“Are you from a family of bakers and donut makers?”
I laughed at that. “Not even close.”
“Will I see your child mixing dough and icing crullers in your shop someday?”
I grinned. “Maybe, but I’d support whatever he or she wanted to do.”
“Do you hope it’s a boy or a girl?”
“Yes.”
“No preference?” he prodded.
“Nope. Not at all. A healthy baby is all I’m hoping for.”
“That’s a good answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Hmm. Do you like to wash dishes?”
I snickered at the awkward segue. “No. Not really.”
“Too bad. Let’s go.”
Viggo patted my shoulder as he stood, and the heat of his palm felt like a brand. I wanted nothing more than to rip my shirt off and rub up against him, but thankfully, I had more chill than that. I hoped so, anyway.
We tidied the kitchen together, letting conversation wander to neutral topics like the weather, the drills we’d run at practice today, and football in general. He loved the Vikings and was worried about their defensive line. I’d grown up rooting for the Lions and was ecstatic that we had something to celebrate lately, even if last season hadn’t been our best. We chatted about school rivalries and competition.
We’d done a version of this at the diner and the coffee shop, but this felt different. Easier. Sure, I did most of the talking, but Viggo didn’t seem to mind. Nor did he seem to be in a hurry to get rid of me.
I folded the dish towel and mopped up a little water on the counter as Viggo put newly cleaned mugs into the cupboard.
“I should go now.”
“Yes. Unless you’re inviting yourself for dinner, too.” The off-the-cuff comment was delivered with a disarming twinkle in his eye.
I grinned. “What are you having?”
He pointed meaningfully. “Out.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” I raised my arms in surrender, stepping toward the doorway.
Viggo did the same, and suddenly we were on a collision course, dodging left and right, each making room for the other to pass.
He stopped with his hands on his hips and growled. I laughedat the over-the-top grumpy act, and he laughed, too. Then we both went silent and just…stared.
I couldn’t say who made the first move. All I knew was that it hit like a bolt of lightning, fast and furious. One second I was in the middle of a doorway, and the next I was against a wall, arms spread above my head, and Viggo’s mouth was on mine.
I wiggled out of his grasp and wrapped my arms around his neck, tilting my chin to deepen the connection of twisting tongues and greedy groping. I tasted sweet syrup and inhaled the scent of his shampoo through a feverish onslaught of hungry kisses. Viggo nipped at my lips, licked my jaw, sucked my earlobe, and returned to devour my mouth.
All the while his hands moved from my chest to my hips, and finally my ass. And when he pulled me close, I lost my freaking mind. The hint of his erection through layers of denim and cotton stoked the flames into an inferno. I was going to combust if I didn’t get more…now.
I broke the kiss, lowering my hands to grapple with his belt with shaky fingers. He stopped me, his chest heaving as he shook his head.
“That wasn’t a kiss on the cheek.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I panted. “But I really fucking want you. Do you?—”
