Chapter Seven
SHAY
IAM WET.
Under my arms.
Behind my neck.
Down my spine.
Between the legs.
I’m grateful for the moment of doing nothing.
Just standing here. Just breathing.
Watching Cash is easier than concentrating on his instructions.
I’m not good at baking or cooking, or anything in the kitchen, if I’m being honest. But that’s not why my hands are shaking.
Every place he touched still burns. Like I’ve been marked.
It wouldn’t be bad if it had been a short brush or even the earlier run-in. A quick fifteen seconds is nothing compared to what we just did. His body working against my back. His fingers sliding between mine, and the motion of us mixing and kneading that dough together.
Pressing.
Leaning.
Grinding.
Oh, good lord, what’s the matter with me?
Why is this feeling so strong? A half hour ago, I was ready to punch him in the face, and now my entire body is on fire because of him.
My stomach coils—my core throbs. My thighs press together, and my nipples are so tight they ache.
I’ve never been so turned on, so tight and desperate for relief like I am right now.
I can’t think straight.
I forget what we’re even doing.
“You want to warm her up first.” Cash palms the dough, spreading it wide apart beneath his hands.
Jesus.
If he touched me like that, I’d come apart without a fight.
I might actually come apart right here, right now.
I’ve turned into one of his cult following women who have abandoned their dough to watch him while on the edge of an orgasm.
Get control.
“Let her get used to your touch before you go deeper.” His fingers push in and fold the dough over his knuckles.
I jerk.
Hard, like he’s touching me.
Molten heat explodes inside me. My fingers dig into the counter to keep from collapsing.
The logical part of my brain questions if he hears himself?
That should snap me right out of this hypnotic trance. He has to be saying these things on purpose—to make women swoon.
I should see right through that.
This morning’s version of Shay would see right through it. This evening’s Shay, though, notes that if he touched me like that, I’d be warmed up and coming in a second.
I’d be embarrassed if I could find my voice of reason, but it’s momentarily on a simpatico.
He stretches the dough long, not looking at anyone, almost like he’s forgotten we’re here.
His hat is pulled low, casting a shadow over his eyes. But I see his jaw tighten as he works. The way the cords of his neck stand out with effort.
We all see it.
“Do you know Cash?” Jaclyn’s whisper is husky, too.
“We met this morning.” Or crashed into each other.
Accused each other. Fought with one another.
Not flirted, and certainly didn’t intend to do whatever it is we both just did up there.
Jaclyn clears her throat. “Met or fucked?”
“Met.” I choke, but no one notices.
They’re entranced with his bare chest dusted with flour and the white powder clinging to the dark hair on his forearms.
I’m entranced.
And his jeans. Holy hell, his jeans ride low on his hips with the denim molded to his strong thighs. Thighs I can still feel on my body.
“Messy at the start. She’ll cling. She’ll resist—” He pulls the dough into a smooth length and folds it back, trapping air inside.
I wouldn’t resist. I’d cling to him and make a mess of both of us.
“But once she trusts you, she opens up.”
How I would open for him.
I swallow hard.
My mouth is dry, and the heat throbbing between my legs is in time with every slap of dough against the counter.
I think Tess has left her mark on me. I’m irreversibly tainted.
Because, since when do I let a man practically grind up against me in a public setting and then drool over him?
Not that anyone is noticing me now—if they ever were.
“Mmm. Feel that?” He presses down with the heel of his palm, rolling his wrist for leverage. “She’s soft, but she’s got bite.”
I’d bite.
I’d scratch.
I’d surrender to those big calloused hands.
His hips shift into a subtle roll forward as he pushes the dough away. I feel this roll against my backside—my ass. Then drags it back and repeats. Like he’s fucking the countertop.
My thighs clench tighter.
“This is what you almost stole from us.” It takes me a second to realize Jaclyn is talking—or purring. Her animal-print outfit suits her personality.
I’d apologize if I could find the words.
“She wants pressure. Wants heat. Wants your hands.” He leans in, weight behind each stroke.
I want his hands.
On my waist.
On my breasts.
Between my thighs.
Everywhere.
“Don’t be afraid to get rough. Just don’t be careless.” He slaps the dough.
Sharp.
Confident.
He slaps it again, and my body jerks like he’s slapped my behind.
His lips twitch.
Not quite a smile, but more like the baring of teeth. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Then work it.” His hands move possessively and demandingly.
He presses his weight into it. His shoulders flex. The muscles in his back roll. The way his biceps bulge is intoxicating. He drags the dough toward him, his pelvis following the motion, and my stomach flips.
It’s too much like fucking.
When he finishes, he licks his thumb. Slow. His tongue skims over the pad of it, catching a smear of flour.
“Just like that.” The murmur is more to himself than to me, and his voice is low and hungry.
Then his gaze flicks to me, just for a second.
My breath hitches.
Flour smears across his skin, and I want to lick it off. Want to taste him. Want to drop to my knees and—
I should not be this aroused. Not from this. Not from watching a man handle dough. But damn, he handles that dough like it’s his lover’s body.
“Now that our dough is relaxed and ready like a good massage”—he claps his flour-dusted hands together—“it’s time to roll these buns.”
Giggles ripple through the kitchen.
Even I smile.
The setting sun streams through the windows, spilling over his shoulders.
“We’re gonna roll it out into a rectangle.” His palm circles his round, soft ball of dough.
I take a deep breath as I glance down at mine and reach for the rolling pin. My fingers slip on the smooth wood before I grip it awkwardly.
Roll it out.
Rectangle.
Easy bees.
“I didn’t come for the cinnamon buns.” Glitter and decals pointed red nails flash as Jaclyn’s hand closes around her rolling pin. “I came for him.”
Her eyes never leave Cash, as she plants the rolling pin into the dough and pushes.
“We all came for him.” Nettie purrs like her daughter. “Those shoulders could still carry a woman anywhere.”
Her dough is already rolled out.
“And that neck.” She inhales. “I’d nibble it like a naughty kitten.”
I grab my drink with my free hand and take a large gulp. I’m going to need liquid help to make it through their commentary, his actions, and my own heated body.
How did I end up here again?
“Roll it out.” My gaze snaps back to him. “Long strokes. Even pressure.” His hands glide along the length of the rolling pin.
Slowly.
Like he’s savouring the feel of the smooth wood under his palm, and he doesn’t even look at us while he does it.
I whisper his words to myself. “Roll it out. Long strokes. Even pressure.”
I roll. The dough sticks to the counter instead of flattening.
I’m not doing this right.
Of course I’m not.
I reach for the wine.
“Don’t care if my cinnamon buns are a fail.” Nettie slaps her dough.
What is with these people all slapping dough?
“As long as I get to watch this man’s buns.”
I choke on my wine.
Not in a cute-I’m-so-sorry kind of way, where I wave the class along while continuing, and I try to get my shit together.
No, I choke.
My throat clenches, and my chest tightens around it.
I try to cough it out. Try to excuse myself, but no words come out.
I back away, embarrassment coiling inside me.
But Cash is at my side in an instant. “It’s fine. Just take it easy.” His warm hand is against my back. “I got you.”
No. No. No.
I cough, choke, gag, tasting the wine as it burns its way down.
“Do you need water?” Jaclyn asks.
“Hands in the air!” Faye shrieks.
“Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” Wilma pipes up, and her little gremlin dog growls.
“Meemaw taught us hands in the air. It’s an old-school choking trick.”
“She needs to grab the counter and lean over.”
Not another counter with Cash! If I could object, I would.
“Hey, look at me.” Cash hooks my chin with his finger and forces my eyes to his.
They’re dark, calm, and steady. Everything hits me then. The warmth of his arm around me. His hand holding mine. His face so close I feel his hot breath.
“Breathe. One, two...” He counts softly, and the room around us disappears.
Finally, the choking releases, and I suck in air. My chest heaves, and my lungs burn.
“That’s it.” His smile widens. “There you are. Better?” He’s still holding me.
“I—yeah.”
I want to move.
To step back.
To reclaim my dignity—but I don’t. I couldn’t if I tried. I’m rooted in the spot. My hands found his bare chest at some point, and heat crawls up my veins.
His touch lingers a moment longer than necessary.
“I’m fine now.” The words crack out of me.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He finally steps back, watching me, like he’s making sure I’m not about to collapse.
The other women hover briefly, giving me a once-over before retiring to their spots.
“It appears you’re going to survive.” His eyes linger.
Was there ever any doubt?
“Thanks.” I force myself to take a normal breath and move back to my station.
Zoe is on the other side of Nettie, leaning over the older lady. “Did you see that?” She’s talking to Jaclyn, who leans in close. “She did that just to get him to touch her.”
“I know, right?” Jaclyn replies.
Um, not right.
Should I point out that I can hear them?
“Why didn’t we ever think of that?” Zara leans over her sister. “It’s bloody brilliant.”
“Obviously, you didn’t brainstorm correctly.” Nettie clicks her tongue.
I flush hotter. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Uh-huh.” Jaclyn picks up her rolling pin and taps her fingers against it. “Next time I’m going to choke on a cookie to get him to give me the Heimlich.”
Zoe gasps. “Thrusting.”
Jaclyn smiles. “Thrusting.” She gives the rolling pin a long, exaggerated push.
“We need to devise a plan for mouth-to-mouth?” Nettie cackles. “I’d slip my tongue into his mouth.”
Jaclyn lightly swats her. “You will not.”
Nettie shrugs. “We’ll see. I play dead very well.”
“Ma!” Jaclyn smiles at me, but my face must say what I’m thinking. “Sweetie, we’re just teasing. We respect Cash’s boundaries. Or lack thereof today.”
I don’t laugh.
I don’t even think I smile.
“Relax.” Jaclyn playfully swings a tea towel at me. “By your third class, you’ll stop pretending you’re here for the baking.”
“I’m not here for the baking.”
Why am I here?
“Oh, we saw.” Jaclyn winks.
“I wasn’t here for that either.”
She nods, but doesn’t look convinced. None of them do.
“I’m not.” I push, and the dough squishes unevenly.
“You’re blushing so hard,” Jaclyn whispers, still grinning.
“I’m not blushing.” I lift the roller and try again.
They laugh, and the class ensues.
I don’t dare put another thing in my mouth. I watch, listen, and follow the instructions. Sort of. I’m pretty sure I’ve rolled mine too loose or too tight or both combined.
I don’t make eye contact when he walks past our table, checking our progress. And at one point, he definitely compares cinnamon to foreplay.
When the cinnamon rolls are finally rolled on the trays, I step up and slide my buns onto the counter behind him.
“I brought a little surprise for y’all.” I look up just as Cash hauls the suitcase onto the island.
My stomach drops.
The suitcase!
Good lord, I forgot why I ended up here baking in the first place.
“Goody bags.” I can’t see his face, but I hear his grin.
Oh no.
“That’s—” My voice dies in my throat.
He’s already reaching for the zipper. “Everyone gets one.”
Panic floods me, and my mind races for a solution.
The women crowd around him, buzzing with anticipation.
“Wait,” I say, too late, too soft.
The zipper starts to move.
I spin around and smack into Jaclyn.
“Oh! Sorry—sorry—”
Behind me, I hear it.
Zzzzip.
“No, no, no, no—”
I lunge forward, hand outstretched for his wrist, or the suitcase—anything to stop him. But my foot catches on the stupid braided rug, and I slam into his back.
The suitcase tips, and time stops when a bag spills open.
Shredded tissue flutters like confetti. Cookie cutters clatter across the floor. Then a colorful vibrators rolls over the counter.
Gasps flood.
Jaclyn is behind me. “Is that a —”
I’m not sure what happens next. One second, I’m reaching for the suitcase, then I crash into Cash, we slide, and go down.