My eyebrows furrow. “You don’t?”

  “No,” he answers, his serious expression sending a shiver down my spine.

  Is he saying he’s serious about me? That he wants to be with me?

  I want to think he is. I want to hope and be thrilled at the very thought. But I’ve hoped and I’ve been let down before. Too many times, in fact.

  I turn my attention to my backpack as I start to pack my things.

  “You should leave, Mr. Hawthorne, before my brother finds out you’re here. He can be very scary, you see.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Ryker stands in front of me, his gaze unwavering.

  And now, I’m wavering. Now that he’s so close, I can feel this magnetic force pulling me towards him.

  I step away. “Ryker…”

  “Teach me how to cook,” he tells me. “I’ll pay for the lesson and your trouble, no matter how much it costs.”

  I shake my head. He’s kidding, right? Surely he didn’t come to see me for a cooking lesson. I can’t even imagine him cooking.

  But then I look at him again and I see his serious expression still there. Nope. He’s not kidding.

  “Are you serious?” I ask him anyway.

  “Yes.”

  “About learning to cook?”

  “Yes.”

  I snort. “You don’t cook.”

  “Actually, I do,” he tells me. “But even if I don’t, isn’t that all the more reason for you to teach me?”

  So he really wants to learn how to cook, does he?

  “Fine.” I toss an apron at him. “Let’s cook.”

  As he dons the apron, I put mine back on, though I have a hard time tying it behind me because I find myself distracted by looking at him. I’ve seen many men in aprons, but damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man look so attractive in one. And I can’t help but imagine him in just the apron.

  Why not? He’s imagined me that way. Still, I shrug the image off. He’s here to learn how to cook, remember? Not for any other reason.

  “Have you ever made crepes before?” I ask Ryker after I finally manage to tie my apron.

  “No,” he answers. “Is that what we’re making?”

  “Yes. I’m going to teach you how to make savory crepes.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Savory crepes?”

  “Yes. And I’m not talking about breakfast crepes. I’m talking about dinner crepes.”

  “Okay. What do we do first?”

  He’s even more eager than my students. For a moment, my imagination takes over again, conjuring an entirely different scenario where Ryker is asking me what I want him to do. Again, I push it away.

  What is wrong with me? I’m usually not like this. In fact, I’ve never been this horny before. Is it because I’m all alone with Ryker? Is it because I haven’t seen him in days?

  Exactly. I haven’t seen him in days, so I’m supposed to still be mad at him, not acting like a bitch in heat around him. Besides, I’m supposed to be his teacher right now.

  I’m a teacher. He’s just another student.

  So teach, Claire.

  I clear my throat. “First we have to make the batter. The ingredients are all here on the board.”

  I point to it.

  “We just have to put them all in a blender and mix them well.”

  “And if I don’t have a blender?” Ryker asks.

  I almost laugh. Ryker Hawthorne can’t afford a blender? Then I remind myself that he’s a student, just another student.

  I put on my teaching face. “If you don’t have a blender you can make the mixture by hand, but you have to mix the ingredients well, which means your hand is bound to get tired.”

  “It won’t.” Ryker grabs a whisk from the container on one of the tables. “I may spend most of my time behind a desk, but I’ve got strong hands. I lift weights sometimes.”

  Talk about defensive. Still, I believe what he just said. I can imagine those long fingers wrapped around the handle of a whisk, driving it around the mixing bowl for several minutes. And I do like men who work with their hands.

  Strong hands. Shit. He’s not trying to seduce me on purpose, is he?

  “So, where do I get the ingredients?” Ryker asks.

  The ingredients? Oh, right.

  “Actually, we’re not making the batter. You need to chill it for at least half an hour for it to work. The longer the better. So we’ll use the mixture that’s already in the fridge.”

  I walk over to it but Ryker beats me. He opens the door of the fridge. I take out the mixing bowl—I guess it’s a good thing I made too much batter so there’s still plenty left over—and he takes it from me.

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  He brings the bowl to the table. I grab a spoon and dip it into the mixture.

  “See.” I move the spoon around. “No lumps.”

  Then I lift the spoon and let the batter drip from it.

  “Not too thin. Not too thick.”

  “Just creamy,” Ryker says.

  He takes some of the batter dripping from the spoon to coat the tip of his index finger, which he rubs against his thumb.

  “And sticky.”

  He parts his fingers, leaving the batter hanging between them in threads. Creamy threads. Then he rubs them again.

  Creamy. Sticky. Between his fingers. Something else comes to mind.

  Fuck.

  The spoon slips from my hand. It drops into the bowl and causes a splash. Some of the batter splatters on the front of my apron.

  “Oops!” Ryker exclaims. “Dirty apron.”

  Yup. A black apron splattered with thick white drops. A dirty apron, which I told him last time I wouldn’t mind him giving me.

  Great. Just great.

  I wipe it off as I scold myself.

  Focus, Claire.

  “What next?” Ryker asks.

  I straighten my shoulders. “We separate as much of the batter as we need, and since we’re making savory crepes, we’ll add in some fresh herbs and some Parmesan. And by we, I mean you.”

  I hand him the jar of herbs and the bar of Parmesan cheese.

  “Add as many as you like while I heat the pan.”

  This way, I can put some much needed distance between us. Or so I think until I notice Ryker standing behind me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him in a flurry of panic.

  Ever since I started cooking, I’ve dreamed of having a man wrap his arms around my waist from behind and rest his head on my shoulder, maybe kiss my cheek, while I’m standing over a stove. This is the first time it’s ever come close to happening. And with Ryker no less.

  Maybe it’s not so much dreaming of a man wrapping his arms around me from behind as it is dreaming of Ryker doing it.

  I hold my breath. If he does it, I might just turn around and kiss him.

  He doesn’t. He just leans over my shoulder and holds his hand over the pan.

  “How hot does it have to be?”

  “Not too hot,” I answer as I try to hide my frustration. “If it’s too hot, the batter won’t spread.”

  “Okay. And what’s that coating the pan?”

  “Butter, so the batter won’t stick.”

  “I see.”

  He’s such a good student, which just makes my frustration worse. I know Ryker takes things seriously, but for once I just wish he would loosen up and not play by the rules.

  “Isn’t it hot enough now?” Ryker asks.

  I place my hand over it and realize it is. I also realize that if I don’t start concentrating right now, I’m not going to get these crepes right, which means I’ll be failing both as a cook and as a teacher, which will get me even more frustrated.

  Enough play. If he wants us to cook seriously, then we will. I will.

  “Get me the batter,” I tell him.

  He obeys.

  I grab the ladle and get a scoop of the mixture which I put into the pan.

  “Now, we’ll just put a scoop of the batter here and then we’ll tilt the pan so it reaches up to the edges and makes a perfect circle. Then we just wait. It’s important for us to leave the batter alone so that it can…”

  “Harden?” Ryker supplies.

  He is teasing me on purpose, isn’t he? Not seducing. Just teasing.

  “I was going to say ‘solidify’,” I tell him. “It should take no more than two minutes.”

  We wait. In silence. Awkward silence.

  This is one of the times I wish whatever is in the pan would cook faster, but cooking is one of the things you can’t rush. Deliciousness simply takes time.

  Finally, it gets golden.

  “Now, we just flip it over like a pancake.” I do it in one smooth motion. “Then we wait about thirty seconds for this side to become crisp and golden and it’s done.”

  I take the crepe out of the pan and transfer it to a plate. Then I look at Ryker.

  “You do the rest.”

  He does. And impressively, too.

  Is there anything he can’t do? Is this his ploy—impressing me with his cooking skills so I’ll forgive him and take him back?

  It may not be as effective as seducing me outright, but I have to say it is working.

  He transfers the last crepe to the plate. “Now what?”

  Now, I reward you with a kiss, I nearly say. Instead, I grab the spatula from him.

  “Now, we make the filling. And this is the fun part.”

  “I thought making the crepes was pretty fun,” Ryker says.

  “Well, this is the creative part. You get to experiment. You can make practically anything you like for the filling. You can use steak. You can use rotisserie chicken. You can use pulled pork. You can use ham or smoked salmon or shrimp or bacon or mushrooms or kimchi. You get the picture.”

  He nods. “I do.”

  “This time, we’ll use rotisserie chicken and mushrooms with a bit of spinach.”

  “Okay.”

  I toss them in a pan with some butter and garlic and start to mix them around, but Ryker places his hand over mine.

  His touch is even more scorching than the steam from the pan.

  “I’ll do it,” he says.

  I step aside and let him.

  I watch him as he cooks. I don’t know how he does it, but the more he cooks, the hotter he looks in that apron. And his focused expression makes him sizzle even more.

  “Hot enough?” Ryker asks suddenly.

  The hand I have tucked beneath my chin drops. “What?”

  “We’re just supposed to heat all this, right, because it’s already cooked? So is this hot enough or do I need to heat it some more?”

  Oh, that’s what he meant.

  I look into the pan. “That’s good enough. Now, we just have to add some cream cheese and we’re done.”

  I scoop some of the cream cheese into the pan and Ryker folds it into the rest of the mixture. Then I take the pan off the heat. We stuff the crepes with the filling and I drizzle some melted butter over them for the finishing touch.

  “And we’re done.”

  “So now, we eat?” Ryker asks.

  I shrug. “You can eat.”

  I’m still full. Or maybe I just have an appetite for something other than food.

  Ryker cuts one of the crepes and stuffs a big piece inside his mouth. The melted butter coats his lips and he licks it.

  “Mmm. This is really good. Tastier than I thought it would be.”

  I barely hear him because I’m distracted by the bit of cream cheese stuck to the corner of his mouth.

  He gives me a puzzled look. “What?”

  I touch the corner of my mouth. “You’ve got something.”

  “Where?”

  Without thinking, I step forward. My arm leaves my side. My hand reaches his face.

  I wipe the corner of his mouth with the pad of my thumb. Only then do I realize I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I pull my hand away but Ryker grabs my wrist. Next thing I know his lips are wrapped around my thumb. His tongue presses against it as he sucks.

  My breath catches. A shiver goes down my spine.

  Before I have any time to process what’s happening, Ryker releases my thumb but not my wrist. He pulls me forward and I crash against him. His lips catch mine.

  He grips my hip as he kisses me, gently at first and then with a fire that reaches every corner of my body. I pull my hand away from his so I can caress the nape of his neck as I kiss him back. Our tongues collide and I taste the cheese, the herbs, the butter. I taste him, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever had.

  And I want more.

  I pull away so I can look into his eyes. They’re glossed over with so much heat and lust that I can barely speak. I swallow.

  “I have more stuff in my apartment that you can try,” I tell him in a shaky whisper, which is all I can manage. “If you like.”

  Ryker’s lips curve into a grin. His eyes gleam as he brushes a strand of my hair away from my cheek.

  “I’d like that.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ryker

  Like? No. That’s not the word.

  On the way to Claire’s apartment, my chest feels almost painfully tight, like my heart and my lungs are about to burst. And my lower half feels pretty much the same way.

  I want her. I’ve been wanting her for a long time, but I put up this dam to keep the desire in. And it’s like that dam has just collapsed completely.

  I want her. I need her. Just as badly as the oxygen I can’t seem to get enough of right now. It’s like I’ve been hooked up to a machine that’s been doing all the breathing for me and now I have to breathe on my own in order to live.

  I want Claire. And I’m having her.

  If only my feet could go faster up this fucking staircase.

  Finally, we reach her apartment. Claire seems to be fumbling with her keys, so I take them and open the door. As soon as we step inside, I toss the keys on top of the shoe rack so I can put my hands on her. I grip her waist and pin her against the door, closing it. Then I crush her lips with mine.

  Claire moans into my mouth. Her fingers get lost in my hair, some pulling at the strands and the others applying just the right amount of pressure on my scalp as she kisses me back. She grips the collar of my jacket as she parts her lips and offers me her tongue, which I suck and rub my own tongue against. Then she starts to push my jacket off my shoulders.

  I shrug it off. It gets caught on my wrists so I take a step back to pull it off and kick off my shoes at the same time. I toss my jacket on the shoe rack.

  Claire takes the opportunity to remove her coat and her boots. Once she’s rid of them, I grab her velvet turtleneck blouse by the hem and pull it over her head. As I jerk it away, her ponytail comes undone. Her hair spreads over her shoulders like a golden waterfall.

  I grab a handful of it as I kiss her again. She clutches the hem of my shirt and rolls it up to my armpits. I yank it over my head and toss it aside.

  Once it’s out of the way, I pull Claire towards me so I can feel her breasts against my chest as I plant my lips on the side of her neck. I gently suck on the skin as I caress her curved back. Then I bring my mouth to her ear. I nibble on the lobe while my fingers work on the hook of her bra. I lick it and she shudders.

  After I unhook her bra, I give Claire some space to slide the straps off her arms and get rid of it. Then I pull her against me once more as I kiss the other side of her neck. Her nipples rub against my skin and heat travels all the way to my groin.

  “Where’s the nearest bed?” I whisper in her ear.

  Claire doesn’t answer. She just gives me a grin, grabs my hand and leads me past the kitchen and the living room to the bedroom. There, she slips out of her pants. I watch her, mesmerized by the woman she’s become. My cock throbs in my briefs.

  She stands in front of me in her underwear and places her hand on my cheek as she gazes into my eyes. I lower my face and grip her waist as we kiss. Her hand slides to the back of my neck. The other one moves between our bodies and cups the bulge in my crotch.

  Even through the layers of fabric, I feel her touch and I suck in a breath. I feel the friction as she starts to move her hand and it’s too much. I grab her wrist and lead her to the bed. She lies on top of it and I kiss one of her breasts.

  I take it inside my mouth and Claire’s back arches. A gasp leaves her lips. I suck on the firm, round flesh and lick her nipple while I play with her other breast. I rub its stiff peak between my fingers and she moans. Another shudder goes through her.

  I continue to swipe the tip of my tongue against her nipple as I move my hand down her side. I follow her hipbone down the middle and her legs part. My fingers brush against her underwear and I rub the front. It’s hot and wet. I slip my hand inside and find her other pair of lips, soft and drenched. I stroke them before slipping a finger inside.

  Claire’s legs fold. Her knees rise and her hips leave the bed. I slip another finger in and push. Both my digits drown in her heat.

  She’s clamping down on me, sucking me in. My cock leaks and strains against its cotton prison in response.

  Damn it. She’s going to make me come while I still have half my clothes on.

  I keep her nipple trapped between my lips as I move my fingers in and out. I pull them out just before they melt and start to stroke her nub as I press my lips against her neck, but she grabs my wrist.

  “Just put it in. Now.”

  Bossy. But I don’t protest. I’m in no state to. I want what she wants just as badly. Maybe even more.

  I take the condom I’ve been carrying in my wallet and hold the packet between my teeth as I remove my belt. Claire gets rid of her panties. Then she props herself on her elbows and watches me as I unzip my pants. I let them fall to my ankles and kick them aside.

  I lower my briefs to my hips and take out my cock. Claire’s eyes grow wide. She licks her lips. I’d let her stare at it, even give her a show, but I don’t think I can wait much longer so I tear the packet and slip the rubber on. I join her on the bed and settle between her legs.

  “Ready?” I ask as I grip her thighs.

  “You bet,” she answers.

  I push the head of my cock in. It slips inside her easily and I let out a hiss. The rest? Not so easy. The sheath around my cock may be soft and wet, but it’s also tight, clinging to my shape like a glove. I move my hips slowly and take deep breaths in between to keep myself from spilling.