Page 74 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

Daniel glances over his shoulder, mouth curving.“Fondling?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m checking the bolt.”

“You have been checking that bolt for ten minutes.”

“It’s an important bolt.”

“You’re an important bolt.”

His smile widens.“That made no sense.”

“It sounded better in my head.”

“Most things do.”

I point my spatula at him.“Careful.This is lemon buttercream.I’m armed and citrusy.”

His eyes drop to the spatula.Then to my mouth.Then lower, because the man has the subtlety of a wolf staring at a steak.The bond between us warms.Not the frantic, wild burn from the beginning.Not the painful tug of fate demanding we hurry up and ruin our lives in the name of destiny.This is different now.

His claiming mark on my neck pulses as if it hears him thinking dirty things from across the kitchen.To be fair, I hear them too.

Daniel’s thoughts are not verbal, exactly.The bond does not work that way.But it carries emotion.Desire.Amusement.Love.The occasional image of me bent over something that absolutely should not be used for that purpose because this is a licensed food establishment and we are professionals.

Mostly.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I tell him.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re mentally violating food safety laws.”

He places the wrench on the counter with great care.“Sweetheart, if you knew the things I’m mentally doing right now, you’d already be sanitizing the table.”

My thighs clench.Traitorous thighs.

I turn back to the cake in front of me, because cake is safe.Cake does not have amber eyes, strong hands, or the ability to make me feel cherished and filthy in the same sentence.

The cake is for Mrs.Bell’s granddaughter’s baby shower.Three tiers of vanilla sponge, lemon curd, and buttercream rosettes.Decorated with delicate little sugar flowers I spent four hours making while Daniel sat at the counter and said deeply unhelpful things like, “That petal looks edible,” and, “So do you.”

Romance is alive and well.Unfortunately, so is my sex drive, and my mate knows it.

He comes up behind me slowly.I feel him before he touches me.The heat of him at my back.The scent of cedar, rain, and wolf wrapping around sugar and lemon.My wolf stretches, shameless and pleased.We have come a long way from her trying to launch herself at him in the middle of the bakery.

Now she waits.Barely.

Daniel’s hands settle on my hips.

I glance down.“You washed those, right?”

“I’m wounded.”

“I’m serious.”

He lifts both hands in front of my face.“Scrubbed.Twice.Because I live in fear of your wrath and the health department.”

“Good.”