“You won’t be disappointed,” he says, winking at me. “Here, mix the milk and chocolate in this.” He indicates the copper pot. “I’ll make the coffee. Keep the heat on low so it simmers but doesn’t boil.”
“I think I can handle that.” I set my phone down on the counter and begin my task.
“Expecting a call?”
“No,” I say spooning the cocoa into the milk. “I already checked in on my friends. But I want to have my phone handy in case they need me.”
“Did you tell Lexie and Jordyn where you were?”
“Yes.”
“And?” he asks, combining the ground coffee, water, and cinnamon sticks in the coffeemaker.
“And what?”
“What did they say?”
“They were glad I was out of the storm.”
He throws back his head and laughs. “Female secret code...I won’t even try to crack that.”
I can’t help but smile.
“Listen, Dee,” he says, sobering and linking his gaze with mine. “I want to get this out of the way. I haven’t hidden the fact that I still want you and that I want answers. You say neither is possible. I hope you’ll come to trust me enough to change your mind about both. But for tonight, let’s just hang out and get to know each other again.”
Neither is ever going to happen, but with the white elephant acknowledged and the invitation to just hang out, I feel myself unwind. For the next twenty minutes, we settle into an easy rhythm of working side by side, sharing laughs, and talking about a variety of G-rated subjects from music to movies.
I tell him about meeting Lexie and Jordyn in Pilates class and the friendship that has developed over the past eighteen months. He tells me of the challenges he’s faced transitioning from being a celebrity to running Papa’s Kids. We discuss my work and he discusses his.
Behind the sex appeal and chiseled good looks, I get a glimpse of the interesting, intelligent man he’s grown to be, combined with many pieces of the boy I once loved to distraction.
When the coffeemaker shuts off, Mick fills the mugs halfway with the steaming cocoa and then adds the cinnamon-flavored coffee. He takes them to the island, and we settle on the barstools. I lift the cup to my lips and Mick watches, waiting for my reaction. I blow across the top and then take a sip, savoring the smoky nuttiness of the coffee, the woody spiciness of the cinnamon, and the sweet bitterness of the chocolate.
“Well?” he asks, his voice eager, as if what I think really matters to him.
“The balance is just right.”
That garners a smile before he takes a sip of his own. Then, abruptly setting his cup down, he snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot the finishing touch.” Mick goes to the fridge and returns a moment later with a can of whipped cream.
I can all but feel the calories going to my ample behind. “I’ll pass.”
“Ah, come on,” he says. “I remember when we used to do whipped cream shots.”
“I remember you doing them and trying to give me a face full of cream.”
He laughs and, tilting his head back, sprays a wad straight into his mouth. I don’t remember it looking that sexy when he was fifteen. I find myself once again intrigued and aroused by the sensuality of his mouth. An erotic image of him licking whipped cream off my body makes my thighs ping.
“Your turn,” he says, holding up the can with a devilish grin. “The trick is to stay still so I can get all the cream into your mouth without spilling a drop.”
I blush at the double meaning.
“Open up,” he coaxes, his tone teasing but determined.
“No, thanks,” I say, suspicious of him.
Aware of my weak spot, he tickles my side. While my mouth is open in protest, he shoots cream between my lips and down my chin. I sputter as he roars with laughter.
“Jerk!”
