"Well, my hunk of a fiancé, the kids are in bed, so . . ." I raised my brow, barely resisting the urge to burst into laughter. To my surprise, heat flared to life in Sam's eyes, not so different from the night when he was affected by Jude's potion-drugged chocolates. Much like that night, however, I saw that same hesitation holding him back.

Whatever the effects were, they seemed to have worn off Sam pretty quickly. Poor Rose hadn't been so lucky. I'd called to check on her and her husband had answered. He happily reported that she was fine and I certainly didn't ask any more questions.

When she'd shown up to work the next day, other than a raging blush and a few hickeys, she had looked none the worse for wear. Everyone had noticed, of course, but we all kept quiet about it. I'd tried to tell Sam about the drugged chocolates, but he'd changed the subject every time I brought up that night so I finally dropped it.

Now Sam's heated eyes ran over my body, tension clear in his shoulders. A mere second later, his eyes met mine and I saw conflict overtake them. He shifted his focus to my small kitchen, smiling faintly. It was more of a grimace, though. What was going on in that man's head?

It had been a day since our fake engagement. Sam thought it might help deter Jude from more litigious paths and I hoped he was right. I wasn't entirely sure if Jude would follow up on his threat. Now that I was more removed from the moment, I was nearly certain he was bluffing. He wouldn’t want two sticky-handed children to deal with, even if it meant hurting me.

I also knew that Jude didn't have any ground to stand on. He had abandoned his family for three years. It would take some impressive bribery to get a judge on his side. Still, I wanted to play it safe. Jude had only been back for a couple of days, and I realized I was still more than capable of underestimating that snake.

I shoved thoughts of Jude out of my head. Now that I was here, comfortably alone with Sam, I realized I was hoping that maybe being my fake fiancé would encourage Sam to be a little more bold.

I didn't know what held him back, but I wanted to find some way to show him that there was no need. I was a free woman. Sure, Jude was a monkey on my back, but that was all he was to me—an annoyance.

"Good thing we got the kids down early tonight," Sam said with a chuckle, sliding the conversation away from my not-so-subtle suggestion. "That means I get to clean in peace. I don't have to have Abby trying to 'help.'"

Sam started toward the kitchen, obviously intending to clean up after dinner instead of making eyes at me. I let out a small, disappointed sigh as I trailed behind him. My eyes ran over his back. A slow smile curved my mouth. At least I could appreciate the view. Besides, I wasn't going to get anywhere being all pouty.

"You mean to say you don't like it when Abby helps you do the dishes?" I asked with a quiet laugh.

"Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with the kid," Sam chuckled as he moved over to the sink and turned on the faucet, "but we both know she's in it for the bubbles."

As I watched him, an idea suddenly struck me. I knew just the way to get him to stick around and spend a little more time together. If I did it right, he wouldn't be able to go all evasive on me. I slid up from behind him and leaned my hip against the counter with an arched brow. He rose a brow back.

"Are you in it for the bubbles, too?" he asked.

"I'm in it for the cake."

"Cake?"

"Mhm." I gave him a sly smile. "Caleb's birthday is coming up and, well, I thought I'd make a cake, but I could use some help. You know how terrible I am in the kitchen."

Sam gave me a funny look and pointed toward the two plastic tubs filled with beautifully frosted cupcakes. He'd stacked them on the counter earlier. "I already made those for him to take to school."

"Don't you think we should make him a cake to have here, too?"

Sam frowned slightly. "I figured we'd let him gorge himself on funnel cake when we went to the fair."

"Why not both? You only live once and, bless Henrietta, I've got health insurance for those cavities he'll be getting. Plus, Abby should get some cake, too, don't you think?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind, but it's getting kinda late . . ."

"That's alright." I shrugged and waved a hand in the air. "I'll just run to the store and pick up some of that box mix and—"

I fought back a grin as Sam turned off the water with a sharp movement. He shot me a glare as he dried off his hands with quick swipes. Without a word, he went straight for the mixing bowls and measuring cups.

"Whatcha doing?" I asked, stifling a laugh at his brisk, determined movements. The man took his cooking very seriously and it was seriously cute.

"I think it's about time," Sam said as he pulled the flour, sugar, baking powder, and vanilla extract out of the cabinet at once and plopped them onto the counter, "you learned how to make a proper cake."

"But those box mixes are perfectly tasty and easier, and probably cheaper, too."

"Not worth it. Too sugary." He was in front of the fridge now, pulling out milk, butter, and eggs. "Not enough butter, either."

"I didn't realize you had such a strong opinion on cake." I eyed my long, painted fingernails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, all the while fighting my smile.

After a moment of silence, I looked up to see Sam giving me a flat look. He hadn't moved an inch. I burst into laughter and held my hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. Don't bite me. I just wanted you to teach me how to make a cake."

"I had a feeling." He studied me a moment before he started organizing all of the ingredients on the counter. "Why not just ask?"

"It's so easy to rile you when it comes to food." I splayed my hands out with a cheeky smile. "How's a girl supposed to resist?"

His movements stilled. He turned his head ever so slightly to the side, his eyes sliding the rest of the way to look at me. The hint of a smile tugged at his lips and made my heart skip a beat. Lord have mercy, that man was handsome.

"Are you saying I'm irresistible?" Sam asked in a low voice.

My breath hitched in my throat. If my heart was skipping a beat over a little side-eyed look a second ago, it straight-up stopped functioning after that question. Yes, I wanted to scream out. I couldn't, though. I felt like someone in the middle of a forest who had stumbled across a deer. I didn't want to move too fast or be too loud, frightened that I might scare him away.

"Well," I began, forcing my tone to stay playful, "you do know how to make a damn good cake."

His smile widened in an instant and relief flooded through me. As he chuckled to himself and started measuring out the dry ingredients, I walked over to stand beside him at the counter. I rolled up my sleeves and looked up at him expectantly.

"Where do I start, Chef?"

His brows lifted. "You were serious?"

"Sure was."

"Rhonda, the last time you tried to actually cook something, it didn't go so well."

I tsked and reached for one of the mixing bowls. "It wasn't that big of a fire."

"You were boiling water," he said under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

I gave him a gentle elbow-poke in the side. He looked down at me in feigned shock, as if I had done something completely out of line. I made the same face back at him, then grinned.

"Watch out," I said. "I might get even more violent if you don't teach me how to crack an egg soon."

Sam was completely still for a moment, puzzling through something in his head. Had I gone too far? He had been so skittish lately about this sort of stuff that I really wasn't sure. Just when the doubt started to build inside me, he slowly reached out, grabbed two eggs, then held one out to me.

"Okay, so you start by—"

"Samael, you had better be joking," I cried out, trying to keep my voice down so I didn't rouse the kids.

"What?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Oh my—" I pressed a hand to my mouth to silence my shout, then continued in a terse whisper, "You seriously thought I didn't know how to crack an egg?"

He let out a soft whistle then slowly pulled the egg away from me as if I'd start screaming at him if he moved too fast. I watched as he carefully slipped it back into the carton. Without saying another word, he started measuring out some sugar.

I popped a hand on my hip and leaned in closer, my eyes narrowed. "You answer me right now."

I tried my damndest to act firm, but when I saw the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, I couldn't stop a little puff of laughter. I clamped the rest inside with pursed lips.

"I can't believe you."

"In my defense," he focused intently on the ingredients in front of him, "people often joke about burning water, but you actually managed it."

"In my defense, I was distracted. And I never had a good teacher."

He lifted his head to flash me a big grin. "Well, you've got me now."

"Do I have you?" I locked my eyes on his, my bottom lip slipping between my teeth. Rhonda, you idiot, I thought with a mental groan. Wasn't I supposed to be taking this slow? That lasted a real long time. I dropped my eyes, waiting to feel him pull away or otherwise shut down. Instead, however, he took a step forward.

I looked up in surprise to find that his smile was gone. There was something undeniably loving and protective about the look in his brown eyes.

"I'll always be here for you and the kids. Always."

I looked down at the floor as one of those smiles that come straight from the heart spread across my face. For some reason, it was always those smiles that made me, of all people, get bashful.

Sam slipped a finger under my chin and gently urged me to look back up. "You shouldn't hide that, y'know."

"Oh, Lord," I waved a hand in the air, trying to hide how flustered I was, "nobody wants to see that. It's all teeth."

"It's beautiful."

I cleared my throat and grabbed the butter. "Well, speaking of pretty things, we've got a beautiful cake to make, haven't we?"

"What're you going to do with that?" Sam smirked. An honest to god smirk. He sure seemed to like having the upper-hand, didn't he?

"I'll have you know . . . I haven't the slightest clue."

"That's what I thought."

We shared a grin as we set to making the cake, with me bringing exactly zero knowledge to the table. I honestly didn't even know you put butter in a cake. I thought it was just oil and eggs. Because that was what the box always told me to put in and I didn't bother researching it. It was cake. My kids liked it. What more did I need to know? Apparently, a lot.

Sam had always made the cakes or cupcakes for the kids, and brought them over. This was the first time I'd actually made a cake from scratch, not that I was really doing much except getting in the way.

By the time the cake was out of the oven and cooling, my brain felt like it was going to burst from information overload. Sam even set my little plastic kitchen timer for the cakes to cool so we could frost them. I had no idea that was why my frosting always dripped off, or that cakes were so complicated. Although, to be honest, most of my confusion came from Sam getting all bold on me.

He seemed to have fun ruffling my feathers a little here and there. I thought the first few times he bumped my shoulder might have been accidents. When he helped me mix the batter while standing behind me? Oh, boy, I knew he was enjoying himself.

I smiled as I watched him stir the frosting. He had insisted we tackle learning that one later. By the smile on his face, I knew he was enjoying himself. I was enjoying myself, too.

It felt so good to be with him. Just the two of us, laughing and enjoying each other's company. Things had been so odd since the night Jude showed up. There were so many unanswered questions that I was too afraid to ask.

Sam suddenly turned his head and caught me staring at him. I laughed and raised a challenging brow.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" he asked.

"Don't you know it's rude to flaunt those big ol' muscles of yours by mixing things in a short-sleeved shirt?"

It was his turn to get bashful and I reveled in it. He looked down for a moment, then lifted his eyes to mine. The expression I saw wasn't of embarrassment, but something far more heated. Before I could even catch my breath, he was in front of me. My heart beat faster with each passing second.

He reached out to brush my cheek. I leaned into his touch, then he dropped his hand and I felt it. Something slightly cool and sticky on my cheek. I stared up at him in shock. A moment later he jumped back. His face lit with mischief as he quietly snickered like a little boy who had just gotten away with something absolutely devious.

"Samael. Please tell me you did not just smear frosting on my cheek."

"I would never lie to you, Rhonda."

"You've started a war, Mr. Reynolds." I narrowed my eyes. "I just don't think you realize who you're up against."

Sam smirked. "Oh, I think I do."

He didn't.

I darted forward, shooting past him. In one fluid movement, I scooped a finger into the frosting, then whirled around. I threateningly waved my hand around with the frosting. He jerked his head back as I moved in. Too late. I got him right where I wanted. Smack dab on his lips.

He froze as my finger touched his lips. I slowly pulled my hand away, eyes locked on his. Before I could stop myself, I moved in and my lips touched the spot painted by my finger. The sweetness of the frosting spread across my tongue as Sam pulled me in close, deepening the kiss between us.

It felt so good, so right, to be pressed up against him. I didn't understand why it couldn't always be like this. I slipped my arms up and over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck. Fire roared through my veins at the feeling of his lips on mine.

He deepened the kiss and I sank him into him, eager for more. I'd never felt like this before—all feelings and sensations. I needed this. I needed him. This man was—ding!

I was going to smash that timer into the tiniest little pieces.

Sam pulled back. Slowly, this time, which was an improvement. His eyes were hazy as he looked down at me, his hands curled around my sides in a way that felt so sweet. So perfect. He searched my eyes and I saw it again. That faint hesitation. I knew it was time, though. Or, rather, I'd have to give him time. I unlocked my arms and slid them away, taking a quiet step back.

We finished up the cake in silence, neither of us daring to talk about the way our mouths couldn't seem to stay off each other. Not that I minded, true, but he seemed to. I slid my eyes over to him as he packed up the simple, but delicious, cake—a yellow one, I learned.

When he finished, he neatly placed the cover over the cake and set it on the counter out of the way. He turned to me with a faint, almost hesitant, smile. I could tell he was getting ready to leave before he even spoke and it killed me a little. I didn't want him to go, but I didn't know how to get him to stay. I wouldn't force him, that was for sure.

"Still on for the fair tomorrow?" he asked.

"Of course, sugar," I replied in a quiet voice. It wasn't what I really wanted to say, but the words caught in my throat each time I tried to say them.

Maybe tomorrow I could work up the courage to tell him that I loved him.