In the Raw by Eileen Griffin, Nikka Michaels Page A

the crap with my dad and a headache was slowly working its way up my neck.
    “You going to stand there and hold the list, Golden Boy? Or are we going to whip these desserts into shape?”
    I jumped, startled by Ethan’s sudden appearance. I opened my eyes and shot him a smirk to cover how unsettled I was feeling. “I was born ready, Martin. Which would you like to work on? The pastry shells or the cream filling for the cannoli? Or the tart?”
    My smirk widened when I saw him squirm a little bit at the mention of the cream filling. I handed him half of the ingredients and walked toward the pantry without another look, calling over my shoulder. “Cream filling it is, Martin.”
    “Asshole,” he hissed.
    I snickered but kept walking. I had cannoli to make and an uncomfortable but agreeable Ethan as my partner. I’d never been one to make the first move but I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to keep my hands to myself. Ethan might punch me in the face but not trying would be even worse than that. I wanted him—not the fake Ethan who kept everyone away with his biting sarcasm. I wanted the real Ethan. The one who poured every single ounce of his passion for food, for cooking, for life into everything he did. I wanted all his intensity directed at me.
    Ethan was already back at our prep station when I brought all of the ingredients we’d need for the cannoli pastry and the apple tart. I hid a smile when I saw him peering at the recipe instructions, his brow furrowed in concentration.
    “Need some help there?”
    “You focus on the dough, Golden Boy. I’ve got this.”
    He poured some heavy cream into the bowl for the filling and cranked the mixer on to high. Cream splashed everywhere and when I lowered the speed Ethan glared at me.
    “You know I’ve made whipped cream before, right?”
    “I’m sure you have, but if you overbeat it, the filling won’t have the right texture.”
    He stared at me as he reached over and cranked the mixture back up. I turned it back down.
    “Hey, stop touching my mixer and focus on your dough, okay?”
    “Alright, but if you overmix it—”
    “If I screw it up, I’ll fix it.”
    We worked in silence for a while, the rest of the classroom a flurry of movement around us. Everyone’s complete focus was on their task. Even Reed had steered clear of us since he’d been eliminated from the scholarship competition.
    When I took a break from the dough, I peered into the mixing bowl. Unattractive globs of coagulated cream stuck to the side.
    Ethan caught me looking and when he saw the ruined cream he cursed. “Yeah, don’t say it. You told me so. Give me ten minutes and I’ll do it again.”
    Fifteen minutes later, when I noticed Ethan had stopped working on the filling for the cannoli, I shot him a questioning look. “Is the whipped cream done?”
    He didn’t answer and I watched him, amused as he stared at the movements of my hands with rapt attention. I’d already cut in the butter with my fingers after adding the egg yolk and Marsala wine, resulting in smooth, pliable dough.
    I smirked when I saw him shift uncomfortably. I pulled the dough between my hands and a strangled moan escaped his lips when I grasped the end of the dough and squeezed it with one hand.
    My smile faded away when he finally looked at my face. The longing I’d felt for three long years was echoed in his expression. Ethan might bitch and moan about everything under the sun. He might even hate everything about me and my family. The look on his face made one thing clear, though. Despite himself, he wanted me. Not just to help him pass this class. He wanted to feel how good my mouth would be wrapped around his dick as I stared up at him from my knees as my hands dug into the flexing muscles of his ass.
    I swallowed hard as we stared at each other hungrily. I wanted to yank him across the table and show him how much I wanted him. I didn’t want to care who saw. We both flinched as someone’s pan hit