“Maybe. I don’t know.” How do I explain to him that I don’t have a line of customers that goes out the door or the phone ringing off the hook with orders so I don’t need to hire anyone else? Pride has me making excuses. “My clients for the big order are big in the Bollywood scene. I had to sign all kinds of agreements about their privacy. They only wanted me working on their order.”

Yeah, that fib isn’t going to hold much water.

“They’d know if you didn’t ice cookie number five hundred and twenty-two versus if someone else did it?”

Case in point.

“You’re right. It sounds ridiculous. I’ll figure something out.” I lean my head back and close my eyes.

Jase shifts and moves off the chaise. I don’t want him to go. While I’ve enjoyed the quiet and time to myself, it’s also rather isolating when you’re in a place that’s not your own.

I open my eyes to see where he’s going and gasp softly when his face blocks the sun and narrows to be my entire field of vision. His hands are on both armrests and his body is leaning down over me.

“I get this feels awkward—the house not being yours and not having your everyday comforts—but use it like it is and let me know what you need so it does feel like yours. I know this ring feels heavy—mine does too—but it’s going to be okay. And, Cookie? When you look in the mirror later, try and see yourself through my eyes because you’re gorgeous.” His voice is back to that seductive silk, and I wonder why he chose being a drummer over lead singer because . . . damn.

My body heats and as much as I want to squirm in my seat to abate it, he’s so damn close. He’d know why I was doing it, and I don’t exactly want him to know that’s how I react to him.

“You better stop with all these compliments,” I say. “You keep proving to be the exact opposite of the public persona people say you are.”

“What’s that?”

“A good guy. A catch. Husband material.”

He quirks a brow. “We’ll keep this between us.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe you should let the world see this side of you and then Judge Righteous Prick might hear about it.”

“Nah. This isn’t for everyone to see. Just the people I care about.”

Well, that hits me squarely in the chest . . .

“I have to get back to work.”

“You’re leaving?”

“No.” Another flash of a smile that has me catching my breath. “Here. At the house. I’m going to work for a bit. Then hit the gym. Then probably back to writing.”