Heirly Ever After, Vernon, Magan [best thriller novels to read .txt] 📗

she let out a breath, my heart started beating a bit faster and I prayed she couldn’t hear it. The more she didn’t know what her body did to me, the better.

Feck.

Why couldn’t complicated things be as easy to figure out as a Victorian sponge recipe?

I let go of her, reluctantly, and wrapped the fabric pieces between my fingers, tying a small bow. I pulled away as soon as I secured the last knot.

“There. Should be good,” I said, stepping back and heading back to the prep table, so she wouldn’t notice just how much her body was affecting me. Especially since I was in danger of pitching a tent in my trousers.

Bloody hell, where could I go to adjust?

No.

Just had to think about baking.

Not about the woman next to me.

“Okay, where do we start now? On the sponge or the frosting? Or what are we doing again?” she said with a laugh.

“Frosting,” I said, keeping my voice even as I grabbed the cuts of butter I had sitting out.

“So, I guess you don’t just get a can of it and smear it on, huh?” she asked as I dumped the butter into a clean stand mixer.

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the canned stuff.”

“There’s nothing like canned frosting frozen between two graham crackers.”

Looking up, I met that damn little cheeky smile of hers and couldn’t help the one crossing my face. “Wait until ye taste real buttercream.”

“What’s so special about it? Is there real butter and cream?”

I smiled, laughing as I handed her the bowl of frosting sugar. “Butter and frosting sugar. That’s all you need.”

She turned the bowl slightly, and I grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“What?”

“You have to cream the butter, then ye add the sugar.”

She laughed slightly, and her cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah. Guess that’s the cream part of the butter cream.”

“Ah.” I nodded, realizing my hand was still on her wrist, as if it had a mind of its own.

Instead of pulling away, though, I let my fingers linger for a few more seconds, watching the goose bumps prickle against her skin.

“Pardon me, coming through,” a gruff voice called, pushing behind us as one of the chefs walked by with a tray of sponge.

Clearing my throat, I dropped my hand from hers and then put it on the mixing stand. “I guess we should get the frosting ready.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally,” Madison said, but there was something else in her gaze before she flicked her eyes to the mixture. Something that could be very dangerous if we acted on whatever was passing between us.

Turning on the mixer, the beater swirled the mass of butter chunks into a large fluffy layer, pushing it around the bowl.

“Now you’re going to pour the sugar in…” I tried to yell over the whirring.

“Okay,” Madison called before I could finish speaking or stop her from moving.

With a flick of her wrist, the powder was in the bowl then out of the bowl in a helicopter of white dust.

I managed to cover my face with my shirt sleeve before a large plop of sugar and butter hit my elbow. I fumbled my free hand for the mixer and unplugged it, not wanting to look to find the button.

“Slowly. You add the sugar slowly.” I dropped my hand and looked up through the haze of white dust.

As it cleared, Madison’s wide brown eyes were the only thing visible before she coughed out a puff of sugar. “Yeah, probably would have been useful to tell me that before I poured it.”

“You didn’t give me a chance.” I smiled but had to look away so I could swallow my laughter from the adorable way her lips puckered even through the face full of sugar.

Another chef passed by our table, waving her hands. “Head to the dish room. It’s back by the pantry. Go on, clean up before the sponge cools.”

“Just…back…” Madison pawed at her face, blinking hard as if she was trying to scrub off the powder, but it just got deeper into her eyeballs.

“Here, let me help you.”

Placing my hands on her wrist, I removed them from her eyes, watching her peer up at me from her lashes.

“Sorry, I’m kind of a hot mess.”

Squeezing her hand, I took a step back, pulling her with me. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She shook her head yet kept moving with me. “I’m fine. Sorry for being a klutz. I guess I should have listened.”

“Yer doing it again,” I spat.

She blinked hard. “Um, doing what?”

“Apologizing profusely. I told you. Ye don’t need to be sorry for everything, especially not something that was an accident.”

I pulled her into the dish room, a long, brick hallway full of long silver sinks on one wall, and the other side stacked with dishes.

A few chefs stacked the last of their plates then scurried out of the door behind us, leaving us alone with nothing but the sound of a few drips from the faucets.

“You don’t need to be an ass just to prove a point,” she muttered, trying to brush past me to the sink. But as soon as her shoulder pressed to mine, I grabbed her waist again, pulling her to me. The curves of her body fitted perfectly against mine.

A stuttered breath escaped her lips.

“Madison. I know I haven’t been forthcoming with you completely, and you can hate me for that, but please just stop apologizing or trying to make yourself smaller.” I pushed a strand of hair behind her ears, trailing my fingers along her cheek, brushing away the soft powder from her face. “You deserve to stand out, deserve happiness and not to hide from it.”

“We’re friends, helping each other out this weekend, okay? You don’t need to try to psychoanalyze me.” Her words weren’t harsh, but a soft whisper.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Madison,” I whispered back, though we both knew that was a lie. She didn’t know the whole truth, and the guilt was eating me up.

She