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He watched her long, slender fingers work with the grain, adding ingredients, a pinch of this, a smattering of that, and then her fingers worked joining them all together, soft and gentle then hard and forceful.
He jumped up from the chair, moving to stand behind her, his hands slipping down along her arms until they rested at her hands.
“Teach me to work the bread.”
She shuddered against him, and he knew it was from the soft whisper of his breath against her ear. It was so easy to spark her passion; just a simple touch, and he could sense she wanted him. It was the same for him; though a single glance from her could set his loins on fire.
“You truly want this?” she asked.
The soft wispiness of her voice was all he needed to hear to confirm what he had sensed. She wanted him, and she was asking the same of him.
“Truly, I do,” he said with a nibble along her ear.
“Good,” she said firmly. “Go stand on the side of the table.”
“What?” His hands dropped away.
She turned around with a grin. “Go to the other side of the table.” She gave him a push.
“This isn’t what—”
“You truly wanted?” Her grin had grown with each word. “Is the warrior too mighty, not humble enough to bake a simple bread, or perhaps he hasn’t the wit for it?”
Reeve nodded slowly as his grin grew. “Challenging me, are you?”
“Are you up to it?”
“I’m always up to it.”
“Then the gauntlet is dropped,” she said. “Go to your side of the table.”
He did as she said, rolling up his sleeves as he went.
“I will finish mixing this dough and then separate it into two portions and show you how to knead one of them. Once it’s baked, we’ll see which one tastes better.”
He watched her add ale to the mixture. “Aha, now I know how you get your bread so tasty.”
“It helps the bread to rise and adds a bit of flavor,” she admitted. “But a good working with the hands also helps produce tasty bread, so let’s see who does the best.”
Reeve rubbed his hands together. “I’ve got good, strong hands.”
“Bread needs caressing,” she said, and ran her hands softly over the mound of dough.
Reeve watched enchanted as her fingers caressed, squeezed, pinched, and rolled, and made the dough respond to her every touch. Damn if he didn’t get images of her hands working on him, and damned if his body didn’t respond.
When she finally handed him his portion of the dough, he slammed it down on the table. “This is war and I’m going to win and to the victor go the spoils. That means my bread will be the tastier, and, later tonight, your hands will have to caress me as skillfully as they do that dough.”
“And if I win?” she asked, her smile confident. “Then your hands will skillfully caress me?”
“I always skillfully caress you.”
“Only caress, nothing more,” she said.
“Are you trying to rob me of my sanity?”
“You said it yourself, to the victor go the spoils, and to me, the spoils are my whole body being caressed by your strong hands.”
Reeve laughed, shaking his head. “Why argue with you? I’m going to win.”
