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Her chuckle was light and his heart fluttered when she lifted her gaze to his. When she crooked her finger at him, he didn’t even think about refusing her, instantly padding over to her and bending down to take the kiss she offered.
“Get some work done. Aren’t your friends coming over for dinner?”
“I can tell them to fuck off. I don’t want to share you.” He took possession of her mouth again, sinking down so he could gather her into his arms.
“Your friends love you. You’ll do no such thing.” She scraped her nails down his jawline, shooting sparks through him. “Go away.”
Mitchell slipped his hand up under her top, which was really one of his, and flattened his palm against her back. Forehead to forehead, he heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but just for you. And I’m taking your bag to the bedroom where it belongs.” Another fast kiss and he was striding away with said bag in hand.
Lord, he wanted to snoop through and see if he couldn’t glean more about the woman who had flipped into his life and turned it on its head but he didn’t. He wanted her to tell him everything.
He retreated to his office, which wasn’t finished yet. But he definitely had some ideas on what he wanted to complete this room—a large couch and chair so he could indulge in his woman when he wanted.
Right now, his desk was a temporary one, L-shaped and dark gray in color. He wanted a natural wood hue and was having the same Amish company that had done his dining room table make one. That way he knew it would be to his specifications and would hold up to a lot of vigorous use.
He smirked and sank into his chair, pressing a button on his keyboard to wake the system. Settling, he watched while it powered up, typing in the unlock code when the box popped up, then he steepled his fingers and waited.
His wallpaper was pictures of him with his best friends, two of them side by side. One when they were boys and one when they were all in their professional careers. Mitchell knew he was a lucky son of a bitch to have friends like them. A lot of men were not secure enough in themselves to have close relationships with men, but he thrived with them at his side.
Soon he’d have to add another image, one of them with their women. And yes, in his mind, that included Hope Roman.
Cracking his neck, he pulled up the account for Inicio and got to work. He looked up at one point to find a sandwich, some chips, and a cold drink by his side and he smiled. He hadn’t even heard her come in.
He ate while he continued to work, finalizing the last bit of information necessary before he could take back his company. Mitchell refused to give his ex-wife any more of anything and double checked everything, ensuring all the t’s were crossed and the i’s were dotted.
Losing himself in it once more, he only stopped and lifted his head when he heard music filtering and then… Holy shit, something in his house smelled delicious. It pulled him and he wasn’t about to resist.
After shutting down his computer, he realized the dishes from his lunch were no longer there. He walked up the wood hallway and smiled as he heard laughter. Including the innocent sound of Emma’s daughter, Greer.
“Creamy potato soup as well, Mama?”
“Yes, sweetie. These men can put away the food, so we’re having a big meal.”
“Like we did at Christmas, only now we get Hope with us.”
Mitchell wanted to give her a kiss. She was such a great child. He stepped into the kitchen and smiled at the organized chaos. Emma was talking to Greer as she stirred the soup on the stovetop. He noticed that Tully and Hope were talking while he rolled out some dough and she worked on lining biscuits up on a tray. Linc and Dawson were making a dessert—what, he wasn’t sure, but damn if it all didn’t look delicious and smell even better.
“You have to help with dinner, Uncle Mitchell. Mama said.”
“I’m not going to argue with your mother, sweetie. Where do you want me?”
Emma sent him a smile and he walked to her side, stopping on his way to brush his hand along Hope’s hip and kiss her. “Thank you for lunch,” he whispered. Beside Emma, he looked down at the top of her head. “What can I do for you?”
“Can you check the ham?”
“Happily.” After moving Greer away from the oven door, he did just that. It was a huge ham and the platter wasn’t light.
“You cannot make a biscuit like that, Tully,” Hope admonished. Full-on amusement tinged her tone.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make Mitchell one, too. A lot smaller, mind you. But at least he’ll have one.”
