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“Lance,” I begged, grasping for his hair to pull his head away. “Make love to me, please.”
His laughter rumbled through me all the way to my heart where it told me with certainty that I was in love with this man. “I am, baby. Let me have control and just forget about everything else.” He lowered his head and went back to his work, teasing me until I wasn’t sure if I was still on the bed or if I’d levitated off it and flown into a new world. A world where Lance loved me too and we made a life together.
My eyes flew open when he pressed his tip against me and called my name. “Gumdrop, let me see those eyes when I make you mine,” he moaned, sinking into me in one motion that left my heart two sizes too big for my chest, and my brain short circuiting.
“How can this feel so right?” I asked, lifting my hips to take him deeper, his shudder of disbelief flowing through me.
He stilled and I wrapped my legs around him, holding him deep inside me just the way he’d dreamed about. “My God,” he said, his hips bucking once. “We fit together perfectly. Do you feel that? This feeling is why I’m sure.”
He shifted and I nearly came apart right there under him. “I feel it now,” I cried, lifting my hips and begging him to do the same. “You’re my home, Lance.”
He took over then, his hips taking mine for a ride that left me panting and breathless. When I fell over the cliff it was wrapped in his arms as we tumbled into a new life together.
Chapter Sixteen
“I don't think we're supposed to be here,” Lance whispered, glancing around the back of the bakery.
“Have you always been a boy scout, Lance Garland? And why are you whispering? I'm the manager, I can be here any time of the day or night. Here,” I said, throwing him an apron. “Apron up. It's time to get our cookie on.”
We’d drawn even closer to each other over the last few days since we’d made love Saturday night. We only left the bed that night to eat before climbing back and making love between naps. It was so hard to leave our nest and go to work on Sunday morning, but duty called and I was not one to shirk my duties. Now that it was Wednesday, and I had the bakery to myself for a few hours, I decided it was time to bake.
“Tell me again why we’re here and not home in my bed?” he asked, his breath wisping across my neck when he stepped up behind me. It sent a shiver down my spine.
“Because we need to decide on the Michelle Garland cookie of the year.”
“Gumdrop,” he said on a sigh. “Maybe it’s too much this year. We could take a year off and it would be okay.”
Instead of answering, I handed him a recipe card. “This is my mother’s handwriting.”
“Yep,” I agreed.
“Where did you find it?” he asked, lowering the card to the bench.
“Oddly enough, it was under the cannister of baking cocoa in the pantry.”
“I wonder why she put it there.”
“Has she ever made chocolate waffle cookies before?” I asked and he shook his head. “I suspect she put it there for you to find. Then you’d know they were the cookie she planned to make this year. Look.” I leaned forward and pointed to the writing at the bottom. “She signed it.”
“That was always her signature move,” he whispered. When he lifted his head, his lips wore a smile. “See what I did there?”
My laughter filled the bakery at his silliness. “You are quite the comedian.”
He absently tapped the notecard on the bench. “Have you tried them?”
“Negative. I wasn’t sure how Michelle decided on what cookie got the spotlight for the year.”
He shrugged and stared at the bench. “Me. She made several different kinds and whichever one I liked the best, that was the choice for the year.”
I walked to him and slipped my hand up his chest to rest against his heart. “Then I think you should decide. Let’s make a test batch and if you like them, we’ll make it official?”
He held my hand against his chest and smiled down at me. “If you found the recipe in the pantry, then that was Mom’s sign they were a contender for cookie of the year. She just never got around to making them, so I agree to a test batch. But,” he said, grabbing a kiss from my lips, “you’ll eat the first one and then I’ll taste test you.”
I swatted his chest and ducked away from him. “Mind on the matter, Mr. Garland!” I teased, lifting a waffle iron up onto the baker’s bench. We had several here that we occasionally used to make a fun cinnamon roll and for our individual waffle crust apple crisp. I was glad we had them if we were going to make this cookie en masse. They would cut the time we needed to make the big batches down to a minimum.
I had the mixer ready and the ingredients lined up on the bench. “Let’s just make one batch to start. If we like them, I’ll let my bakers try them in the morning when they get here. I’m confident we have a winner on our hands, but just to be on the safe side we’ll get a few different opinions.” I clapped my hands and then rubbed them together. “Okay, read me the ingredients one at a time.”
He walked over and handed me the card. “I'll measure and mix while you give the orders.”
