She’s no good at hiding her pleasure at my compliment. Her eyes are way too expressive and her blush is always a giveaway.
“Knox likes to heat Pop-Tarts in the oven instead of the toaster after he got them stuck in there and the toaster started smoking.”
She scrunches her nose. “But they’re so thin. I didn’t know you could get them stuck in there.”
“You can’t unless you wedge eight in a four-slice toaster because you’re too hungry and lazy to make four at a time.” I shake my head. “Then I realized no Pop-Tart ever smelled that good.”
“I wanted to do something nice for you to say thanks for taking care of me.”
This woman is the stuff of dreams.
If someone told me there was a sweeter, more beautiful girl in the world than Maisie Lucas, I wouldn’t believe them.
I rest both hands on the counter beside her, wanting to kiss her but knowing any move I make could chase her away. “You don’t have to give us things to say thanks. We like pie, and I appreciate you baking for us, but you didn’t need to do it.”
“I just want to feel useful.”
Damn, her ex really did a number on her.
“Youareuseful.” She opens her mouth, but I keep talking. “Your ex was a small man. He controlled you, and when that wasn’t enough, he made you feel small so he could feel bigger. His opinion of you is worthless.Heis worthless.”
Her eyes turn misty. “He was talented.”
“Yes, hewasa talented football player,” I agree. “But he got in his own way and threw that talent away. He had you, and he threw you away. He’s not worth your time or mine.” I point my chin at her hand. “How is your hand,really?”
She told me it was fine, but I’ve burned myself often enough over the years to know pain can flare up again without warning. I want her to feel like she can trust me with her pain. If I can help her feel better, I’ll do it.
She hesitates.
“The truth, Maisie,” I tell her gently. “No one in this house will ever punish or criticize you for being honest.”
“It’s still a little sore,” she admits, voice low.
I circle her wrist and feather a kiss across her burn.
Her breath hitches.
“What are you doing?” she whispers in a breathy rush.
I hold her gaze as I brush another kiss across her skin. “Kissing it better.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
She isn’t pulling awayortelling me to stop. As I trace another kiss over her reddened skin, I inhale her scent, mentally groaning in response. “Does that mean you want me to stop?”
She doesn’t respond.
A smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “Yes? No? I need to know you want this.” My smile fades. “That goes for inside the bedroom and outside of it. Tell me what you want, Maisie. It’s yours.”
She gulps. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink as she adds, “I want you to keep kissing me.”
With my left hand on her hip, I urge her against the kitchen counter and dip my head to press my mouth to hers, giving her the kiss I’ve ached for.
She’s coming to us from a place of pain and hurt. Of fear. I start softer than I want to, claiming her lips with a lightness she can break if she wants to. A brush here, a caress there, and all the while I stroke her hip so she gets used to my hands on her body.
She rises on her tiptoes and leans toward me, a sign she’s ready for more. The tip of my tongue traces the seam of her mouth, and I groan as she parts her lips for me, letting me in. She tastes delicious. Cherry sweet with a hint of cinnamon. Intoxicating.
I take my time, giving her heat and sweetness, exploring her mouth with my tongue as she coils her arms around the back of my shoulders.
