Don't Let Go (17 page)

MEGAN HAD HER
hands full with a pan of burned cinnamon rolls. Something must be off with the oven, because she never burned anything. And she didn't have time to figure it out, because she had a bakery filled with eager customers. Fortunately, Stacy had handled orders out front this morning while she baked.

She'd opened the back door to clear out the smoke, then glared at her oven.

“Problems?”

She jerked her head up to see Brady standing at the doorway leading from the front of the shop.

“Oh. Hey. And yes. I burned the cinnamon rolls.”

He frowned as he stepped in. “That sounds kind of tragic.”

“Tell me about it. How are you doing?”

“Good. Took a break and came over to see you. Stacy said you were back here wrestling with an oven issue and that I could come on back. Is there something I can do to help?”

“I don't know. What do you know about ovens?”

“Not much. What's wrong with it?”

“I don't know. The temperature has always been predictable. And suddenly in the past day I've burned cookies, scones, and now the cinnamon rolls. That never happens.”

“So there might be something wrong with your thermostat.”

She pursed her lips and glared at the oven as if had grown horns. “This is not good. I have the owner's manual.”

“Okay if I take a look?”

“I'm sure you have your own work to do.”

“Actually, I have some free time. Unless you'd rather call someone more qualified.”

“No, I'd be happy to have you look at it.” She reached into the nearby drawer and shuffled through the manuals, pulling out the one for the oven. “Here.”

“Okay.”

He paged through the manual, rolled up his sleeves, and started to work. She backed away, salvaging what she could of the baked goods that had come out decently enough. Fortunately, she didn't need to bake anymore today, so maybe if Brady couldn't fix the oven she could get someone out here this afternoon who could.

“I'm going to run to the store for parts,” Brady said, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “I'll be right back.”

“Um, okay. But Brady?”

He stalled and turned around. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you can fix the oven?”

He held up hands. “Magic hands, Megan. Magic hands.”

She arched a brow. “But does that mean yes?”

He shot her an incredulous look. “You doubt me and my magic hands?”

“Well, not exactly. It's just that I kind of need the oven to stay in business.”

He walked over to her and slid his arm around her waist, then tugged her close. He smelled a lot like motor oil with a mix of oven grease. Not a bad combination, actually. She waited for him to kiss her, and when he didn't, she was disappointed.

“Never doubt my abilities, woman.”

She laughed. “Duly noted. Go to the store. I'll run and get us sandwiches and fix us some iced tea for when you get back.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

So he hadn't kissed her. That wasn't a big deal, right? It was way more important for him to repair her oven than to cater to her emotions and her libido right now anyway.

She checked on Stacy, who had the bakery counter and cash register under control. This time of day people were more interested in lunch than baked goods, so traffic was light. She ran up the street and grabbed sandwiches, then came back and made a pot of iced tea. Brady showed up about twenty minutes later and started to work on her oven.

“You want to break for sandwiches?” she asked.

“Nah. Let me finish this first so you can try it out.”

Since she didn't want to hover over him, she busied herself with cleaning up the kitchen. Though she couldn't help but skirt furtive glances his way as she did. First, because she was worried about the state of her oven, and second, how could she not? Brady wore relaxed jeans and a dark gray T-shirt that, despite being both stained and dirty, made him look sexier than ever. And there was something about watching a man work that was simply hot. Or maybe it was watching Brady work that made
her
hot.

Forty-five minutes later, he put her oven back in place. “Okay, give it a try.”

She took a pan of cinnamon rolls she'd prepped earlier from the refrigerator, set the oven temperature and waited for it to preheat. While it did, she poured Brady a glass of iced tea and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, swiping the sweat from his forehead.

They both stared at the oven, watching the temperature rise to the appropriate setting. When it did, she slid the pan of cinnamon rolls in and set the timer.

“Now we wait,” Megan said. “So we might as well eat. I'm sure you're hungry. You were probably hungry when you got here.”

“Actually, I came by to see if you wanted to have lunch with me.”

They took a seat at the small table in the back of the kitchen.

“Did you? I'm really sorry about this.”

He unwrapped the sub sandwich from the paper and bit into it, then swallowed. “Why? Not your fault your oven broke. And you're not eating your sandwich.”

She stared down at the food in front of her, her stomach a twisted knot of nerves. “I'm . . . not hungry right now.”

“You're nervous because you're afraid your oven is broken and you don't know what you'll do if it is. Trust me—it'll work. Eat your sandwich.”

She looked up at him. “So confident in your abilities, are you?”

“Yeah. Plus, your thermostat was shot and I replaced it. That was your problem. Eat your sandwich.”

Keeping one eye on the oven, or rather keeping her nose on the oven, trying to breathe in any signs of her cinnamon rolls going up in flames, she took a bite of the sandwich and followed it up with a sip of the iced tea, mentally counting down the minutes until the rolls were finished.

So far, so good. Nothing was burning, except her desire to pull out beautifully baked cinnamon rolls.

“Sorry I haven't called you this week,” Brady said, stealing her attention away from the oven. “I had back-to-back rush jobs and I've been working late. Then Carter pulled me into a basketball game last night with the guys.”

“Really? That sounds fun.”

“It was. I was going to text or call you after I got home, but I figured it was too late and you might have already gone to sleep.”

“You could have called me anyway. I'd always pick up if it's you.”

His lips lifted, and that smile he leveled on her was devastating. “Is that right? Anytime of the day or night?”

“Okay, maybe not here at seven a.m. when the shop is filled with customers. But if you want to give me a call at
midnight, I'll answer. Unless you're already in my bed, in which case you don't have to call me.”

He leaned forward. “Is that an invitation, Ms. Lee?”

His seductive voice was hypnotic. She leaned forward as well. “Maybe.”

The timer dinged, dissolving the spell he'd woven over her. So far, no smoke from the oven, but she was still nervous. She stood and grabbed the potholders. “Nothing's burning.”

Brady followed her over to the oven. “Of course nothing's burning. Because I fixed your oven.”

She opened the door and pulled out the rack, revealing perfectly baked cinnamon rolls. She took them out and set them on the counter to cool, set the pot holders down, and threw her arms around Brady. “You fixed my oven.”

He sported a cocky grin, then held his hands out. “I told you, Megan. Magic hands.”

“So you did. Why don't you put those magic hands on me right now and I'll show you how much I appreciate what you did for me?”

He tugged her toward him and kissed her, a blazing kiss that enveloped her in its heat. For a minute she forgot where she was, until she heard Stacy clear her throat.

“Excuse me, Megan, but I've closed up the front of the shop.”

Megan pulled back, staring at Brady's gorgeous, desire-laden green eyes for just a second before she turned around to face Stacy. “Oh, sure. Thanks, Stacy. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Stacy gave her a knowing smile before she left the room.

Megan turned back to Brady, who wore a very satisfied smirk on his face. “Is that smile for the kiss, or the oven?”

“Maybe both?”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now I need to go finish up at work.”

“How about you come to my place tonight, where I can give you a proper, more thorough thank-you?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Is that a sexual invitation?”

“Well, I actually meant dinner and a decadent dessert, but . . .”

His lips curved. He gave her a quick kiss. “I'll assume it's an open-ended invitation, then. See you later, Megan.”

“Thank you again, Brady.”

He stepped out the back way and she closed the door.

She let out a very satisfied sigh.

All in all, a day that had started out terribly was ending on a really good note.

Now all she had to do was finish up these cinnamon rolls, clean up the shop, then figure out what she was going to fix for dinner tonight.

Because she had a hot date coming over.

IT REALLY SUCKED
that Brady was over an hour late. But he'd had a crisis. An epic damn crisis, and there was nothing he could do about it. Hopefully, the bottle of wine he'd stopped and bought might help to make up for being so late.

He rang the doorbell and Megan answered right away, a concerned look on her face.

“Is everything all right?” she asked as he walked inside with Roxie.

“It is now. It wasn't earlier.”

“All you said in your text message was that you had a crisis and you'd be late. I was worried.”

He looked down at Roxie. “I took Roxie for a walk and as we were crossing the street, she dropped her chicken down the storm drain.”

“Oh. Oh, no. That is bad.”

“Tell me about it. She loves that damn chicken. When I tried to get her to move along, she parked her butt at the curb and refused to move, then tried to scramble into the sewer drain to go after her chicken. Then she whimpered
when I scooped her up and carried her upstairs to the apartment.”

Megan cast a sympathetic look at Roxie, and swept her hand over the puppy's head. “Poor baby. I see she has a chicken now.”

“Yeah. I had to take a quick shower and drive to the pet store to buy her a new one.”

Megan's lips curved. “I assume you were smart about it and bought a backup?”

“I bought four.”

She laughed. “Good call.”

He held up the bottle. “And a bottle of wine for you as an apology.”

Megan waved her hand and led him into the kitchen. “No apologies necessary. I totally understand the chicken emergency.”

He unhooked the leash from Roxie's harness. She dashed off to the living room rug with her new chicken and settled in.

“Obviously she's a happy camper now,” Megan said.

“Yeah, well, she should be. And we're never going for a walk with the chicken again. She's going to have to learn to deal with a little separation.”

“Poor little thing.”

“Her? How about poor me?”

She leaned up and wrapped her hand around the base of his neck to pull him down for a kiss. “Poor you. You've been in rescue mode all day today, haven't you? First me and my oven, and then Roxie and her chicken.”

“Just call me Superman.”

“I might just do that. We'll see what happens later.”

He gave her a look. “Oh, now the pressure's on.”

“I'm sure you can handle it.” She grabbed two wineglasses out of the cabinet. “Glass of wine?”

“Sure. I'll open the bottle.”

She pulled an opener from the drawer and handed it off to him. He opened the bottle and poured the wine into the glasses.

“Something smells good in here.”

“Thanks. I'm making stuffed pork chops.”

“I love pork chops. With apple sauce?”

She nodded. “And mashed potatoes and green beans.”

“I'm starving.” He took a sip of wine. “Hey, this is pretty good.”

She took a sip as well. “It is good. And you're surprised?”

“I don't know jack about wine. But the lady at the liquor store said it was a good brand.”

“It is a good brand. You did well. Let's go take a seat in the living room. When you texted I hadn't put the pork chops in yet, so I waited. They'll be a little while.”

“Okay.”

While they drank wine, he asked her how her oven was. She told him she'd made a batch of cookies just to be sure before she cleaned up for the day, and the oven was working perfectly now. And then she thanked him again for fixing it for her.

“It really wasn't a big deal.”

“It was to me. Who knows if I'd have been able to get someone over to fix it for me? You saved my life today.”

“I'll let you pay me back later.”

She smiled at him over the rim of her wineglass. “I look forward to that.”

“Me, too.”

The timer rang, so she got up to take the pork chops out. He followed her.

“Anything I can do?”

She handed plates and utensils to him. “You can take these into the dining room.”

“Okay.”

He set the table, and Megan brought out the food. By now his stomach was grumbling, so he grabbed the wine bottle and brought that into the dining room, and they sat to eat.

The pork chops were awesome, and so were the side dishes.

“Is there anything you can't do?” he asked in between mouthfuls of food.

She looked up at him. “I can't play piano. Or sing.”

He laughed. “Well, neither can I.”

“Then I guess we'll have to cross Christmas caroling or giving concerts off our list, won't we?”

“Yup. But you sure as hell can cook.”

“Thank you. It's always been a stress reliever for me.”

“Sex is a good stress reliever.”

She coughed and put down her wineglass. “Yes, it is. But that's not always an available option. Cooking is.”

“It's available now.”

“True. But I enjoy cooking.”

He frowned. “Wait. So you don't enjoy sex?”

She shook her head. “That's not at all what I meant. I meant that cooking is something I enjoy all the time and always have. Sex is obviously something I enjoy all the time as well, but I haven't always had a man in my life. Not that I need a man to enjoy sex—or at least an orgasm. Though it's way more fun to have a man give me an orgasm than to give myself one.”

She paused, then stared at him.

“What?” he asked.

“I cannot believe I'm having this conversation with you at the dinner table.”

“Would you rather discuss world events? Or sports? Because I have to tell you, I don't think I'd find them as stimulating as talking about sex with you. Especially if you want to describe in more detail how you give yourself orgasms.”

Her gaze was heated. “Maybe we'll delve more deeply into that over dessert.”

He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over hers. “How about that dessert right now?”

“You haven't finished your pork chops.”

“Yeah, but you're talking about sex. And sex trumps pork chops any day of the week.”

“But I made an actual dessert.”

He refused to be deterred. “Again . . . sex.”

Her lips curved. “I don't know, Brady. I made cheesecake.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then sighed. “Damn. I really like cheesecake.”

“I know you do.”

“Then again, I really like you naked, too. Tough call.”

She laughed, then picked up her wineglass and took a very long drink. He watched the way her lips clasped over the rim of the glass and his cock tightened.

Okay, so maybe he was thinking ahead toward the after-dessert portion of the night. And maybe the teasing they'd been doing had gotten to him. And maybe he'd missed her this past week.

Damn busy jobs.

“Fine,” he said. “Pork chops. Then dessert. Then . . .
dessert
.”

Her lips curved. “Have I mentioned I really like the way you say
dessert
?”

He was watching her mouth when she smiled. He really liked her mouth. “No. But I'll make sure to say the word more often if it turns you on.”

“Pretty much everything about you turns me on, Brady.”

“Keep talking to me that way and I'll never finish my pork chops.”

She just gave him a devilish smile, then turned her attention to her food.

So he did the same. They finished their dinner, and he followed her into the kitchen to help with cleanup.

“I'll load these,” he said, scraping food off the dishes while she ran water into the sink.

And who knew sliding their hands into soapy water together could be so sexy? They ended up touching fingers in the water, bumping hips at the counter as they dried pots and pans, and stopping to kiss every now and then.

He'd never thought of washing dishes as foreplay. Then again, he'd never done dishes with Megan before.

She put a pan into the sink and added soap. Since he'd filled the dishwasher with the dishes and utensils, he came up behind her and slid his hands down her arms and into the water.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I'm helping.” He tangled his fingers with hers, grabbing the pot scrubber.

“Hmm. Can't say I've ever scrubbed a pan this way.”

“Me neither.” He washed the pan, her fingers teasing over his the entire time.

The pan forgotten, she turned to face him, her hands covered with bubbly soap. She ran her fingers up his arms.

“Slippery,” she said.

“Hard.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Hard?”

“You. Touching me. Makes me hard.”

“Then we definitely need to do more of it.” She reached behind her and grabbed a handful of suds, smoothing her hands along his forearms and up his biceps.

In turn, he grabbed her butt and drew her against his erection. There was something about the feel of her, the hot steam rising from the water behind them, that felt tropical and heated and, damn, he was getting worked up. “You're getting me all wet.”

She raked her nails down his wet arms. “The feeling is mutual. Now how about that dessert I mentioned earlier?”

His gaze was direct. “Which one?”

“The one that doesn't have anything to do with food.”

She wound her hand around his neck and pulled him toward her. His lips met hers in a fiery kiss filled with passion and need.

He backed her up against the sink, letting her feel the need he'd been holding in all day. She moaned against his mouth, and all he could think of right now was getting her naked and sinking inside of her.

But apparently Megan had other ideas. She broke the kiss and gave him a wicked smile, then slithered down his body.

“What are you doing, Megan?”

She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “Dessert.”

“That's not cheesecake.”

Her lips tilted. “Cheesecake will have to wait.”

His heart rate ratcheted somewhere in the upper stratosphere as she undid the button on his jeans and drew the zipper down, then tugged his jeans over his hips, along with his boxer briefs.

When she put her warm, still wet hands on him, he shuddered.

“That feels damn good.”

And then he went into total meltdown when she put her mouth over his cock. He stood still as stone to watch—and feel—as she flicked her tongue over the head, then drew his shaft into the warm, wet recesses of her mouth.

It was like dying, in the best way possible. There was nothing like being blown apart by a sexy woman on her knees. She had all the power, and he'd gladly give her anything she wanted if she'd only keep performing that magic with her lips and tongue that was slowly consuming every working brain cell he had.

He was going to lose it, and he wanted to do that inside of her. It had been all he'd thought about for days—and nights. He reached for her, pulling her to stand, at the same time kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his jeans and briefs.

“I wasn't finished,” she said, giving him a wicked smile. “And neither were you.”

“I've got a better idea.” He pulled off his shirt and cast it aside.

She swept her finger across his bottom lip. “I'm not sure what could be considered a better idea than giving you an orgasm.”

“Point taken, but work with me here.” Now it was his turn to kneel in front of her. He tugged at her capris.

“Okay, I'm not one to complain about the direction you're headed,” she said, “but shouldn't we finish you off first?”

He tilted his head up to smile at her. “We'll get there. Hang on to the counter while I get your sandals off.”

She held on to the counter and he slipped off her shoes, then her pants and underwear.

He stood, and pulled her against him and kissed her, breathing in the taste and scent that was uniquely Megan. Something about her always drew him in, made him want and need her in ways that he couldn't explain. All he knew was whenever he was around her, he wanted her. He wanted to touch her and taste her and get lost inside of her.

He'd never wanted to be this close to a woman before, never had those kinds of cravings and needs with one woman. That set off alarm bells, but right now he was running his tongue along her throat and inching his fingers under her T-shirt to tease her breasts through her bra, so he ignored the warning bells. This was way too much fun to be worried about emotion and entanglement. He'd think about all that serious shit later.

He lifted her top and tossed it somewhere across the room, then undid her bra so he could put his mouth on her nipples.

“Even here you taste sweet,” he murmured, capturing a nipple between his lips.

He was rewarded with something that sounded like a sigh and whimper, which made his cock go even harder. He popped the nipple out of his mouth and went to work on the other, teasing and flicking his tongue around the soft bud until Megan's moans got louder. Then he drifted south, kneeling down to spread her legs and put his mouth on her sweet sex.

“Brady.”

His name escaped her lips like a tortured whisper, and he had to admit he really liked the way she said it. He wanted to give her an epic orgasm, the kind that would make her scream his name instead of whisper it out.

He moved his tongue and lips over her, trying to find the right spot that would give her what she needed. When she moaned and thrust against him, he gave her more. And when she cried out, he held on to her hips and let her ride it out until she grew lax against him.

He stood and she tangled her fingers in his hair, drawing him down for a passionate kiss that fired him up hotter and
faster than a supercharged Harley. He turned her around and grabbed the condom he'd shoved in the pocket of his discarded jeans. He kicked her legs apart and slid into her, her sex still quaking from her orgasm.