He handed her the smaller pot and frowned at the ingredients she’d set out on his counter. “Where’s the meat?”
“Right here.” She pulled out the burgers and rolls.
“Whoa!” he said when she pulled out lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes. “That looks like the V word.”
She giggled. “You sound like Pop. He’s not a fan of vegetables, but they’re good for you.”
She looked around the kitchen until he asked, “What?”
“If you have a paring knife and cutting board, that’s all I need.”
He found them for her and opened another drawer, pulling out a corkscrew. “Cabernet Sauvignon?”
“Mmmm. I like to drink it and it tastes great in the fondue.”
“I’m glad you brought meat—firefighters eat a lot of meat.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you take a glass of wine and crash in front of the TV while I make dinner? It won’t take long.”
He poured two glasses of the robust red wine and handed one to her. “I like seeing you in my kitchen, Grace. Can we have the burgers first?”
She shook her head at him. “You’re going to love this, I guarantee. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I save it for the day job.”
She met his gaze and set her glass down. “How ’bout if I join you on the couch as soon as I toss everything together. If I set the timer, it won’t stick to the pot.”
When he just stared at her, she tugged on his arm to get him moving to the living room. “Isn’t there a baseball game on?”
He sat down and flipped through the channels while a tantalizing aroma started to waft in from the kitchen. “Smells amazing.”
“Tastes better,” she called out.
A little while later, she walked into the room and sat beside him. “All it has to do is heat through so the flavors get happy.”
“You sound like my favorite chef.” He put his arms around her and slipped further into the sofa, relaxing for the first time today.
“You feel good,” he said, drinking in her curvaceous warmth. “Fit good too,” he mumbled, drifting off to sleep.
***
Patrick didn’t move when the timer rang, so she eased out of his arms to check the fondue. She dipped a square of crusty bread into the bubbling mixture, touched it to the tip of her tongue, and popped it into her mouth.
The flavors exploded on her tongue. “Mmmm,” she sighed. “Perfect.”
She tossed the salad and found a hot pad for the table. Refilling their wine glasses, she walked back to the living room and stared at the big man sleeping so peacefully. “Maybe I should let him sleep.”
“Hungry,” he mumbled, opening one eye.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Was,” he grumbled. “Till somebody moved and left a cold spot.”
He sounded like a little boy. Unexpectedly moved by the softer side of him, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Come on,” she urged, taking his hand. “I’ll feed you.”
The dubious expression was back on his face. “If I try the fondue, can you fry up two burgers for me?”
She laughed, delighted with the grumpy-little-boy side of him. “Yes, but prepare to be surprised.”
He eyed the pot in the middle of his table and reached for the wineglasses, handing one to her before taking a sip from his. “Thanks for coming, Grace. I’m not always good company after a day like today.”
“My pleasure. Now sit down and eat,” she told him. “No more stalling.”
He chuckled. “There’s no fooling you, is there?”
She shook her head at him. “I have very wily nephews.”
He laughed and held out her chair. Once she was seated, he scooted closer to her. “OK, now how the heck do I eat this?”
“You’ve really never had fondue before?”
He shrugged. “Not in my ma’s repertoire.”
Patrick was being such a good sport after what she sensed had been a grueling day. “My grandmother Mulcahy used to pile up chunks of bread on a plate and pour the fondue on top—my favorite way to have it—but my sisters always liked spearing the bread with a fork then doing the dip and twirl.”
He looked at the fork and the pot, and asked, “Can we have it Grandma’s way?”
“Absolutely.” She passed him the bowl of bread and stood up. “I tend to spill if I try this sitting down.”
She fixed his plate then hers before sitting. When he just watched her, she finally laughed. “OK, I’ll be your royal taste tester.”
She stabbed a cheese-covered cube of bread and started to eat. Patrick did the same, only his eyes widened as he chewed. He dug in after that first bite, pleasing her immensely when he asked for more.
He finished a second helping when she passed the salad to him. “Repeat after me,” she said. “Green things are my friends.”
He laughed as he scooped out generous portions of salad on both of their plates. “I like frogs.”
Their shared laughter warmed her heart. “You’re fun to cook for, even if you are a little grumpy when you’re hungry.”
He hooked his hand around her neck and brushed his lips across hers. He tasted of garlic, cheese, and red wine. She licked her lips, delighted when he softly moaned. “You taste great in grandma’s fondue.”
“I’ll taste better after I have those burgers.”
She got up and turned on the pan. “How done do you want ’em?”
“Rare.”
When they’d eaten their fill, they sat at the small table in his tiny kitchen, sipping wine. She couldn’t recall ever feeling this content…and wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with the feeling; she was used to the highs and lows a relationship went through at the beginning, but not the sense of companionship and abiding affection she also felt for Patrick. Afraid to jinx things, she didn’t want to admit—even to herself—that she was sliding toward love.
He brought her back to the present with a jolt when he asked, “What’s for dessert?”
“Don’t you need to digest first?”
He stretched and patted his stomach. “Look,” he said. “I just made more room.”
She laughed at his antics and got up. “Well, I just happen to have something—in case you were hungry in a couple of hours.”
He got up and followed her to the fridge. “Does it have chocolate in it?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
She tried not to laugh at how disappointed he sounded. “I brought you a slice of whiskey cake.”
His eyes lit up. “Seriously? When did you have time to bake today?”
Grace narrowed her gaze at him. “I didn’t.”
“Who baked it?”
“Who do you think?”
“One of the McCormack sisters?”
“Wrong,” she said. “Mary Murphy.”
“I’ve never been to her store,” he told her, holding the door while she slipped the cake out of the fridge.
“She carries a little bit of everything and always has one or two of her specialties on hand for special occasions.”
He took the cake from her and set it on the counter. “Am I a special occasion, Grace?”
She bumped the door to the fridge with her hip to close it. “Very special,” she whispered, walking into his open arms.
“Maybe I can hold off on dessert for a little while.” He nibbled her earlobe.
She slid her arms around his waist and lifted her face for his kiss. “Maybe we could.”
“Can it sit out on the counter?”
“Yes, why?”
He swept her off her feet and walked down the hallway.
She gasped as his grip squeezed most of the air out of her lungs. “Are you in a hurry?”
“Oh yeah,” he rasped. “Let me show you what I’ve been dreaming of doing since last night.”
He opened the door to his bedroom with his shoulder and knelt on the bed, with Grace still tucked in his arms. “Don’t go anywhere.�
�� He eased her onto the bed and stepped back, staring at her.
Nerves had her licking her dry lips. “What?”
“You look like you belong,” he told her.
His words wrapped around her like a hug. “Do I?”
He reached for the hem of his T-shirt, grabbed it, and yanked it off. “Yeah.”
His body was perfection, as if each and every muscle had been lovingly sculpted for her viewing pleasure. The wide span of his shoulders, the depth of his chest with all of those lovely muscles—“You have a shamrock tattooed over your heart?”
He grinned. “Yeah. You should have seen the look we got when the four of us walked into Shotzie’s Tattoo Parlor asking for them.”
But she was only half listening; the bright Kelly-green symbol of their shared heritage just added another check in the what-will-he-do-next-to-surprise-me column.
“Grace.” Her name on his lips had her looking up to meet his gaze. “You’re not leaving tonight.”
She immediately agreed. “No.”
He shucked off his jeans and stalked toward the bed. “You’re overdressed.” He tugged her shirt off first, her jeans next, until she was naked in his bed.
“That’s better,” he growled.
She shivered, about to ask what was wrong, but lost the ability to speak when she saw the predatory gleam in his eyes as his gaze raked her from head to toe.
“You’re like a dream—every one of my teenaged fantasies rolled into one beautiful package, just waiting for me to unwrap it.”
She finally found her voice. “I think you already did that part.”
His snort of disbelief had her watching for a clue to what was going on in his head. His words surprised her. “I love your sense of humor.”
“Are you going to stare at me all night?” she asked.
He knelt on the edge of the bed. “I promise not to bite you too hard.” Nudging her legs apart, he pinned her to the mattress with his hips.
“You’re skin’s so hot.” She trailed her fingers up and down the line of his spine, twirling her fingertip along the top of his pelvis.
He pressed down, capturing her attention when he bent to kiss a path along her collarbone. When he playfully bit at her shoulders, she pinched his taut backside.
“How flexible are you, Grace?”
She stared up at him and waited a heartbeat for an explanation. When it didn’t come, she asked, “Physically or mentally?”
He snorted. “I guess both.”
“Mentally, I try to be open to new experiences.” The dark desire swirling in his amber eyes had her lady parts twitching.
He swooped down and tongued a new path from the base of her throat to her navel, dipping his tongue in before retreating, sweeping to the left to nip at her hipbone…and then to the right.
“Is that so?” He scooted down until his breath fanned out over her belly. “Let me taste you, baby.”
As she started to nod, he gripped her hips with his hands and lifted her hips toward his mouth. Breathing on the soft curls hiding her center, his eyes promised everything—his lips, teeth, and tongue delivered.
She was a quivering mass as he speared her again and again with his questing tongue. His name was a whispered benediction on her lips as he nibbled his way to the very heart of her. Cupping her backside, he pulled her closer and tongued her deep, drawing every ounce of moisture from her sheathe.
She screamed his name and shattered.
Grace sensed movement, but her eyes refused to focus. Her heart pounded and her breath snagged in her breast. She closed her eyes and felt the bed shift beneath his weight.
“You taste like wild honey,” he said slipping into her wet warmth. “A man could die happy with your essence on his lips.”
No one had ever said such things to her before. No one had ever craved her as Patrick seemed to crave her taste, her scent, her touch.
He moaned out loud when she cupped his cheeks in her hands and pistoned her hips to meet his every thrust.
***
“Again,” he chanted as a keening moan began in the back of her throat.
“I can’t—” The protest strangled on a gut-wrenching moan. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp in his arms.
“Not yet, baby.” He arched back and cupped her breasts in his hands, flicking and teasing them until she started to writhe beneath him again. “That’s it,” he crooned. “Come on, baby, I need you to come with me just once more.”
Her eyes opened, and her gaze locked on his. “Patrick, I—” She lifted her hips as he drove into her, the force of his thrust, moving the bed into the wall. The sound and her body rippling with shock wave after shock wave sent him over the edge into madness.
He couldn’t move but was afraid he was crushing her. “Grace?”
“Mmmm.”
“Look at me?”
“Can’t,” she breathed. “Too tired.”
“Baby, did I hurt you?”
She opened one eye, closed it, and softly smiled. “You destroyed me.”
Pulling her against his heart, he rolled until she was on top. “You devastate me, Grace.”
She sighed and he felt her body go lax. “Grace?”
The sound of his lover’s whisper-soft snore warmed his heart. Since she couldn’t hear him, he rasped, “I’m keeping you.”
She shivered as he ran his fingertips along the length of her spine and over the generous curve of her backside. The urge to bite her there was hard to suppress, but he didn’t want to wake her, so he continued to stroke and caress her until he drifted off to sleep.
A long while later, he felt her stirring and shifted so they were lying like two spoons in a drawer. Nestled with her sweet backside in his lap, he pressed a hand to her belly and fell asleep wondering what it would be like falling asleep with her like this every night.
“Keeping you,” he mumbled.
“Hmm?” she murmured, sounding as if she was about to rouse from the deep sleep she’d been in.
He kept one hand low on her belly while the other lazily stroked up and down between her breasts, relaxing her until she quieted once more in his arms. His breathing slowed to match hers as he let go and fell back to sleep.
Chapter 16
Grace woke to darkness and the overwhelming sense of belonging as Patrick’s arm curved protectively around her. She shifted and he grumbled in his sleep, tightening his grip on her. Pleasure curled inside of her. Snuggling in his arms, she accepted the fact that there was no going back.
She linked her fingers with Patrick’s, wondering what lie ahead for them. Grace was a planner and liked things neat and tidy, organized in color-coded spreadsheets. But she had no control over his work schedule, so she set her ingrained need to organize aside—for now.
When Patrick shifted and rolled, she drew in a breath and had no choice but to roll with him—he had yet to let go of her. Even in sleep, the man was fitting her into his life. He was on his back and she was now on top of him. If he could make room for her as he slept, he could probably make room for her in his busy life as a firefighter. She had already made the first step toward fitting him into her life by spending her two weeks off in Apple Grove, closer to where Patrick lived.
The time they’d already spent together—in bed and out—had her thinking about white picket fences and forever. She’d always thought she was a city girl at heart. But as the sounds of the street below echoed, she already missed the birdcalls she’d heard at her family’s house just that morning—she was a country girl.
Maybe there were more changes ahead for her. She needed to make a new list of goals. That’s where she’d find the answers she sought. Grace imagined Patrick’s work schedule highlighted in red and smiled; hers would be green—the overlap would be brownish-purple, but it could work. She relaxed, realizing that her mind and the unsettled business of work schedules had roused her from a deep sleep.
Envisioning the spreadsheet eased the tension she’d been feeling—we
ll, that and the heat from Patrick’s body. The man was a veritable furnace, putting off an amazing amount of heat. Placing a hand over his heart and her head in the crook of his arm, she laughed softly as one arm hooked around her waist and he toyed with the ends of her hair.
“I guess you’re awake too,” he rumbled, stroking the tips of his fingers to the underside of her ear and along her neck.
Grace closed her eyes as the deep baritone resonated beneath her hand and cheek. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
He slid his fingers along the top of her shoulder and down the length of her arm. “I started to get hungry.” His clever fingers slipped around to toy with her breast. “Are you hungry, Grace?” His breath was warm against her ear, his hands heating her skin as they traveled from her neck to her knees, gently skimming, teasing devastatingly.
She sighed and his hands moved to cup her backside and the words got caught in her throat. Tipping up her head, her gaze met his and she realized he was waiting for her to answer. Good Lord, she thought. A drop-dead gorgeous hunk of man wanted to make love to her—again—but was waiting for her to say yes.
Contemplating the fact that he was a considerate lover, she almost missed the glint of mischief in his eyes. He chuckled and that’s when she noticed the gleam of amused arousal swirling in the depths of his caramel-colored eyes. The combination captivated her as he lowered his mouth to hers. Taking his time, he kissed her deeply, tracing the rim of her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers. Pinpricks of awareness, coupled with desperate desire, erupted wherever his hands molded and his lips touched.
“I have to find out,” he murmured.
Before she could ask, he changed his handhold, slipped out from beneath her, and bent to scoop her in his arms. “Taste test,” he said, carrying her to the kitchen.
Excitement tingled beneath her skin as he set her in the middle of the table. It was cool…and she was not. She shifted from cheek to cheek, wondering what he intended to do. “Patrick?”
He snagged the cake from the countertop and a fork from the drawer. Moving the chair out of his way, he leaned close. “Which is sweeter?” he asked, lifting a forkful of cake to her lips, silently urging her to take a bite.
Welcome Back to Apple Grove Page 17
