“I know you were helping Angel make pies, but I didn’t know you baked on your own, too.”
She met his gaze with a humorous one of her own. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. My father wasn’t good in the kitchen, so I took over. And since he rarely remembered to buy birthday cakes, I used to bake them myself, and it became our tradition. Of course, this one’s going to be unfrosted.”
She perched her hands on her hips and frowned at the cake in the oven. “Unless we pick some up at the store on the way.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Not a problem.”
“Good. Thanks.” Sara turned and began cleaning up the kitchen, needing the distraction from Rafe’s constant presence.
The cake had been an inspired idea and had kept her busy, unlike the book, which she’d tried unsuccessfully to read for hours. She kept realizing she couldn’t remember a thing and had to turn back to where she’d started. All because Rafe had been sitting in the same room, restlessly moving around, alternately reading the paper and watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Ever since their talk this morning, his mood had changed. No longer angry, he seemed more contemplative. It was as if he was looking for something that would explain her to him.
She couldn’t figure herself out. How did he expect to?
She rinsed the items she’d used to cook and loaded them into the dishwasher, then cleaned off the countertops. The cake needed another half an hour, and she set the timer to remind her.
Finally finished, she let out a satisfied sigh. She turned, surprised to find Rafe standing right there.
In her breathing space.
His gaze was deep and dark, his expression giving nothing away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Everything. You, me, being in the same house, the same room, pretending we’re not looking at each other. Wanting each other.”
Her mouth grew dry. “Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“I wasn’t the one who pulled away,” she reminded him.
He scowled. “Not physically, but you sure as hell put on the brakes when you made that toast.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She couldn’t argue with the truth. But he wanted more than she was capable of giving.
“I want to propose an idea.” He ran his hand down her nose. “Flour again,” he said, holding up his finger.
She shivered under his touch, her br**sts growing heavy, her ni**les taut. “What was your idea?” she managed to ask.
“I suggest we go back to the way things were without any discussion that’s bound to throw things off balance.”
Hmm. That stumped her. Sex with no discussion about what it meant. Sex without strings. That’s the way they’d started out, and she’d really been enjoying it, but ever since she said those words out loud, friends with benefits, she’d had a knot in her stomach larger than her fist. And now that he’d actually stated he’d go along with her request, something inside her wanted to cry.
Then he kissed her, and she only wanted him.
The kiss started in the kitchen, and she didn’t care if they finished there. She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She opened her mouth, and he slid his tongue deep inside, swirling around and around until her knees went weak. He took her hand and pulled her to the couch. They shed their clothes along the way.
He lay down and pulled her over him, and soon he was entering her, sliding high, far and deep. She gasped, feeling him connect with her completely. Every roll of his hips, each thrust as he penetrated deeper, took her higher, until climax was just moments away.
And then he slowed down, kissing her endlessly, focusing on her mouth, making love to it with his tongue, mimicking what his body had been doing to hers seconds before. Her body was on heightened alert, ready to go off, and now the tension eased, still beautiful, still there, waiting for him to start again.
He slid his hands between them and cupped her br**sts, massaged her ni**les with his palms.
She moaned. The friction felt so good she began to move her hips in circles, seeking harder contact again. She wanted him to thrust harder. Needed to feel him pulse inside her and make her come.
He gripped the back of her hair with one hand and wrapped the other around her back, and did just that. He drove into her, faster, harder, and she accepted each deep plunge until he took her up and over into spiraling oblivion.
Rafe knew the moment she came, freeing him to let go, and he did, gliding in and out of hers, pumping his hips against her body until he couldn’t think or hear, only feel as, skin to skin, he came inside her.
He barely remembered collapsing beneath her on the couch, or her falling over him. As awareness came back, he heard her ragged breaths, the sound like music in his ears.
“I must be heavy,” she finally said.
“Couldn’t tell you. I can’t feel anything.”
She jumped off him, and he laughed, reaching for her but missing. “I’m kidding. Get back here.”
She shook her head. “Shower. And then I have to get ready for dinner at your mother’s.”
“I’ll be right in.” He laid his hand over his head and groaned.
Every time he thought he had a solution to his problems with Sara, he only ended up sucking himself in deeper. Because that hadn’t been sex. Because he loved her.
The truth hadn’t snuck up on him, and he wasn’t surprised. That special kernel of feeling had been planted a long time ago, back when they were partners. It had merely grown since then, often slowly. Sometimes it had even gone into hibernation, but it had been there all along.
Unfortunately, whether it went anywhere was out of his control.
APPARENTLY DINNER AT Rafe’s parents’ house was always a big event. Any family member who wanted to come over was welcome. Today’s group included Pirro, Aunt Vi and, to everyone’s surprise, Nick and Angel. Everyone was so happy to see them together, nobody asked any questions, afraid of bringing up a subject that might cause trouble between them.
Sara’s homemade cake had been a success. Later, after everyone had finished coffee and dessert, different groups gathered in various rooms to talk.
Sara pulled Angel aside, wanting to catch up with the other woman. She started by reassuring her again that she wasn’t angry about the Bachelor Blog incident.
Toni bounced into the kitchen, her ponytail bobbing in time to her walk. “Sara, guess what?”
“What?” she asked the teen.