Sweet Surrender, Baby Surprise

you’re home.”

“Me, too.” He breathed in the sultry scent of her.

“Do you want dinner?” she asked.

“No, I had something earlier at the airport. But I could go for a beer. Then bed.”

They walked downstairs arm in arm. “What have you been up to while I was gone?”

“You’ll see in a minute,” she said, her tone lighthearted.

In the kitchen, he headed for the refrigerator, then stopped. He glanced around the room. It took him a few seconds before he realized what was different. “You painted my kitchen. And where’s my refrigerator?”

She smiled brightly. “It’s just a few shades lighter than it was, but it makes a nice change, don’t you think? And your refrigerator is in the garage. We can still use it for storing drinks and frozen foods, but mine was practically brand-new and it’s so much bigger and laid out better. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

He opened the new refrigerator to look for a bottle of beer. It took a minute before he found them stacked neatly along the door. He twisted the cap off and took a long drink. “You could’ve asked me.”

Her smile dimmed. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I guess I should’ve warned you, I make them sometimes. And you weren’t here.”

“You could’ve called.”

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were in meetings.” She sniffed. “Besides, you made it clear you’d be too busy to talk much.”

“We talked last night,” he pointed out. “You could’ve told me then.”

Her lips compressed in a tight frown. “We were discussing other things. I forgot.”

Oh yeah, he thought, recalling the conversation. They’d had phone sex. He took another sip of beer, then muttered, “Well, next time let me know.”

“Fine.”

She sounded annoyed. Join the club, he thought, and tossed the bottle cap in the trash can, which she’d moved to the opposite side of the room, closer to the service porch. Irritated now, he said, “Look, just ask me before you make changes to my house.”

“And here I thought it was our house now,” she said as she wiped off Jake’s high chair. “My mistake.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No? Well, it sounded like that.”

“Sorry, but I’ve had a long, frustrating day.”

“And I haven’t?”

“That’s not my point.”

“Oh, did you have a point?”

Yeah, she was definitely annoyed. But so was he. “I’m just saying that this is the kind of decision we should both have a hand in making.”

“Fine.” She threw the sponge down. “I’ll call the painters and have them change it back to the way it was. Then we’ll discuss it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, now I’m being ridiculous?”

“Well, you’re not making much sense,” he said. “I’m just saying it’s important for us to-”

“I’ll tell you what’s important,” she said, wagging her finger in his face. “Me. That’s what. I’m important. And my work space is important. Call me a temperamental artist, but I need to enjoy the space I work in. And that means the kitchen. Your refrigerator wasn’t efficient and the color of this room was too dark for me. I didn’t feel creative, I didn’t feel like it was mine. It sounds stupid, but it’s true. So I changed the color and made it mine. Now I can work here. That’s the bottom line. So live with it.”

“I’m trying to live with it, Julia,” he said, wrapping his hand around her finger to stop her from jabbing at him. “But don’t expect me to roll over and let you change everything that’s mine, just because you…” He hesitated.

“Oh, don’t stop now,” she said, inches from his face.

But he had to stop. Everything that’s mine, he’d just said. Damn. She was right. His house was their house now. And she needed to feel comfortable here. He’d get used to the new refrigerator. And why did he care what color the kitchen walls were? He didn’t, but Julia did. And looking around, he could see that it actually did look better, lighter, brighter in here now.

Besides, her scent was driving him nuts. Why were they fighting? He couldn’t remember, but one thing was for certain. He was a fool to start a fight when he’d been traveling for seventy-two hours straight.

“Why don’t you put stickers on anything that’s yours,” she continued angrily. “Never mind, we’ll just assume everything’s yours.”

He moved a half inch closer and took a deep breath. “You smell like flowers. And lemons.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she chided, then added defensively, “I made lemonade.”

His eyes narrowed in on her. “I like lemonade.”

He had her cornered against the chrome door of the ultra-modern refrigerator. She tried to edge sideways. “I’m going to bed.”

“Not yet.” He held her shoulders to keep her close. “You forgot something.”

“What?”

“This,” he said, and kissed her, his mouth taking hers in a rush of heat and an explosion of taste and need.

When she groaned, he lifted her up onto the counter. Sliding his hands up the insides of her thighs, he spread her legs. Then he pulled her closer to the edge and knelt before her.

“Cameron,” she whispered.

“Shh,” he said, then kissed the inside of her knee and moved higher, to her thighs, first one side, then the other. Hearing her moan in pleasure, he used his tongue to part her sensitive folds and plunged deeply. Her wild cry satisfied his masculine pride as he delved deeper, pressing his lips to her, sliding his mouth and tongue against her slick center, licking and suckling.

She was intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough of her. When she screamed his name, he didn’t wait a second longer. He stood and, watching her closely, unfastened his jeans, shoving them down his legs. Her eyes flashed at the sight of his impressive erection.

“Come to me,” he said, lifting her up and onto his stiff length and slowly lowering her until he filled her completely.

Her lusty sigh pushed him to the limit, but he forced himself to go slowly. At first. But she was so hot, so tight, so ready, that he began pumping into her with an urgency that brought him close to the edge of his control. Moments later, she cried out and he fused his lips to hers as he drove himself to join her in a climax so intense, he had to wonder if they might both go up in flames.

They leaned against the kitchen counter, holding on to each other like drunken sailors. Cameron wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. He vaguely remembered fighting about something, but now it seemed nothing more than a prelude to some of the best sex he’d ever had.

“I might regret asking,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder as she lazily stroked his back. “But I need to know what you’re thinking right now.”

He looked around, then met her gaze. “I was thinking I really like the new paint job.”

After the kitchen confrontation and its pleasurable aftermath, Cameron and Julia settled into a routine. He was amazed at how easily the three of them were adjusting to life together in his home.

Even though there were staff bakers at her store doing the yeoman’s work of making the products she sold every day, Julia liked to bake her signature delicacies at home. She was up early every morning, kneading and mixing and baking and frosting, so Cameron got into the habit of joining her.

“Almost like a real marriage,” he muttered, and caught himself wincing at the words. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind when they entered into this arrangement.

He hadn’t counted on caring about her so much.

And it was getting more and more difficult to keep from letting his feelings show.