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Randy appears just as exhausted as I am as he saunters into the kitchen on slightly bowed legs. He is the mere definition of poetry in motion. And I really loathe that is the thought that’s in my head.
“I’ve already done it,” he says in a husky and sultry voice.
My eyebrows raise, but not because I’m surprised. Randy is a workhorse. He’ll get the task done first and ask questions later. It’s one of his most admirable qualities, actually. However, I wait for the other shoe to drop, the part where he lectures me about doing my job before I amuse myself in the kitchen without his consent.
Instead, he sighs as he puts on an apron. My eyes gravitate to his broad chest, accentuated as he wraps the ties around his waist. His body looks perfect. My best friend, Naomi Sutters, always says he looks like Clark Kent, Superman’s alter ego. I would never admit it out loud, but I think Randy is cuter. He could be a Hollywood movie star. All of his facial features are perfectly placed, and he has just the right amount of everything—cheekbones, chin, forehead, nose, and those sexy bedroom eyes. I love watching his face whenever we have sex. If only he weren’t so difficult 99.9 percent of the time.
He hasn’t reprimanded me yet, though, which means it might be best to leave while we’re still on speaking terms. I raise my arms to stretch as I yawn. “Well, I’m done here, so…”
Randy tilts his head ever so slightly as he opens a container of flour. “Could you stick around a little longer?”
We’re gazing intently at each other. The way his eyes smolder makes my heart thump like persistent thunder. That’s all it takes for Randy to convey that he wants to explore this magnificent flame that ignites between us when we’re alone, a flame that can’t be quelled. As usual, my brain is shouting, “No! Go! Leave now!” One day, this thing that we do, our little secret, is going to hurt very badly. But every other part of me wants to stick around for more.
“For what?” I finally ask, trying hard to put up a defense against the power he has over me.
“Let me make something for you.” His tone is syrupy, and I’m lapping up its sweet flavor.
That familiar feeling lingers in the air. This is how it always starts between us.
I search beyond his shoulders and out into the unlit hallway. “Are we the only ones here?”
Randy is already measuring flour and dropping it into the bowl of the electronic mixer. In addition to his normal chef’s ego, he’s so sure of himself. It’s as if he knows I’ve already chosen to stay and allow our future to unfold in life’s most pleasurable way. “Yes,” he says without looking at me.
This is my last chance to get out. I should leave. I really should. But instead I walk over to stand beside him. “What are you making?” He smells so good. Did he douse himself in cologne since this morning?
He glances at me with a gorgeous half-smile. “It’s a secret.”
“Why are you making secrets for me tonight?”
He looks at me, maintaining his lopsided grin, which sends a thrill through me. “Why not?”
“Because earlier in the break room, you weren’t that nice.”
“You were late.”
“You know I have school, Randy, which by the way, makes me more able to help in the kitchen.”
He’s measuring a teaspoon of vanilla. I go to the rack and retrieve the brown bottle of vanilla butter emulsion that I made a few days ago.
“I’m doing free baker’s work.” I twist the cap off the emulsion. “Use a teaspoon of this too.”
“No.” He cracks three eggs like he can give a master class in egg cracking.
“Yes.” I pour a teaspoon of the dense liquid into the batter.
Randy flips the mixer off. “Why are you so difficult?”
I swipe a finger through his batter and hold it in front of his scrumptious lips. “I could ask the same question.”
We’re tumbling deeper into each other’s stare. Every part of me throbs for more of Randy, especially when his mouth consumes my finger and his tongue gently glides around the tip of it.
That’s all it takes. It happens like a fire erupting out of thin air. Lightning strikes. I’m contained by his fit arms. All day, I’ve wanted to taste his mouth, and now I am indulging in his kiss. It’s making me dizzy with desire. Our hands, mouths, and movements are instinctual. We’ve done this so many times before, we know what to do. The clothes that restrict us from being closer are off. Suddenly, Randy lifts my feet off the floor and sets me on the counter. His strong hand presses upward against my thigh.
I shouldn’t.
We shouldn’t.
But the warmth of his mouth and the force of his lips are so addictive. My thoughts lose the battle against his intractable pull. Suddenly, I gasp, feeling him deep inside me. Soon, all I want is to merge into Randy Thorn.
