Flirting With Temptation (30 page)

“Okay, now I’m impressed,” Jeff said, as she lifted the perfectly cut roll and placed it on the pan covered in butter and brown sugar.

“That’s the idea.” She cut the next one, while he picked up the dental floss container and got a string of it for himself.

“All right, you’ve had enough fun. Move over.”

She did, then marveled at the muscled, gorgeous man in her kitchen, having a great time learning how to cut cinnamon rolls.

“Jeff,” she said, as he skillfully cut the remaining rolls and put them all on the pan.

“Yeah?”

She covered the rolls with a clean kitchen towel. “These will have to rise a while now before we can bake them.”

“Are we waiting until morning to bake them?” he asked.

“We can, or we can bake them later on tonight if you want. But either way . . .”

“Either way what?” he asked.

“We should think of something to occupy our time while that dough rises.”

He started washing his hands, and Babette slid her hands under the warm water with his, running her fingers across his, then sliding them to his palms, and all the while, moving against him and wanting to move even closer. “I can think of several things, and several places to do those several things,” he said, turning off the water. Then he picked her up, put her on the counter and slid the sides of her robe apart. “Starting right here.”

Babette woke up Saturday morning in Jeff’s arms, where she’d spent the majority of the night, though in several locations. They’d made love in her bedroom, then they moved to the cove and made love there. On their way back to the condo, they’d had a very hot, very steamy encounter in the sauna. And then each time she’d rolled over in the night, he’d been waiting, hard and deliciously ready to go again.

“Morning,” he said. He was propped on one elbow and looking down at her, and she suddenly wondered if he slept at all. Every time she’d awakened, he’d been awake, or had awakened right then. And now he was awake again, and looking at her the same way, like he couldn’t wait to have her. She knew her hair was probably one big tangle, knew her eyes were undoubtedly ringed with black mascara smudges since she’d certainly never taken the time to remove her makeup, and she suspected that her face had a bit of razor burn, since his five o’clock shadow had become more substantial as the night had progressed, and he’d used that tingling stubble in all sorts of interesting ways. She had razor burn in several places, but it was worth it. Well worth it.

Even so, he was looking at her as though she looked beautiful, and Babette couldn’t deny that she felt that way. “Morning.”

He ran a finger down her jaw. “I scratched you,” he said, verifying the razor burn she suspected.

“I didn’t mind.” She inhaled and was welcomed with the tantalizing scent of cinnamon and sugar. “The cinnamon rolls?”

“I put them in the oven a half hour ago,” he said, grinning. “I figured ten o’clock was late enough for you to sleep in, and I was getting hungry.” Then he shrugged. “Plus, I wanted to see how we did cooking. They’d risen so much the ones on the side were hanging completely off the pan. I guess we did a good job. We’ll know for sure after we taste them.”

“A half hour ago?”

He nodded. “Which means they’re almost done. You ready to see how good we were in the kitchen?”

“We were very good in the kitchen,” she said slyly.

He winked. “Yes, we were, but I meant are you ready to see how good we did making the cinnamon rolls in the kitchen.”

“I’m betting we were very good at that too.” She climbed out of bed and slipped into a T-shirt and shorts. She didn’t bother with underwear, since she suspected she’d be losing the clothing as soon as they’d eaten.

She entered the kitchen to find Jeff had already set the table with two glasses of orange juice and two plates filled with cinnamon rolls. And by filled, she meant
filled
. The rolls were enormous, at least three times the size of the ones she’d made earlier in the week with Rose and Hannah. The plates barely held them, and they were no tiny dessert plates; Jeff had used full dinner plates, and each of them was covered with cinnamon roll. “That’s huge,” she said, eyeing the one in front of her chair.

“You seem to be saying that a lot lately,” he said, with that sexy smile and his turquoise eyes smoldering.

“Very funny. I’m serious. These are the biggest cinnamon rolls I’ve ever seen. Do you really think I can eat all of this?”

“I say you give it your best shot. I know I am.” He picked up his fork and took a bite. “Man, that’s good.”

She couldn’t resist and broke off a piece, then popped it in her mouth. The mixture of warm butter and brown sugar and cinnamon met her tongue and melded together to taste like pure heaven. She moaned her contentment. “We shouldn’t have put all of that filling on the dough.”

“Why not?” he asked, still digging into his, while she continued on hers as well.

“Because I can so see me licking this off
things
.” She ran her finger through the warm center of the cinnamon roll, scooping out an excess of the filling, then popped it in her mouth and sucked it.

He stopped chewing and stared at her mouth, diligently licking and sucking the sugary mixture away. “We’re making more of that filling tonight. Or maybe right after we finish eating,” he announced.

“Okay.” She ate more, licked more, and truly enjoyed the way his face tensed and his eyes grew darker blue as she did. Talk about power. Right now, she had it, and she enjoyed it to the max.

“You’re cruel.”

She continued eating, doing her best job to lick and suck on something every time he looked her way. “I try.” She giggled, ate some more, then knew she’d had enough. “I’m done.” She hadn’t even eaten half.

“I could be, but it’s too good,” he said, still eating. “And we’ve got a pan full of them in the kitchen.”

“We can send them over to Rose. I know the seniors would enjoy them. And it’ll give them a chance to brag about my cooking too.”

“Our cooking,” he amended. “But before we take those over . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t think it’d take me long to mix another batch of that filling.”

She laughed. It’d been a long time since she’d spent the night with a man, a long time since she’d had breakfast the morning after too. And, have mercy, she was having fun. “I suppose I still have room for more . . . filling.”

Chapter 19

G
ertrude pointed toward the White Sands entrance, and Paul turned his car into the parking lot. “I hope she doesn’t mind the surprise,” she said.

“I’m sure she’ll love it that you’ve come down to see her,” Paul said, reaching out to touch her hand on the seat.

That simple touch sent a frisson of desire skimming down her spine. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so right. And she could thank Paul . . . and Henry.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing, though? I could be wrong about what I heard in her voice,” Gert said, questioning her impulsiveness. Maybe her gumption shouldn’t have been put into place, when it came to Babette and her relationships, or lack thereof. But Gertrude knew she had heard a hint of despair in Babette’s tone last night, and she simply couldn’t let that be without attempting to help.

“I know you’re doing the right thing,” Paul consoled. “Besides, from what you said about his little deal with Babette, there’s more going on than she realizes.”

“You think the same thing I do, don’t you?” Gert asked, really enjoying having someone to talk to about her thoughts and concerns. She could get used to that.

“That he bullied Babette into not flirting because he didn’t want to see her flirt with anyone but him?”

Gert nodded.

“Oh, yeah. That boy still has something for your granddaughter, and he simply can’t figure out what to do about it.”

“Seems kind of odd that I’m down here trying to help her out with her relationship. She’s the Love Doctor,” Gert said with a slight grin, and Paul pulled into the resort.

“Trust me, doctors will take time to examine every ailment except their own. Maybe she’s the same way,” Paul said, and he sounded so smart, Gert thought.

“Physician, heal thyself?” she asked.

“Exactly.” Paul stopped the car at the valet and got out.

“You think we’ll be able to convince her that she needs to forget this getting Kitty back with Jeff thing and go after what she wants?” Gert asked.

“He may need some convincing too,” Paul said, as they entered the White Sands lobby. “You did say that he has a problem believing she can commit.”

“Yeah, but she
can
commit when she wants to. We’ve just got to make sure Jeff understands that, and I’m not leaving here until he does.”

“I believe you.” His mouth crooked up on one side, the way it did when she amused him.

Gert liked amusing him. She liked doing lots of things with him, talking to him, confiding in him, laughing with him, being held by him.

As if he knew where her thoughts had turned, he brushed a soft kiss against her lips. “We’ll take care of things here with those two.”

“I appreciate you coming with me.”

“Can’t think of a thing I’d rather do.” He stopped at the elevators. “Know her condo number?”

“Two fourteen.”

Within minutes, they were standing outside Babette’s condo, but there was no reason to knock. The door was open, and there was quite a commotion going on inside.

“What in the world.” Gert entered to see three women older than Gert scurrying around in a tizzy and Babette moaning on the sofa.

She hurried in.

“Oh, who are you?” one of the women asked.

“Gertrude Robinson, her grandmother,” Gert said, getting to Babette and dropping on her knees beside the sofa. “Honey, what happened?”

“I’m Rose,” the other woman said, “and I’m trying to figure out what to do for something like this, but we’re all not really certain. We were about to take her to the emergency room. Tillie’s trying to find her identification and insurance information, and we need somebody to go check on Jeff. He went up to his condo to see if he had any Pepto Bismol, but never came back. And I think he ate more of it than she did, from what she said.”

“Granny?” Babette asked, her eyes squinting in pain and her hands holding her stomach, which looked like she was in her third month of pregnancy. And Babette Robinson had never had a belly in her life.

“What, dear? What happened, honey?”

“I read the ingredients wrong,” she said, then moaned out again and cradled her stomach.

“Three tablespoons of yeast instead of three teaspoons,” Rose said, shaking her head. “We shouldn’t have left her on her own in the kitchen yet.”

“But she got the rest of it right,” one of the other women said from where she was thumbing through Babette’s wallet, probably searching for identification and insurance information.

“Jeff,” Babette said between moans. “He’s hurting.”

“Where is he?” Gert asked Rose.

“He went up to his condo about ten minutes ago, but he should’ve been back by now. I could tell he was in pain, but I bet it got worse. I think he ate the whole cinnamon roll. Babette barely ate half.”

Gert turned to Paul, standing nearby. He had his cell phone out and held up a palm. Then she listened as he talked to someone about delivering medications, then told them what order to place. She’d nearly forgotten his occupation. He’d been retired from his family practice for years, but evidently, he could still call in prescriptions, and he’d done that for Babette and Jeff. “Can you go check on Jeff?” she asked when he hung up.

“What’s the number to his condo?” he asked, and Babette muttered, “Four twenty.”

“What’d you call in for them?” Gert asked, as Paul headed toward the door. “Metoclopramide, or Reglan. With that much yeast in them, and as swollen as she obviously is, I think that’s what they’ll need.”

“Will it,” Babette started, then gripped her stomach, “work fast?”

“It should,” Paul said. “And there’s a local pharmacy that delivers, less than a mile away. They’ll be here soon. Just make sure someone brings up the meds for Jeff to his condo. I’ll be there. They’re delivering them here.”

“Thank you,” Gert said, then watched Paul leave.

“Rowdy?” Babette asked.

“No, Paul,” she said calmly, pushing Babette’s matted hair away from her face. At Babette’s furrowed brows, she added, “I’ll explain later.”

Chapter 20

G
ertrude’s hand instantly tightened around Babette’s cell phone, which she’d borrowed to communicate with Paul throughout the night, as Paul nursed the patient on the fourth floor while she nursed the one here. It’d taken more than one prescription called in, but he’d finally found the perfect combination to not only relieve some of the internal pain from puffing up like a blowfish, but also to allow Babette and Jeff—who was much worse than Babette, according to Paul—to sleep.

Paul and Gert didn’t sleep at all, however, both of them staying up to take care of Jeff and Babette and talking to each other on the phone to help them fight the pull of exhaustion. He didn’t suspect either of their patients to need anything, but Gert didn’t want to risk Babette waking up in pain, and Paul had promised Babette that he’d make sure Jeff wasn’t in any either.

And at some point in the middle of the night, while she and Paul had chatted nonstop like two teens, Paul told her that he loved her.

Now he was saying something similar. Three words, but they weren’t about the two of them. “What did you say?” she asked, wanting to hear it again, for her granddaughter’s sake. She glanced at Babette, still sleeping.

“I said he loves her.”

“How do you know? Did he tell you?”

“Didn’t have to. The guy was hurting more than almost any patient I’ve ever seen, and he hardly acknowledged it. Instead, he kept asking how she was.”

Gert smiled. “She asked about him every time she woke up too. She’s still sleeping, by the way. Is he?”

“Just woke up. He’s a tough one, that boy. Got up and headed to the shower, saying he was going down to check on her. Personally, even with all the medications he took, I didn’t expect him to be out of bed before tomorrow.”