While Anna was proudly occupied with her "culinary masterpiece," Mariam happened to glance toward the kitchen door—and nearly jumped.
There, standing stiff as a statue with the other terrified staff, was the familiar figure of Daniel Clafford himself.
Her eyes widened in realization.
Master is here... and Madam has set the kitchen on fire again.
Mariam’s lips pressed into a tight line before she mustered a concerned, apologetic look in Daniel’s direction. She knew this was the mont when he—The Mighty, Emotionless Master—would have to face the chaos his wife created because of him.
Daniel wasn’t the type to ddle in his wife’s small mischiefs.
But this wasn’t small.
This was a kitchen ergency with flas, smoke, and a potential ltdown disguised as dinner.
And since he was the reason she was trying to cook in the first place...
He had to deal with it.
"Leave," Daniel said sharply.
The servant standing closest to him yelped and almost dropped a ladle. In seconds, the others scrambled away like startled pigeons.
He gave Mariam a subtle signal. She nodded quickly, withdrawing before Anna even turned her head.
Their eyes t for a brief second—Mariam’s full of sympathy, Daniel’s full of impending doom—and then she vanished with the rest of the staff.
Within monts, the kitchen emptied leaving just Daniel and Anna and a flaming, dying steak, the sll of smoke thick enough to summon firefighters.
Daniel exhaled slowly, bracing himself.
Ti to clean up the ss... and protect his tongue from a second death.
Setting the smoking pan aside and turning off the stove, Anna dusted her hands and exhaled triumphantly, completely unaware of the man silently entering the kitchen behind her.
The steak is done... or well, sothing like done, she thought proudly.
Next, she moved toward the counter where she’d laid out ingredients for cookies.
If she was going to prepare a al for Daniel, she needed sothing sweet too. Sothing comforting. Sothing he’d enjoy after a "heavy" dinner.
She picked up the flour, humming softly.
She hadn’t baked cookies in a long ti, but the thought of Daniel eating sothing she made—sothing just for him—made her heart flutter in a strange, warm way.
Just as she reached for the whisk—
A hand ca from behind her.
Large.
Steady.
Warm.
It closed gently around her wrist.
Anna jolted, a tiny gasp leaving her lips as she spun around—
Straight into Daniel’s chest.
He was right there.
Closer than she expected.
Close enough that the faint scent of his cologne—sharp, clean, subtly masculine—wrapped around her.
Her eyes widened.
His half-lowered.
Neither spoke for a heartbeat.
Then—
"Cookies?" Daniel asked softly, his voice a low murmur near her ear.
Anna felt her breath hitch.
"H-How long... have you been standing there?" she stamred, heat rising to her cheeks.
Daniel didn’t answer. His fingers still circled her wrist, thumb brushing her skin lightly—absentmindedly, almost protective. Yet there was sothing in his eyes... sothing warm, sothing that pulled her breath away.
His gaze drifted to the ingredients, then back to her flushed face.
"You’re making all this..." he tilted his head, stepping closer, "for ?"
Anna swallowed.
She wanted to deny it. To say she was just bored. Or practicing. Or experinting.
But with Daniel standing so close—
with his warmth wrapping around her—
with his breath ghosting near her cheek—
Her mind went blank.
"I—I just thought you might be hungry..." she whispered.
Daniel’s lips curved, slow and dangerous.
"I am."
The simple words made her pulse stutter.
He leaned in, voice lowering further, soft enough to make her toes curl.
"But not for burnt steak, sweetheart."
Her face flad. "D-Daniel!"
He chuckled—deep and warm—his breath brushing her temple.
"Let help you," he murmured, his hands sliding to rest lightly on her waist, guiding her back to the counter. "Before you burn the entire house down."
Anna’s heart thumped so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
She had expected teasing.
She had expected scolding.
She hadn’t expected him to step behind her, chest brushing her back, his hands covering hers as he guided her to hold the whisk properly.
She hadn’t expected the warmth of his breath by her ear.
She hadn’t expected the shiver that ran through her when he murmured—
"Let’s make sothing edible... together."
Daniel stood behind her, close enough that Anna felt every rise and fall of his breath. His hands remained over hers—not restraining, not demanding, but guiding with a quiet certainty that made her pulse skip.
Anna swallowed, trying to steady the whisk in her hand.
But how could she focus when Daniel’s thumb brushed the inside of her wrist with each subtle correction?When his chest occasionally nudged her back as he leaned in to help her angle the bowl?When his warmth enveloped her so fully it was hard to tell where she ended and he began?
Her breath hitched as his lips hovered near her ear—not touching, but close enough to send a hot, shivering awareness trickling down her spine.
"Relax," he whispered, his voice deep, silky, and dangerously calm. "Your grip is too tight."
My grip? Or my breathing? she wanted to say.
Instead, she nodded stiffly, but her fingers only tightened on the whisk.
Daniel chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest—and straight into her back.
"Like this," he said, gently sliding his fingers between hers, loosening her grip with a slow, deliberate motion.
Their hands fit together almost too perfectly.
Anna’s cheeks burned. She kept her gaze forward, determined not to look up and find his eyes already on her.
But he was already watching her.
He leaned in a fraction closer, his lips brushing a stray strand of hair away from her neck. The innocent touch—light as a whisper sent a wave of heat washing through her.
"You sll like strawberries," he murmured.
Her breath faltered. "I—I was cooking—"
"No," he said, his voice low, his lips so close his breath ward her skin. "This is just you."
Anna’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest.
Her hand shook slightly, splattering a bit of flour on the counter. Before she could pull away in embarrassnt, Daniel caught her wrist again, steadying her.
"Easy," he murmured, letting his fingers linger. "You’re trembling."
"I’m not," she whispered, wishing she sounded more convincing.
Daniel’s lips curved. He leaned closer—so close she could feel the faint scratch of his stubble near her cheek.
"Then why," he breathed, "can I feel it?"
Anna’s knees weakened and her breath stuttered, causing her heart to race out of rhythm.
She tried to step away, but Daniel’s hands on her waist held her firmly—gentle, but not letting her retreat.
"You don’t have to cook for ," he whispered into her ear. "Just stay close."
Her stomach fluttered. "D-Daniel... the cookies..."
"Will still need baking," he murmured. "But I am in no rush."
His thumb stroked her hip in a slow, lingering line that made heat pool low in her belly.
Anna finally turned to face him.
Bad idea.
Because Daniel was already watching her with a look so intense, so deeply hungry—and yet achingly tender—that her breath deserted her entirely.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before they lifted to her face.
Slow and deliberate.
"Anna," he said softly, his voice threading through her like silk, "if you look at like that... I won’t be able to help myself."
Her pulse throbbed wildly. She didn’t even know she was looking at him like anything—until he leaned in the last inch between them and gently brushed his nose against hers.
A feather-light touch. Intimate, undoing, and dangerously soft.
Anna’s breath hitched.
"Do you want to stop?" Daniel whispered, his lips almost grazing hers.
She didn’t trust her voice.
She didn’t need to.
Her silence was answer enough.
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