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I clenched my teeth so hard, my jaw ticked. He was a pushy, intrusive asshole. And completely right. Damn him. I shoved my way between him and the stove, grabbing for the red pepper flakes, just to make a point that this was still my kitchen.
“You went a little light.”
He peered over my shoulder, his chest pressing momentarily against my back. His deep voice rumbled in my ear. “Careful, chef.”
I shivered. I couldn’t help it. He made the relentless summer day feel frigid compared to his body heat. His breath danced along my earlobe and despite the savory sauce filling the kitchen with Mediterranean scents and tangible defeat, all I could smell was him.
The whisk in my hand trembled once, twice. I leaned back into him, unable to resist exploring what it would feel like to be pressed against his hard chest, how he would make me feel against his body.
I had to know.
He leaned closer, and my shoulders settled against him, his hand landing on my hip with the lightest touch. A ripple of uncertainty vibrated through me. I should pull away. I shouldn’t have gotten this close to begin with.
I started to step to the side and Killian’s fingers dug into my hip, holding me in place, taking the decision away from me. His touch was light only seconds before now it was strong, familiar, possessive. He was used to getting his way and I’d suddenly stopped coming up with reasons why I shouldn’t let him have it.
“I didn’t come here to spy on you.”
His gaze narrowed. “Then why did you come?”
“I needed to see what the fuss was about.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that needs his ego coddled?”
He leaned in, brushing his shoulder against mine. “Every guy is that guy. Don’t single me out.”
I tried not to smile. Really. I gave it my best effort. “Honestly?”
He pulled back, holding my gaze and nodding. “Why do you think women always have the power?”