Page 76 of Elf-ish

“For now, though, I’m going to settle for visions of you coming in my head and the taste of you on my tongue, while we make cookies with your family.”

Her eyes widen, brows lifting before she turns her head like it has suddenly occurred to her where we are.

I pinch her chin to bring her attention back to me and kiss her quickly one more time, rushing to invade her mouth with my tongue before pulling back and pressing away from the washer.

Smoothing my hand down my shirt and adjusting my belt buckle, I add, “Oh, and you can get to me about that wedding date. The one in The Oak Room.”

With that, I spin on my hard-soled shoes, leaving her to wonder if the date I mean is actually a number on the calendar, or a physical date, where I’m the man standing across from her.

chapter 24

[Angelica]

I need a minute to wrap my head around what just happened.

The equation of Jude being my date to my own wedding equals him as my groom, which makes no sense. None. It would never happen.

Yet, I still can’t get out of my head all he said. Me in white. And my faceless future husband doing salacious things to me beneath my dress.

I shiver at the thought and grip the washing machine behind me to steady myself. My legs are already shaky after what he just did to me. His fingers were ruthless yet delectable. He’d gone so deep and touched me in a way I’ve never been touched. Something inside me triggered an orgasm that brought stars to my eyes.

Jude was so bad, in the most complex and delicious way.

Speaking of delicious, I need to get back upstairs to cookie baking and act like nothing just happened in this laundry room.

Trouble is, I’m horrible at pretending.

As I enter the kitchen, I catch the tail end of Jude telling Beau, “Sorry, man, but that date in The Oak Room is unavailable. We’re actually completely booked for the season.”

When Jude notices me just inside the kitchen, he winks. That flip of his eyelid shouldn’t do funny things to my insides. Neither should the way he talks dirty to me or touches me.

But as he watches me, that funny feeling flutters faster and I place my hand on my belly in an attempt to settle down.

“Alright, fancy pants, suit coat off, shirt sleeves up,” Aunt Gertie demands, staring at Jude.

Most of my female family members are mesmerized by him as he slowly shrugs off his coat and then meticulously rolls his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

Christmas bumps into my shoulder and hums. “He’s sex on a peppermint stick.”

“You’re married.” I turn on her.

“Which means I’m taken, not blind.”

Jude steps over to the sink to wash his hands, and I watch Aunt Gertie pick up Jude’s suit coat and bring it to her nose.

Stepping forward, I snag the jacket from her hands. “Aunt Gertie, why don’t you grab the flour?”

I spin for the dining room to set Jude’s coat on the back of a chair, but not before taking my own whiff, inhaling his expensive scent.

Within minutes of returning to the crowded kitchen, Christmas is pulling sugar cookie dough

from the refrigerator. Panic sets in as I know Gran can mess up the recipe.

“Don’t worry,” Christmas says near me. “I made the dough last night.”

Hunks of dough are broken off from the giant balls and distributed. When one is handed to Jude, he stares at it like he isn’t certain what to do. I step closer to him as he focuses on the clump in his hand.

“I’ve never actually made cookies.” His voice is low, so only I can hear. “All the images on my mother’s social media were staged. The cut-outs had to be perfect. The decorations like a master baker had made them. Kids in the kitchen were messy.” He glances up at me with sadness and fear in his eyes. Like he’s afraid he’ll fail here, like a repeat of when he’d spilled the bowl of eggs during the breakfast with Santa.