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Now it boasted a kitchen and lounge plus three bathrooms, seven bedrooms, an art studio, a music room, a library and an internal laundry.
But the kitchen had always been Jane’s favourite room, and not just because of her love of food.
The kitchen was the heart of the home, the hub, the meeting place, the place where hopes and dreams were shared over endless cups of tea and biscuits. A place of community. And comfort.
And sex.
Looking around the room as she sat beside Oliver, Jane suddenly remembered having sex on the table. And on the kitchen bench. And the floor. And once up against the pantry door.
And the man sitting opposite her, sipping coffee and stalwartly ignoring her presence, was the man she’d had sex with.
The man who’d once stripped her naked, laid her out on the table and drizzled honey over her pussy, then licked her clean so thoroughly she’d come twice from his tongue alone.
His gaze flicked up from his newspaper and locked on hers. “Jane,” he said. He sounded half asleep. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Jane swallowed hard, the memory of Rafe’s tongue on her body combining with the intensity of his dark blue stare and rough baritone sending a jolt of desire through her veins, waking her up in ways caffeine never could. “Fine,” she breathed. “I’m fine.”
Damn hormones.
She’d been left at the altar less than twenty-four hours earlier, had a fight with Rafe, barely slept a wink, and yet her body was still champing at the bit for a taste of this man.
Sucker for punishment, anyone?
Wriggling uncomfortably in her seat, she tried to find some equilibrium. And that’s when she noticed Rafe’s hair, or lack thereof.
Someone had attacked his preppy lawyer hairdo with a pair of clippers and a #1 blade.
He looked… good.
Real good.
Not that Rafe Bennett didn’t always look good—the man was six feet and three inches of well-made male wrapped in sex appeal and dipped inphwoar!—but the new haircut sharpened his features, gave him an almost dangerous edge she hadn’t realised was there anddamnif her lady parts didn’t stand up and pay attention.
Sucker for punishment? Lock me up and throw away the key.
Thankfully Ulysses chose that exact moment to set a mug of steaming goodness down in front of her, distracting her from her inappropriate train of thought. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Uly,” she said, watching warily as Rafe’s attention drifted back to his newspaper.
Looking around the table at her second family, she realised they probably all knew about the baby. More to the point, they knew who the baby’s daddy was.
How could they not?
The Bennetts shared everything.
But she also knew she could trust them not to tell anyone else until she was ready. That was one of the great things about the Bennett family—they had no time for gossips and were fiercely protective of their own.
Thankfully that included her.
“What’s your preference, Janie?” Oliver asked.
“Huh?”
“How do you want to light this bitch up?” he said, pointing to the pile of cream-coloured satin and lace sitting in Abby’s lap.
“Oh. Um, I hadn’t given it any thought, to be honest. Just shove it in the fire, I guess. Roast some marshmallows over it.” She sipped her coffee. “Ugh! This is tea!”
“Sorry, my dear,” Uly said from the other side of the kitchen. “High levels of caffeine are bad for the baby.”
