we a good combination? I make the bread, you make the soup. Complementary.’
It was too hot in the kitchen. She wanted to get back into the lounge or, even better, the deck. Uptight didn’t even begin to describe how she was feeling. She focused on the bread again, studying the thickness of the crust, the texture.
He looked thoughtful. ‘You know, the best way to make you understand isn’t to tell you, but to show you.’
‘Show me what?’
He grinned, as if knowing she wasn’t thinking quite along the lines he was. ‘How to bake bread.’
Oh. Right. By the time she’d told herself she really wasn’t disappointed he’d pulled out a bin of flour from the walk-in pantry.
‘You’re serious?’
‘Absolutely.’
Fascinated she watched as within minutes he had ingredients lined up on the bench and the scales out. A big old-fashioned earthenware bowl sat centre-stage.
‘Don’t you use an electric mixer?’
‘I do everything by hand.’ He gestured for her to come beside him. ‘Only today, you do everything by hand.’
He ran the taps and washed his hands; she followed. Amused and fascinated she watched; she hadn’t baked in years. He measured the flour, took yeast from the fridge, mixed in a little sugar, a little salt, water. Eventually he ditched the wooden spoon to work with his hands and then dumped the dough from the bowl to the bench.
‘Now knead.’
He stood aside, and she stepped up to his bench, painfully aware of him behind her, watching over her shoulder. She felt stupid, self-conscious, and with a sigh started pushing at the dough. He watched in silence for a few minutes and she knew he wasn’t impressed.
‘You need to put your heart into it, Cally,’ he chided. ‘If you want anything to be any good you have to give it everything. Just let go and get into it.’
Right. With the most gorgeous man ever to walk the planet at her back making her feel as if she were under a microscope. She heard a muffled grouch and then his arms encircled hers, and he put his hands on her own. Slowly he guided her, showing how to work the dough—the way he worked it.
‘If you take your time you can feel it growing more pliant.’ His voice was almost a whisper.
All she could feel was his length all the way down her back. As she bent forward over the dough it brought her bottom into contact with his groin. She heard his sharp intake of breath and fought the urge to grind back against him, wanting to rotate her hips against his. Instead she pressed back towards the bench, away from him. His hands left hers and he put a fraction more space between them.
She took the frustration out on the dough, rolling it over and over and squishing it and moulding it, pushing her energy into it until it was as smooth and supple and as ready as she already was.
Sweat formed on her forehead and she lost herself in the rhythm of the work.
He didn’t move away. She could feel him right there, watching, but she didn’t mind as she lost herself in a kind of sensual trance, the energy flowing from her core to her limbs out from her fingers to the bread.
She didn’t know how long she worked. But suddenly his arms came around her again, his hands grasping hers.
‘Enough.’ His voice rasped in her ear.
She stopped instantly. Realised she was panting. For a long moment they stood, him clasping her. Her heart rate didn’t slow, instead it started a less-than-steady increase. ‘What now?’
There was a silence before he answered. ‘We let it rest. Then do it again.’ He let go of her and she sensed him step back.
For a split second she felt relief and then she just felt cold. It took every ounce of inner strength not to turn around and fling herself in his arms like some desperate, clinging female.
Instead she inhaled deeply and turned, trying once more for cool confidence. But then she saw he’d only stepped a little bit away. Now he blocked her path and his eyes were burning. She didn’t know what to do or say, but the intense look was slowly killing her.
‘Let’s go back to the deck,’ he muttered, but not moving.
‘Are you going to let me past?’
‘Maybe. For a price.’ The reply dragged from him was so low she had to step closer to hear.
‘How much?’ She was willing to pay an awful lot.
‘A kiss.’
‘Just one?’ Not brave enough to admit to what she wanted the answer to be.
‘For now.’
The intensity didn’t lighten at all and there was no smile as he stepped forward. She almost stepped back but his hands went to her shoulders, stopping her flight.
Finally.
Seven long days since they’d touched and it was all she’d been able to think about in that time. At last she was going to get it again—and more. She lifted her face, lips parted, eyelids lowered to half-mast. He slid his hands down her arms, pinning them to her sides, not letting her put them round his neck the way she ached to. Encapsulating her fists in his own, he lowered his head, slowly, staring into her eyes, dropping his attention to lips that she knew would look red—every cell and nerve ending in them was begging for him.
There was no sweet exploration this time. It was straight into plunder territory, with her demanding as much from him.
She felt his grip tighten, felt him take that small step closer. She ached to press right against him. But just as she was about to sway forward he lifted his head with a groan. She blinked, opened her eyes and saw the slight uncertainty in his.
She leaned forward for more, but he gently pushed her back from him. ‘Just one, remember?’
He didn’t quite meet her eye, didn’t smile, just moved her to the side, and stepped forward to the bench. He picked up the ball of dough and placed it back into the bowl, brushed it with oil, covering it carefully with a clean cloth with all the focus and deliberation of a neurosurgeon performing the most complex procedure.
Ridiculously, she felt jealous of the time he took over it. She wanted all that care and attention for herself. He could still think about a loaf of bread after a kiss like that? Something had stopped him. What? And why?
Hell, maybe she could add premature menopause to her list of women’s problems. All this hot and cold business was sending her crazy.
CHAPTER SIX
CALLY stood along the edge of the pool and stared longingly at the water.
‘Want to swim?’
‘I don’t have a swimsuit with me.’
‘And
