Chapter 14
It’s late, the sky is dark, and I can just barely make out the Big Dipper through the haze of light emanating from the city below. Back home, I’m higher up in the mountains, where the stars burn sharp against an endless black sky.
I stretch back against my pillow, folding my hands behind my head and closing my eyes, reliving every second with Taylor in the tent.
Over and over, I replay my favorite moment—her wide hazel eyes lighting up when, on impulse, I licked the spoon in her hand instead of taking it.
The memory sends a jolt of electricity through me.
Fuckkk…
I groan, shifting restlessly against the mattress.
Frustration coils tight under my skin.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I pace the length of the room. Back and forth. Trying to burn off energy that has nowhere to go.
I thought I could ignore Taylor. I was wrong.
That firecracker’s taken a wrecking ball to the control I usually have.
“Man, if you keep this up, neither one of us is going to get any sleep,” Brandon mumbles from beneath the covers of his bed. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Sorry,” I grumble, taking the hint. I grab my sweatshirt and head out to pace literally anywhere else.
There isn’t much to distract me on the main floor, so I take the stairs down to the basement where the production company has recreated an entire commercial kitchen for us to practice in if we so choose.
Maybe I can whip something up that releases some goddamn endorphins and finally relax a little.
I was under the impression no one else was down here, but I stand corrected.
Light spills through the open doorway, catching on stainless steel and the ceramic tile floor.
In the middle of the room, standing with her back to me, is a familiar silhouette, shoulders hunched in concentration. Whether I want to or not, I’d know those curves anywhere.
Of course, it’s her—the reason for all this pent-up tension coiled inside me.
Her hands move across the dough, and I can barely think past the sight of her.
“Hey,” I say gently, closing the distance between us slowly so I don’t startle her.
Taylor glances my way, and all I can focus on is the exhaustion in the swirling gold and green of her eyes.
“Hey.”
“You aren’t going home tonight?”
The question feels stupid as it slips out, but she should be on the road already if she wants enough sleep to tackle work in the morning.
She shakes her head once, her eyes still trained on the dough in her hands.
“Not tonight. There was some kind of building emergency that started Friday afternoon, and they’re finishing up repair tomorrow, so I have until Tuesday to figure out how to make decent bread. No pressure, right?”
She laughs, though it’s a little strained.
I shouldn’t notice the difference in her laughs, but I do.
Without realizing it, I’ve moved closer to her. I can feel the warmth of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her T-shirt when I lean forward to look at the dough she is working with.
“What’s going wrong? Maybe I can help.”
“I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve never baked actual bread. Just quick breads like banana bread. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get this to pass the windowpane test. Is that even a reliable measure?”
Her admission surprises me. Never done actual bread?
How is that possible? All bakers learn how to make bread.
Actually… No—not all bakers learn that. Trained bakers would be forced to learn, but home bakers? They might never have tackled it on their own.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, the windowpane test is reliable. The whole point of working the dough is to build up the gluten strands. Show me what you’ve got so far, and I’ll read it.”
“Read it?”
“Your dough will tell you what it needs. You just have to know how to analyze what you’re seeing and feeling. May I?”
I reach out and take the dough into my hands. Her shoulders relax a little as she watches me stretch it out. It immediately tears.
“Okay, see that? It tore right away, which means there isn’t enough gluten built up. It’s also not perfectly smooth. If it had stretched but not thin enough to see through, then it might just have been overworked and tight. In that case, you’d let it relax for a little and try again.”
She leans in, watching the dough in my hands.
“So what you’re saying is I need to rough it up a little more?” she asks, rewarding me with a genuine smile.
Fuck—I swallow hard, the way she says “rough it up” doing something I don’t have the patience to unpack right now. I nod quickly.
She plops the dough on the counter and starts kneading. I immediately see the problem. She’s being too gentle.
She’ll be here all night if she keeps handling it like that.
“Right.” I interrupt her with a hand on her wrist. Her skin is so soft and smooth beneath my palm. “That’s the issue right there. You need to work it harder than that. Let me show you.”
I smack the dough against the workstation, firm and decisive. Rolling my sleeves up to my elbows, I press the heel of my hand into the dough, pushing it away before pulling it back toward me. I repeat the motion a couple of times, letting muscle memory take over.
My attention shifts to Taylor, watching her reaction instead.
First, her focus is on my hands. Then her gaze drifts up my arms, lingering for a moment before settling on my face. Her cheeks are flushed, that soft pink I’ve come to notice.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“Your turn,” I direct, my voice tighter than I intend.
She does her best to mimic my movements, but it’s still too gentle.
“That’s still too soft, Taylor. Here… can I help you?”
She nods once, and that’s all the permission I need to move behind her. I cage her in, one arm on either side of her, my chest just behind her back.
Her breath catches.
I close my eyes for a split second, holding onto the sound like it’s a gift meant for someone else. Someone who deserves it.
My fingers trail a slow path down her arms. My hands dwarf hers as I guide her movements, hand-over-hand, showing her the pressure she needs.
But it’s hard to focus on the task.
It’s the feel of her instead—soft and warm, pressed against me—that keeps pulling my attention away.
Unable to resist, I lean in, my face brushing into her hair, and inhale her scent.
Citrus blossom.
Bright. Clean. So perfectly Taylor.
I breathe in again before I realize I’m doing it.
“Alex…” Her voice is a breathy whisper. She leans back against me, and I have to swallow hard against the sound rising in my throat.
Move.
Move now, before you do something you regret.
I step back, clearing my throat.
One hand slides across her back as I pull away, my fingers lingering for just a second too long before I force distance between us.
I’m too wound up around Taylor. I need space. But even now, I can’t seem to put enough distance between us.
“Try the windowpane test again.”
She complies without hesitation, and the dough gives easily, thinning into a cloudy, flimsy membrane we can see right through.
“We did it!”
Taylor squeals, bouncing on her toes before turning and wrapping her arms around me, her cheek nuzzling against my chest.
Slowly, I lower my hands to her back, rubbing in small circles.
“Alex, I’ve never been able to do this on my own before. I thought I had my ratios all wrong. Oh gosh, thank you so much.”
Her excitement spills out in an unrestrained, carefree ramble. I don’t try to stop the smile that pulls at my mouth. Instead, I rest my chin against the top of her head as she clings to me.
We stay like that longer than we should.
Her pressed against me. Me, memorizing the feel of her beneath my hands, the softness of her curls brushing my jaw, the warmth of her against my chest.
Taylor shifts, pulling back just an inch, her face tilting up toward mine.
Fuck—her pupils are blown wide, and the sight knocks the wind out of me. I clench my jaw against the sharp jolt that goes straight to my core.
I shouldn’t be looking at her like this, but I am.
And I don’t think I could stop, even if I tried.
I don’t want to.
Her gaze drifts between my eyes and lips, a slow smile creeping across her face. She slides her hands from my back, circling around to my stomach, then higher, over my chest.
Goosebumps spread across my body at her touch.
I catch her by the wrists, halting her exploring hands.
Her smile falters a fraction.
“Taylor, we can’t,” I whisper, tipping my head toward the camera.
She glances over her shoulder, then back at me. The rejection and disappointment on her face threatens to crack my resolve.
Stepping back, I put more space between us.
“I don’t care about the cameras, Alex,” she says. “I like you. And I think you might like me, too.” Her voice wobbles at the edges, another attack on my self-control.
“That’s the problem,” I confess. “I do like you, Taylor. And that’s exactly why we can’t do this. Not here. Not with an entire production team watching, waiting to twist whatever they want for their own agenda.”
She takes a small step forward, closing the distance I just created.
Oh, my bold, brave girl.
“People meet in crazy ways every day. We wouldn’t be the first two contestants on a show to start something outside the competition.”
My father’s words war with my growing need for Taylor.
I’m here to win over the American audience. Making a move on this incredible woman and letting FluxTV turn us into a spectacle could backfire. That wouldn’t live up to “Harrington excellence”.
No—I’m here on a very specific mission, and Taylor can’t be part of it. I need to win the competition, establish a face and rapport with the viewers, then get my ass back to my real life in Vancouver.
That’s the plan.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Her hands clench, brows knitting together in a small scowl. I bring her knuckles to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her skin before letting go and stepping back toward the door.
I need to leave while my head is still clear.
Taylor stands there, one hip pressed against the counter. She glares down at her hands, then back up at me. I turn sharply, fully intending to hightail it back to my room, take a cold shower, and force myself to sleep.
Just as I reach the threshold, her small voice stops me.
“Alex.”
My eyes slam shut, and I grip the doorframe, trying to hold the line. But her voice—my name, soft and full of something like need—slips under every layer of logic I’ve built.
I turn, really looking at her. Taking her in.
Beautiful. Talented. Passionate. Funny. Everything a person could want.
She’s all gentle curves and full, pouty lips. Her wild, untamed mane is one of the most tempting things I’ve ever seen.
But it’s her eyes that do me in—big, round hazel eyes that say everything she isn’t brave enough to admit out loud.
My breath hitches on a final, sharp breath.
“Fuck it.”
I cross the distance between us in a few long strides. Her eyes light up. My hands slide up her neck, thumbs tipping her chin back, fingers tangling in her hair at the base of her neck.
A small gasp escapes her before I’m crushing my mouth against hers in a hungry kiss. Her lips move against mine, and they’re just as soft as I imagined they would be.
“I should stop.” I murmur against her lips.
She hums in quiet disagreement, sliding her hands up my chest, tracing light patterns as we move together. I press closer, pinning her against the counter. She brushes her tongue across my lower lip.
An invitation to deepen the kiss that I’m more than happy to accept. My hands slide down to her waist, lifting her onto the flour-covered counter in one smooth motion. She wraps her legs around me, pulling me in closer without breaking the kiss.
Her body presses into mine, and a quiet sound escapes her as she shifts against me.
Fucking hell.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as my tongue teases hers. She opens for me, and the kiss deepens.
Kissing Taylor is everything and not enough at the same time. I can’t get close enough, can’t touch her in all the ways I want to. The way her body responds to mine feels like she was made for me.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but when I finally pull back, we’re both breathless. She’s smiling a lazy, dreamy smile that looks way too good on her.
Leaning forward, I catch her lower lip between my teeth, then brush my tongue against it. Another small moan slips from her.
“God, I knew you wouldn’t disappoint,” she says, laughing under her breath.
I smirk. “As I said before, I aim to please.”
Another quick kiss.
“Clearly,” she murmurs, running her hands down my chest. “Look… I don’t want to be that girl, but… I have to ask—what does this mean?”
I hum, resting my forehead against hers and closing my eyes, searching for the right answer. Because what does this mean?
“I think it means that you’re right. We do like each other.”
Her hand comes up to my cheek, and I lean into her touch. When I open my eyes, she’s watching me closely.
“I don’t think we have to define this right now,” she says softly. “But I want you to know, whatever this is, I want it with you.”
Her words are vulnerable and sincere. I lick my lips, holding her gaze, and just nod.
Because I don’t have the words.
I don’t think I have ever felt the way kissing Taylor makes me feel.
My fingers twist into her curls, absently rolling the silky strands as I look at her.
This feels different.
I want to sit down and hash out every detail from every angle, but I know it isn’t the time.
Instead, I kiss Taylor again with long, unhurried strokes.
Doing my best to memorize everything about this moment, because I don’t know if I’ll get another one.
God, I really hope I do.
Right now, the only thing I know with absolute certainty is that my plan for a cold shower has officially become my top priority.