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She looks up at me from beneath a fringe of lashes. “You wondered if this thing between us could ever lead to chocolate chip cookies.”
The pink invading her cheeks fires my blood. Just to see her blush harder, I say, “I meant it as a euphemism.”
“I know,” she teases, but her cheeks do, indeed, turn a shade closer to red. “And this”—she raises the bag—“is the birthday present I forgot to bring you.”
“You didn’t—”
“I wanted to.”
I want to kiss her. In hello. In thanks. To acknowledge this constant energy between us is something new for me, too. I lean in and plant one on her lips, keeping it quick, and mostly innocent, because I don’t want to come on all hot and heavy first thing, but when I draw away, a sugary, vanilla flavor hits my tongue. Her lip gloss. Without really planning it, I come back for another taste. She inhales quickly just before I settle my mouth over hers, and the involuntary, breathless little sound excites me in a way a calculated moan never could. My free hand cups the back of her head, and next thing I know I’m delving deep, and the sweetness of Kendall supersedes everything. Her fingers are in my hair, her scent in my head, and her breath in my lungs.
A voice in the back of my mind reminds me I’m trying to be a gentleman tonight, and I’m standing at my front door with a plate of cookies in my hand, jumping her like some hard-up perv who’s after only one thing. I ease back. She closes her lips around my tongue as I slowly withdraw, and I feel the slick tug of her mouth all the way to my cock. Now I’m the one dragging air into my lungs, struggling for control. Her hand slides from my hair to my jaw. I rest my forehead against hers, and, after a few seconds, open my eyes and fall into two clear blue oceans.
Worried I’m looking at her like a lion stares down a gazelle, I drop my hand, muster up a smile, and straighten. “Did I mention you look beautiful?” The compliment puts another flush in her cheeks and earns me a self-conscious laugh.
“You, too.”
I take her free hand and lead her inside. “Thanks. Just for that, you get one of these fresh-baked cookies my neighbor made me.” This is mostly me wanting a cookie and not wanting to be rude.
“I actually already ate a few, so those are all for you.”
I steer her toward the kitchen, put the plate down on the counter, and peel back the tinfoil. “If you insist.”
“Open this first.” She puts the gift bag in front of me.
Why I’m keyed up about what’s inside, I have no idea. Maybe it’s because I can’t remember the last time a woman I dated gave me something besides liquor or a blow job. I lift out the tissue paper then reach my hand inside to withdraw a men’s woven leather bracelet. It’s black, double corded with a slipknot, and it’s fucking awesome.
“I thought, since you got me something to wear, I’d get you something to wear, too,” she says softly.
I slip the buttery soft leather onto my wrist. “I love it. Thank you.” It takes everything I’ve got not to kiss her again. I resist because I need to take this slow, and when I put my mouth on her, I lose sight of that goal.
Her gorgeous smile tests my willpower. “You’re welcome.”
I snag a cookie to give my mouth something to do besides lust for her. “Holy shit, these are insane.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you like them.”
No blush this time. She’s comfortable accepting certain kinds of praise. For some reason I miss the pink cheeks. I want to see them again. “Oh, I like the way you bake, Kendall, but you have other talents I like even better.”
She arches her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” I put half the cookie back on the plate and then lean against the counter and face her. “For starters, I like the way you kiss.”
Victory is mine. Color stains her cheeks, but she seems to own it more easily now. “The kissing must be a natural talent, because I can promise you I have way more practice baking.”
My dick twitches thinking about the extent of those natural talents, and the practice I’m ready to give 100 percent to, but not yet. I cover the cookies with the foil. “I’m going to hide these from my roommates, otherwise I’m liable to get none, and then we’ll start on the culinary masterpiece I slaved over.”
“You slaved over dinner?”
“Don’t even get me started. I dialed the caterer. I explained the occasion. I pored over an endless menu of options and made tough decisions like which two sides should accompany the entree.” I stow the cookies away in a bottom drawer underneath a clean dishtowel, and then pull a large bottle of water and a couple platters out of the fridge. She takes the water from me before I lead the way out to the patio. “Then I had to supervise the setup by diligently standing aside and staying out of their way. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Her lips quirk as she puts the water on the table and settles into the sectional. I take the spot beside her and feel my mouth stretch into an answering smile. She arranges her legs under her, folds her hands in her lap, and eyes me. “Exactly how did you explain this occasion?”
“You know”—I shrug, deliberately casual—“the standard, deflower-the-beautiful-virgin-next-door dinner.”
She chokes out a laugh before clearing her throat. “Do they list that one between corporate event and family reunion?” Her hand hovers over her upper lip to hide her grin.
“Yep. Lucky number seven.”
