Yeah, he wanted that so bad he could taste it.
Now he had to convince her she wanted it too.
He had time. They had time. She’d only been in his life for seven weeks if he counted their encounter on the street, six if he didn’t. While his feelings took root, growing stronger by the day, he didn’t know where Mazey stood except she was skittish. She seemed to get close, remember she wasn’t interested in getting involved and pull back.
The last thing he wanted to do was spook her, so he’d be careful to keep his true feelings hidden. Reveal a bit at a time until she grew to trust him. Because that was the other thing he knew without her saying a word.
Whoever had put that look of pain in her gaze has stripped away her faith in others and maybe herself too.
Grabbing shorts and a T-shirt from his walk-in closet, he dragged them on and headed down to Mazey. The scent of baking pastry and potentially melted chocolate stopped him in his tracks at the top of the stairs. Was she making a chocolate pie?
Mouth watering, he took the steps two at a time and jogged back to the kitchen, and the woman who was making his house smell delicious.
What he found in the kitchen stretched his lips so wide he thought they’d split his face in two. “We really do need to set a date for the wedding,” he moaned. “I need this every day of my life. Wait. You’re baking here?”
Smiling at him over her shoulder she said, “Yeah, I prepared everything at home and figured I’d bake them here this morning so the house smells good and the pies and cookies are fresh.”
“Cookies? Chocolate chip cookies?” He skirted around the island and dropped to his knees at her feet. “Marry me today. Don’t tease me with heaven, then take it away,” he begged.
With a laugh, she pushed him out of the way and carried a tray of cookies fresh from the oven to the counter where she had a cooling rack waiting. “Hop up before I trip or drop something hot on your head.”
He didn’t want to get up. From this vantage point, he could take her in, and what he saw had his mouth watering more than what she was cooking.
She wore a pair of frayed denim shorts, her toned ass peeking out of the fringed edging that brushed the sleek muscles he itched to get his hands on again. The denim looked soft, well-worn, and faded to white in some places, and he imagined it would feel silky against his fingers. The beltless waistband rode low on her hips, leaving a strip of tantalizing tanned flesh on display beneath the hem of her tank top.
The breasts he’d barely gotten to appreciate were lovingly cupped by the stretch of her red tank and reminded him of what he was missing. What he missed. He needed to touch them, palm them, stroke the tips into hard points before he sucked them.
Fuck.
His blue balls were going to turn black.
He must have made a sound because Mazey spun around, her eyes wide, a hand reaching toward him. “What? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Hurt him? Oh yeah, she was hurting him but not in the way she thought. Shaking his head, he got to his feet and turned away before she could see the bulge in his pants. “No. No. My stomach just reminded me I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”
“What?” She moved behind him. “Here, let me get you some of this bread I baked this morning.”
“You baked bread?” God, this woman. She was perfect. “This morning?”
Stepping beside him, she uncovered a sweet-smelling loaf of bread. The crust was golden brown, and the yeasty baked aroma had his stomach growling, turning his white lie into a reality.
He hadn’t eaten yet, but his stomach hadn’t made the pained sound moments ago. That had been those black balls pulsing between his legs. The throb only got stronger as he watched Mazey expertly cut a slice of bread.
How could such a simple act turn him on? Then again, the woman only had to breathe to get him wound up.
“Do you have something to put on it, or will butter do?” she asked, her head in his fridge.
He had to hold back another pained groan at the sight. Bent at the waist, her ass cheeks weren’t just peeking out of her shorts. They were flashing him fully, and if he didn’t distract himself quickly, he’d pick her up and toss her against the nearest flat surface so he could have his way with that lush body of hers.
“Ry?” She glanced over her shoulder, and he knew he had to get out of the kitchen because all he could see was her looking at him like that as he pounded into her from behind.
“Plain. Plain is fine. I need . . .” He searched for something to get him out of there. “Drinks. I need to get the drinks in the coolers out back.”
Before she could say another word, he took off for the garage and hoped he could find a sliver of sanity without her right in front of him.
21
Mazey was obsessed with Rylan’s kitchen. She wanted it.
