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“Ah, that’s right. You didn’t come until after breakfast last week.” He pushes off the counter, setting his mug on a coaster. “I’ll teach you. Come.”

I rise from the stool, following him across the kitchen.

He’s going to the pantry.

Thepantry.

The same one he had me trapped in just a few days ago. Where he pressed me up against the wire racks and reminded me he can make my body sing with just a simple touch.

He steps inside, looking back at me, and I wonder if he’s thinking about it too.

If he is, he doesn’t show it. Those same hands that gently ran over my skin grab hold of a box of pancake mix and a bag of chocolate chips.

Scratch that—peanut butterchips.

He also grabs some brown sugar and peanut butter.

“Can you grab the bananas?”

“Sure.”

I slide past him. Except I can’t just slide past him.

He’s Porter.

My chest brushes against his arm inside the tiny room, and I regret wearing the world’s thinnest bra. My nipples get hard instantly.

I gulp and push forward, holding the bananas over my chest. Porter glances at the obvious attempt to cover my arousal but doesn’t say anything.

I see the way his lips twitch though.

Bastard.

We exit the pantry and set the ingredients on the countertop. He points to the cabinet nearest me.

“Cast iron, please.”

I go to pull it out, but it’s heavier than I expect it to be and the pan slips in my grip.

He chuckles at me, and I glare.

His lips turn down in a mocking frown. “Poor Doris, can’t even lift a pan. Damn those gym allergies.”

“Do you really want to sass me when I’m holding this thing? It’s quite heavy, you know.”

“Which is exactly why I have no problem sassing you. You can’t even lift it.”

I roll my eyes in a huff. “I can too. My hand just slipped because of this damn rubber handle.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an excuse.”

He just laughs when I growl at him.

“Finally,” he says as I hand him the pan. “I thought for sure I was going to die of old age waiting on you.”

“Shut up. What’s next?”

“For you? Nothing. Just watch the master.”