Lissa- Sugar and Spice (The Wilde Sisters 3)

“Nick. I am baking bread here. I have to get this last loaf ready for the ov—”

She shrieked as he tugged her into his lap.

“I know.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But I’m already ready, Duchess.”

“Already ready?” she said, laughing.

“Already ready,” he repeated, and he put the bowl on the table, put his arms around her and kissed her.

When the kiss ended, she gave another sigh, but this one made him smile.

“See?” he said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her eyes wide with innocence. “We’ll have to try it again before I can give you an answer.”

She kissed him. He took the kiss deeper. His hand went under her T-shirt, cupped her breast, and she caught her breath.

“How about leaving the baking until later?” he whispered.

“Can’t. Bread dough can be temperamental.”

He laughed softly. “Dough can be temperamental?”

“So can Ace and the rest of the guys. I promised them sourdough bread for supper tonight.”

Nick sighed. “In that case—”

He kissed her. She kissed him back, got to her feet and went back to work, kneading the final batch of dough. Every part of her was involved in what she was doing, from the angle of her head to the sway of her body.

Nick’s eyes swept over her.

He knew every inch of that body. The fullness of her breasts. The gentle curve of her belly. The exquisite taste of her between her thighs.

Damn.

He shifted his weight in the chair.

Way to go, Gentry. Sit at a kitchen table, watch a woman do something as basic as make bread, and get yourself turned on.

Why not?

They were alone in the house. There was nobody else around, wouldn’t be until late afternoon. They didn’t have to go upstairs, and the way he felt, this wouldn’t take very long. He could get to his feet, tug down her jeans, unzip his fly, bend her over the table or the back of a chair and—

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Nick cleared his throat. “You do?”

“You’re wondering how long it’ll take until the bread is ready to eat.”

He laughed. “Not exactly.”

“Come on, be honest. There’s something about the taste of fresh bread…”

He pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

“It isn’t the taste of fresh bread on my mind, Duchess.”

Lissa looked up. His voice had gone low and rough; his eyes had narrowed. “No?” she said with all the innocence possible.