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I can feel the texture of the flour on her fingers.
“Something tells me I was fine until you wiped your finger on me.” I grab her hand to keep it from swiping at me again.
Emma smiles innocently. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
I lean over her, enjoying the feel of her hips pressed against mine. I grab a pinch of flour from the open bag on the counter and sprinkle it over her head.
Emma gasps. I can tell she’s trying to appear angry, but she can’t keep a straight face. She reaches for a handful of flour and pelts my chest with it. I hold her with one arm so she can’t escape, while I sprinkle more flour over her head.
“It’s in my bra! It’s in my bra!” She dances around, trying to shake it out of her shirt.
We should stop chasing each other around the kitchen with flour and act like adults, but baking with Emma is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
“What’s that lovely smell?” Emma’s mom enters the kitchen to find us in a full-on flour war. “Oh, my.” She takes in our flour-covered appearance. “I haven’t seen a mess this big since Emma’s wedding cake bake attempt when she was eight.”
“Sorry, we got a little carried away,” I say.
“That’s okay. As long as you clean up after yourselves.”
Emma’s dad walks in with his coffee mug in hand.
“What the hell is going on in here?” he barks.
“We made scones?” Emma presses her lips together, trying to hold in her laughter.
“You know where the cleaning supplies are,” her dad grumbles before stalking out.
When he’s gone, Emma turns to me with wide eyes.
“Sorry. You probably weren’t expecting grumpy in-laws as part of the deal.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. It’s only a few weeks.”
We clean up the kitchen, then Emma excuses herself to shower for work, while I wait for the scones to finish baking.
When they’re fresh out of the oven, I spread butter on top of one and take it to Emma on a plate. She’s in her bathroom, wrapped in her robe, putting on makeup.
I realize too late that everything about the moment is an exercise in restraint. The way her robe gapes slightly at her collarbone, revealing the smooth, touchable skin there.
Don’t look.
I focus my eyes on her face, but the visual of Emma placing the buttered scone between her lips, watching her eyes widen with satisfaction as she bites into the warm, buttery pastry isn’t any less enticing.
When she hums her approval, my cock stirs to life. It’s the same breathy moan she made when she came on my tongue in Vegas.
Fuck.
“It’s so good. The blueberries are warm and sweet. I love how they burst open on my tongue.” She licks her lips and wipes the sugar from the corner of her mouth, then she sets the rest of the scone back on the plate. “I’m almost finished. I’ll get dressed and meet you in the kitchen so we can eat together.”
“No.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to. “I mean, I’ve got some stuff to do.”
“Oh, okay.” She nods, giving me a small smile. “Thanks for making these, they’re delicious.”
I nod. “You helped.”
“I guess I did.” Her smile turns up a notch. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah.” I back out of the bathroom and head to the kitchen to pack up most of the scones for Emma to take to work for her staff. I don’t need any moan-inducing scones lying around here. I keep a few for Jolyn and Philip. When I’m done, I realize I have nothing to do, but hoping to avoid Emma, I decide to go for a walk. I throw on a sweatshirt and grab the book I’m currently reading.
