When I look at her face, she’s no longer laughing; her expression is a mix of sadness and a softness that makes my heart squeeze. “They were the best pancakes I’ve ever had.” I’m denying it when she adds, “My grandma used to say the most important thing about baking is you have to love it or the person you’re baking for, or it won’t have the special something it needs.”
“Your grandma sounds wise.”
She nods and tucks her face against my throat. “She was. After my parents died, she looked after my sister and me, and I loved to bake with her. I’d always done it when I was little, when my grandma would watch Missy and me when they had to worklate. They’d get home, and I’d be hopping up and down with the pie I’d baked, covered with flour but desperate to show it to my parents.” She snorts. “It was a miracle I didn’t trip over my feet and pie myself in the face.”
Imagining a little blonde-haired girl with flour-dusted pigtails, proudly showing off her homemade creation, I smile. “Sounds like you had a blast.”
“I did,” she says, her voice soft with happiness.
Then she sighs, and I lose my smile because that was not a happy sound.
“My parents died in a car crash when I was thirteen, and I baked to take my mind off the pain,” she continues, and I hug her tighter, feeling her anguish. “I was so lost then. I couldn’t focus long enough to read recipes, but I needed to keep my hands busy or I would go insane. Gramma taught me how pie dough was supposed to feel and how to balance sweet and salty in a filling without relying on any recipe. And then she died a year later, and I was lost again.”
I bury a kiss in her hair, wishing I could take away her pain and replace it with a smile instead. She lost so much, so young, and even as she got older, she lost her ability to feel safe with a man she loved. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Everyone dies.”
My heart breaks for her. I roll her onto her back so I can look into her eyes. “Yes, but you shouldn’t lose so many people you love so young. It isn’t fair. I have my parents and all my siblings and you… it’s not fair that you suffered so much.”
Smiling faintly, she lifts her hand to my face, her fingers gliding along my jaw. “Are you always this sweet with women, Elias Gallo?”
I catch her wrist and press a kiss at the center of her palm. Her breath hitches. Then I move her hand back to my face, not ready for her to stop touching me yet. “Just with you.”
Our stares lengthen, and tension crackles between us. I lick my lips, her eyes tracking the motion. My belly squeezes, and I clear my throat.
“You want me to turn out the light so we can sleep?” I ask, my voice husky.
“Not yet,” she whispers, her fingers caressing my jaw.
I swallow. “If I were to kiss you. Would you…”
She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t have a problem if you wanted to kiss me, Elias. I spend more time than I should wanting to kiss you.”
My shoulders relax as I dip my head, pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose, which makes her smile, and another at the corner of her mouth, which makes her sigh.
I angle my head, line up our mouths, and capture hers with my own.
Slow, I order myself.She’s not ready for the sort of kiss you want to give her.Go slow.
Our lips meet, and I lose myself in the taste of Maisie’s lips.
Time falls away. My tongue tangles with hers, exploring the inside of her mouth as she runs her hands up and down my back. I take pleasure in taking my time.
She slides her legs around me, my body sinking onto hers. We both groan. Her breasts mashing against my chest feels fucking incredible.
The kiss turns heated. Deeper, longer, and she writhes against me.
This isn’t where I thought this kiss would go. I’m weak. Maisie deserves a better man who would give her more time to recover from her ex. I’m not that man. I have the woman I’ve always wanted arching up to me… wanting me. I can’t end this now.
Breaking the kiss, I roll her, sweep her t-shirt up over her head and toss it to the floor before I reclaim her lips as I roll her onto her back.
When she’s beneath me again, I stop to appreciate just how pretty she is. She’s petite, but her breasts are a generous handful, gently rounded, the tips rosy. Her belly is curved, and…
Damn.
My cock jerks.
The scrap of lace between her thighs couldbarelybe called panties. High waist with thin straps, the tiny triangle front reveals more than it conceals. Which means this is a thong. If I slid my hands over her ass or rolled her onto her front, her cheeks would be exposed.
