by Lila Monroe
“And also she bakes really good cakes.”
Drew raises his hands. “Well, I can’t argue with that logic. Do I need to fight you for her? Because I will.”
Evan rolls his eyes at his godfather’s teasing in a way that clearly says, Grown-ups! But clearly his mom takes pity on me, because she claps her hands together and announces the one thing designed to be way more interesting that me and my love life.
“OK, kids. Time for presents!”
I breathe a sigh of relief as they all thunder inside—leaving a table full of debris. I start cleaning up, grabbing a stack of dirty plates and taking them through to the kitchen. Drew follows me inside, and for a moment, the buzz of the party fades away behind the glass-paned door.
“I think that went well,” I say, dumping the dishes in the sink. “What do you think?”
“I think Evan’s in love.” Drew grins. “You need to stop seducing all my underage friends with your cupcakes.”
I laugh. “Now, if I could just be a hit with the over-eighteens …”
“Oh, I think you have some fans there too.” Drew gives me a smoldering look, and I gulp. He’s watching me with those soulful eyes, staring deep into mine like we suddenly have this connection—
“You have icing on your face,” Drew says.
Damn. “Hazards of the job. If you only go for icing-free girls, you’re talking to the wrong one. Where?”
Instead of pointing, he reaches out and slides his thumb along the line of my jaw. A trail of sparks shoots through my body. He brings his hand back to his lips and sucks the tip of his thumb into his mouth. I can’t tear my eyes away. His gaze holds mine, still playful, but intent.
“No,” he says, “I think I’m all about the icing. And the woman underneath.”
His hand rises to my face again, tracing across my cheek and into my hair as he tugs my mouth to his.
Oh. Oh. This is what it’s like to really kiss Drew Delaney. My lips part under the firm, hot pressure of his, the sweetness of that icing slipping over my tongue. He shifts us so my back is braced against the counter. His body aligns with mine from chest to thighs, a length of solid muscle. He bows his head, adjusting the angle, kissing me even deeper. So deep I’m practically drowning in the feel of him, but that’s okay. I want to. I want to do nothing but melt into this incredible, scorching hot man. I want him to devour me like I’m one of my baked creations. Because if just kissing him feels this good …
My hand runs down his side, reveling in the sculpted torso I can feel through his shirt. My teenage fantasies had nothing on the real thing. Drew hums low in his throat. His fingers graze down my body to grip my thigh, and that flame that was blazing earlier lights up right between my legs. I arch into him automatically, kissing him back harder—
And childish laughter carries through the frosted glass of the door.
Drew pulls back and I straighten up just in time as a bunch of the kids come racing through to the backyard. I suck my lower lip into my mouth. It’s tender, sensitized.
I want to feel his mouth on it again.
Drew smiles at me like he’s thinking the exact same thing, and if I didn’t have the counter to hold onto, I think I might have melted right to the floor.
“What do you say we grab dinner?” he suggests. “Just the two of us.”
I’d say yes to just about anything if it means any chance of getting back to kissing him. My voice comes out a little breathless, but I don’t really care.
“Help me finish the cleanup, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
7
Maggie
We finish up at the party, and then Drew drives us downtown. I figure we’ll grab a bite someplace casual, but when I get my first look at the restaurant, I balk. I can see silver candlesticks and waiters in tuxedo uniforms through the window. I’m not sure I’m dressed fancy enough for a place like this. I’m pretty sure I’m not fancy enough.
Drew is grabbing a suit jacket out of the trunk to throw over his tee, like you do—if you’re Mr. Famous Former Teen Superstar, anyway. “I don’t know if—” I start, and he waves my attempted objection away.
“Don’t worry about anything. They’ll be happy to see us.”
I’m thinking that was an exaggeration on his part until we step inside and the maître d’ lights up as if the love of his life has just walked in. “Mr. Delaney!” he says, without so much as an eyelid twitch at my dress or Drew’s jeans. “What a pleasure to have you joining us tonight. I believe I have just the table for you free.”
He leads us to the best table in the house, and a waitress appears before my butt has even hit the velvet-cushioned seat. “What can I get you to drink tonight?” she chirps. The question is technically directed at both of us, but her eyes are only on Drew.
The maître d’, who’s been hovering next to the waitress, leans in. “Mr. Delaney, I can highly recommend a 1992 Pinot Noir we’ve just had in from France.” He points it out on the list, and Drew raises his eyebrows at me.
“Sure, sounds good,” I say, as if the ’93 would have been unacceptable.
“Thanks, we’ll take a bottle of that.”
The waitress returns with the bottle in the blink of an eye and pours it over her arm all fancy-like. I peer at Drew over my menu as she flits away.
“So this is what it’s like to be famous, huh?”
He looks bashful. “The good side.”
“You mean along with the gorgeous apartment, flashy car, women swooning over you left and right …”
“Funny, I haven’t noticed you swooning yet. Apparently I’m not quite famous enough.”
Is he serious? I figured the drooling, panting, and melting into a puddle of desire whenever he looked at me was giving me away, but hey, maybe I’m a better actress than I thought.
“You just haven’t been paying attention,” I say coyly—and then almost spill red wine down my front.
Real smooth.
Drew’s smile grows. “Really? Interesting …”
I resist the urge to fan myself with the menu. “So where’s the downside to fame?” I ask, changing the subject from me and my melting.
“You know, the same old celebrity sob story. Having to live life under a spotlight, cameras in your face no matter where you go. That part’s died down at least.” His tone is wry, but his expression turns more serious. “It’s hard to know who to trust. Whether people like you or just want something from you. Whether they see you or just Random Famous Guy. Then there are the women who look at me and just see the idol they had on their walls when they were kids.”
“Right. Of course. I should have realized.” I’ve liked him since before he got recruited into Category 5, but I have the feeling bringing that up will make me sound like more of a fangirl, not less. “So how do you figure out who to trust?”
“You learn the hard way.” He shrugs. “And try to get an instinct for it.”
“What’s your instinct about me?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He grins. “We go back way too far for that.”
“Don’t remind me,” I groan. “I was such a dork growing up.”
“No, you weren’t,” Drew argues. “You always had some project you were into, a book you had to tell everyone about. You were an interesting kid.”
“Like I said, dork.”
His eyes meet mine across the table, and I swear that smile could set the whole restaurant on fire, it’s smoldering with such heat. “Well, you’re all grown up now, Maggie Hayes.”
Be still my heart.
Be still my loins.
“Yes,” I say, trying to sound smooth. I take a sip of wine, and pray I can act like the confident adult he thinks I am. At least long enough to rip all his clothes off. “Yes, I am.”
The meal flies by, and before I know it, they’re bringing the dessert menu out.
“Up to your standards?” Drew jokes, but I never joke about dessert.
I glance over at the table next to ours. The w
oman has a chocolate brownie hard enough that she’s having trouble digging her fork into it, and the man’s slice of apple pie is drooping soggily. Ugh. It’s hard to tolerate half-assed baking when you can whip together the full-assed version anytime you want.
My opinion must be written all over my face, because Drew laughs. “There’s my answer right there.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Hazard of dating a baker. You’re probably the same way when a shitty song comes on the radio.”
“True.” Drew grins. “I once dated this girl, I was crazy about her, but the first time we went back to her place, she put on Wagner. You ever tried to get intimate with angry Germans screeching away at you?”
I giggle. “Well, lucky for you, I hate opera.”
“Lucky indeed.”
The surge of heat between us could strip paint. My pulse thunders. “I have leftover cupcakes in the car,” I say breathlessly. “Want to get out of here?”
“Yes.”
Drew summons the check at light speed. He rests his hand on the small of my back as we walk out, and that tingling I felt earlier? It’s a full-on, full-body electric storm.
“Where to?” he asks, as we reach the car.
An idea pops into my head the second I open my mouth. I hesitate. That is so cheesy. But also kind of perfect?
“What do you say we park out by the Point?” I say, giving him my best coy look.
The grin that stretches across Drew’s face is so delicious I’m about ready to say forget it and jump him right there. “Why not?”
Park out by the point was pretty much code for get to third base or maybe even score a home run back in high school. It’s an overlook on the outskirts of town, down a dirt road, where the cops rarely patrol and no one’s parents are going to happen to stroll by.
I’m feeling sixteen all over again as we take the highway out, then drive past a few parked cars that are already steaming the windows. Drew pulls into a wooded area, by the lookout with a view of the city lights.
He gets out to grab the cupcakes from the trunk, and I take in our surroundings. Asphalt, scattered trees, city lights in the distance. I can hear music in the distance, crappy car speakers playing whatever’s hot with the high-school crowd these days. The Jaguar does not belong here at all.
We don’t belong here.
When Drew gets back in the driver’s seat, I pause. “Maybe this was a silly idea.”
“C’mon, a little nostalgia is always fun.” He sets the box between us.
“I, er … It’s not actually nostalgic at all. This is the first time I’ve ever been out here,” I admit. “I had this weird idea it’d be fun to make up for lost time or something.”
Drew looks surprised. “Are you kidding me?”
I shoot him a look. “As the guy who saved me after my junior-prom date stood me up, you’re the last person who should be shocked that I wasn’t exactly making the rounds back in high school.”
“I guess I figured that was just one jerky dude.” He takes a bite of one of the cupcakes and that blissed-out expression I love comes over his face. “You work some magic even without alcohol in the mix, Maggie.”
“Maybe I should have started bringing pastries around to the school dances,” I say dryly.
“Seriously, you never had a guy bring you out here?”
I shrug. “I didn’t really do much”—any—“dating in high school. McKenna was pretty much my only friend, even, and …” I’m not sure how much he knows about our falling out. Probably better not to get into that. “I was awkward and shy, and I wasn’t into all the same things as everyone else. I think people thought I was kind of weird. I thought I was kind of weird.”
“Isn’t everyone at least a little weird as a teenager?” Drew says, and gulps down the rest of the cake.
“Says Mr. Teen Pop Idol?”
He gives me a charmingly sheepish grin. “I was weird. They just hid it under all the hair gel.”
That gets me smiling. “Oh man, you guys wore so much hair gel.”
“Sign o’ the times. But you weren’t alone in feeling like you didn’t fit in,” he says.
“Maybe. I don’t know. It seemed like a lot of people were a lot less weird than me. Anyway, I went to college and figured out how to be comfortable with who I was,” I continued. “And I found people who were cool with that too. So … what does high school matter anymore?”
“You have definitely come a long ways since back then,” Drew says, with a look so frankly appreciative it chases away any memories I had of that awkwardness. “I’d say it’s definitely time you had someone take you out to the Point.”
Something in his tone lights a mischievous spark in me. “Yeah? So far I’m not all that impressed. I can eat cupcakes and share high-school stories anywhere.”
“Oh, I can make it a lot more interesting than that.”
He sets the box aside and leans across in one smooth movement. His mouth captures mine, and I lean into the kiss, my fingers sliding into the soft, rumpled waves of his hair. He tastes even sweeter than in the kitchen.
His hand trails down my bare arm, making me shiver as his tongue works its magic, teasing over mine. It’s slow, and hot, and devastatingly sensuous, and I shift over on my seat, trying to tug him closer as I kiss him again. I want to feel all of him, everywhere. He moves to meet me, his fingers trailing down to my waist—and then up over my dress to cup my breast. I arch toward him with a moan, loving the feel of his hands against me, and the shockwaves of pleasure radiating from his touch.
My own hand slips down over his shirt. Touching him through fabric just isn’t cutting it, so I yank his shirt loose from his jeans to explore the hot skin beneath. Drew groans as I trace the firm muscles of his abs, and man, six-pack doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“God, Maggie.” His lips ease down to trail a path along my jawline as his fingers tease and toy with my breast. Even through my bra, the contact is enough to make my nipple peak. A little gasp escapes me, and he pulls back, breathing hard.
“Backseat,” he demands. “I’m not going to get anywhere near as much Maggie as I need like this.”
I giggle, breathless, as he tips the seat back so there’s more room to scramble through into the back. For a few seconds we’re a tangle of stumbling limbs. Then Drew catches me and swings me onto my back on the seat. He braces himself over me as he pulls me into another kiss, this one hard and hot. I run my hands up his back under his shirt, drenched in the heat of him, still wanting more.
Drew kisses his way down my neck. He pulls down my dress, freeing one breast and then the other. His breath lights a fire over my collarbone as he kisses his way lower, and I gasp as his tongue slicks over my nipple. He licks and sucks, making me moan with pleasure, and I squirm against him, friction pulsing hot all the way to my core.
He inches lower, pressing light kisses against the fabric over my stomach, reaching to slide up the skirt of my dress at the same time. His fingers smooth over my thighs. An electric shiver races over my skin as his hands move higher, higher, until—yes—he strokes softly over my panties, nudging deeper to find my clit.
My breaths turn to pants. “Fuck.”
“Not quite yet,” he murmurs around a smile, stroking again, deepening the pressure. Then he yanks my panties down and lowers his mouth to the spot his thumb was working over just a moment ago.
Oh my God.
He licks over me, and I can’t even keep from moaning louder. I’m a writhing puddle of pleasure and sparking nerves. My hips bow up as he sucks me in hard. His fingers tease over my slit. His tongue flicks over my clit, harder, and I cry out, gripping the side of the seat.
“Don’t stop,” I hear myself gasping. “God, yes! Don’t stop!”
Drew groans against me, yanking my legs up over his shoulder as he devours me, sucking and licking at my clit, driving me crazy with the hot, wild rhythm as my body crests higher and he slides his fingers deep inside—
“Excuse me.”
There’s a loud tapping at the window, and the bright beam of a flashlight, and we both freeze.
Busted.
8
Maggie
What the hell?
For a second, my body is torn between pleasure and shock. Then reality wins.
Drew jerks upright, swearing. He hits his head on the back of the driver’s seat and swears louder. I fumble with my dress. The skirt, down as far as I can get it. The top, yanked up over my breasts. Where the hell are my panties? Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The worse of it is, my body is still tight and aching. My breath is still trembling. The twist of need is still spiraling through my body.
Just a couple more minutes, and I’d have been straight to heaven. A few seconds, even. What the hell kind of awful timing is this?
The tap at the window comes again. I manage to snag a finger around my panties, which are dangling from one ankle, and squirm back into them. Drew squeezes past me to the window, but he pauses to check I’m covered.
“I don’t care who it is out there,” he murmurs in a low, husky voice. “We’re not done yet.”
And now I’m really aching.
There’s another tap, impatient. “OK, OK,” Drew says. He opens the car door, and I twist around to see a man standing there in a police uniform, his face hidden by the bright beam of the flashlight.
My heart sinks.
Well, of course. Who else would it be? Every kid I knew in high school managed to make out up here without getting caught, but I try it as a grown adult and I’m busted in two seconds flat.
“Hello, officer,” Drew says pleasantly. “What can I help you with?” He’s standing between me and the cop, blocking the view of me, which is a good thing because right then I realize my bra strap has ended up over my dress sleeve instead of under. I hastily tuck it back as the cop leans over to peer past Drew.
“Sir,” the cop says. “Ma’am. Everything all right in here?” His voice has a thin, almost squeaky quality and up close, I can see he’s just a kid. Must be a rookie straight out of the academy.
I relax a little.
“All’s well,” Drew says, and I nod in agreement with the best smile I can manage. “But I appreciate you checking in.”