Chapter 34
Rowe
Over the next weeks, Pane and I make love on every possible surface—beds, tables, dressers, couches, chairs, kitchen counters.
Don’t worry, he turns all the roosters around so they don’t see.
We even sneak away from the guys working on the house, locking ourselves in the laundry room, frantically yanking aside panties and underwear to fill the need that’s overtaken both of us.
It’s a need like nothing I’ve ever known. It’s like I spent a lifetime on a deserted island, my only food being coconuts, and now I’ve been rescued and have a feast before me.
I can’t get enough of him, and he can’t seem to get enough of me, either.
There are only a few days left before the opening, the foreclosure, and the judging. It’s all happening on the same day, and the hope is that the judging comes first, valuating the business higher than Stone’s venture. If so, Pane will make sure I can keep the property.
But I don’t know exactly how that’s going to happen.
Yet if there’s one thing I’ve learned during this time, it’s to trust Pane Maddox.
And trust him, I do.
The man has even learned how to make biscuits.
“You got the coffee ready?” I ask, sliding into the kitchen.
He glances up from the stove, where he’s frying eggs in a pan, and scoffs. “DoIhave coffee made? I’ve run five miles and made breakfast. Do you think I have coffee made?”
I laugh and slip into his arms, kissing those luscious lips. “I think you’ve done everything. Oh! I have to feed the pigs.”
I start to pull away, but Pane pulls me back to him, kissing me again. “Already done.”
I gasp. “No!”
“See for yourself.”
I pull away and spot the piggies’ bowls by the door. They’re filled with something small that’s been chopped up. “Is that ... Are those hot dogs?”
Pane winks. “Breakfast of champions.”
“But that’s—”
He tuts. “It’s not cannibalism. They’re all-beef, remember?”
He has a point, and before there’s a chance to rib him for breaking one of his rules, the feeding-the-animals one—a stampede of piggies spills into the kitchen as they tumble over one another and rump-skate to their bowls.
I chuckle. “They must’ve heard me mention them.”
Pane slides the fried eggs onto a plate and smiles warmly. “They must’ve. Ready to eat?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
I spend most of the day grinning—at Pane, to myself, at Pane. There’s a lot of smiling that goes on between us, and brushing of hands, and general excuses to spend two minutes in each other’s presence. I’m not running anymore, and I don’t want to. I’m drowning in Pane Maddox, and it’s the best feeling ever.
After dinner, and after we’ve cleaned up the kitchen, Pane nuzzles his mouth to my ear. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Intrigued, I murmur, “Show me?”
“Outside.”
