“Yes.Pirozhki.”
I laugh nervously. “That’s a terrible idea. I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”
He turns, leaning his hip against the counter, eyes studying me in that focused way that always makes me feel seen.
“I’ve noticed you learn quickly.”
I blink at him in surprise. “You have?”
“You don’t repeat your mistakes,” he continues. “You adjust pretty quickly too.”
I stare at him with a mixture of awe and surprise—how is he so cold yet so warm? No one’s ever said such words to me before. Not like that. Not even my grandfather. He means well but he’s not a patient man—like many wealthy men.
Well, except Andrei.
“Let’s get to it,” Andrei says. Something in his tone leaves no room for argument.
I blush, pressing my lips together nervously. “Okay. But if I burn something—”
“I’ll handle it.”
He steps closer, his arms brushing mine lightly as he reaches up to grab a bowl from the cabinet. I bite down on my lower lip, barely holding myself back from shivering physically from the chill that rushes through my entire body.
God, he makes me feel so much…so much that I’ve never imagined possible.
I try to hold myself together as he shows me how to mix the dough but it’s nearly impossible to concentrate when all I can think about is those strong arms of his around me, his mouth on my most intimate place, driving me nuts and—
“You’re doing it wrong,solnishka,” he says gently, his voice interrupting my sinful thoughts. And before I can gather my wits around me, he steps behind me, his arms coming around and over mine, so he has me completely caged in.
My breath hitches, my heart stopping completely. I can barely think now, only feel…the warmth of his big hands as they move over mine…the bulging movements of his chest muscles against my back and the undeniable evidence of his arousal.
Oh, God.
He adjusts my grip, his chest pressing a little bit harder my back, his breath warm against my ear.
“Like this,” he murmurs, guiding the movement of my hand.
I follow his lead and soon, my movements get steadier. He whispers quiet words of praise in my ears and I find myself basking in the attention, standing a bit taller.
“Good,” he says. “You’re doing so well,solnishka.”
When the dough is set aside to rise, he moves on to the filling, and I watch, more relaxed now, even smiling when flour dusts my fingers.
He pours two glasses of wine and hands me one.
“We have time,” he says. “Before the dough’s ready.”
“For what?”
He takes my hand and leads me toward the couch.
“A movie.”
He turns on the television and lowers himself beside me, his thigh brushing mine in a way that makes me hot all over. His arm stretches along the back of the couch, not touching me, and somehow that makes it worse.
“What do you wanna watch?” he asks, then turns to look at me. The moment our gazes clash, I find myself getting lost inthe smoldering intensity in his deep blue eyes. As if pulled by an external force, my body inclines toward him and before I can think better of it, I press my lips to his.
I feel his body tense but I squeeze my eyes shut and move my mouth against his. My heart is beating like crazy, my palms sweaty…if he pulls away right now, I would probably shave my hair and relocate to some remote part of Africa.