She blinked at him and then blinked again before pointedly looking at their feet. “We’re not wearing shoes.”
“Fine. If the shaggy blue fur and googly eyes fit, wear them!”
Fight back, Renee.
Then, miracle of miracles, she did. She gave him a fierce look and poked him in the chest. “I’ve got news for you, mister.” Poke. “You’re not the boss of me.” Poke.
“Oh, yeah?” It was not the snappiest comeback he’d ever uttered.
But it did what he wanted it to do. Her eyes lit all the way back up as she smiled and then tried to scowl and frankly, she took his breath away again. This was a game. Maybe not one she’d played in a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten the rules. Thank God for that. She was going to give him everything she had and that, more than the explosive sex or the questionably edible baked goods, made him feel ten feet tall. She wasn’t afraid of him. He was worth the fight.
She was worth the fight. It was high time she knew it.
“Yeah!” Poke. “If I want to bake cookies—” poke “—then I’m going to bake cookies. And furthermore—” poke “—I’ll have you know that I was doing just fine before you showed up, both nights.” Poke.
“Ow,” Oliver said, backing up a step. She wasn’t poking him hard, but she was hitting the exact same spot over and over again.
“You’re the reason the cookies got burned.” Poke. “You distracted me with amazing kisses and the best sex I’ve ever had.” Poke. “If you hadn’t distracted me, we could be eating the perfect chocolate chip cookie right now.”
Amazing kisses? The best sex? He wasn’t one to brag but hell, yeah, that was good for his masculine pride. To hell with cookies. He’d have her back in bed. Or on the love seat. Hell, any semiflat surface would do just fine, as long as he could hold her in his arms and feel every inch of her body against every inch of his.
Oliver was grinning his fool head off but he didn’t care. There was something so right about Renee defending herself and putting him in his place that it made him want to sing.
Sing! Him! Oliver!
He didn’t burst into song. However, he did say, “Were they edible cookies?” just to drive her nuts.
It worked. “The last batch was!” Poke.
Stumbling backward, Oliver looked over his shoulder. The cookie sheet had sunk now, but a few hockey pucks formerly known as cookies floated on the surface of the pond. Fred and Wilma and the kids seemed mildly terrified of the things. He couldn’t blame them. “The last batch?”
“You know what I mean—the batch before that!” Poke.
Oliver retreated another step. She was in fine form, his Renee. Her eyes blazed and the breeze molded the thin T-shirt to her body, highlighting her breasts and the gentle swell of her stomach and all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss the hell out of her.
“I swear to God, if I had a water balloon—” poke “—I’d throw it right at your head. But you know what?” Poke.
He grabbed her finger before she bruised him. “What?”
A victorious smile graced her face, making her look like an avenging angel. He wanted to fall to his knees and worship before her. She pulled her hand back and said, “I don’t need a water balloon.”
This time, she didn’t poke him. She put both hands on his chest and Oliver had just leaned down to take that kiss from her lips when she shoved him. Hard.
He fell backward and the next thing he knew, he was sitting on his butt in the pond, wiping water from his face while Renee stood safely on the bank, staring at him.
“You...” he sputtered, wiping water from his face. The mud was squishing up his butt and around his important parts and, judging from the noise, the swans had declared DEFCON 1 behind him. “You pushed me!”
For a second, she looked just as shocked as he felt. Then her face cracked into a huge smile and it was like the sun breaking through clouds after days of endless rain.
“You. Pushed. Me,” he said in his most dangerous growl and then he splashed as much water as he humanly could at her. He missed, of course. From this angle, he could see under the hem of her long T-shirt and, as she danced out of the way of the water, he caught glimpses of her bare body that made him hard all over again, despite the mud.
She laughed, loud and free, and clapped her hands in delight. “Don’t move,” she giggled, pointing. “I’m going to get my phone. I think Chloe needs to see a picture of this—the high-and-mighty Oliver Lawrence stuck in the mud!”
“The hell you will,” he said, trying to get to his feet. But the mud was slippery and he lost his balance and splashed back down again. He couldn’t even keep a straight face this time.
The sound of her happiness was worth it, he decided. He’d be cleaning mud out of his crack for a week but he’d take the fall for her again, just to hear her laugh as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She wrapped her arms around her waist and bent forward, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks.
“You win this round,” he yelled, aiming for his best villain voice—high-pitched and nasal. “But I’ll be back!”
Then, just like she always had years ago, Renee jammed her thumbs against the side of her head, waggled her fingers at him and stuck out her tongue, yelling, “Nyah, nyah na nyah, you can’t catch me!” before she spun on her heels and bolted back to the house. Her legs flashed in the dim light, her bottom peeking out from under the shirt with every step she took.
All he could do was watch her go, an unfamiliar lightness settling around him even
