Holly wets her lips, the tip of her tongue thoughtfully tracing the curve of her upper lip. I find myself staring, my throat going tight. Her white blouse clings to the supple curves of her body, the straps of her bright pink bra peeking through. Her shorts are so tiny that they might as well not even be there. Hell, if she were to bend over even an inch, I’d have a perfect view of everything the denim is hiding. Despite being high-strung, the girl is sexy as hell.
“Are you listening?” she asks abruptly, waving a whisk in front of me.
I swipe at my eyes, shaking my head to clear the naughty thoughts nipping at the back of my mind. Now was not the time for that. Now was for baking—that’s a thought I never thought I'd have.
“The bakery’s specialty is lavender cupcakes. Lavender is unique, but delicate. I think the groom will appreciate that. We’ll jazz it up with a tart lemon icing and I think you’ve got a winner for the two of them. Sound good?”
“Sure,” I murmur, my eyes tracing her body again as she leans over the table, dumping a few ingredients into a bowl.
She might be infuriatingly bossy, but she has the most beautiful body I've ever seen in my life. When she straightens, she meets my eyes and arches an eyebrow.
“Well?” she muses, “Get to work.”
Chapter 4
Holly
“You’re actually doing pretty well for your first time,” I admit in surprise, watching him clumsily grip the metal mixing bowl as he whisked the lavender batter.
In his perfectly tailored slacks, polished shoes now dotted with flour, he looks so out of place here that everyone is staring curiously toward us.
Hell, maybe this would be an interesting way to make some extra money on the side.
I could offer personalized baking lessons.
Maybe this isn’t a total waste of time after all. I still don’t know why I agreed to let the billionaire in my kitchen, though it was probably a combination of his striking looks and his sweet-faced sister. I’m a sucker for a kind big brother. I’d always wished I had one.
Bash gives a grunt as he mixes, the noise a husky rumble in the back of his throat that makes me shiver. I could’ve gotten him the stand mixer, of course, but what fun would that be?
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m good at everything I do,” he remarks, inspecting the batter once more before setting the bowl back down. “Otherwise it’s not worth doing.”
Somehow, I manage not to comment on his lack of modesty. Clearly it’s not one of the billionaire’s strongest traits. It was easy to remember now where I'd seen his face—everywhere.
He was on billboards, commercials, interviews, magazines. He boasted a top ‘thirty under thirty’ role in the business magazine I had on my kitchen table.
Though I knew he lived in the city I never expected to meet him in person. His personality, on the other hand, was just what I expected. A handsome, established, wealthy man, he had an air of superiority and a dazzling grin that could melt steel. I, however, will not be melted. Money is no substitute for manners.
The scent of dried lavender blooms between us. It’s a delicate herb, requiring a gentle hand. A pinch too much and the entire cake will taste like soap. Fortunately for Bash’s little sister, I have this recipe down pat.
Bash looks at his thumb, scrutinizing the glob of batter clinging to the soft skin. Though I expect him to smear it away in disdain, he pops it between his lips for a quick taste.
“Where’d you learn this?” he asks, eyebrows lifting just slightly in surprise. “I've never heard of such a thing before. When I think of lavender, I think of my grandmother’s potpourri dish. This tastes amazing though. Clara’s going to love it. Graham will too.”
“My mom,” I shrug. “She was always experimenting. That’s why we have cherry Coke cookies and strawberry lemonade pie.”
“She sounds creative,” he answers simply, in a way that tells me that must be quite the compliment coming from a man of Bash’s position.
I arch an eyebrow, watching him dole out the cupcake liners. I'd chosen ones with a simple lace print that will flatter any tablecloth at the rehearsal dinner. Usually, I select them much more carefully, but these would have to do on short notice. Bash’s dark hair hangs in his eyes as he moves, a smear of batter on his cheek that he doesn’t notice. His eyes are focused and calm, his lower lip captured beneath his white front teeth as he concentrates.
Say what you will about Bash’s haughty demeanor, the man is sexier than anyone I'd ever met—and I'd had Henry Cavill stroll into my bakery last month for some double chocolate cookies.
I find myself fascinated by the batter on Bash’s cheek, imagining what it might taste like if I lean in a little closer and lick it off.
Down, girl! I mentally hiss before my body starts moving on its own.
Ugh. This is what happens when you work too hard to date.
His arm grazes mine and suddenly I realize this is the closest I’ve been to a man in a long time.
Bash begins to fill the cupcakes with batter under my direction, swiping his hair out of his face with the back of his hand. It only adds more batter to his gorgeous face.
“Here, Bash, you’ve got some . . .” I lean up, flicking a few clumps of batter from his black hair.
He grins at me, a grin that makes my veins simmer. Bubbles of heat burst in my stomach and I clear my throat. “It’s nice of you to do this, you know. For your sister. It’ll mean a lot to her when you tell her you helped make these. It’s the perfect wedding gift,” I babble, straining to focus my thoughts anywhere but his handsome face.
“I could just buy her something,” he answers blankly, mouth pinching slightly to the side. “That would be more memorable, I think, because it would give her something to hang on to forever. These cupcakes will be gone in just a few hours.”
I feel a reflection of his uncertain frown forming on my own face. “When you give a gift, it’s not about how long it lasts, it’s about how much the person will treasure it. Something that you made by hand will surely be something she treasures, even after it’s gone.”
He gives a shrug, dismissing my words as he steps back and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t agree,” he says definitively, giving me no more room to argue. “Cupcakes are cute, sure. She’ll think it’s nice that I helped bake them if I choose to tell her, though I probably won’t because then I'll have to explain that I forgot to order them ahead of time. But possessions, accomplishments, things that you can actually look at months or years after . . . that’s what I treasure.”
Spoken like a man who has deep pockets and the ability to buy anything he wants.
Naturally, to him, something with a price tag would equal happiness. I decline to press my point further, knowing there’s no point to it.
“I couldn’t imagine doing this,” Bash suddenly says, glancing toward the now dwindling line of people at the front of the shop as my staff preps for closing. “It’s so hot in here with the ovens going and there’s so much noise and constant mess. What about this appeals to you?”
He appraises me as one might appraise an unusual animal at the zoo. I can tell he’s not quite sure what to make of me. Funny, seeing as that’s how I'm probably looking right back at him.