Rudolph, the good old super player, uber-creep, stupidly nicknamed Scooter, was no longer her mortal marital adversary.
Now, the thought of the man sent her pulse racing—and not in the God, I hate you way, but in the Oh, God! Oh, God! Don’t stop way.
They hadn’t talked nuts and bolts or any long-term relationship plan. And honestly, between all the sexytimes and all the wedding preparations she’d already tackled today, there wasn’t a moment to spare. Not to mention, they’d been around everyone, and there was no way she would take the spotlight off Lori and Tom by announcing that she was possibly dating the former worst, now, truly best man.
But after last night, she knew that, whatever they had, it was real.
Between hating him and lusting after him, and then hating him a little more, she couldn’t deny that somewhere between screwing him and screaming at him, she’d fallen for him.
Her once curmudgeon of a baking assistant was now positively the devil of baking—in the best and naughtiest of ways.
She held Soren’s gaze, those cat-like eyes glittering with mischief. “You must have misheard me, Scooter. I said that I needed your assistance stacking the profiteroles into a cone shape.”
The mischief factor in his eyes dialed up another notch. “And then I said, ‘What are profiteroles?’ And then that little line appeared on your forehead, and you made that face like you’re pissed off at me. But you’re not. And then you said, and I remember this quite clearly, ‘I need your balls.’”
She bit back a grin. “That is not at all how that conversation went, and you know it!”
“Ah, semantics! It must be the law school in me,” he teased.
She dipped her wooden spoon into the warm caramel and drizzled it over the decadent dessert, putting on the final touch.
She did her best to disregard his provocation, but the man was hard to ignore.
She cleared her throat. “If you can’t tell, I’m engaged in some serious caramel application, mister. You do not want to upset a woman wielding a spoonful of hot, sticky deliciousness.”
He leaned in, all cat-eyes and chiseled cheekbones. “Bridget Dasher, you make baking a real turn on.”
She felt her cheeks heat as he moved in a fraction closer. She’d never look at caramel the same again.
“If you’re not going to play with my balls, then you have to let me kiss you,” he said, his voice a low, sexy whisper.
She threw another glance at Delores and Tanner. They weren’t even twenty feet away!
“Right now? Right here?”
This man made her a tingly, lip biting mess. Again—a dangerous thing to be while working with hot, sticky deliciousness.
Gah! She had to nix the hot, sticky, delicious thoughts, or else she might not be able to stop herself from doing a lot more than just kissing this baking scoundrel.
His gaze flicked to their kitchen companions. “They won’t even notice. Look, Delores is in the zone with those little chickens.”
“Cornish hens,” she corrected with a giggle.
Soren shrugged. “Cole calls them little chickens, so that’s what I’m sticking with. And we both know there’s a good chance Tanner’s hit the gummy bears today. He wouldn’t notice if Santa’s sleigh plowed through this place.”
She stifled another laugh and shook her head. “I’ll have you know that Tanner is stone-cold sober. He promised that he wouldn’t bring any of his special medicinal treats to the mountain house. I think I freaked him out that night I ate half the bag.”
Soren blew out an exaggerated breath. “Yeah, you freaked out a lot of people that night. If it wasn’t for me, you probably would have ended up in the Kringle detox unit.”
She lowered her voice. “I was not that bad, and I highly doubt there’s a Kringle detox unit.”
He eyed her skeptically. “You had a conversation with an egg, Bridget.”
She rested the spoon in the copper pot and leaned against the counter. “I’ve never met an egg I didn’t like.”
He picked up a dish towel and draped it over a carton of eggs sitting on the counter.
“Why did you do that?” she asked as he carefully covered the entire container.
He leaned in, and his breath tickled her ear, sending a charge of heat through her body. “So, we can agree that nobody, not even your little egg friends, are going to catch us.”
She swallowed hard. More of his sexy voice, and she’d be the one ransacking Frosty for another six condoms.
Yep, they’d been busy last night.
“I can see why you’re so successful. You’re hard to turn