Ranger pulls me off the counter and spins me around, putting his hands on my hips and then kissing his way down the side of my neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. When he lets go of me briefly to retrieve the bag of flour from the island, my jaw drops open. “I thought you were kidding,” I whisper as he dumps some out on the counter and then powders his hands in white. “I want to see all the places I've touched you.” His voice is dark with a possessiveness that I'm not sure I'm going to like … until he touches me again, putting white handprints on my hips. When he pulls back and
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