He didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t domestic or that she hated frilly clothes. He liked her for who she was. She looped her arms around his neck and drew his head down for a kiss.
Matt rested his forehead against hers, his hands on her backside. “What was that for?”
She considered all the possible explanations. Because he looked so sexy all covered in flour. Because he’d told her she didn’t disappoint him. Because he made her feel good.
But she couldn’t very well tell him that she wanted him. Not in her mother’s kitchen.
“It’s an old Acadian custom to kiss the cook,” she said.
“Then I’m all in favor of old Acadian customs.” His freshly shaven jaw nuzzled the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
Footsteps sounded on the back porch, and they sprang away from each other. Rather, Eve sprang. Matt had to be pushed. He made a face at her before turning back to the neglected dough.
“Aren’t you both the pair of early birds?” Her mother set the eggs she’d gathered into a basket beside the sink, then washed her hands.
Eve’s face felt hot, like she’d been caught doing something naughty instead of just thinking about it.
“Why don’t you let me finish the bread?” Eve suggested to Matt. “You’re a guest, remember?”
She hoped he wouldn’t remember that she’d wanted him to help wash dishes just the night before, and he’d still been a guest then. But last night they weren’t expecting her brothers to arrive at any moment, and Matt didn’t need them to see him looking so domestic.
“And let you get all the glory? Not a chance,” he said. He gave the dough another slap. “Back off.”
“Leave him alone,” her mother said. “Men are good at bread-making.”
Eve couldn’t recall any time she’d ever seen a man making bread in this house before. “If that’s true, how come none of the boys ever had to do it?”
“When was the last time you made bread?” her mother countered. “As I recall, you were never any good at it.”
Okay, that round went to her mother.
Eve poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove and wandered over to the window while her mother supervised getting the bread dough into the pans. Every once in a while, she would cast Eve an odd look.
“Is it just me, or is my mother acting weird?” Eve asked Matt after her mother finally disappeared. “I mean, weirder than usual?”
“I think she was curious.” His eyes danced. “You have two big, white handprints on the seat of your pants.”
Again, her heart did that little pitter-pattery thing it always did when he smiled at her that way. She craned her neck, trying to see. “Lovely. I’d better change before people start to arrive.”
Too late.
Her oldest brother, Cyril, burst into the kitchen. He wasn’t anywhere near as tall as Matt, but he was rock solid—and all of it muscle. When he entered a room, people noticed. Right behind him were Marcel and Alain. Marcel wore his dark hair pulled back from his face and tied in a ponytail. Alain kept his hair short and neat, because he was slowly going bald. With their different styles, heavy shoulders, and thick necks, they looked like a professional tag team.
Alain grabbed her first.
“Eve!” he cried, swinging her off her feet before tossing her over his shoulder like he was planning to save her from a burning building. “We’ve missed you.”
Eve winced, air hissing from her lungs. Her reflexes weren’t what they used to be. She should have been better prepared for this.
Matt cleared his throat. Four heads, hers included, swiveled in his direction. Alain let Eve slide to her feet.
Matt stuck out a hand still sticky with traces of bread dough. “Hi. I’m Matt Brison. Eve and I work together.”
The men all shook hands, which Eve took as a promising sign.
Then Marcel tipped his head sideways, eyeing the seat of Eve’s pants. “Looks like maybe you play together, too.”
That wasn’t nearly as promising. Eve began babbling introductions to cover for it.
“Matt, this is Cyril, Marcel, and Alain. My brothers. Cyril’s the self-defense instructor I told you about. Alain’s in the Navy. And Marcel—believe it or not—works for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.” So don’t mess with them.
Matt didn’t seem impressed. Or as scared as he should be.
“You don’t look like a carpenter,” Alain said to him.
“I’m not. I’m an architect.”
The men were all sizing each other up. Her brothers didn’t seem impressed with Matt, either. And they definitely weren’t feeling