“For the sake of transparency. Can you just confirm you don’t work here?” His voice is strained as his eyes roam my face.
“I don’t work here. Why?”
“Because I have a rule not to drink with my employees,” he says, gently pushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Want a drink?”
I nod as he moves to his file cabinet and opens a drawer, pulling out a crystal carafe filled with amber liquid and two glasses. My eyes are trained on his frame as he pours the alcohol into the glasses, hands one of them to me, and then takes off his suit jacket, leaning against his desk and crossing his legs. I can see his muscles rippling through his shirt like he’s just done a hundred push-ups to pump them up.
“It’s Bourbon.” His eyes twinkle as he watches me sniff the liquid.
“How apt.”
“I’m nothing if not proud of our town.”
I take a tentative sip and nearly spit it back out as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his vascular forearms.
“So, will you tell me why you are hiding in here while there’s a party going on outside?” I ask, walking past him to the window, watching the last of the sun hide behind the horizon.
I can feel his presence behind me before I see his reflection in the glass, my body reacting to his proximity like he’s the air it needs to breathe.
“I told you. I have a rule.”
“You don’t drink with your employees. Lucky me, I guess.”
“More like, lucky me. Because two things could have happened. Either I’d have broken a rule today, or you’d have lost your job.”
I snort. “Who said I’d have wanted a drink with you if you were my boss?”
“I think,”—he strokes my arm with his fingers, his body too close to mine—“we both can agree you would.”
My breath halts as goosebumps rise in the place his skin touched mine. “Maybe,” I exhale. “Or maybe you’re a horrible boss, and this would be exactly the opposite of what I wanted.”
“I’m a great boss.”
“You know, technically, you are my employer.”
He stiffens, his hand ceasing its movements. “You lied to me?”
I turn around to face him. The tic in his jaw is back. “You employed my bakery to bake cookies for your party.”
“Ah.” A half smile appears on his gorgeous face. How can a man be this handsome? “I can live with that rule break. Now, tell me, beautiful baker, what’s your name?”
ChapterThree
My lips part. “Beautiful Baker?”
“Surely you know you’re exquisite,” he replies.
No one has ever called me exquisite. Cute—yes. Curvaceous—also yes. But exquisite? Never. And the way he’s looking at me makes me feel… well, exquisite. “I may have an inkling,” I reply, hiding my smile behind the glass.
“Now that we have that sorted, what’s your name?”
“Isn’t it more fun if we don’t exchange names?”
“For now, maybe.”
I feel like he’s indulging me. But I don’t mind. As long as things are on my terms, I’m okay with that. My eyes travel back to the corner of his mouth, the tiny bit of frosting still there, enticing me to reach up and lick it off.
“Let’s play a game,” I say. My hand moves to his face, and before I know it, my finger presses against the corner of his lips, then shifts back to my mouth, dipping inside while I lick that bit of frosting. It tastes so delicious, my eyes close in delight as a soft moan escapes my lips.