Baking Lessons

by Katie Allen

  “Because you could stick to slumlording it up, and then you could do whatever you want with those extra forty—or, knowing you, eighty—hours a week.”

  His face looked a little like it had when he’d gotten a glimpse of a Q-decorated cookie. “I don’t need all those extra hours. Besides, I enjoy my job.”

  “I’ll take some of your extra hours.” She knew she needed to eventually hire another baker, or at the very least a Quentin-type person, but she had some improvements for the bakery she wanted to purchase first. She could deal with the sixteen-hour days and six-day weeks if it meant she could get a sheeter to roll out dough and a larger, better mixer and another bread rack. The idea of getting two days off or even longer for a vacation was hugely tempting, though. She might need to ask Q if he knew of a responsible person who could help out in the afternoons.

  Hamilton was watching her with an arrested expression.

  “What?” she asked, resisting the urge to touch her face and check if there was salsa on her cheek or—even worse—a booger hanging out of her nose.

  “You want me to spend time with you?”

  She blinked and then figured out how he could’ve arrived at that conclusion. It wasn’t wrong—in fact, it was quite definitely right—but she hadn’t meant exactly that. Even though she hadn’t meant to sound like a needy stalker, she still blushed. “Well, sure. You know I’d take all the hours you could spare and keep you trapped in the stiflingly hot kitchen.”

  “I liked working with you.” As if the mention of the bakery had reminded him, he reached for the box of goodies he’d left on the corner of the table. Opening it, he held it out, offering it to her.

  “Thank you, but those are yours, and you more than earned every crumb today.” Standing, she collected their plates and brought them over to the sink. On her way back, she snagged the cookie jar and placed it on the table. “In this apartment, the cookie jar is always full.”

  His smile was small, but it still showed a faint trace of his dimple. “I knew I liked it here.”

  She laughed harder than the joke warranted, but it was Hamilton, and he was trying to be funny. Somehow, that made it so much more entertaining.

  After she ate two cookies and he inhaled about half of his stash, they cleaned up the kitchen together. Leah started off washing dishes with Hamilton drying, but when he handed back the fourth item for rewashing because of some invisible “spot,” she insisted they switch places. He seemed much happier once he had control of the scrubber, and Leah didn’t mind that he took five minutes to wash a fork. She used that time to watch him.

  Since the first day she’d met him six months ago, after he’d bought the building her bakery was in, she’d known he was hot. She wasn’t blind, after all. It was different now, though. Before, he’d been attractive in the same way a famous actor or a married man or a priest was attractive—it was fun to look, but she didn’t have a chance in hell of doing anything more than that. Now that he was in her kitchen, frowning as he scrubbed at a water glass, trying to clean off a smudge only he could see, he wasn’t just objectively and remotely handsome. He was beautiful, and he was within reach. All she had to do was grab him.

  It was tempting—he was tempting—but what if she was reading the signals wrong? It wasn’t like she’d had a ton of experience. She’d dated, even had a few long-term boyfriends, but she didn’t consider herself to be an expert on the mating behavior of men. Even if she had been, it was Hamilton. Even the most experienced dater would be baffled by his confusing signals.

  “What?” he asked, and Leah realized that he was holding the glass out to her.

  She accepted it. “You sure it’s clean?”

  “Why? Do you see something?” He reached for it, as if to take it back, and she turned, blocking him with her body as she clutched the wet glass to her chest like it was a prize.

  “No! I was kidding. It’s sparkling it’s so clean. I’ve never seen a cleaner glass.” Hurrying to dry it with the towel, she moved to put it in the cupboard before he could snatch it away from her and scrub at it for another half hour. He still looked at her with suspicion, as if he thought she’d hidden some smudge from him. “That it?”

  “Yes.” As he drained and cleaned the sink, she wiped down the table and counters. Even after she’d finished, he was still scrubbing at the stainless-steel sink.

  “Come on,” she said, removing the scrubber from his hand and putting it on the back of the sink to dry.

  “Wait, I’m not finished.”

  “Yes, you are.” Grabbing the dish towel, she dried off his hands one at a time. Although she meant to be brisk about it, she couldn’t help lingering. His palms were wide and his fingers long. The calluses were a surprise. With his office job, she’d expected him to have soft hands. She switched to the other, and, for a guy who’d just been protesting that he wasn’t done, he gave it to her willingly—even eagerly. Drying turned into a massage, as she kneaded the base of his palm and gently tugged at each finger.

  A distant door slammed, probably a neighbor getting home, and Leah was jerked back to reality. “Oh, um...you’re dry.” She turned away to hang up the towel so she could hide her blush. She’d basically been fondling him, acting not only like a stalker, but like a stalker with a hand fetish.

  When she couldn’t pretend like she was arranging the dish towel anymore, she turned back around to see that he hadn’t moved. He was watching her with a guarded expression—one of the many mysterious looks of Anthony Fitzgerald Hamilton III.

  She opened her mouth, not sure if she was going to apologize for being a hand-touching freak or invite him into her bedroom so she could see what those long, tough fingers could do to her. What came out was neither of those options.

  “Want to watch a movie?”

  He paused, and her heart rate sped up. Maybe he just wanted to escape. Maybe he’d come in to be polite, and now she’d trapped him there and forced him to let her play with his digits. “Yes.”

  His answer brought all of her panicky thoughts to a screeching halt. Yes? Common sense started seeping back into her brain. Of course she hadn’t dragged him inside against his will. Hamilton never did anything he didn’t want to do. He certainly would never stay just to be polite—he was never polite.

  “Okay. Good.” As her brain slowed down to normal time and reason returned, she was able to function again, and she led the way into the living room. Plopping onto the couch, she reached for the remote. “What kind of movies do you like?”

  “Documentaries. Historical ones.”

  “Okay.” Now she was going to have to sit through an analysis of Grover Cleveland’s reaction to the Panic of 1893 or something similar that would not in any way distract her from the fact that Hamilton had sat down right next to her. He was going to be breathing and existing and everything, and he was going to do these things while he was right there where she could see him and hear him and smell him. Oh God, she could smell him, and he smelled amazing. Once in a while, she was completely down for a history-centered nerd-fest, but now was not the time. “What else do you like? Think more entertainment and less enrichment.”

  When he didn’t offer any other suggestions, she started scanning through the Netflix options.

  “Nope, nope, nope, hell no—” that was for a sex-heavy romance “—nope, nope, hang on. How about this one? It’s action, but there’s supposed to be some humor in it, too. Plus, the main actor’s a hottie. Have you seen it?”

  “Not yet.” He was frowning at the screen, but he gave one of his abrupt nods. “This is fine.”

  “Sure? We could find something about the weapons used in World War One or the British occupation of India, if you’d prefer.” When his face lit up, she hurried to start the movie before he could take her up on it. Her stupid sense of politeness was going to get her in trouble. She needed a distraction. Without one, she was going to start rubbing
all over Hamilton like an attention-starved house cat.

  Pushing away that mental image, she settled back against the cushions, her eyes fixed to the screen. Do not cuddle him, Leah. He smelled really good, though, like cookies and man. No! Stop it. Stop smelling him. No touching.

  It took a huge effort, but she managed to keep her gaze and hands off of him. Gradually, she got sucked into the story, and resisting Hamilton got easier. When the credits started rolling, she turned to him.

  “What did you...” She trailed off when she saw he was sleeping, still sitting up with his head lolling on the cushions in what looked like a very uncomfortable way. Asleep, he looked a lot younger, closer to thirty than forty, like she’d assumed he was. It was the first time she’d seen him slouch in any way, and the relaxed sprawl suited him, made him seem vulnerable and sweeter than candy. His face had lost its usual stern lines, and the hard line of his mouth had softened. His lips were nice, fuller than she thought they were, since they were generally flattened in irritation around her.

  Reaching out to wake him up, she hesitated before her hand touched his arm. He was at peace, and she hated to disturb that. Instead, she withdrew her arm and stood, tiptoeing to her bedroom. Grabbing a pillow and the quilt her grandma’s friend had made, she slipped back into the living room.

  In her short absence, he’d shifted sideways so his head rested on the arm even as his feet stayed on the floor. Carefully lifting his head, she tucked the pillow underneath, and his eyes cracked open.

  “Feel free to sleep here,” she said in a whisper, not sure if he was awake or just in that semi-conscious torpor where he looked aware but wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Crouching, she pulled off his shoes and eased his legs onto the couch. His slitted gaze followed her, but he didn’t say anything as she spread the quilt over him. It was hard to resist the urge to tuck it around him, but she reminded herself that Hamilton was her grown-ass landlord, not a five-year-old.

  Even though his eyes were partially open, he still had that relaxed, sweet look. Leah ran a hand over his neatly trimmed and always perfect hair. It was silky under her fingers, and he closed his eyes as her fingers lingered, stroking through the strands.

  “Goodnight.” Leaning down, she kissed his cheek, right where his dimple would be if he were smiling. Her mouth wanted to linger on his bristled cheek, but she forced herself to straighten. It was bad enough that she’d petted him and given him a peck when he’d been almost sleeping. She needed to stop touching him and leave the room before her willpower failed her. Who knew what she’d do to him next?

  Her imagination provided plenty of X-rated options, and she clamped down on her thoughts as she hurried into her bedroom. Despite it being past her bedtime and knowing that she had to get up painfully early, her skin was buzzing where she’d touched him. Her fingers and her lips felt hot and electrified, and it took several tries before she could write a text to Annabelle that made sense.

  If you come home and find a man on our couch, don’t be alarmed.

  It only took a few seconds before Leah’s phone beeped with a return text. With a glance at the paper-thin bedroom door, she muted her notifications.

  I won’t, if I’m ever allowed to leave this hell known as “work.” Curious, perhaps, but not alarmed.

  Leah grinned. It’s just Ham.

  Oh, just your gorgeous landlord? The one you have a huuuuge crush on? That Ham?

  Please. I don’t have a huuuuge crush.

  So?

  What?

  Deeeetails!!

  Later. Full accounting, I promise.

  I’ll hold you to that.

  Leah knew from experience that her roommate would indeed drag every salacious—and not so salacious—detail out of her. Don’t let the dick keep you too long. You need to rest, and Ham might wake up and leave. You need to see him sleeping, AnnaB. He’s adorable.

  You’re staring at him while he’s sleeping? Creeper.

  Yes.

  Ha! Okay, okay. I’ll be home soon, and I promise to check out your stalkee.

  The text conversation with Annabelle calmed her, bringing her down from her Hamilton-based high. She was still smiling, though, and she had a feeling it would be a while before she stopped.

  * * *

  The mattress shifted, and Leah stirred. Only half-awake, her dreams merged with reality, and she wasn’t sure if she’d really been jostled or had just imagined it. When a heavy arm wrapped around her, dragging her against the large male body behind her, her eyes popped open.

  She was awake now. Fully, fully awake.

  “What?” she muttered, trying to figure out who was cuddling her and why. Turning her head, she got a glimpse of a familiar stubble-coated jaw and gorgeous mouth before Hamilton buried his face in her neck. After that, all she could see was short, light-colored hair that was more mussed than she’d ever seen before. He pulled her even closer, plastering his front against her back, and tossed a leg over hers.

  She was completely pinned, clutched against him like a teddy bear. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was...weird. Why was her landlord/possible new friend/occasional cookie bitch in her bed, snuggling with her? If she wasn’t getting immediate, firsthand knowledge of it right now, she never would’ve pegged Hamilton as a cuddle bunny, but he was. He so, so was.

  Shaking off her bemusement, she said quietly, “Ham?”

  His arms tightened, and he burrowed his face against her neck. The sandpapery rub of his scruff, along with the brush of his warm breath on her throat, made her skin heat at the same time that she shivered. This felt too good, but it also wasn’t right. Her careful, fussy landlord wouldn’t act like this. He had to be sleepwalking or something.

  The thought made her uncomfortable, since she was tempted to just enjoy the cuddle, but she didn’t want to take advantage of Hamilton’s unconscious self. “Hamilton. What are you doing?”

  “Shh.” He turned his face without lifting his head, and his lips brushed across her throat. It felt like an electric shock had zapped her, and she jerked a little in his hold. “Shush, LeeLee. Sleep.”

  Leah went still, staring into the dim light and blinking in confusion. There was so much that her brain couldn’t process. First of all—LeeLee? She had to assume he was talking about her, unless there was someone else in his life who had a name very close to Leah. Although it was sweet—maybe?—that he’d given her a nickname, the nickname itself made her sound like a panda. Secondly, he knew who she was. He wasn’t mistakenly snuggling with her while thinking it was someone else, so that was a relief. That fact tempted her to give in and go back to sleep while enjoying the feel of his arms—well, more like his entire body—around her.

  As she hesitated, he shifted. Now he was even more wrapped around her, as well as halfway on top of her. It should feel claustrophobic and stifling, but Leah felt warm and safe...and horny. Just a hand on his biceps had been enough to make her wet, so this full-body contact made her feel like she was going to melt into a puddle, and not just because he was putting off enough heat to melt an iceberg. It was getting hard not to turn toward him, to press herself against him, so much so that she started getting desperate. If he didn’t move soon, she was going to start humping his leg.

  “Ham!” she said loudly, and he jolted behind her.

  Now it was obvious that he was awake—and mortified. He went completely rigid, his arms clamping around her like steel bands. For some reason, he kept his head pressed into her neck for several moments, and she felt his breath, rapid and harsh, against her skin. Her body, contrary as always, really enjoyed the feel of each hot, damp puff, and she had to pull her brain away from that distraction.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked, her voice quieter now that she knew he was up.

  “I’m...not sure.” His voice was back to Hamilton’s usual precise, even phrasing, and Leah was a little sad that
she wouldn’t hear him grumble “LeeLee” again. “I take it that this is not my bedroom.”

  “You take it right. This is my room. My...bed. In my apartment.” It made it more awkward that he hadn’t released her yet, although he did raise his head. Now her neck was cold. “It’s fine. I assumed you were sleepwalking, but I didn’t want to take advantage—I mean, I didn’t want you to be where you didn’t want to be...” Since she was just getting her words into a muddle, she stopped talking.

  “My apologies,” he said, sounding stiffer than he had when they’d first met. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on your couch, much less come in here. Normally, I don’t sleep much, so this is...unusual for me.”

  That struck her as funny. Her laugh expanded her chest, unintentionally pressing her breasts against Hamilton’s arm. “What? You don’t normally wander into random women’s beds?”

  “No, I...” He sounded strained and a bit breathless. “I don’t. Normally.”

  “Okay.” Now that he was awake and still holding her, she was enjoying the contact excessively. He might not have moved because he was in shock, but at least she wasn’t rubbing up on him against his will—or while he was unconscious. “I don’t mind that you’re in here. You’re welcome to stay for...” She glanced at the glowing clock and made a face. “Ugh. You’re welcome to stay in here for fifty-eight minutes, which is when my alarm is going to go off, telling me that I have to get up at a pathetically early hour. The sofa can’t be that comfortable to sleep on, especially since you’re so huge.” For some reason, commenting on his size made her flush with heat—from embarrassment, rather than arousal.

  “I should go.” His arms finally started to loosen, and Leah knew he was about to pull away. She instinctively grabbed his hand, not wanting him to go.

  “Wait a little longer,” she said. “Then you can walk me to work.”

  He paused for a long moment, and she held her breath. It was a little ridiculous, how much she hoped he’d stay. Obviously, her latest bout of celibacy had continued too long if she was this desperate for a cuddle. She’d have to start demanding that Annabelle give her more frequent hugs, just to fill that touch-hungry hole inside her that kept demanding she feel Hamilton up.