Chapter Fourteen #3
So, he could feed her, burp her, but he couldn’t play with her? Got it.
Minnie settled after that, a little drowsy, but still too full of beans for a nap. I placed her in her walker and she was as happy as Larry, skidding around the kitchen and bumping into every available surface just because she could.
“What happens now?” Caine broke the silence, and I stared down at the countertops, absolutely caked in batter.
“We just clean up and wait for the timer to go off.”
He nodded once before returning to his workstation to begin scooping up the mess.
I was half surprised he hadn’t called in one or two of his lackeys to do it, since that was his default for everything.
He looked so out of place, in his pristine suit pants and tailored black shirt.
There were specks of flour on it, but not enough he couldn’t wipe it off and be business-meeting ready.
Why did he have to be so attractive? It actually bugged me.
A wicked thought crossed my mind, and I snatched up a handful of flour. “Caine?” I prompted, smirking.
“Hm?” He twisted around but didn’t even get to lift his gaze to mine as a cloud of flour smacked right in the middle of his chest. The residue reached his chin. “You little—”
“Language,” I nipped, casual as could be. Minnie giggled and clapped her hands.
A darkness settled over his face, and my adrenaline spiked. “You’ll pay for that,” he said, his voice deathly steady. He plucked an egg from the carton still on the bench, tossing it in the air before catching it again, the eye contact not budging an inch.
I raised my hands, starting to back away as he stalked forward. “No, no, no. Don’t you even think ab—”
It cracked above my head, the cold, viscous gloop dripping into my hair and sliding down my face. I cringed in disgust before glaring up at him. His lips were tipped with a slight smirk.
“Don’t play games if you can’t handle the prize,” he said.
He flung the shell into the bin, polishing his hands with a tea towel.
Wasting no time thinking about it, I lunged forward, grabbed an egg, and with all the power in my arm, hoyed it in the Alpha’s direction.
I wasn’t sure who was more stunned when it hit its mark—right on the side of Caine’s face—me or him.
My eyes flared in challenge as he faced me slowly, an expression of pure feral intent staring back at me. Fuck, I was in for it. Why did that excite me? “You little brat,” he growled, low and threatening, his posture adjusting into a hunting stance.
He pounced.
“Oh, shh-ugar.” My heart thumped wildly, and I took an unprepared run and leap, ducking behind the counter for cover. We were locked in a sort of dance, swerving one way then another, provoking.
My omega instincts were having a grand old time.
“You can’t stay over there all day,” Caine rumbled, sounding amused. “Our daughter’s cookies will burn.”
Ooh, manipulation. Dirty. “I can make more.”
I had to bite my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing out loud, the exhilaration was making me giddy. I didn’t know what he was going to do when he caught me, but I didn’t want to find out—okay, a total lie, but I had to pretend so my dick didn’t get interested in the possibilities.
Minnie exclaimed, wiggling in her walker. She was loving this—the live entertainment meeting her standards. “Come on, baby, help me out here,” I pleaded, not taking my eyes off the Alpha. “Trip him up for me.”
She just chuckled manically and scooted in the opposite direction.
Helpful.
With the speed and reflexes of a fucking mongoose, Caine scaled the worktop.
I squealed—a very rugged squeal, thank you very much—and before I could bolt, he tackled me to the ground.
My arms and legs sprawled every which way as Caine’s bulk pinned me to the cold floor.
His chest vibrated, the sound slightly inhuman as a triumphant smirk crept onto the edge of his egg-stained mouth.
I burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it, but in the next moment, his fingers, somehow coated in flour—when the fuck had he scooped that up?—smeared every inch of my hair, neck, and face with the white powder.
“You’re such a dick,” I chuckle-spluttered while squirming pitifully, trying and failing to writhe away from the Alpha’s wandering hands.
Caine huffed a faint laugh, and I didn’t know what it was about that particular puff of breath, but it reverberated through my bones. He assessed me, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the loose strands of hair curling onto my face.
“It’s a good look on you,” he murmured, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips as every ounce of air evaporated.
We stared, the room shrinking, a shroud of warmth encasing us. He inched closer, and the only noise in my ears were stilted breaths, the echoed thumping of my pulse, and—
The blare of the timer.
Caine winced, snapping back to awareness. He hoisted himself to his feet without much effort, and I mourned the loss of his weight on top of me, but only for a second. Minnie’s face sliding into view quickly tempered any of those thoughts.
“Daddy?”
“I’m okay, baby.”
I think.
I reached out to take the hand Caine was offering, letting him haul me to my feet. We said nothing, and I dusted off as much flour as I could from my clothes, sighing when I realised my efforts were a lost cause—the dregs on my hands were making it worse, so I gave up.
Caine had lifted the cookies out of the oven. The smell of hot lemon and ginger filled the kitchen, and that whole . . . situation was forgotten. My mouth watered as I transferred the biscuits onto separate racks—so they’d cool faster—before returning to the tidying up we’d barely started.
Once the kitchen was spotless, and the icing was prepped for the decorations, I reached out to pick up a gingerbread cookie to taste—still a little warm—but Caine tapped my hand away. “Let them cool properly.”
“To hell with that,” I said. “They’re so much better warm.” I lifted the oddly shaped concoction to my mouth, the scent of fresh spices filtering through my nose as I bit into one of the corners.
Three chews and my tastebuds clocked the flavour.
“What the—” I spat the half-chewed biscuit into my hand, but the god-awful taste lingered on my tongue. I ran my gloopy fingers under the tap, grimacing at the texture as it whirled towards the drain.
After a few more repulsed noises for effect, I took a can of pop from the fridge and downed it at record speed, grateful it even subtly masked the taste.
“Well, those are vile,” I complained, my throat burning from the fizz. I glared down at the biscuits as if they were smeared in shit—might’ve actually made a difference. “I’ve made these a hundred times, what the fuu-dge?”
“Did you follow the recipe?” Caine offered drily.
I matched him. “Yes, Caine. I followed the recipe.” My brain whirred, recounting my steps, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. The Alpha must have sabotaged my batter. “What did you do?”
“Dylan,” Caine drawled.
“What?”
His mouth twitched with distaste as he chewed on one of the offending cookies. “Which spice did you use, exactly?”
“What are you talking about?” I responded defensively, before storming over to the cupboards where I stored the ingredients. I grabbed the jar at the front. “I used the cinnam—” The name on the label wasn’t cinnamon. “Shit.”
“Not cinnamon, then?”
“It looks like cinnamon,” I argued, shaking the jar in front of Caine’s face, my fingers conveniently obscuring the bold FIVE SPICE written across it. “It’s hardly my fault. This isn’t my kitchen, and the jars are exactly the same.”
The Alpha smirked, and I had the urge to punch him. “Salt and sugar look similar, did you confuse those two also?”
“Fu—” I side-eyed Minnie, who was clearly quite invested in the dispute. “Fudge off. If you hadn’t been distracting me with flinging flour all over the place, I’d—”
“It’s my fault you can’t read a label?” Caine said, interrupting my rant—the rant that fell flat since the flour flinging had happened after the batter went in the oven, but that was irrelevant. He wasn’t even bothering to conceal his amusement at my expense.
“Yes,” I grumbled.
I swore to god if this fucker aimed his smugness at me one more time, he’d be shitting five spice for a week. “Throw them away. They’re inedible. You can help Minseo and me decorate the lemon ones.”
“How noble of you,” I muttered, tossing the ruined cookies into the bin before stepping in beside him. “Who’d have thought you were actually capable of being so selfless?”
Caine scoffed. “If you believe I’m going to stand here and decorate biscuits while you pout because yours failed, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“I’m not pouting.”
He hummed.
“Shut up and give me the piping bag,” I demanded, holding out my hand expectantly, still glowering.
Caine tilted his head, and I knew whatever was going to come out of his mouth next would enrage me. “Ask nicely.”
There was internal effort involved, but I managed to rein in my petty temper. Those words flicked a switch in me, an entirely different emotion taking root, and my expression evened out.
With my hand still outstretched, I widened my eyes, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth. “Please, Alpha,” I begged, only just muffling my snort as the whisper of a smirk fell from Caine’s face. “Let me help.”
His jaw tightened, and he slammed the filled piping bag on the counter, icing squirting out the end—I found that visual quite fitting. “Brat.”
I smiled. Not teasing, not wry, a full, genuine beam, which seemed to expand from nowhere. Minnie screeched happily in the distance, and I glanced over at her, a rush of endorphins breaking out from somewhere deep inside me.
When I turned back, Caine was silent and observing—as he often was—but his gaze had anchored on me, studious in a way I’d never seen before.
I didn’t know what it meant, but my heart skipped.