I loop my arms around his neck and bring his face down to mine, but he only lets me kiss him once.
“I have to go check on the sauce,” he says.
The pasta’s still boiling when we enter the kitchen, while the marinara is bubbling on the other burner.
“Homemade sauce,” I comment. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it.” He smiles and picks up the handwritten recipe sitting next to the stove. “But it should be close to done. Will you grab some black pepper from the cabinet?”
I walk over to the pantry door. This is strangely cozy—him making dinner, me grabbing ingredients. It’s weirdly domestic for us, and while it feels, well, odd, I’m not as frightened by the normalcy of it as I thought I’d be. In fact, I think I kind of like it.
And then I open the pantry door, and the romanticism of this little scene is shoved aside in the face of the most bachelor-ific of bachelor pantries ever.
It’s all I can do not to burst out laughing. He has exactly twelve food items in this cabinet: half a dozen assorted spices—purchased for tonight’s recipe, if I had to guess—a box of fruity cereal, some Pop-Tarts, a can of chicken noodle soup, a package of sandwich cookies, and two giant jars of pickles. secretive phone call somethingpa
“What’s so funny?” he says, coming up behind me.
I grin up at him. “Just admiring your food selection. You really like pickles, huh?”
He shrugs. “Pickles are delicious.”
“That’s it. This will never work,” I tease, wrinkling my nose. “I knew there was something wrong with you.”
“Wrong with me? Who doesn’t like pickles?”
“Anyone with working taste buds.”
He laughs. “That’s a little harsh.”
“I question the judgment of anyone who eats something soaked in brine.”
“And I question the judgment of anyone who thinks it’s a good idea to send her panties through the mail.”
The panties! I’d completed forgotten. But one glance up at Calder’s expression and I know I played this one exactly right.
“I thought you might like another pair to add to your collection,” I say. “You have yet to give me back the ones you stole on our first date.”
“I like that pair,” he says, trapping me against the pantry. “They remind me of how easily I can make you melt at my touch.”
“And what about this new pair? Do you know what I was doing when I wore those panties?”
His eyes darken even as he shakes his head. “What were you doing, little minx?”
“I was completing a certain dare you’d given me.”
“The dare…” I watch realization flash in his eyes. “You mean…” toward the place where wsh
I nod and tilt my head up so I can whisper in his ear. “I wanted you to have the evidence of my… pleasure.”
I can almost see the battle between his will and his lust play across his face. He doesn’t want to give up his resolution to hold off on sex, but he’s as lost as I am, especially when I reach out and slide a hand up his stomach.
His arms catch me up so quickly that the breath whooshes out of my lungs.
“Such a dirty, dirty little tease,” he murmurs against my hair. “What am I going to do with you?” Before I can respond, he lifts me off the ground. The next thing I know, he’s depositing me on the edge of the countertop and pulling my mouth down to his.
I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer, and moan against his lips as he grinds against me. He’s already rock-hard beneath his pants, and I’m getting wetter by the second. My nipples are stiff against my bra.
Calder’s hands slide beneath my shirt and press against the bare skin of my back. He grinds against me again, and I’m totally regretting my decision to wear jeans. If I’d chosen a skirt he could be inside of me already. I slip my hands between us and tug at the button on my fly. The zipper’s next, and now he’s helping me, pulling at the waistband of my jeans to help get them down my hips. His mouth is at my neck, teasing me, and I bury my face in his hair as he lifts me just enough to slide my jeans down around my bottom. I didn’t bother wearing panties tonight. That’s part of the game. My skin is blazing hot, and it burns wherever he touches me.
It burns a little hotter on my right side, but in the haze of pleasure I thrust that strange thought away. I reach down to Calder’s fly and unfasten it. I need him inside me. Now.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my neck as my fingers dip inside his pants. He pulls back slightly and tugs at my shirt, trying to yank it over my head.
Suddenly he freezes.
“Fuck,” he says again, only this time it’s not exclaimed in pleasure. “Fuck!”
I open my eyes, but he’s already yanking me off of the counter. I manage to pull my shirt back down just in time to see the oven mitt—which had been a safe distance from the stove before Calder shoved me on top of the counter—go up in flames. toward the place where wsh
Shit.
I pull up my jeans and dart around the kitchen, opening cabinets and looking for the fire extinguisher. Calder’s a step ahead of me. He grabs a dishtowel from the sink and begins beating at the fire. It’s not a large blaze, but it’s a stubborn one. I give up on the extinguisher and grab a bowl from one of the cabinets. I don’t know what else to do. I fill it with water, then turn back to the fire and toss the water at the flames. They hiss as they drown.
By this point, the smoke detector has started to scream. Calder beats out the last little fingers of flame as I go for the fire alarm, and I have to stab at all the buttons twice before I find the one that turns off the ear-splitting blaring.
When I turn back to Calder, he still looks stunned. The charred towel hangs by his side, and his shirt is soaked. Oops. That’s probably my fault.
I walk over to his side and turn to inspect the damage. Between the fire and the water, the counter is a mess. And the oven mitt wasn’t the only casualty. Judging by the remnants that litter the Formica, the blaze started with Martin’s recipe. A couple of wooden kitchen utensils suffered some damage, too, but I imagine they’ll survive with a little TLC.
The same can’t be said of our dinner. When I threw the water, about half of it ended up the pot of sauce—but honestly, the damage was already done. The marinara is burning, and it was probably past the point of saving even before the recipe went up in flames. As for the noodles…