The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap

by Kauffman, Donna; Angell, Kate; Kincaid, Kimberly

  “Wow, that’s fantastic. So, you’ll be part of that department?”

  He nodded, smiled, and she could see both the excitement and the pride in his eyes. “Actually, I’ll be heading up the department office for our county, which will be located conveniently in Bealetown. We’re setting it up in a newly dedicated space between the police academy and the county courthouse offices. We officially open the beginning of the new year. So I took the rest of my annual leave to help get it set up—well, and now to deal with this calendar craziness, too.”

  “That’s—wow.” Clara beamed, thrilled for him. “I’m so happy for you, and proud of you. That had to be really hard, with . . . well, with everything you’ve had to deal with. I bet your whole family is just beside themselves.”

  “It’s just my sisters now, but yes, they are. And they’ve been amazingly supportive. Wonderful, truly.”

  Clara belatedly realized she was still standing in his arms when she instinctively tightened her grip at the news update on his family. “Your mom . . . ? I’m sorry. I know you said she was facing a lot of health issues, even back when we were in college.”

  “She passed about four years ago now. That’s why I stayed after dad’s funeral. She was in far worse shape than she’d let on to any of us, but once dad was gone, she couldn’t hide it any longer, and, well . . .” He shook his head. “It was sad, but, as you said about your grandmother, merciful, as there wasn’t anything that could be done by then. We all miss her like crazy, especially this time of year, but . . . it’s kept us all close, and I know that would have made her happy.”

  “Oh, Will, I’m still so sorry.” Clara instinctively hugged him again, purely as a friend, offering solace. But when his arms came around her and held her close, tightened, briefly, as he pressed his face to her hair . . . she couldn’t deny that while her heart was offering sympathy, her body was responding on a whole bunch of other levels.

  He set her back, pushed the hair from her forehead as he looked into her eyes, smiling at her with those oh-so-familiar brown eyes, swamping her again with long-forgotten memories.

  “I’m really glad you crashed my calendar signing,” he said, his dimples flickering briefly as he added, “literally.”

  She laughed, which unfortunately included a snort. His dimples came out in full force with his grin, and she rolled her eyes and flushed at the same time.

  “You’re still cute when you do that.”

  “I’m a dork when I do that.”

  “Yeah,” he said, dropping a light kiss on her nose. “But a really cute dork.”

  Even the playful kiss sent shivers of awareness through her, causing her to speak without thinking. “For the first time, I’m really glad I suck at baking.”

  “Ah. So the children’s cookbook . . . a gift to yourself, then?” His teasing grin brought out that slight cleft in the chin.

  She wanted to lick it. “Uh—” she paused to clear her throat of the sudden dryness she found there. Which was pretty much the only dry thing on her at the moment. “I got a new job. The same day I lost my old job. I’m the Gazette’s new Christmas cookie food columnist.”

  “Congratulations,” he said, then immediately added, “Oh.”

  “Exactly. A cookie columnist who can’t bake. Not much of an improvement over a relationship advice columnist who sucks at relationships.” She gave him a wry grin. “Let’s just say that you’ve ultimately been a lot more successful in your career trajectory than I have.”

  Just then the lights went off in the other half of the coffee shop, reminding them they were on borrowed time.

  “I have faith in you,” he said, smiling, then turned her around so he could help her on with her coat.

  Quite honestly, she hadn’t really recovered from when he’d taken it off of her. He was just the right height to make her feel girly rather than gangly. He definitely had the body now to make her feel entirely and utterly female. She shivered a little when his fingertips brushed the sides of her neck as he eased the jacket up and over her shoulders.

  “Jacket still damp?”

  His mouth was much closer to her ear than she’d realized, making the proximity feel somehow far more intimate than when they’d been hugging each other just moments ago. So much so, she found it really tempting to lean back the tiniest bit into him.

  No men, remember? Hugging an old friend is fine, but there will be no leaning. And no kissing. Kissing leads to sex. You have a career to save first. Focus.

  She wasted another second debating on whether or not it really mattered if she started the celibacy thing a measly one day later, but given she’d already used up five or six hours of the forty-eight she had to her deadline, she really couldn’t afford to lose any more.

  And then there was the fact that despite their long absence from each other’s lives, just during the short time of their reunion she already knew there was no way she’d be able to keep anything she did with Will Mason in the no-strings-attached column.

  “Um, no—no. I’m fine. The hot chocolate is wearing off I guess.”

  He helped her settle the coat on her shoulders, but didn’t immediately step back once she’d wriggled it on straight. She fumbled with the zipper, all thumbs, and he turned her to face him again. “I’ve got it.” His voice sounded even deeper . . . huskier as he brushed her fingers aside and took the corners of her jacket in his hands. He bent his head to fit the metal tab into the slot, and she almost—almost—leaned in to nuzzle a little in that thick, wheat blonde hair. Only now, with the way he’d matured, his face all angular and ridiculously handsome, and his body all big and rugged . . . it did something a lot more mature to her body, too.

  He lifted his gaze to hers, saving her from caving in to the urge, then held it as he pulled the zipper tab slowly upward. She’d just been in his arms a moment ago, but this didn’t feel friendly. He was all crowded up against her, so the backs of his knuckles brushed along the full length of her torso as he closed the front of her coat.

  She could feel the edge of the table pressing into the backs of her thighs, and she might have moaned a little when he eased the zipper tab past the slight-to-almost-nonexistent curve that might have been her breasts, if she had any to speak of. She did have nipples, though, and they stood right up at the drive-by bit of almost-attention. God, even her nipples were desperate for him. She was really in trouble here. She cleared her throat and had every intention of stepping back when he reached the top, only he let go of the tab and took hold of either side of her hood, keeping her right where she stood. Deep in his personal space. Where it was getting all foggy again. A thick, steamy bog of needy hormones that she could so easily slide into, sink under, and take him with her.

  “You should probably put this up.” He slid her hood up, then gently tugged the ties that dangled from either side, his fingers now directly brushing the bare skin of her chin and neck.

  Honest to God, there was no way putting on clothes could possibly be this erotically charged. Once again, she had to be making more of a situation than what it really was. This was all some kind of wild, overblown scenario that only she was living in. He was just helping her on with her coat. Like Pete had just been a nice guy buying her a cup of coffee after a near-death experience.

  She closed her eyes and let out the breath she realized she was holding. What’s happening here is a run-in with an old acquaintance. Nothing more. He’d been a very good friend to her years ago, but that was all he’d been. They’d relived some past memories, caught up on current events, and, yes, some of those memories had been quite . . . revelatory. But she didn’t trust herself enough at the moment to make a judgment call on whether or not any of it meant anything in the here and now.

  In a lot of ways, important ways, attractive ways, he was still the same Will Mason, her Will Mason. But he was also, quite clearly, and very magnificently, a whole lot more. And she hadn’t been around while that had been happening for him, so she didn’t know how it might have changed h
im. Plus, it had to be said, that kind of transformation clearly hadn’t happened for her. So . . . she didn’t know the rules that went along with who they were now.

  He’d grown up to become some kind of Adonis that women drooled over. In public. Standing in long lines, even, just for the privilege of saying hello. She, on the other hand, was only good at getting dumped, in public, while standing in line at the grocery store.

  “Hey.”

  She realized her eyes were still closed. Possibly scrunched a little. “Hey, what?” she asked, not opening them. Mortification was already starting to seep in. He was her friend. Her now very hot friend. Who probably flirted as easily as he breathed. But that was it. She was pretty sure, that was it.

  “What’s going on in there, under that hood?” He still had his hands on either side of it, holding the ties, knuckles still brushing under her ducked chin. His hands were so warm. And potentially serial flirter or not, he was every bit as comforting a presence now as he’d been then. More so even, admittedly, given his added physical dimensions.

  “I’m just trying really hard not to go three for three in a single week,” she finally murmured.

  His knuckles pressed upward, until her face was lifted to his. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes. And drowned, effortlessly, helplessly, in the sea of warm, decadent brown staring back at her.

  “Three for what three?” To his credit, while his eyes were inviting, he’d been serious with the question, not teasing.

  “Grocery store. Book store.” She paused, tried like crazy to see if she could find answers in all that warm, inviting brown. “Coffee shop.”

  His lips lifted a little. “I won’t let you destroy anything between here and the door. Promise.”

  To her surprise, especially given her now-thundering heart, she smiled. “Thanks.”

  “But?” He searched her eyes. “That’s not what you meant.”

  She gave a short shake of her head, which had the unfortunate result of causing his fingers to brush along the side of her jaw. She might have shivered a little. Her knees definitely went a bit wobbly. She closed her eyes for the second time, partly in familiar embarrassment, partly to try and regain her equilibrium. Which she wasn’t going to be able to do while staring into his eyes.

  “Parker.”

  Just that one word, that silly, boundary-setting, best-friends-only pet name . . . well, it did all kinds of things, sentimental things, lust-fueled things, to her insides. But it was that note, that rough little note that she’d never heard before, that had her opening her eyes again.

  “You didn’t misread anything this time.” And then he tugged her that spare inch closer, and her breath caught, her racing heart stuttered, as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  “Will,” she breathed against his lips. “I—I don’t want to screw anything up. With us.”

  He lifted his head just enough to look into her eyes. “There hasn’t been an us to screw up for nine years.”

  “True. But now—”

  “Now I get a second chance. I don’t want regrets. And if I don’t kiss you, and find out what kind of us there might yet be . . . I always would.”

  She hadn’t thought her heart could beat any harder, or that her pulse could race any faster. She’d been wrong. Her gaze drifted to his mouth.

  This time she was pretty sure that low guttural groan came from him.

  “Parker . . . what do you want?”

  Her breath caught. And she realized that every time she’d started something with someone—even if it turned out it was only in her own head—her only concern had been figuring out what they wanted, and trying to give that, be that. No one had ever, not once, asked her what she wanted. “I want . . . time.”

  He started to lift his head, with the intent of moving back entirely, and her heart tilted even farther in his direction, because he’d just given her proof that he’d put her needs, her wants, above his own. But that wasn’t why she’d said it . . . or what she’d meant.

  “Your new job. No men.” His voice was deep now, barely a rough whisper. “Right. I’d say I was sorry I pushed, but I’m not. But I will step back. If that’s what you want. For now.”

  “No,” she said. “I mean, yes, I said that, about the job, about no men, and I meant it, mostly . . . but that’s not—” She broke off, knowing she should think this through more clearly, but nothing was clear at the moment. That fog between them was so drenched with sexual tension, now that she knew he was right there in the fog with her, she had to press her thighs together to keep her legs from shaking.

  She traced her fingertips along his jaw, barely able to believe she was really doing this. So she said the words before she could chicken out . . . or wise up. “A lot of time has passed without you. I can’t get that back. So, that’s what I want. I want time now.” She looked into his eyes. “Time with you. That’s what I meant. I want that time.”

  “Wow.”

  Clara’s eyes had already started drifting shut as she slid her hand around the back of Will’s neck, her lips parting as she anticipated the feel of his mouth on hers . . . only to freeze and blink her eyes right back open again when she realized that neither she nor Will had said that. They both turned to look at Lonzo, who stood only a few feet away, gulping, and looking more than a little flushed.

  “I’m . . . so sorry. Really. Very . . . sorry. But—”

  “Right,” Will said, then cleared the gravel from his throat. “Sorry. We’re heading out.” With a sheepish grin, Will gave Clara a quick, sexy wink, then flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, grabbed his gear bag from the booth, and took her hand. “Come on.”

  They stepped outside into a swirling snowstorm. This time, she was the one to say it. “Wow.”

  “I should have checked in.” He smiled at her as flakes frosted both of their hoods. “I guess I got a little distracted.”

  Clara smiled back, and captured a snowflake on her tongue out of habit. Her body was still clamoring for what it had been about to get back in the coffee shop. A little cooling off was in order. Probably for the best, anyway. Which . . . she knew that was true, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. She opened her mouth to tell him she was going to head home before it got any worse—not sure whether she meant the road conditions, or the condition of her aching, lusting body—but she lost all of her words and her breath when he spun her neatly up against him.

  “I forgot you used to do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Capture snowflakes on your tongue. Did you know that I was not a fan of our mountain winters until I met you?”

  God, but he said the damnedest things. Just when she needed her defenses to hold firm . . . not melt away as easily as . . . well, a snowflake.

  “Snowflakes always made you happy,” he said. “I couldn’t help but wonder if yours just somehow tasted better.” And then his hand was sliding inside her hoodie, his warm palm cupping her neck as he tipped her face upward. She closed her eyes and spluttered out a laugh as the flakes landed rapidly here, there, and everywhere, on her heated skin. She opened her mouth to protest, only to lose that ability—again—when she felt his lips on her cheek. And then on her chin. Her temple. The tip of her nose. The corner of her eyebrow. She sighed . . . and let him taste her snowflakes.

  Then he was urging her chin upward, bringing her wet, damp lips straight up against his warm, hard, inviting ones. He groaned, deep in his throat, as he took her mouth. And it was nothing less than that. And everything she’d always wanted.

  She slid her hands to his shoulders, more to hang on than with any intent of her own. He teased her lips open, then mated warmth with warmth, playing, taking, giving, until she was so worked up she wouldn’t have known if they were in the middle of a blizzard, or on a hot, tropical beach.

  “Snowflakes are pretty good. But you taste even better,” he murmured against her lips. “And I should let you get out of this snowstorm.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” was al
l she was capable of. And then, with a strong arm around her shoulders and a hand on her arm, he was shepherding her across the parking lot, steadying her from slipping in the rapidly accumulating snow.

  She squealed as the ankle-deep drifts soaked her shoes, and found herself immediately aloft in his arms.

  “Oh! Will! No! I’m way too—you really shouldn’t—”

  “Hey, pipe down, short stuff. I do this for a living, remember? Normally it would be over my shoulder and we’d be climbing down a ladder outside of a burning building, so just hold on and enjoy your snowflakes, okay?”

  She held on . . . but for once, snowflakes ran a distant second in terms of sensory pleasures. Never, not once in her entire life, past toddlerhood anyway, had anyone carried her. Anywhere. Ever. And given it might be that long before it ever happened again, she looped her arms around his neck and did as he asked. She enjoyed it. The feel of his arms holding her, being braced against his chest, feeling his warm breath puff little crystalline clouds with every snowy step. She only wished she’d parked farther away. And short stuff? It was like she’d entered some kind of parallel universe. She felt almost . . . delicate.

  “Keys?” he asked.

  She just blinked at him, still steeping in the moment.

  “So I can unlock your car and not put your feet in the snow again.”

  “Oh.” She fumbled for her purse, fumbled some more for her keys, and did her very best to not ask him what happened next. She produced the keys and pointed to her small SUV. “Thank you.”

  He smiled down at her, snowflakes frosting the tips of his eyelashes. “My pleasure.”

  Seriously, it was such a fairytale moment. Clearly, she’d fallen and hit her head earlier when she’d first arrived and this whole episode was some kind of concussive dream, from which she’d wake up any moment. So she closed her eyes and willed herself to stay unconscious. Just a little bit longer.

  She pretended not to hear the locks click open, and she shamelessly didn’t even try to stand on her own two feet as he opened the door.

  “Watch your head.”