“So lose it.”
“Yeah, no.”
“And our date the other night?” Calliope asked while returning to her task with a shake of her head. “Lay the sheets of phyllo one at a time in the pan. Brush each sheet with the melted butter. Here.”
She handed him the brush. Rather than taking it, he took her. With one hand at her nape and the other on the small of her back, he planted a kiss…on her forehead.
“Miller Buchanan. So help me God, I will knee you in the nuts and friend zone you for all eternity if you don’t…”
The rest of the sentence was trapped in her mouth by Tox’s lips. He kissed her with surprising finesse, exploring her lips with gentle pressure before coaxing her mouth open with a sweep of his tongue. He spun her and pressed her back to the stainless-steel door of the refrigerator. He had to bend slightly to reach her and she arched her back to fill the gap. He pulled on her lower lip with gentle teeth and worked his way down her jaw to her neck. In the nook at her clavicle, he inhaled through his nose then bit her again with enough force to drive her to her toes.
Each part of her body pushed against his at the upward motion, providing a detailed topography of the man she embraced. If her eyes had been open, they would have popped out of their sockets. She rubbed against him as he returned to her mouth, gliding his tongue in and out as he held her, simultaneously creating and easing an ache within her.
Tox called time. He held her by the shoulders at arm’s length. He was breathing hard, his pupils blown, his face flushed, and yet, something about the kiss had been guarded. It was nothing Calliope could articulate, more of a feeling she had. The kiss was intense, passionate… polished. That was the word that bothered her. It was a Hollywood kiss—the perfect use of lips and tongue. It had left her reeling, but something told her Tox unleashed would be a whole lot messier and a whole lot hotter.
Calliope stood stunned by his restraint; she was about to haul him to her bedroom, baking be damned. She was drowning in a haze of want, but Tox had broken the spell.
“Between the sheets?” Tox asked, his voice rough.
“Okay,” she murmured.
“What?”
“What?” she repeated.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Hmm? Never mind.” What were we talking about?
“Brush the butter between the sheets?” He couldn’t hide the smirk that crept across his face.
Calliope wouldn’t be cowed quite so easily. She composed herself on a deep inhale.
“Yes. Long, smooth strokes. You want the sheets to glisten.” She licked her lips.
Tox cleared his throat. “Copy that.”
He took a step back and turned to the island, sliding the baking pan around so he stood at the short end of the counter, concealing his lower body. The grace of the movement broke when the pan hit the bowl of uncracked eggs, upending it and sending eggs rolling across the granite, a few dropping to the floor with a splat. Calliope stifled a snort as Tox scrambled to retrieve them, dropping another as it squirted from his palm. She grabbed some paper towels and bent to clean up the mess.
“From Mexican soap opera to Japanese game show in the blink of an eye.”
Tox just stared at the top of her head as she gathered the shells and mopped up the mess. Calliope’s response was a unique combination of practical and emotional, efficient and amused. Tox was always either one or the other. He envied that ability in her, briefly saddened that it was a trait he seemed to lack. So, true to form, the practical side took over, and he went back to buttering pastry.
When the custard was prepared and poured and the pan placed in the oven to bake, Calliope grabbed a copper saucepan from the hanging rack. She moved from the cupboard to the pantry, from the sink to the stove, from the refrigerator to the counter.
“You really are a hummingbird.”
Calliope wiped some custard from her fingers with a dishtowel. “You know, I’ve never actually seen one?”
“A hummingbird?”
She spoke as she rifled through a spice rack hanging on the wall. “I thought I saw one once hiking in the Peruvian Andes, but it was just a really big bug. I’ve seen videos and stuff, but never live and in person.”
She lifted one shoulder and returned to her task. “Damn, I forgot the nutmeg.”
Tox quirked a brow.
“It’s not traditional but my grandmother puts a pinch of nutmeg and some orange zest in the syrup that goes on top. She’d put her fingers to the side of her mouth like she was sharing something top secret, and then she’d whisper to me, ‘panta megalyteri gefsi,’ always more flavor. She said her galaktoboureko kept her husband’s fire lit for forty years.”