Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking by L.C. Fenton Page A

He sat down in the empty seat beside me that was usually occupied by my husband, Jack.
    “Don’t get too comfortable, though. Katie’s large and bad tempered husband will be back to health tomorrow night and reclaiming his seat,” Edward said jokingly. “Still, it’s good to have someone attractive to look at. Jack’s an ugly bastard.” Everyone laughed, except Anders who looked politely confused.
    “Katie’s husband is very good looking,” Fiona explained, taking pity on Anders. “They’re just joking.”
    “Have you got any films coming up?” Michael asked.
    “We’re on a filming break from the show, and I’m taking a month off to visit family and relax for a bit before starting on other projects.”
    “Oh! Kate here is a writer. They’re talking of making a TV show of her book. Maybe she can put in a good word for you.” Edward was completely tactless at the best of times, and Fiona rolled her eyes.
    “Edward, you fool, he’s very successful and well known. I don’t think he needs any help.” I looked at Anders apologetically. His eyes had focused on me, and the intensity of his stare made it hard to breathe for a moment.
    “That’s great. Who’s doing the show?”
    “It’s not finalized yet, so I really shouldn’t be talking about it, and I definitely won’t be telling Edward anything more!” I looked at him with a mock glower. He held his hands up in surrender and laughingly pretended to hide under the table.
    “Anders Larsen? Why do I know that name?” Michael blurted out. “Oh, that’s right! Katie nominated you as her ‘celebrity out’ last night. I believe you thought he was the man equivalent of saucy chocolate ice cream?”
    “What’s a celebrity out?” Anders’ mystified expression was not entirely convincing. I, on the other hand, must have looked as mortified as I felt. Like watching a full glass of red wine fall toward a cream carpet and knowing I would never reach it in time, I could only wait for this conversation to happen and clean up afterward. Trying to intervene might only make it worse.
    “It’s the famous person you nominate, and if you ever get to sleep with them, your partner has to forgive you,” Michael continued.
    “Really?” he said and looked over at me laughing, eyebrows raised. I could feel myself going red.
    “But it’s not real!” I threw a vexed look at Michael. “It’s just a conversation game. No one really gets to do it consequence-free.” With an effort, I smiled like it didn’t really bother me and quickly changed the subject. Anders continued to look amused for quite a while afterward.
    The conversation flowed well through dinner. Anders didn’t renew his earlier suggestion, but occasionally our eyes would meet and that heat would flare. A couple of times our arms brushed, and I had to fight the urge to lean in and increase the contact. It was like he was a block of delicious chocolate and I had to sit there looking at it, not allowed to eat. What’s worse was the chocolate wanted me to eat it. The only thing stopping me was my own willpower, which was not one of my greatest strengths. I could never eat just one of anything—biscuits, chips, chocolate, cake. If they were there and open, they were eaten. My only defense against them was just not to have them at all and to give away anything I baked so it wasn’t there to nibble at.
    Then our legs bumped under the table, and we left them touching for longer than was strictly polite. We were turned to talk to people on the other side to each other, but all I could think of for a moment was that only thin fabric separated our skin and that no one would know that we touched, except us. It was like a secret we shared, this contact. The whole situation was dangerous, and I couldn’t believe I was playing this game, but it was too exciting to stop just yet. I would stop in a little bit, I told myself, before it went too far. It was just a bit of innocent flirting, and I had no