Millie
Standing back from my easel, I tilt my head from side to side, trying to make sure I have the proportions of Dylan’s rear right. I spent enough time getting lost to myself while looking at it yesterday that I know the exact shape by heart.I wonder what it feels like to touch. Hard? Soft? Or something in between?
“This the kind of stuff you make stationery out of?” a deep, grumbly and very welcome voice says from just over my shoulder.
The smile hits before I can even turn around, and the moment I see him, it’s like my entire body lights up with elation. “You’re here!” Without thinking, I rush toward him and jump right into his big bear arms, going so far as to wrap my legs around his waist and bury my face into the side of his neck as he catches me. “I was worried you thought I wanted you to stay away.”
His spine goes rigid, and for a moment his silence has a sense of foolishness creeping in. But when his fingers flex against my back and he lets out a low rumble as he takes a deep inhale of my hair, I know he’s just as happy to see me as I am to see him—even if he doesn’t want to show it.
“Couldn’t have your death on my conscience,” he grunts, setting me on the ground at least an arm's length away, but still towering over me.
“See? Ihavewormed my way under that tough exterior of yours,” I tease. “Coffee?”
“Ah, yeah. I actually have something for you.” He turns away from me and does a half jog toward his truck. “It’s from the bakery in town.”
As he holds out the pink and turquoise box with the logo for ‘Baked With Heart’ on it, I cover my mouth and gasp. “You got mecupcakes?”
“Brownies, actually,” he says, a hand lifting to rub the back of his neck as I take the box and peek inside. “My cousin Otis is married to Yvette, the woman who runs the bakery, and he stopped by my place with this early this mornin’. Thought you’d enjoy ‘em more than me.”
“Oh. How kind.” I dip my finger into the frosting as I continue talking. “And how lucky you are to have a baker in the family. I only have a city manager and bicycle cop who likes totalkabout donuts a lot.”
“You have a cop in your family?”
I stick the frosting-coated finger in my family and nod. “Mmm-hmm. My brother, Wes. He seems to like it enough. And he feels like he’s honoring our father—he passed away on the job when we were just babies. Pulled over the wrong car—so I think it’s a good fit for him.”
“Your dad was a cop too?”
Setting the box of brownies on my little table, I turn back to face Dylan, only then finding the look of discomfort in his green eyes. “You don’t like cops?”
He frowns. “It’s not that. It’s just…I used to be one.”
My brow shoots up, and suddenly I understand why I took an instant liking to the guy. He gives off protect and serve vibes. “What made you quit?”
“Injured on the job.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
Holding his gaze for a moment, I offer him a smile then turn back to my camper van, where I take a moment to count my blessings after spending all night kicking myself for sending Dylan away and pour us both a mug of coffee.
“Do you take cream or sugar?” I call out through the door.
“Black is fine.”
“Here you go,” I say, handing him his mug as I step out of the van. “I hope you like it strong.”
“Thick as tar if I can manage it,” he says, that deep baritone of his seemingly vibrating against my skin with each rumbly word. He sips, and the hum of pleasure he gives when he swallows has me all about dropping at his feet and begging him to let me have his babies.Calm down, Millie.
Moving closer to the table where I have my paints and the box of brownies, I select a gooey brown square and take a sip of coffee before taking a bite to balance the bitterness of my coffee with some sweet. “Oh god,” I moan when the rich decadence hits my tongue and feels like an orgasm in my mouth. “These are amazing.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I’m not much of a sweets man.”
"Oh, you have to try this. The way the thick gooey sweetness explodes over your tongue after taking a drink of the coffee is mind blowing." I lift my hand and hold the morsel out to him.
“I’m fine with just coffee,” he says, his eyes moving between me and the brownie like I might be a serious threat to his safety.
“They’re not poison. You brought them here yourself. And why would your cousin give them to you if he didn’t think you’d like them? I’m calling bullshit. And since he’s obviously driven way out of his way to get these to you, the least you can do is take a bite." I raise the brownie again. "Please?"
