She rinsed the bowl, retrieved another egg. “Place your hands over mine.”
Hunter moved closer, the heat of his body seeping between them. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.
Digging for the confidence that was there a moment ago, she attempted to ignore Hunter’s large shoulders and spicy scent. When his hands covered hers, dwarfing them instantly, she shuddered.
Crack the egg.
“Slow and easy,” she told him.
His hands where a whisper above hers while she cracked and separated the shell from the yolk.
Hunter didn’t pull away when she moved to release the shell and dump the perfect egg into the flour.
Attempting to ignore his silent presence, and refusing to look into his face, she handed him an egg.
She placed her hands over his.
Gabi wasn’t sure if Hunter hummed in concentration or something else. The something else was what kept her from looking directly at him.
“Slowly,” she cautioned when he lifted his hands to crack the egg.
The break was clean.
“That wasn’t hard, was it?” she asked, glancing at him as she removed her hands from his.
The anger and frustration that had been there moments before was replaced with something much more dangerous. Her heart kicked hard in her chest, reminding her of forbidden feelings. Dangerous desire.
His full lips parted, capturing her attention.
She caught herself staring. The silence in the room an open invitation for more than cooking.
Neither of them moved forward or away. Maybe it was kitchen chemistry . . . or a combination of nerves, but there was no mistaking the mutual attraction. Unwanted and completely forbidden attraction, but desire nonetheless.
“What are we doing, Gabi?” Hunter’s question was just above a whisper.
She blinked, pulling her eyes away from his parted lips. “Cooking.” She put space between them, nearly knocking over the bowl with the eggs inside.
They mixed with their hands and slowly turned the flour and eggs into dough. The air between them sparked with current.
Hunter played with his section, his eyes on her hands.
“We will never eat if you can’t concentrate,” she told him.
His hand stopped hers from pushing the heel of her palm into the dough. “I think we should talk about what’s going on here.”
She swallowed. “We’re cooking.”
“Gabi, look at me.”
She shook her head, taking the coward’s way out. If she noticed the lock of hair falling into his eyes a second time, she might have to push it back in place.
“Gabriella?” The smooth texture of his voice was like chocolate on her tongue.
His sticky hand tucked under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.
He stepped closer, his frame molding to hers and pressing her back against the counter.
She couldn’t breathe.
His thumb traced her bottom lip. “This is a bad idea,” he mumbled her thoughts.
She nodded. “Very poor choice.” Her hands gripped the side of the counter to keep from touching him.
Hunter sucked in a deep breath. “You smell like flowers.”
“I’ll change my shampoo.”
He started to dip his head and she kept talking. “Something musky, so you won’t notice me.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work.”
He was close enough to catch the scent of mint on his breath. “I don’t even like you.” One of her legs lifted and rubbed against one of his.
“I don’t trust you.” His hand moved from her lip to the side of her neck.
“You blackmailed me.”
“You tricked me into cooking with your mother.”
She smiled. “The two hardly compare.”
Instead of dropping his lips to hers, he detoured to the side of her neck and kept talking, his breath brushing her skin. “Have you met your mother?”
“That’s sill—”
His lips found her neck.
She moaned and closed her eyes. Such a deliciously bad idea.
Her head fell back, giving him room to do whatever he wanted.
“Well, well.” Meg’s voice filled the silent kitchen.
Gabi froze.
Hunter’s hand on her neck tightened.
“Your mom is on her way back in. Guess it’s a good thing I came in to warn you.”
Heat swept up Gabi’s throat. “It’s not how it looks,” she managed.
Meg simply laughed and left the room.
Chapter Fifteen
Comfort food and wine . . . lots and lots of wine.
What the hell was he doing? The last thing he needed was to seduce his wife. Had he forgotten the terms of her contract? The part where a child conceived between them would cost him half of everything he’d worked for?
Gabi sat across from him at the dinner table, picking at the food on her plate. Food they’d managed to make together under the watchful eye of the kitchen Nazi.
Meg kept a knowing smile on her face; Val appeared mildly irritated with the tension in the room. It was still midday, a strange time for a large meal, but Hunter ate anyway. The eating had more to do with the fact he’d actually cooked the food, and less to do with hunger. If anyone had told him he’d be cooking pasta from scratch at any time in his life, he would have wagered a six-figure sum against them.