Chapter 8 #2
“Nae bad fer a first attempt,” Mhari declared, inspecting them with a critical eye. “Though the glaze could be smoother.”
“They’re perfect,” Liv said loyally, reaching for one.
“Dinnae ye dare!” Mhari swatted her hand away. “Those are fer yer cousin.”
“Which means I’ll never get tae taste them,” Liv grumbled, but she was grinning. “He’ll eat the lot and pretend he hasnae.”
The kitchen door swung open with enough force to make all three women jump. Erik filled the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking out the light from the corridor beyond, his expression thunderous as his gaze swept the room before landing on her.
“There ye are.” His voice was rough, accusatory. “I’ve been searchin’ everywhere fer ye.”
Claricia lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by his tone. “I’ve been here, as anyone could have told ye.”
“Aye, well, when me wife vanishes without a word—”
“I’m nae a child who needs permission tae move about me own home,” she shot back, the words emerging sharper than intended. Behind her, she heard Mhari’s barely suppressed snort of amusement. “And I’m nae yer wife yet.”
Erik’s jaw tightened. His gaze traveled from her flour-dusted hair to the smudge of honey on her cheek, to her rolled-up sleeves, and something shifted in his expression—surprise chasing away the anger.
“Have ye been… bakin’?”
The question held such genuine bewilderment that Claricia nearly laughed. “Aye. Is that so hard tae believe?”
“Ye’re a lady.” He said it as though that explained everything, his tone caught somewhere between confusion and something that might have been admiration. “Ladies dinnae—”
“This one daes.” She reached for the tray before her courage failed her, lifting it with hands that trembled only slightly. “I… made these. Fer ye.”
The silence that fell was different from before—heavier, charged with something she couldn’t name. Erik stared at the honey cakes as though they might bite him, his expression carefully blank in the way she was learning meant he was feeling too much and didn’t know how to show it.
“Ye. Made these,” he repeated flatly. “Fer me.”
“Dinnae sound so suspicious. If I wanted tae kill ye it wouldnae be by feedin’ ye poisoned sweets.”
“I never thought—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair in a gesture she recognized as frustration. When he looked at her again, something in his gray eyes made her breath catch.
“Never mind. If ye dinnae want them—”
“Aye, I want them.” The words came fast, almost desperate.
Erik took the tray from her hands, his fingers brushing hers in the transfer—a fleeting touch that once again sent heat racing up her arms. He lifted one cake, examining it with the same intensity he might bring to inspecting a battle plan, then bit into it.
Claricia held her breath.
Erik’s eyes closed. A low sound emerged from his throat—something between a groan and a sigh that made every inch of her skin prickle with awareness.
When his eyes opened again, they were darker than before, burning with something that had nothing to do with honey cakes and everything to do with the woman who’d made them.
“Claricia.” Her name on his lips was rough velvet. “These are…”
“Terrible?”
“Perfect.” He took another bite, his gaze never leaving hers.
He set the tray down on the nearest surface, then turned back to her with deliberate slowness. Before she could process his intent, he’d reached up to brush his thumb across her cheek—gentle, almost reverent. “Ye’ve got honey… here.”
The simple touch lit a fire beneath her skin. She stood frozen as he held up his thumb, showing her the golden smear, then, brought it to his own mouth.
Heat flooded through her, pooling low in her belly as she watched him taste the honey from her skin. His eyes held hers the entire time, a challenge and a promise wrapped in one devastating look.
“Erik…” she breathed, not sure if it was a protest or an invitation.
“Ye called me by me name...” His voice dropped to a rumble that vibrated through her bones.
Had she? She hadn’t even realized. “I—”
“Dae it again.” He moved closer, crowding her against the table until she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell him. “Say me name.”
“Erik.” It came out breathless, surrendering.
“Aye.” Satisfaction curved his mouth. “Like that. Exactly like that.”
Behind them, someone cleared their throat loudly.
Claricia jumped, her face flaming as she remembered they had an audience.
Liv was studiously examining the contents of a cooking pot, but her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
Mhari had turned away entirely, though Claricia could see the grin she was trying to hide.
Erik didn’t seem remotely embarrassed. He stepped back slowly, and picked up the tray of honey cakes again. “I’m takin’ these.”
“They’re yers,” Claricia managed, her voice steadier than she felt.
“Aye.” His gaze swept over her once more, lingering on her flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. “And so are ye. Dinnae forget it.”
Then he was gone, striding from the kitchen with his prize, leaving Claricia standing there with her heart racing and her thoughts in complete disarray.
Mhari was the first to break the silence. “Well,” she said, amusement rich in her voice. “I’d say yer honey cakes were a success.”
Liv turned back, her pale eyes dancing. “Aye, I dinnae think I’ve ever seen him look at anyone like that.”
“Like what?” Claricia demanded, though part of her didn’t want to know the answer.
“Like he’d forgotten how tae breathe.” Liv’s smile was knowing, almost pitying. “Ye’re in big trouble, Claricia. Both of ye.”