“I can think of a few nice things to say about you.” His voice was low and sweet, like dark honey and, as he looked her over with something that seemed like desire, her body responded. “More than a few.”
Sweet Jesus, she wanted to melt into him. The space between her legs got hot and sensitive and her stupid nipples went all tight again. Which was the exact moment she remembered she didn’t have on a bra.
Oh, hell! She didn’t have on a bra and she’d hugged him and now he was making her blush. She crossed her arms over her chest and hoped he hadn’t noticed.
He lifted an eyebrow and her face got even hotter. Of course he’d noticed.
But he had the decency to refrain from pointing out the pointedly obvious. Instead, he looked around the kitchen. “Baking?”
She was not disappointed that he hadn’t lavished her in compliments. She was relieved, dang it. “I thought I’d give chocolate chip cookies a try. But fair warning,” she said, desperately trying to keep her voice light, “I haven’t baked anything in years.”
He began to round up the dirty dishes without protesting or anything. “And you wanted to get back to it?”
“I do.” She took a deep breath, thankful to have something to talk about that didn’t have anything to do with her nipples or their willingness to turn into hard points around this man. “I have these wonderful memories of your mom taking the time to bake with me and Chloe and sometimes it was awful and sometimes we actually made something good and it was always so much...fun. Do you remember?”
Because now that she thought about it, she remembered that although Clint and Oliver hadn’t been baking with them, sometimes Renee and Chloe had shared the cookies or cupcakes with them. But only when they were feeling generous.
He paused in the middle of dumping the mixing bowls in the sink. “Yeah, I do.”
“Good.” It made her happy to know that he still had those shared moments in an otherwise-fraught childhood relationship. “I want to have fun again. I want to be the kind of mom who enjoys making cookies and won’t scream if the cookies don’t turn out perfect. I want to be the kind of mom my kid looks up to, who’ll...” Her voice caught in her throat. “Who’ll be there for her kids. And her friends’ kids.”
Not like her mom had been.
The bowls clattered in the sink and Oliver turned. He studied her with that smoldering intensity of his that sent flashes of heat down her back.
But he didn’t say anything. “Yes?” she finally asked nervously. She kept her arms crossed.
“I know my mother loved you. She considered you another daughter.”
The sense of loss that hit her was more painful than she’d expected, mostly because she hadn’t been expecting it at all. “Oh,” she said, her throat closing up and her eyes watering. “That’s...that’s sweet. I was...” She swiped at her cheeks. “I was sorry we couldn’t come to her funeral.” Her mother didn’t look good in black and funerals were dreary. Which meant Renee hadn’t got a chance to say goodbye.
Oliver nodded. “And then we moved to Texas right after that.”
It had been a one-two punch and honestly, Renee wasn’t sure she’d ever got over it. She’d not only lost the wonderful mother of her best friend, she’d lost the entire Lawrence family. She’d lost the feeling of home that day.
But she hadn’t been a little girl anymore. When Mrs. Lawrence had died, Renee had been thirteen and better equipped to deal with her mother’s insanity. She’d joined more after-school clubs, found new friends.
Nothing had ever replaced the Lawrence family.
“Hey,” Oliver said, stepping forward and pulling her into his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay,” she replied, her words muffled by his shirt. “Sorry. Hormones. It doesn’t take much these days.”
“No, I’d imagine not.” He leaned back, stroking his hand down her cheek and lifting her face so she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Renee...”
Her breath caught in her throat again but this time, it had nothing to do with a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. Instead, Oliver’s one hand was tracing slow circles around the small of her back, pushing her closer to him. To his lips. His thumb dragged over her cheek, sending sparks of electricity across her skin.
“I’m so glad you came back,” Renee whispered, even as she lifted herself on tiptoe, closing the distance between them.
“I’ll always come back for you,” he murmured against her mouth.
Dear God, please let that be the truth. She didn’t want easy lies. She couldn’t bear the thought of him lying to her at all. Not him. Not now.
His lips brushed over hers, the touch a request more than a demand. She inhaled deeply, catching his scent—spicy and warm, with his own earthy musk underneath and a faint hint of something burning.
Something burning?
She jolted as he asked, “What’s that smell?” at the same time a loud beeping filled the air.
“The cookies!” She twisted out of his arms and raced to the oven.
By the time she got there, smoke was beginning to curl out of the oven door. “Oh, no!” She frantically looked around for the oven mitts or...something. Anything, before she set his house on fire! But she didn’t know where anything was!
Oliver picked her up and physically set her to the side. Then, as cool as a cucumber, he turned off the oven and produced the missing oven mitts. In short order, he had the cookie sheet and the nearly black puddles that had once aspired to be cookies out of the oven, a fan running and windows open to clear the room, and he was...
Laughing?
He was, the wretch. He was mocking her failed attempt at baking while he pulled the battery from the smoke detector and for a moment, it felt like they were kids again, always poking each other until the other responded. She
