Bad Romeo Christmas: A Starcrossed Anthology (Starcrossed #4)(3)

"So ready." She's talking about food, but I'm not. I stand behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. My intention is to get out of the way so she can work, but this position also allows me to rub myself against her ass, and that's a major win for me.

She moans and pushes back into me. "Evil, annoyingly attractive man."

I chuckle as she continues to stir and grind on me at the same time. "Not that I mind you turning my kitchen into a culinary war zone, but why the sudden urge to cook? I thought you hated it."

"I don't hate it. I'm just not good at it. You make it look easy."

"That's because mom taught me to cook from when I was five."

"Exactly. My mom never taught me. Well, to be honest, Judy isn't much of a chef, anyway. Everything she makes is clumpy, and grey, and gross."

"Then she passed along her skills beautifully," I think but have the good sense not to say.

"But why now?" I ask. "I'm happy to cook for us. I enjoy it. And you seem to enjoy eating it."

"I do. Your food is amazing. But ..." She switches off the burner under the saucepan and turns to face me. "You and Elissa bring all of these amazing dishes to your parents' place every Christmas Eve, and I want to be able to contribute. This will be our first holiday season as a couple. I'd like to make it special."

I cup her face and smile. "As long as you're there, it will be special. Trust me. You don't have to go to all this trouble." Also, I love my family and want them to survive the holidays.

"Actually," she says as she wipes her hands on her apron. "I've enjoyed it way more than I thought I would. As long as I follow the recipe, I figure I can't go wrong, right?"

"Right." Wrong. So very, very wrong.

The bell on the oven chimes, and she excitedly turns to pull out a tray and lay it on the counter.

I frown at what I see. "Ah, wow. That's an amazing looking ..."

"Apple strudel," she says proudly.

Jesus. It looks like a melanoma.

Her smile fades. "Although, to be honest, it's a little darker than I intended."

"Don't worry about it. For your first time, you did a great job."

"Aw, supportive fiancéee ... I love you."

"Sexy chef woman ... I love you, too."

She stretches up to kiss me, and I grip her hips as I kiss her back. She is sexy, no matter what she's wearing or what she's doing. But I have to admit, the black lacy underwear under the frilly apron doesn't hurt. I've recently discovered I have a thing for underwear. Specifically, Cassie in underwear. I've spent so much time at Victoria's Secret in the past few months, I'm sure they think I'm running an escort service.

The truth is I get over-excited about removing sexy underwear from Cassie's body, and the flimsy fabric doesn't cope well with my clumsy, desperate hands. Nothing lasts longer than a week.

Still. Worth it.

Cassie pulls me close, and I close my hands over her lace-covered ass as she opens her mouth to me. Though her lips are incredible, it's her tongue that always drives me insane. Soft. Warm. Unbelievably delicious.

It doesn't take long for us to get a little too heated, and I'm contemplating shredding her underpants when she pushes on my chest and pulls back.

"Hold that thought," she says, breathing heavily. "I don't want to ruin the dessert."

I'm fairly sure that ship has sailed, but nevertheless I step back and exhale as she slices up the strudel and places a piece in a bowl. Just when I think it can't look any worse, she scoops up a generous serving of what she's advertising as 'custard' and dumps it on top.

"You're not having any?" I ask as she hands me the bowl and a spoon.

She shakes her head. "Still full from the buffet lunch I had with Elissa. I doubt I'll eat for days."

I look down at the bowl. After this, I doubt I will, either. The outside of the pastry is nearly black, while the inside seems completely raw, and whatever she's done to the apples has left them looking gooey and grey.

I plaster on a smile and scoop some into my mouth. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to gag.

After I force myself to swallow, I clear my throat. "Did you cook these apples in sugar?"

She nods and points to the canister of white powder near the stove. "Yeah, a heap. The recipe said to use a whole cup. Too sweet?"

"Not at all." The canister she'd pointed to was salt. It was labeled, but obviously not well enough, and now, my tongue has shriveled to the size of a raisin.

I move on to the custard. Yep. Salty as hell. Also, the milk must have been too hot when she combined the ingredients, and the result is lumpy scrambled eggs with random crunchy bits.

I'm aware she's watching for my reaction. I ignore the taste and texture of what's in my mouth and conjure up how it feels to be inside her. She must buy the resulting moan of pleasure, because without warning, she drops to her knees and rips open my jeans.

"Uh, Cassie?" I say, my mouth full.

She doesn't answer. I've barely had time to swallow the melanoma strudel with congealed egg before she's licking me in a way that makes it almost impossible to stand.

Oh, dear God.

As grateful as I am for oral attention at any time, Cassie's timing couldn't be better. If she's concentrating on me, she's given up forcing me to eat any more of her food.