That was a good question.
“Just felt like it.”
She sniffed. “You and me both know the flour comes out only when you’re stressed.”
“Lots going on,” I countered, returning to my bashing the cinnamon roll dough I was making at the moment.
“Sure is.” She huffed. “And I’m in the dark.”
“For your own good, baby doll,” I replied instantly, feeling no shame at the words. It was true—no way was I telling her anything that might frighten her.
“Mebbe.” She fell silent once more, and again, I started to figure she was sleeping. I didn’t mind being used as a vertical bed. It felt quite good actually.
Would she have done this before? Before I’d agreed to be a part of this madcap relationship?
I didn’t think so. She definitely wouldn’t have pressed her arms around my bare belly like she was and, if I turned around, I knew she’d be half-undressed, which was also something she wouldn’t have done before.
Not that a vest tee and short shorts was exactly going overboard…
A smile curved my lips at the thought. “Remember when you used to wear girly dresses?”
She snorted. “What? When I was six?”
“Yeah. You used to play tag and shit in them too. Was cute as fuck.”
A disgruntled noise escaped her. “Don’t care what your kinks are, babe, I’m not wearing frilly dresses again.”
Laughter escaped me, so hard that I leaned forward jerkily and accidentally knocked her away. Spinning around to face her, I saw her crumpled self and beamed a grin at her. “Well, hell, if I’d been in a bad mood before, I sure as fuck ain’t now.”
“What did I do?”
I reached up and purposefully pressed my flour-laden fingers to her cheek. “You were just yourself.”
She blinked up at me. “You’re being nice.”
“I’m always nice,” I retorted easily, leaning back against the counter to stare at her. “It’s a part of my character. In fact, it’s an integral part.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to sell shit to a farmer,” she pshawed. “You’re never nice.” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Now I’m really worried.”
I snorted. “Nothing’s wrong.” I lifted my hands. “I swear.”
A hum escaped her, then she peered at the counter and the mess I’d made. “You haven’t cooked for me in ages.”
“Thought since you’re my woman now, it would be a nice way to start the day.”
Her gray eyes grew big and round. As big and round as the perfect ‘O’ her mouth made as she gaped at me. Her throat bobbed as she whispered, “Your woman?”
My lips twitched as I nodded. Slowly.
She gulped. “I love the sound of that.”
Fuck, I did too. And her response to it? Shit, that just made things a thousand times better.
“Been wanting to call you that for a long time, sugar,” I rasped. It wasn’t like me to feel awkward, but I did at that minute. I wasn’t sure why. I wanted to haul her against me, tuck her into my side, but I didn’t. Even though I wanted to.
“Been wanting to be called it for a long time,” she instantly countered, her eyes flaring with heat as she stared up into my eyes.
Something settled inside me at how quickly she responded. There was no prevarication, no games, no hiding from me.
I loved that about her. Hell, I just plain loved her.
She reached up and cupped my jaw, and I couldn’t stop myself from tilting my head and leaning into her touch.
“You remember that first day?”
“The first day ever? Where my momma threatened you?”
“Yeah, that one,” I said with a grin. “You were mine that day. You know that, don’t you?”
A harsh sigh escaped her, and in an explosive movement, she pressed herself into me and slipped her arms around my waist again, but from the front. As she burrowed into me, I saw she was wearing my tee from yesterday, and the scent of us mingling together with cinnamon and yeast notes tinging everything was like the best smell in the world.
They said, didn’t they, that sensory memories were more powerful than a regular one. Well, this was going to be glued into my brain for the rest of my fucking life.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her forehead, inhaled her scent again, and just enjoyed the moment. I didn’t get much peace in my life. It was a personal choice. I’d joined the MC without a shotgun at my back. I was proud to wear my cut, to ride as a Rebel, but this? Fuck, this was priceless.
“Still don’t get why you’re baking,” she murmured into my chest. “Don’t you have to go on a run?”
“Got back in late. Your daddy gave me some time to rest.” Considering I’d been riding all night, I needed the break, but out here in the boondicks, there was shit like birds to wake a man up. I wasn’t used to that. Was more used to the noise of the clubhouse as I’d been living there since my prospect days. That meant nights were noisy and mornings were silent. Here, it was the other way around. “Anyway, road to a woman’s heart’s through her stomach, ain’t it?”
She snickered and squeezed me. “Thought that was the way to a man’s heart?”
“You’re lucky you already have mine then. I’ve tasted what you call spaghetti. Fuck that. Prefer to eat pig shit.” No word of a lie. Food was important to Ama, not that she ate all that much in comparison to me and Keys—hell, Ink too now I’d seen what he scarfed down.
“Well, lucky for you I don’t wanna be barefoot and in the kitchen for the rest of my days.”
“Aw shucks. Just how I like my woman.”
Pulling back to look at me, she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t mess with me.”
I knew what she meant, so I dipped my chin and pressed my lips to her temple. “Ain’t messing. Been yours for longer than it took for you to get around to claiming me, and don’t give a fuck if you can’t cook. That’s what diners are for.”
“I turned eighteen a few months ago,” she pointed out.
“Exactly. You waited too long. A few months was too long.” And God, how I meant that. What the hell had we been waiting for? Life was so goddamn short. Lucifer’s Knights were rotting in a jail, Rodeo was in a cell too. This life wasn’t easy, it was rough and ready, and even though I knew that, I hadn’t lived that way.
I’d fucked sweetbutts, had slutted around with the whores, and for what? Almost to get trapped by Bubbles? Fuck that.
She pressed her face to my cut and murmured, “I’m glad I’m eighteen.”
I laughed. “Can guarantee I’m gladder.”
When she wrinkled her nose at me, those gray eyes of hers twinkling, I sighed at the sight of her. Even sleep-rumpled and tired, she was gorgeous.
“What’s all the fuckin’ racket?”
I cut Keys a look, unsurprised to see him scratching his belly, his hair all over the place, his faux hawk all fucked up thanks to his pillow, as he stepped into the kitchen. His nose tipped up. “That cinnamon?”
“Making cinnamon rolls.”
He groaned. “Perfect.” Then, he cut Ama a look. “You never saved me a cookie.”