Fuck. I can practically feel her hand on my swollen flesh, the tug she’d give me. Biting back an internal groan, I give her a lazy smile. “Looks like you’ve had some practice with that, Tot.”

Practice some more. I’m here all week, willing victim.

She doesn’t blink. “I’m multitalented, Con Man.”

“I just bet you are.” My dick is rapidly rising, getting heavy in my pants. Hell. Calm yourself, Saint. The request is easier said than done. She’s locked eyes with me, unwilling to back down. And she has no idea what she’s stirring up. It isn’t anger I’m feeling.

I’m in so much trouble. It would help if you stopped flirting with her, dickhead.

Clearing my throat, I glance at North, who looks on avidly.

“Butter,” he says.

I envision nut punching him.

Delilah frowns his way. “Pardon?”

He becomes the picture of innocence as he grabs another cookie. “I was wondering if you used butter in these.”

Her gaze darts between North and me. I will kill him if he lets on what he really meant. I keep my expression neutral and sweat it out.

She stares at me for a beat; then her gaze turns cheeky. “I used clarified butter.”

With a groan, I run a hand over my face. “All right. I surrender. You’re the greatest chef on earth, and nothing you cook or bake ever sucks. Now can I please have a cookie?”

“Hmmm . . .” She pretends to ponder the question. “Nope. I don’t think so.”

“What!”

“You’re right. These aren’t healthy enough for you. Whew, you really dodged a bullet there, Con Man.” Quick as a blink, she reaches out and ruffles my hair. The unexpected physical contact distracts me enough for her to scamper off, cackling like a witch.

“Delilah Ann Baker,” I shout after her. “You’re going to pay for that!”

Mad cackles are the only reply.

Silence rings out, and I remember North.

His expression is smug but sympathetic. “You’re right. You’re in trouble.”

Delilah

It pisses me off to no end that a twinge of guilt nips at my belly when North asks if I want to drive with him to Beverly Hills. Macon had no business trying to order me away from North. And I need to go; Karen has demanded that I pick up a few scripts for Macon from her office. She doesn’t trust it to couriers or sending via email. I might as well have been asked to pick up the Ark of the Covenant.

Since North has a bit of an Indiana Jones flare about him, I figure he’s a good escort.

“Okay.” I grab my purse from the hooks by the side door. “But I’m driving.”

North halts. “I’m the driver. It’s in my employee contract.”

“Since you’re not carting around our employer, your point is moot.”