“Yes, they are,” I say as he pours himself a glass of milk. “But I skipped the espresso powder since it’s evening. Wouldn’t want to keep you awake.”
We share a lingering glance. I wonder if his mind went where mine did—the other ways we’d like to keep each other awake.
I pull the bacon from the oven and slide four slices onto a plate with a stack of pancakes and hand it over.
“What about you?” he asks. Sweetly.
“Just finishing mine up.” I gesture at the table, where I set out real maple syrup and foil-wrapped pats of butter I swiped from the restaurant. “Start without me. I’ll be there in a few.”
Dax is half done with his meal when I sit across from him. I dig in to my own plate of sweet, syrupy pancakes and crisp, smoky bacon. He finishes in record time, sits back in his chair, and pulls a hand over his flat stomach.
“You know how to make a guy miss you,” he says.
Unf. That honesty again. That bold, naked way he has about him. I missed him, but no way can I admit it.
“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
He doesn’t accept my lame platitude.
“I’m not only talking about the food.”
I sip my own glass of milk, unsure how to respond. Luckily, I don’t need to, since he’s willing to steer the topic to safer shores.
“You’re working late tonight.”
“Yeah, we had all these bookings come in. And here I thought we were about to go out of business after the storm. Our two other parties left, and you were the last man standing. I thought for a second I’d have to make my other part-time job my new full-time job.”
“What do you do when you’re not running Grand Lark?”
“You mean when my brother’s not watching me like a hawk while I try and run Grand Lark?” I joke, then answer, “I teach a Zumba class in town sometimes.”
“What the hell’s that?”
I can’t help giggling at how confused he looks. “You never dated a woman who took a Zumba class?”
“Not that I recall.”
“It’s cardio with a lot of dance movements. High octane, an hour long. You sweat your ass off.”
“My dancer,” he says with a note of possession. I don’t mind it even a little.
“The movements came more naturally than if I hadn’t had any experience. I took a Zumba class about five years ago and was hooked instantly. I liked the movement, the fluidity, the community. The dance-club feel of it. Then I mistook that passion for actual dancing and moved to New York City to dance with the best dancers in the world.”
Mistake. They were (quite literally) leaps and bounds above my skill level. I tried to keep up but eventually accepted that I’d never be good enough to be great.
I push my plate aside. I am pleasantly full of pancakes. Dax’s eyes go to my half-eaten stack.
“Want the rest?”
“More than my next breath.” He takes my plate and polishes off my pancakes in three big bites.
I stand and reach for the dishes, but he stops me with a palm on my arm. He offers to clear the table, so I settle back into the chair.
“How long were you in New York?”
“About six months. It wasn’t for me, so I moved again.”
“You move a lot?” he asks over the sound of running water as he rinses and washes our plates.
“I used to. I’m trying to be super careful about where I go next. I don’t know. I guess I never put down roots except when I lived at home.”
He shuts off the water and leans on the counter, his arms bracing his weight. I’m facing him, my arms resting on the back of the kitchen chair.
“What about you?” I ask. “Have you always lived in Ohio?”
“Never saw a reason to go anywhere else.”
“What’d you do before you owned a bar?”
“Drank in a lot of them.” He smiles. “More milk?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He comes to me and extends a hand. I slip my palm into his, loving the feel of the warmth radiating from his palm to mine.
He leads us to a fat leather sofa in the living room and we sit.
“I played football,” he says.
“College?” I guess. I can picture it. All his bulk strapped down in pads, a pair of tight pants, black smudges under his eyes. Purr.
“The Ohio State University.”
“Emphasis on the ‘The’?” I ask.
“There’s only one. Friend of mine went pro but blew out his shoulder. He’s sacked out on my couch right now. Hence my being here on your mountain.”
“I should thank him,” I say, following Dax’s lead to be honest and blurt what I’m thinking.
“Maybe we both should.”
Another silence sizzling with shared attraction hums in the air before Dax shatters it to ask the obvious.
“Why’d you come here tonight, Becca?”
“I meant to come this morning and make you actual breakfast, but I was swamped all day and couldn’t get away.”
“Not what I meant.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“I thought we were done. Thought the sun came out and dried up all the rain and took you with it.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.” My whisper is almost loud in the quiet cabin. I’m used to talking to Dax over pounding rain. Or maybe confessed truths always sound loud to your own ears.
Before I mean it to, “Did you really miss me?” comes out of my mouth.
What a needy question! I retract it with a quick “I’m sorry. Ignore me.”
He doesn’t ignore me. He levels me with that silvery stare of his and repeats, “Why are you really here?”
“Truth?”
“That seems the way to go.”
I swallow around a lump in my throat. Rather than answer, I tentatively lean forward and touch my lips to his. He doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t stop me, either. I continue moving my mouth on his, touching his bottom lip with my tongue. He doesn’t take over or pick up the pace, which tells me he’s only being polite.
Or so I think.
I accept his rejection and have started to pull back when one of his hands curls around my nape, his fingers spiking into my hair. He tugs me against his insistent mouth and kisses me hard, his tongue sparring with mine.
I don’t hold back.
I tangle my tongue with his, climbing to my knees in front of him. He lifts one of my legs and encourages me to straddle him. I settle onto his lap as the thick ridge of his growing erection nestles against the inside of one of my thighs.
I tear my mouth from his to catch my breath—a much-needed inhale. From where I sit, Dax’s chin is lifted and I’m on top of him looking down.
“This why you’re here, Princess?”
Yes. It is. I didn’t come here to feed him as much as I came here to devour him. I can’t resist him. I don’t want to be away from him. Since I’m a terrible liar, I answer with a jerky nod.
“Can I interest you in dessert?” I ask.
A laugh tumbles from his chest, further dampening my panties. What he does to me... It’s unfathomable.
“You’re a helluva lot sweeter than those pancakes, babe.”