“Hell, no.” His voice was a low, gravelly rumble, his gaze hot on her mouth.
“I see.” Tempting him with proximity, she leaned closer. So close the fine hairs on her body stood on end, electrified by his nearness. So close she could taste the mint of his breath with every rise and fall of that broad chest. “Not even one little peck?”
“No.” Firm. Immediate.
Her lips curved in a taunting smile. “Too dangerous?”
“Too undeserved.” His fingertip carefully smoothed a straystrand of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. In a lingering, featherlight caress, he traced the sensitive rim of that ear and watched as she shivered beneath his touch. “Next kiss from you? I’ll fuckingearnit.”
The pad of his finger lightly rubbed her earlobe and trailed slowly along her neck. A bolt of electric heat raced down her spine and gathered between her legs, and her lips parted in a silent gasp. But all oxygen had abruptly left the universe, so there was no air to be found.
That slow, smug grin of his should’ve been illegal. “See you soon, Dearborn.”
By the time she could breathe normally again, he was already stomping down the street toward his bakery, hands in his pockets, ruddy hair aflame in the late afternoon sun.
Whistling.
“You’re a jerk!” she called after him. “A stupid, sexy jerk!”
Also a clit-tease, but she wasn’t going to holler that down a street.
His laughter was loud enough to echo off the nearby buildings and joyful enough that she couldn’t feel as aggrieved as she probably should.
“I’ll fucking take it,” he shouted back, and disappeared around a corner before she could either whack him with her bag or climb him like a truly aggravating yet seductive tree.
So much for her vaunted reserve and legendary calm.
“Freaking Harlot’s Bay,” she complained out loud, then stomped into her ten-foot-wide house and slammed the door. And despite her best efforts?
She was grinning the whole time.
10
Four days later, Molly set aside her latest failed attempt to decorate a cookie—the autumnal leaf looked like it was bleeding; how was that even possible?—and finally let herself ask the obvious question.
“Why haven’t you asked Charlotte to help you back here?” Stripping off her gloves, she watched him bend over the other side of his favorite stainless-steel worktable and begin decorating a custom-ordered two-layer round cake. “From what you’ve told me, her instinct for flavor combinations is impeccable. She’s reliable. You enjoy her company. So why not make her your assistant, if she’s willing?”
With an offset spatula, he liberally applied the almond cake’s apricot buttercream, velvety in texture and tinted a gorgeous, pale shade of peach. “Not happening.”
She frowned at him, befuddled by his immediate rejection of the idea.
Over the course of the week, she’d spent almost all her daylight hours at the bakery—and by Tuesday, she’d already begun to comprehend the scope of his staggering workload and the never-ending nature of his tasks. It all seemed very Sisyphean, frankly.
When she finished narrating an audiobook, it was done. As eternal as anything digital could be. Rarely revisited by her. But when Karl finished making brownies, people ate them. He then had to make more, which would also be consumed promptly. Sohe was never truly finished. He could always do more prep for the days ahead, and each morning he’d confront the same beast he’d slain the day before. The same boulder to be rolled up the same hill, ad nauseam.
But hopefully notliteralnauseam, or else his sanitation grade might drop.
An assistant could ease his workload. Why he didn’t have one already, she couldn’t quite understand. Unless... “Is the bakery not profitable enough to support an apprentice baker?”
At that, he ceased spinning the cake turntable in front of him, set down his spatula, and directed a withering glower her way. “Of course it is. What the hell made you think it wasn’t, Dearborn?”
“Because if it’s not a money issue, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t ask her to help.”
He was a ridiculously busy man, with half-moon shadows under his eyes that darkened day by day. And he wasn’t in his teens anymore. Sooner rather than later, the constant abuse on his body would take its toll. From the way he sometimes stretched his back, groaned, and mutter-shouted a heartfeltmotherfucker, she figured at least some of that bill had already come due.
A few more hours of rest would do him good. Simple as that.
“Got enough on her plate already. Asking her to work my shitty hours and spend all day with an asshole like me....” He shook his head and returned his attention to the cake. With a steady hand, he carefully placed a delicate bone-white rose on top of the now-smooth apricot frosting. “It’d be cruel. Taking advantage of her kindness.”
