Page 120 of Just One Little Bargain

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, mouth brushing my skin. “You planned all of this, and I can’t keep my hands to myself.”

Every sensible reason to stop becomes difficult to remember with his weight against me.

One word from me and dinner is over. Milo is wound tight behind me, waiting on the smallest invitation.

And I want to. So badly that I ache. But I want the rest of the night too, the whole slow build of it, so I make myself do the harder thing.

“Your turn.” I reach for his hand, and Milo lets me go at once. He draws back just enough for me to twist in the narrow space between his body and the counter, fingers trailing from my waist only after I’ve stepped clear. “Solo.”

The second his heat leaves me, I want it back. Milo braces both palms on the counter and bows his head for one useless second. When he looks up again, his glasses have slipped almost to the end of his nose, leaving glowing violet eyes above the thin wire rims. They look obscene on him now. Too neat for the damp shine on his lips. Too delicate against the dark curve of his horns and the rose-gold flush burning across his cheekbones.

“You seem to have recovered remarkably quickly,” he says. “I would like it formally noted that I have not.”

I step back into his space and push the glasses up. His pupils spread behind the lenses as my fingertip trails down the bridge of his nose and rests against his lower lip. He turns his face into the touch just enough for his mouth to brush the pad of my finger.

I withdraw before he can make it anything more, reclaiming my side of the counter with considerably less composure than I left it. His dough is still uneven, but at least it’s recognizably circular now. That will have to count as progress.

“Finish it.”

His attention shifts to the food with visible effort.

I start arranging the toppings. Sauce first, spread in a careful spiral with the underside of a spoon.

Milo is eating the toppings faster than he’s placing them.

“Those go on the pizza.”

He folds another piece of prosciutto into his mouth, holding my gaze while he chews. “You made me hungry.”

My fingers pause over the basil.

“Your strategy appears to be eating everything before it reaches the dough.”

“Quality assurance.” He licks a streak of oil from his thumb, slow enough that my nipples tighten beneath my bra all over again. “You wouldn’t want me building a pizza with substandard ingredients.” His mouth quirks around the last bite.

“I hand-selected every ingredient on this counter.”

“Then they’re passing with flying colors.” He reaches for the caramelized onions and spoons a small mound directly into his mouth, tongue catching the sweetness from the spoon before his attention drops pointedly to my lips. “Although I may require a second tasting. My concentration has been compromised.”

“Focus.” I snap my fingers, mostly because mine is no better. “Toppings go on before the cheese,” I tell him. “I know that’s backwards from what most people do, but the cheese on top protects everything from burning and creates this . . . crust that holds it together.”

He follows my instructions, but with his own interpretive flair.

“Cheese on top,” I remind him, pushing the mozzarella board in his direction.

Milo leans across me to reach the arugula, one palm braced beside mine as his body presses along my side.

He gathers the leaves without giving me back an inch of space. Each time he reaches, his ribs shift against mine, and the hard line of his thigh nudges between my knees. By the third leaf, I’m gripping the spoon too tightly and he’s breathing through parted lips beside my temple.

I load both rounds onto the peel and slide them into the oven. When I straighten, Milo has closed the space I left. He plants a hand beside my hips and boxes me in.

“You keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Finding out what I’ve never had.” His knuckles graze the strawberry stitched into my apron. “No one has taken the trouble to learn what I might want. You built a whole counter out of it.”

The denial comes out on reflex. “It’s not a big deal.”