Page 45 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

Because he wanted to.

The fence was never going to hold him. Some things aren’t meant to be contained.

“Not me either,” I said to the dark.

CHAPTER NINE

WILLA

I’d baked until two in the morning because every time I closed my eyes, I felt his mouth on mine and my hands on his shoulders and the way he’d gone completely still before his hands found my waist. Standing in my kitchen measuring flour was safer than lying in bed trying to convince myself I hadn’t just ruined everything.

A kiss I’d initiated.

A kiss I’d walked away from because staying would’ve meant admitting things I wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Neither of us had mentioned it. As if it hadn’t happened.

The cookies were a compromise, something I could control. They said I was thinking about him without having to spit out the words.

Peanut butter chocolate chip. My grandmother’s recipe. The one I made when I wanted to impress someone.

I kept glancing at the container on my passenger seat during my drive to work on Friday, second-guessing everything. This was too obvious. He’d know exactly what it meant. Or worse. He wouldn’t know, and I’d stand there holding homemade cookies like a 1950s housewife while he looked confused and I died of embarrassment.

I almost left the container at home. Pretended I’d never baked them. But the image of him eating the bakery cookies kept me pressing the accelerator forward.

Fred was floating near the ceiling when I walked in, Amanda riding on his back, a tiny crowned monarch surveying her domain.

My coffee sat beside the keyboard on my desk, steam rising in a thin curl.

Two creams. No sweetener. He was here already. My pulse kicked up.

I set the cookie container down beside the coffee, my hands not quite steady, and took a long sip. Perfect. Exactly how I liked it. And I got to work, completing one task after another, trying not to think about the meeting this afternoon when we’d be alone.

Would he mention the kiss, or would he act like it never happened?

Two thirty came much too soon and not soon enough. I rose from my desk, smoothed my skirt and blouse, and walked down the hall, a notebook and the container of cookies in hand.

Like before, the conference room door was closed, but I could see movement through the frosted glass. Traig’s unmistakable silhouette, pacing again.

I knocked once, and the pacing stopped.

“Come in,” he called out.

He stood near his chair at the head of the table, his hair tied back, wearing a t-shirt that outlined his muscles and jeans. His eyes met mine and held.

I walked around behind him, hyperaware of his woodsy scent and my overwhelming urge to stop and lean against him. When I reached my chair to the right of his, I set the container on the table.

His gaze dropped to it. “You brought something.”

“I baked cookies last night.” The words came out fast. “Peanut butter chocolate chip. You seemed to like the cookies last time, so.”

He sat and reached for the container, tugging off the lid. The smell of peanut butter and chocolate drifted up from the container, making my belly rumble. He paused before lifting out a cookie and taking a bite.

My breath caught.

He chewed slowly, his eyes closing for half a heartbeat. When they opened again, they locked on me with a look that made my knees tremble.

“You made these.” An accusation wrapped in awe.