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Oh, shit, now I’m blushing.
“I…well, out of all the things you told me, I couldn’t stop thinking about how you said that you never had a cake until you were what? Fifteen? Sixteen?”
“Uhhhh…” He shuffles his feet, and they’re beyond sexy, into a realm of their own in those jeans and that pawnshop shirt he always wears. It’s after five, so I guess he came right from work. I didn’t realize he worked every day, but somehow, now that I know more about his earlier life, it makes sense. Keeping the hands busy keeps the mind occupied. Or maybe he’s building a business, and delegating and taking days off isn’t an option. “Something like that.”
“Did Ransom give you my address?”
“Yes. Yes, he did. I called him and asked for it so I could come by and thank you properly.”
He delivers that flawlessly, without so much as an eye twitch, but it’s almost too perfect, and something inside me twinges. Kind of like how he back-peddled in his story yesterday. Obviously, he thought he’d said too much. I understood because he couldn’t have been comfortable talking about any of it, and I appreciated his attempt to help me understand. He didn’t have to, but he did. He shared his pain with me and let me in.
“So you’re here to thank me, then?” I glance at the cake. It looks bakery sealed. “You haven’t tried it?”
A perfectly devious expression crosses his face. His beard is braided again into one long braid, and it makes me think of beard jewelry, which makes me think about decorating it with Christmas balls and other things. Or maybe dying it with semi-permanent dye for the corresponding holiday and possibly sprinkling glitter in it?
Right. Because his beard is really your business. It’s not. Don’t go thinking you’ve got dibs. You’re not dating him. He’s here to say thanks, not SAY THANKS. As in, in the bedroom. Get your hoo-ha out of the gutter. I mean mind. Get your MIND out of the gutter.
“I thought we could eat it together.”
Oh god. He’s giving me that smoky, sultry, heavy-lidded eye expression. It’s hot enough to light my panties on fire and deadly enough to slay approximately twenty-two small dragons or one great big beast of a dragon. Or one hoo-ha. As in, mine. Or two ovaries, also mine. It’s enough to pucker two nipples belonging to me. Okay, you get it. Basically, my body just reached boss level turned on over here.
“Stop talking dirty,” I say coyly, trying my best to use humor to defuse my raging hormones.
His lips curl up into a positively wicked grin that is pro-level sex god, and my panties practically explode into an out-of-control inferno. Tempered, of course, by the fact that they’re also sodden.
“Oh, when I was driving over here, I had this vision of me bringing in this cake and cutting the most perfect slice of that strawberry and cream goodness, all three levels of it, and setting it right on top of you. You would be spread out on the table, naked at this point. I would eat cake off your breasts, off your belly, then I would feast on your—”
“Oh my god.” I don’t hesitate any longer.
I launch myself at Lennox, taking the cake out of his arms and whirling around. I pretty much run straight back inside, and because today is a good day, I don’t run smack dab into the door. It’s still open. Until Lennox steps through and shuts it, twisting the deadbolt and setting the door handle lock behind him, that is.
Bang, clunk, swish. Just like that, we’re locked in here. Together.
I should press hard on the brakes because having sex with someone who I’m not dating isn’t something I’ve ever done before, and Lennox has never said he wants to make a commitment. He’s practically done way more than hint at the opposite.
Usually, I’d be worrying about my bad luck and whether it was going to rub off on him and get him flattened or push him into meeting some other unfortunate end, but not right now. Right now, I’m only thinking about the cake, getting naked, and climbing up on my tiny ass kitchen table, which I’m not even sure is strong enough to support me, but I guess I’m going to find out.
I head straight to the kitchen and set the cake down on the counter. Lennox is behind me, a big shadow, a wall of muscle, a dream come to life. Now that my arms are not so encumbered, I launch myself at him again. He catches me mid-stride, scooping me up so easily into his arms that gymnasts and dancers everywhere would be jealous. I ball my hands into his pawnshop shirt. I don’t care what anyone says. That line seriously looks like a turd. I wriggle my hips and lock my legs around his waist as I seal my mouth to his.
