“You’ve got a real smart mouth, Emery, but you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Oh, really? Care to explain?”
But he shook his head. “As a matter of fact, no. I don’t.”
She shrugged. “Fine, whatever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dinner awaits.”
“If you so much as think of making popcorn for dinner, I’ll strangle you,” he said, tugging her closer.
When she leaned in until they were nose to nose, she said, “I dare you.”
“Such a smart mouth,” he said right before he claimed it.
Chapter 3
For twenty-plus years, Carter had imagined some pretty creative ways to shut Emery Monaghan up.
Snarky comebacks.
Throwing stuff at her.
Making references to their younger days guaranteed to embarrass her.
Kissing her?
Never.
And yet now that he was doing it? Holy hell, it was amazing.
She was taller than most women he’d been with and he found it nice not to have to bend down quite so much. And while she didn’t look to be soft or curvy, he’d never been more wrong. As Emery’s body seemed to melt against his, he felt every soft curve and his hands itched to touch them. But first…first he reached up and fisted his hand into her dark hair out of curiosity and was amazed by how soft it was.
Like silk.
Emery let out a soft little moan as his fist tightened in her hair. The sound was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard from her lips.
And yeah…those lips. Soft and wet and so damn good that kissing her could possibly be his new favorite pastime.
Emery broke the kiss and pulled away from him breathlessly. “What the hell, Carter?”
Uh-oh. Was it possible he’d misread the whole situation? She had kissed him back and then there was the moan and…
“Seriously, why would you do that?”
Okay, yeah. She was pissed.
Not turned on.
Dammit.
“Well?” she demanded.
What could he possibly say? He couldn’t explain what had possessed him to kiss her even if he wanted to. One minute she was insulting him and the next—
No idea.
In order to save face, he was going to have to make it sound as if it wasn’t a big deal.
Even though it was.
A major one.
With a shrug, he said, “It seemed like the only way to shut you up.” Then he held up his hands and added, “And it worked.” Without looking at her again, he walked out of the room and straight to the kitchen. Why? He had no idea. He was still a little irked about his conversation with his mother, and on top of that, he was turned on. Spotting his keys on the kitchen island where he’d tossed them before going after Emery, Carter considered going out like he originally planned. But if he did, no doubt he’d come back to find Emery gone. And he couldn’t let that happen. If anyone was going to leave, it was him.
Just…not yet.
The kitchen was a bit of a mess and the last thing he wanted to do was cook—which was an oddity for him—but he was starving. Glancing over his shoulder at Emery’s bedroom, he wondered if she was packing again or just avoiding him.
Only one way to find out.
He walked with a sense of purpose and collided with her in her bedroom doorway. Carter reached out to steady her, but Emery moved away too fast.
Crap. Was this how it was going to be now?
Unable to resist, he looked over her shoulder and saw that her bag was exactly where he’d left it. Hopefully, that meant she hadn’t repacked anything yet.
“Look,” he began slowly, “can we just forget the last hour? I’m sorry for what I said to my mother, okay? Can we please just grab some dinner, since the meal I was prepping is running too late now?”
Her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. Without a word, Emery stepped around him and walked to the kitchen. He found her with the lid to the pan in her hand, sniffing the sauce. Turning her head toward him, she said, “What’s wrong with this? It smells perfectly fine to me.”
This would probably be the wrong time to remind her how she also enjoyed frozen pizzas and eating popcorn for dinner and how her overall knowledge of good food was questionable.
“The dough’s not ready. It’s going to take too long.”
She looked around and saw the ball of dough. “I know I’m no chef, but I didn’t think pizza dough was particularly difficult.”
Normally he’d agree, but…
And then she smiled.
Like a genuine smile—not evil, no snark, just…beautiful.
“Aww, did someone have a temper tantrum and now you don’t feel like cooking anymore?”
Okay, so much for the lack of snark.
Why argue it? With a nod, he said, “Pretty much. How about we go down to the place on the corner and get a couple of slices?”
Rather than respond, Emery walked to the pantry, scanned the contents, and pulled out a box of spaghetti and waved it at him. “You’ve already got the sauce made, why not just have this with it?”
“Because I really wanted pizza.”
She rolled her eyes and placed the pasta back on the shelf.
“We’ll make the pizza tomorrow,” he said with a bit of a huff, hoping she’d give up and agree to go eat with him. He needed to get them back on level ground and just…not be here right now. “I’ll put the dough in the refrigerator and we’ll make it for lunch tomorrow, if you’d like.”
Emery peeked her head out from behind the pantry door. “We should make it now.”
“Now?” he asked.
“Yes.” She stepped out of the pantry, shut the door, and walked over to lean against the island. “I didn’t want to admit this, but I was kind of looking forward to watching you make it.”
He quirked a dark brow at her. “Seriously?”
She nodded.
Now he was a little suspicious. “Why?”
Instead of answering, she rolled her eyes and groaned. When she finally looked at him again, she replied, “Honestly? I always thought it was cool the way they toss the dough in pizzerias and I was curious if you were going to do that here, and maybe…I don’t know, maybe you could show me how they do it.”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. “Wait—you want me to teach you how to…toss pizza dough?” he asked incredulously. “Did I get that right?”
She nodded.
Almost enthusiastically.
And damn, now he really wanted to do that for her.
“Okay,” he said and smiled when Emery bounced on her toes excitedly and clapped. “But there are a few things I’m going to need you to do.”
The look of panic on her face was almost comical.
“You’re going to wipe down the countertop for me and then chop some vegetables. Think you can handle it?” He wasn’t being condescending—simply asking the question.
“That I can do,” she answered with a smile.
A smile he was beginning to like seeing far more than he’d ever imagined.
Carter made quick work of instructing her on what he needed prepped and busied himself rolling out the dough.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Carter knew he had to get a grip on his thoughts and feelings.
There was more than one pizza stone in the kitchen, so he might let Emery make her own. She could top it with whatever she wanted and maybe feel a bit accomplished at having done it herself. Especially after he taught her how to toss and stretch the dough on her own.
He smiled.
There was nothing for him to feel awkward or weird about.
There was nothing sexy about making pizza.
Everything was going to be just fine.
* * *
<
br /> He’d never been more wrong in his entire life.
Carter had to admit it to himself—the art of cooking and eating was sensuous. He just had no idea it could be quite like this over something as ridiculous as pizza.
Emery had flour on her face, her shirt, her jeans…pretty much everywhere. Her laughter at the process was infectious.
Carter stood close behind her and guided her hands in the motions of working the dough properly.
“I think this is a lost cause,” she said, and he was almost ready to agree. They had made multiple dough balls and had thrown several out already when she had lost control and either sent them to the floor or mangled them beyond repair. Carter knew she was frustrated, but he had to hand it to her, she had a good attitude.
“Come on,” he said, still amused. “This one’s gonna be the one. I can feel it.”
Her head came back and almost landed on his shoulder as she continued to laugh. “I’d wave the white flag, but I’ve already strewn enough flour around this kitchen to make it look like a snowstorm blew through.”
Gently grasping her shoulders, he made her straighten. “You got this. Remember, pick up the dough and let it drape over your hands,” he instructed. “Your right palm should be up and that’s the hand you’re going to use to spin, okay?”
She nodded.
“Ready?”
“Not even a little.”
Carter reached around and carefully wrapped his hands around hers. He had a feeling she still wasn’t going to be able to do this unless he guided her. So far, she had tried watching and mimicking his moves without success. This was the only thing he could think of to help her get the gist of what she needed to do.
Together they began working the dough—first stretching it using their knuckles, tossing it from left to right and back again before slowly spinning it. It was awkward working like this and he knew it wouldn’t be perfect, but once they got in sync and had the motion going, he could step back.
Emery gasped with delight as the dough began to spin the way it was supposed to. He was careful not to spook her and make her lose the rhythm. “Focus,” he murmured close to her ear. “You’ve got this.”
Was it his imagination or did her breath catch? Swallowing hard, Carter tried to convince himself to take a step back—to lower his arms and let her take over—but he couldn’t. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet scent of her skin, and moved in just a little bit closer until his chest was against her back.
“Are you ready to toss it?” he asked thickly, amazed at how aroused he was.
“I…I don’t think I can.”
His mouth was practically against the shell of her ear. “C’mon, Em. Do it.”
She groaned. And it was sexy as hell. He encouraged her one more time and smiled when he watched the disc go up a few inches from her hand and then she instantly caught it, keeping the motion going.
“Ohmygosh!” she said excitedly. “I did it! I really did it!”
Beaming with pride, Carter forced himself to take a step back. “Keep going. You got this.”
And for another minute she did. On her last catch, she quickly dumped the rounded disc onto her pizza stone before turning to him with pure joy on her face.
And then she launched herself into his arms.
Carter readily caught her and hugged her close. Her long legs wrapped around him and it was all he could do not to spin and press her against the wall so he could kiss her and relish the feel of her in his arms.
“I did it!” she said again. “I can’t believe I really did it! And I was good, right?” Her hazel eyes were big and bright and her cheeks were flushed and she was killing him.
So good, he thought. She was so very…very good.
Moving quickly, he did his best to unwrap her from around his waist and placed her on her feet. He was enjoying himself a little too much and soon Emery would know exactly what he was thinking.
And feeling.
And wanting.
Dammit.
Emery looked at him with confusion and Carter had to think fast so he didn’t do or say anything to embarrass either one of them. Clapping his hands together, he said, “We don’t want to let the dough rest too long. We need to get the sauce and toppings on it as soon as possible.”
She glanced at him and then over at his own dough, which had been sitting on the stone for the last fifteen minutes.
“I’m starving,” he said, his voice higher than he’d ever heard come out of his own mouth.
Without looking at her, he moved to the stove and brought the pan of sauce over to the island, ladling some first onto his dough and then hers. Once he was done, he put the pan back before trying to remember what came next.
When it seemed to take longer than it should, Emery prompted, “Um… Carter?”
“Toppings!” he said enthusiastically. “Now you can go wild with whatever toppings you want. We’ve got the sautéed vegetables, pepperoni, three different cheeses—”
“None of them are gouda, right?”
It would have been easy to let that comment slide them into snarky territory, but he didn’t take the bait. “Nope.” He began covering his pie with an assortment of cheese. “So, what’s your favorite topping? Did we miss anything?”
“I’m a total pepperoni girl,” she said, taking the cheese from him. “Although there’s a place back home that makes a fantastic eggplant pizza.”
“Grilled or fried?”
“Fried. Sometimes I get that with pepperoni. But only when it’s just me. Derek hates it.”
Right then and there, Carter wished he’d had some eggplant to fry up for her, and had to bite his tongue to keep from making a nasty comment about her ex. Not that she would blame him, but the last thing she needed was a reminder of what an ass she’d almost married.
“I happen to love eggplant,” he said. “I make a really good eggplant rollatini. It’s one of my mom’s favorites.”
“Do you ever make it for the holidays?” she asked casually.
“Years ago we used to make it on Christmas Eve. It was one of the many dishes we made.” He added some of the sautéed vegetables to his pizza. “Back when we were kids, there were so many family members around on Christmas Eve that it was a buffet. It wasn’t until we got older that it all became a little more formal and turned into a complete sit-down, five-course meal.”
“And which do you prefer?”
He laughed softly, arranging the slices of pepperoni strategically around the pizza. “Buffet,” he said without hesitation. “I love the variety and some of those dishes we only have once a year so.”
And that’s when it hit him.
That was the sort of thing he had skipped in the cookbook. It had been years since he thought about the Christmas meals from his childhood. All this time he’d been focusing on his later years—like when he started cooking professionally and opened his first restaurant—but he could probably add meals like the one he had just mentioned to Emery. Hopefully, that might fulfill his mother’s wishes for the book.
When he looked over at Emery, he saw her smiling broadly as she added toppings to her pizza. “Having fun?” he asked.
Without looking at him, she nodded. “You’ll probably make fun of what I’m thinking.”
“This time I won’t. I promise.”
She paused and looked at him—her skepticism clear—then went back to placing pepperoni carefully around her pie. “I was thinking how whenever I buy a frozen pizza, it never has exactly what I want.”
“That’s because it’s frozen pizza.”
Huffing, she shook her head. “I knew you’d make fun.”
“I wasn’t!” he argued. “I’m just saying it’s one of the reasons you don’t get what you want. Frozen pizzas only come in so many varieties.”
“Oh.” Relaxing, she went
on to explain. “Anyway, I love a supreme pizza, but I don’t like sausage. So everything you bought fits me perfectly.” Turning her head, she smiled at him again and Carter felt it all the way to his toes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice gruff as he processed this new feeling. He studied his pizza. It was ready for the oven, but he waited for Emery.
“All set!” she chimed.
He looked at her pizza—it was much more chaotic than his, but what she lacked in talent she more than made up for in enthusiasm. First he placed his stone in the oven, and then carefully took hers and placed it alongside his.
They worked together to clean up the incredible mess they had made while Carter shared his ideas about the recipes from his childhood. Emery didn’t gush or tell him he was brilliant or anything, but he knew she was pleased with his brainstorming.
“So if I type up the recipes and maybe add a passage or two about why they mean something to me, would that be helpful?” he asked, almost afraid to broach any topic that might cause tension in what was becoming a rather enjoyable night.
“Sure,” she said. “Any idea how many you might be adding?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a dozen?”
Emery finished wiping down the granite and rinsed out the sponge. “I think that would be great. If you can get them to me before you leave for Montauk, I’d appreciate it.”
After putting the kitchen back in pristine condition, Carter poured them each a glass of wine before checking on their pizzas. Emery was immediately at his side, peeking into the oven with him.
“Oh wow!” she said with awe. “Those look fantastic!”
She’s right, he thought. Reaching for the oven mitts, he removed each stone from the oven and placed them on top of the stove. Emery was still at his side, practically bouncing on her toes. Her excitement over something as simple as homemade pizza was really adorable and he had to remember to keep that thought to himself.
“Could you get us a couple of plates and I’ll slice these up?” he asked. Emery nodded enthusiastically.
Within minutes, they were sitting at the dining room table and Carter found himself holding his breath, waiting for Emery to take her first bite. And yet she was staring at the two slices on her plate as if she wasn’t sure what to make of them.
A Dash of Christmas Page 7
