the receiver like steam from a broken kettle. “My boss thinks I can teach her son how to bake. Her son, Gale. It’s either to give him some ‘purpose in life’ or to get rid of me because I baked someone’s cake without her permission—again.”
“Again?” I fake astonishment.
“Yep, and I did it for free,” she barks at someone—probably Todd or Tom or . . . well, the dough assassin—before muttering, “What I do with my free time shouldn’t be any of her damn business. If I want to spend my Saturday baking the perfect fondant cake for Mrs. Simmons’ granddaughter, that’s my choice.”
I press my fingers to my temple, biting back a laugh. This is classic Aiden. She’s all soft flour hands and iron willpower, a mix of baking genius and kitchen neuroses that somehow works. She’s also the only person I can think of who would argue about wanting to do extra work.
“Well, next weekend, I’ve got the perfect excuse to get you out of there,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Remember the kitchen I showed you? The one with the marble countertops, two ovens, and a walk-in pantry?”
The line goes quiet, but I can tell she’s listening now.
“The dream kitchen,” I add, like I’m dangling a carrot in front of her. “Where you could make the world’s best cake and whip up an entire five-course meal without breaking a sweat.”
