Page 71

Too close. Far too close. I could smell him.

More white musk and leather. Definitely patchouli.

“What’s your cologne?” I demanded.

I wasn’t sniffing, exactly.

“Right now?” he snorted. “Eau de sweat.” His eyes seemed a little hazy, his voice, rough with sleep. “I suppose I’m not fit to be seen—or smelled yet. Sorry, the cupcakes got me up before my shower.”

I returned to beating the icing, for something to do. “Sweat aside, what cologne do you use?” I insisted.

If he was driving me insane, the least he could do was tell me how.

“I don’t have one.”

I was ready to scream. People did not smell like thisnaturally.

Before I could lose it, he added with another yawn, “I developed a body wash and deodorant formula meant to capture a scent most befitting to individuals years ago.”

“You also have a cosmetics business?”

“Uh-huh. You didn’t answer. Tea or coffee, love?”

The endearment made me realize just how damn domestic the scene seemed. I was baking, and here he was, putting his old-fashioned metal kettle on the stove, first thing in the morning. Half naked.

“Coffee, please.” I needed the caffeine to stay sharp around his general nonsense. “Gideon wants to know your brand of beans, by the way. And don’t tell me you own a coffee roasting business.”

“Of course not. I import them from Colombia.”

By some miracle, I prevented myself from swatting him with the spoon, but it was a close call. “I’m not going to ask how much it costs.”

“Less than buying crap by the bag at the grocery store. I place a bulk order every year. I’ll send a bag up to your cousin, how about that?”

That was the thing with him. Yes, he was a filthy rich, posh bastard, happy to take advantage of capitalism to the fullest extent, but he was also incredibly generous.

“That earns you extra icing,” I told him.

The infuriating man only opened his mouth.

“You want me to feed you icing?”

“You just said I earned it. I don’t joke around with icing, Valesco.” Then, he opened again.

He could have done a number of things, from grabbing a spoon, asking his weird house to give him one, or even dipping his finger into the bowl. Instead, he just spread those lips and waited for me expectantly.

Well, if he had no compunction about playing with my sanity, I decided to return the favor. I dipped my finger into the bowl and curved it in front of his mouth, challenging.

I expected him to laugh and walk away. He was obviously fond of joking and flirting, but it wasn’t serious. He’d made that clear each time Gideon or even Cassius had suggested he might have designs on me that he found the idea ludicrous. He’d even told me he certainly wasn’t helping because he was hoping to get into my pants back in his lab yesterday. So, he should have stopped the joke.

Silver flashed into his eyes as he leaned in, and close on my fingers. Then hesucked.

I felt it down to my clit.

Lucian moaned as he straightened, immediately returning to the coffee beans he was grinding, while I was attempting to process the last two minutes. “How the fuck do you make that icing, Kleos? I need the recipe.”

It was an effort, but I made myself snap out of it. “Nope. Remember: you want something I make, you come to me.”

In fact, it was just like any old buttercream frosting, only infused with my magic, hence why no one could produce the exact same thing as mine.