by Beth Ciotta
“Responsive.”
She palmed his face, then threaded her fingers through his hair. “This is a first. The multiple-orgasm part, that is.”
He smiled at that and her heart did a crazy happy dance. This is love. This is love.
“Let’s go for more,” he said, resuming his lovemaking at an even slower pace.
To her amazement, even though she thought she was spent, satiated, her body responded, springing back to life, anxious for more. “I’m not sure I can survive this.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
His hands skimmed her bare curves and in turn she explored the sinew of his shoulders, his back, gripping his tight butt and pulling him deeper. It was as close as she’d come to aggressive since she’d undressed him in the shower. Once he’d taken control, she’d crumbled with her own wants and needs.
“Not normally so passive,” she said softly as he dominated, pleasured. “Selfish.”
“Sexy.”
She couldn’t imagine why. Then again, her brain was short-circuiting. Harder. More. She tensed, quaked.
“Come for me, baby.”
His words seduced; his body tempted. Burn. Soar. She reveled in his physical intensity. Lost herself in a kiss that turned the world inside out. Delirious with lust, her stomach knotted with the beginnings of another orgasm. Amazed at the erotic sensations zinging throughout her body, she dug her nails into his biceps, holding tight as another earth-rocking climax slammed her senses and soul.
She called out and he followed, his own body shuddering with a powerful release. The passionate kiss lingered, then turned tender as he gently rolled off her trembling body, taking her with him, holding her close.
Her heart thudded against her chest, in her ears, almost muting his playful words. “I’m not normally so quick,” he said.
“That was quick?” She smiled against his neck, thinking, even at her most passive, she hadn’t been a dud in bed. Not with this man. Knowing she’d pleasured him without even trying was an incredible rush. As for her multiple orgasms, she’d been right: Devlin Monroe was a sexual paragon.
He brushed his lips across her forehead, then slipped away and into the bathroom. He returned moments later and pulled her into an embrace that warmed her far more than the down comforter.
Rain pelted the roof and windows, lulling Chloe closer to an exhausted sleep. Sated and happy, she snuggled closer, his lovemaking resonating throughout her weary body. Next time she’d give as good as she got. “Next time I won’t be so easy on you,” she promised in a drowsy voice.
He curled into her, smoothing a strong hand down her back. “If that was easy, I’m in trouble.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Devlin didn’t remember falling asleep. He remembered Chloe naked. Chloe driving him insane—her kisses, her touch, her throaty sounds of pleasure. He remembered incredible sex.
Not that he was a stranger to satisfying sex, but in addition to her mind-blowing responsiveness there’d been an added element. An emotional connection that had blindsided him.
Love.
He was savvy enough to recognize it. To acknowledge it. Voicing his feelings, however, would take time. Unlike Luke, who’d been in love several times, so he professed, for Devlin losing his heart didn’t entail losing good sense. Logic told him, he and Chloe barely knew each other. Logic said she was on the rebound and he had yet to maintain a healthy romantic relationship for more than a few months. On top of all that, he was feeling edgy because of his dad’s questionable health. Because of Daisy’s personal and physical crises.
At a moment when Devlin yearned to embrace life, to experiment and experience, to embellish, what if he declared his love only to scare Chloe away?
Or what if he put everything he had into the relationship, only to learn two months down the line she was returning to New York? Or home to her dad? Or that her passion for him—I want you—was as fleeting as her passion for photography? Or acting? Or publicity? The longer he lay there, staring into the darkened room, listening to the silence, the more he questioned her ability to commit long term. How long before she tired of Sugar Creek? Of his complicated, in-your-face-and-life family? Of cooking for and driving Miss Daisy? How long before she tired of his workaholic and controlling nature?
When did you become such a skittish pansy-ass? he could hear Jayce say.
Devlin realized suddenly that he was pushing Chloe away before she could run—like Janna. Needing to shake off his present frame of mind, he gently disentangled his arms and legs from the woman who’d seduced his heart with her unique spirit, reminding himself that she wasn’t his ex-wife. And he sure as hell wasn’t a pansy-ass.
* * *
“Are you people crazy?”
Rocky turned in her seat to see Tasha stalking across the bar, taking wicked delight in the fact that her designer boots and coat were splattered with mud. Best guess: A car had driven through a puddle and splashed her big-time. Rocky smiled. “Won’t you join us for a drink?”
“Happy hour,” Monica said.
“Two-for-one,” Sam said.
Rachel held up a margarita on the rocks. “You can have one of mine if you want.”
Red-faced, Tasha made angry-eye contact with each of the people seated around the two tables they’d pushed together. Every core member of Cupcake Lovers with the exception of Daisy. “We were supposed to meet at the photography studio over a half hour ago. Instead you’re here at the Shack getting sloshed.”
“Speaking for myself,” Ethel said, after a sip of white wine, “I’m just getting started.”
“If you don’t want a drink, maybe you’d like an appetizer,” Helen said. “We just ordered. Sit.”
“I’m not—”
“Sit,” Sam said, pulling out the empty chair beside him.
“It’s not as if we stood you up,” Rocky said reasonably. “I texted you we weren’t coming. Even told you where to find us.”
Red-faced, Tasha huffed. “I didn’t believe it. Why would you all blow a chance to sign with a New York publisher?”
“Take a seat,” Casey said, motioning for a waitress, “and we’ll tell you.”
Tight-lipped, Tasha sat.
“What would you like?” Nell, the newest waitress on Luke’s payroll, asked.
“An explanation.”
“Not on the menu,” she said with a meek smile.
Tasha glared. “An Apple Martini. Now get lost.”
“Is that what you’d hoped would happen to Chloe?” Rocky asked, getting straight to the point.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the woman said as she peeled off her ruined coat and draped it on the back of her chair.
Sam leaned in, his big body overshadowing Tasha with implied menace. He rarely lost his temper. He didn’t have to. Rocky attributed his intimidation skills to his years in the military. As much as she didn’t want to, she had to give Tasha credit for not shrinking back.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “You didn’t want Chloe at the shoot, so you found a way to detain her. Don’t bother,” he said, cutting Tasha off when she opened her mouth to lie.
“Were you afraid we’d want her included in the pictures?” Judy asked.
“She would look awfully pretty on the cover,” Rachel said. “Could mean higher sales.”
“You tricked her by sending her off to take photos of Daisy,” Monica said.
Tasha glared. “You’re the ones who didn’t want to send off the proposal without a shot of Daisy! If Miss Big-City-Know-It-All got lost on a simple drive through Thrush, then you’re to blame.”
“She didn’t get lost,” Rocky said. “She spun off the road. Hit a tree. She’s fine, not that you care, but here’s the deal: The recipe book project’s off.”
Tasha’s beautified head nearly exploded. “What?”
“Unless…,” Casey started, then took a lazy pull off her longneck.
“Unless what?” Tasha snapped.
�
��Unless you step down as president,” Monica said, then took a sip of her own drink.
They’d reasoned it out prior to Tasha’s arrival, come to a unanimous decision. Rocky watched Tasha’s face as the ultimatum sank in. In the long history of Cupcake Lovers, no president had ever been asked to resign.
Judy cleared her throat and took a somewhat gentler approach. At least her tone was kind. “The only reason you’re president to begin with, Tasha, is because it was a deathbed wish of your mother’s and Della Harper, rest her soul, was a good woman who deserved some peace of mind.”
“I’m sure she thought,” Helen added, “as we all did, that between the shock of her death and your marriage to an older stable man you’d mature into a more grounded and, well, generous soul.”
“Instead,” Ethel said, “all that new power went to your head.”
“And being the dynamo you are,” Rachel said, “you sucked us all into your big plans, which, at the time, sounded noble.”
Sam raised a brow. “Now we know better.”
Rocky reveled in a morbid bit of satisfaction as Tasha gritted her insanely white teeth. They’d been at odds for years, and most of the time Tasha came out on top. Mainly because she was conniving. Rocky didn’t play dirty. Not usually, anyway.
Before Nell could set the dual martinis on the table, Tasha nabbed one of the glasses out of her hand and drained the drink in one long swallow. She glared at Rocky. “This is your doing.”
“No, it’s all yours.”
“So you’re kicking me out of the club?”
“Just asking you to step down as president.”
“I suppose you’re going to step up.”
Monica spoke for her. “We all voted.”
Still glaring at Rocky, Tasha spewed, “You can’t even make a success of a rinky-dink inn, yet you think you can handle negations with a big-time publishing house?”
The insult hit its mark, but Rocky simply balled her fists beneath the table. Due to Tasha’s raised voice, suddenly everyone in the now-crowded bar was looking their way.
“No need to get ugly,” Ethel said in a hushed voice. “You’ll still be the go-between with that editor man,” she said to Tasha, “but Rocky will be the club’s official leader. We need to refocus on our core objective.”
Ignoring the older woman, Tasha downed her second martini, then slammed the glass to the table. “You’re jealous of me. You have always been jealous of me! Take the damned presidency, Rocky. You are and will always be a pathetic loser!”
That last taunt burned to Rocky’s toes and gave her feet wings. She flew out of her chair, sailing over Monica, and knocked Tasha, chair and all, to the floor.
“Whoa, whoa!” Rocky heard Luke bellow as the rest of the crowd gasped and hooted.
Straddling her longtime enemy, Rocky smacked Tasha hard for fifteen years of insults. Only Rocky’s hand was balled so it was more like a punch.
“Bitch!” Tasha fought back, grabbing one of Rocky’s braids and yanking so hard, Rocky yelped and lost her balance.
Keeling sideways, she conked her head, shouted, “Fuck!” then kicked out just as Tasha lunged. They whaled on each other, rolling into a table. Drinks flew and plates of food crashed to the planked floor. Cheering patrons gave a wide berth.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rocky saw Luke coming their way. “Break it up, dammit!” Only he tripped over Sam’s big foot (Thank you, Sam!), allowing her to get in another swing.
At the same time Tasha shoved Rocky’s face into a glob of artichoke dip.
Rocky saw red, white noise roaring in her ears when the freak tried to shove an olive up her nose. As she retaliated, the last thing Rocky heard before scooping up a handful of maple cream pie was, “Ten bucks on Rocky!”
* * *
Chloe’s eyes flew open. She stared into the dark, heart pounding, confused about her whereabouts and the spooky silence. Then her brain engaged and she realized the storm had abated. No rain. No thunder. She reached out. No Devlin.
Her nostrils twitched with an acrid smell, a familiar smell.
Kitchen fire!
Clutching the comforter to her naked body, she rolled out of bed, wincing as her feet hit the ground. Her ankle throbbed along with her head. Ignoring the pain, she limped toward the stink. She spied Devlin moving a smoking pot from the stove to the sink, heard him cursing under his breath. Confident he had the situation under control, she breathed easier and bit back a smile. He looked pathetically inept in the kitchen, but he was trying, which struck her as oddly sweet. Waving her hand in front of her nose, she asked, “Are you okay?”
“Better than these baked beans,” he groused, dousing them with water and igniting a fresh burst of sizzle and steam. “I only turned my back for a couple of minutes.”
She moved forward and glanced at the stove. “You had the heat set too high.”
“I’m used to nuking everything in the microwave.” He looked over his shoulder then.
For a moment, time ceased as he took in her disheveled state. Her heart pounded in slow, desirous thuds. A heady mix of lust and affection heated her cheeks and blood. She opened her mouth, then shut it when he cocked his head and smiled.
“I’d planned on serving you supper in bed,” he said, “but you brought the bed out here.”
She glanced down, noting she’d not only wrapped herself in the comforter, but the top sheet was half trailing behind her as well. She laughed, welcoming his lighthearted tone. Then she noticed he was wearing clean, dry sweats and a T-shirt. “Hey, where’d you get those?”
He nodded toward the bedroom. “The five-drawer dresser.”
“Be right back.”
“Be right here,” he said, scraping charred beans into a pail.
Chloe limped back inside, ecstatic things weren’t weird between them since they’d had sex. Sometimes sex changed everything, and not always for the better. When he’d dragged his gaze over her just now, she sensed the same raw desire, a deeper regard. Lost in her own firestorm of emotions, she’d been tempted to speak her heart. Right there in the kitchen. A charred pan of beans between them. But in the next second she questioned her timing.
He knew she’d lived with Ryan for two years, suggesting a serious relationship. What if he didn’t believe she was over Ryan? What if Devlin thought she was on the rebound and didn’t know her own heart? Or thought that she was fickle and fell in love at the drop of a hat?
“Too soon,” she whispered to herself as she switched on a small bedside lamp. “Take it slow.” For once in her life she wasn’t going to rush into something, only to muck it up. She heaped the blankets on the bed and quickly rooted through the drawers. She didn’t feel right about pulling on a pair of whatever brother’s briefs were in the top drawer, but she did pull on a thick pair of socks. Chilled, she a nabbed a flannel shirt. Made for a tall man, the sleeves were too long and the shirttails hit her mid-thigh. Long enough that she didn’t have to worry about going commando. Twisting her damp, clean hair into a knot, she returned to the kitchen to find Devlin looking through the limited cabinet space. “So what are our choices?”
“Beans, beans, and more beans. A can of crushed tomatoes, bag of popcorn, Scotch Broth Soup—”
“Let me see.”
He passed back the can while still looking through the cabinet.
“‘A traditional everything-in-a-pot barley soup,’” she read from the label. “I like the sound of this. What else?”
“Quaker Oats, brown bread in a can—”
“What?”
He passed that back, too. “A throwback to old New England,” he said, scouring the next cabinet. “You’ve never had it?”
“No.” She read the description. “‘Moist and dense. Natural ingredients. Rich molasses taste. Serve right out of the can, or toast, bake or microwave.’ Given the latter, I assume you’ve had it?”
He laughed. “Yeah.”
“Good?”
“Surprisingly, yes.”
She moved on to the fridge. “Not much here. Beer, jar of pickles and … oh no. For real?”
“What?”
“An unopened package of Vermont smoked summer sausage.”
Looking over, she could tell by the hot spark in his eyes that he, too, was thinking about their first sexually charged meeting in Oslow’s. “Expiration date?” he asked.
She looked, smiled. “We’re good to go.”
“I know I am.”
Flustered by his intense stare, she blushed. “What?”
“Just thinking how sexy you look in that shirt and wishing it were mine.”
She sighed. “Romantic notion number … I’ve lost count.”
“Trust me,” he said, devouring her with a hungry gaze. “Romance is the last thing on my mind just now.”
Noting the not-so-subtle bulge in his sweats, her intimate parts tingled and a dozen racy scenarios played through her head. Doing it on the sofa, bent over the sofa, burning up the rug in front of the wood-burning stove, and nailing him upright against the wall. As much as she wanted to jump his bones here and now, her throbbing ankle and various body aches proved an irritating distraction. Starting something she couldn’t finish wasn’t an option. She wondered if the Brodys kept a stash of Tylenol.
Mind racing, Chloe lightened the sexually charged moment with a playful wink. “Yeah, well, let’s get some food into you first, mister, because the next time we … tango,” she teased, “you’ll need all the strength you can get.”
“Promises, promises.”
She waggled her brows as she ambled to the stove. “I am a woman of many talents.”
“You’re also limping.” And just like that the playful moment was gone.
“It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
“Devlin…” She broke off as he knelt, grabbed her foot, and rolled down her sock.
“It’s just a little swollen,” she said of her ankle.
“And bruised.”
Because of the force of the impact when she’d collided with the trunk. A freak accident that still blew her mind. “I’ll live.” Speaking of freaky things … “Do you know anything about dream animals?”