Page 116 of Collect the Pieces

He slips both hands around my waist, pulling me against him. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Happy to.” I reach for a roll of paper towels and tear off a sheet. He releases me and I grab a thin spatula, peeling two still-warm, wobbly cookies from the tray. “They’re not cooled enough.”

“They’re not going to last long.” He takes the paper towel, carefully folding it around the cookies.

We step onto the back porch, holding hands. I still have a few minutes before visitors start arriving. My gaze scans the parking lot. Several attendants are parked in the back. The garage door is open. Paul will pull the hearse out soon.

“Paul said you’re expecting a lot of people?” Jigsaw asks.

“Yes. Her death was kind of sudden. I mean, she was elderly but in good health. She was active in her church and did a lot of volunteer work.”

His expression hardens at the word church. Briefly, but I catch it. Understandable.

Still holding hands, I walk him to his bike, reluctant to let him go. As if admitting I love him means I can’t bear to see him leave. Or I’m afraid he won’t come back.

He sets the cookies on the seat of his bike and pulls me into his arms again. “You know I don’t want to leave, right?”

It’s like he knows exactly what I needed to hear.

“I don’t want you to go.” I squeeze him tighter. “But I don’t want you in trouble with your club, either.” More seriously, I add, “Will you tell everyone I said hello? Will Shelby be there?”

“Uh, I think she’s down in Tennessee recording.” He scrunches up his face. “Rooster was pretty grouchy last time I touched base.”

“Awww. They’re so sweet.”

He flicks his gaze to something behind me. “I hope you’ll be able to come up again. Soon.”

“Me too.”

He steps closer, cupping the back of my neck, careful not to mess up my hair, neatly captured with a silver barrette. His thumb presses firmly under my chin, tilting my head as he lowers his face to mine. I curl my arm around his neck as his lips ghost over mine. His minty breath washes over me and he sweeps his tongue between my lips, sliding it against mine. I let out a startled moan. He sweeps his hands down my back, clutching my hips like he can’t get enough of me and needs a reminder of how I feel under his fingers.

Somewhere behind us, I’m aware of a car pulling into the lot. We’re right at the corner of the house where anyone could see us as they pass by.

Jigsaw kisses the corner of my mouth, then along my jaw to the sensitive spot on my neck. He sharply pulls back as if yanked by a leash of restraint. “If I don’t stop now, I’m going to take you back upstairs…” he whispers, letting me fill in the blanks.

“I think I’d let you.”

He captures my hand, lifting it to his lips. Dusting a kiss against my knuckles while holding my gaze, silently communicating all the other places on my body he wants to kiss.

“I better go before Dad comes looking for me.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Damn, I need to run upstairs and grab my planner.”

His lips curve. “Go ahead. Let me watch you go inside.”

So protective, even though it’s broad daylight and we’re about to have a hundred people in and out of this house.

I nod to his bike. “Be safe.”

“Always.”

Flushed and flustered from our searing kiss I turn and head toward the back porch. Time to put on my professional mask. I can’t properly greet mourners with the lovesick grin of a giddy teenager plastered on my face.

“Margot?”

My entire body somehow freezes and recoils at the same time. A feeling I’ve only ever experienced with one man.

Daniel.

You have got to be shitting me.

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