Page 17 of Desperation

“Sure,” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “Can you grab the eggs and butter out of the fridge?”

That’s good. Put some distance between us.

He retrieved the items I requested and returned to my side, placing them in front of me.

“What next?” he asked, his elbow brushing over the bare skin of my arm.

Shit. That didn’t really solve anything. He was still too close.

“Can you preheat the oven?” He did as I asked, while I started mixing the ingredients. Once again, he returned immediately to stand next to me. He was like a damn boomerang. He just kept coming back. It struck me then that he was like that in general. He kept showing up at my house, and for some reason, I continued to be surprised every time. Aside from Drake, he was the only person in my life who showed up for me time after time.

“How do you do all this without following a recipe?” Devon’s question snapped me back to the present.

“I do follow a recipe. It’s all up here,” I quipped, tapping my temple with my index finger. He grinned at my playful response as I dug into the dough with a cookie scoop.

“Wait a second.” He studied my face a moment, his gaze moving past my eyes. “You have flour,” he began, reaching for my hairline, “right here.” His thumb brushed over the side of my face. Once. Twice. On the third swipe, his eyes found mine and locked. His hand stilled. So did my breath. I didn’t move aside from the galloping beat of my heart.

His fingers slid into my ponytail, tipping my face up to meet his. “Hannah,” he whispered. My lips parted, his name on my next breath, but nothing came out. His mouth crashed against mine, his kiss stealing my words, and with it, all rational thought. His tongue was hot and probing, the faintest hint of spearmint flavoring his kiss. My hands fisted in his shirt as his free arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me in close.

But not too close.

My heavy, sensitive breasts barely grazed his chest before my growing belly got in the way, keeping our bodies from being flush against one another. I only had a split second to enjoy the heady sensation before reality came crashing back on top of me.

The hands clenching the material covering his chest flattened, and I shoved him away, breaking the seal of his lips over mine. He took a step back, shock and confusion warring over his features.

“We can’t do this,” I breathed out, fear and panic gripping me like a vice. “You can’t kiss me, King.” He winced, and I instantly regretted using his nickname. He’d once said his friends called him “King,” but I never used the moniker, opting instead for his first name. It felt special to me, more intimate in a way. No one else called him Devon, and I’d just tarnished that.

“I … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Drake will be home any minute. If he caught us together…” I let the unspoken consequences hang in the air between us.

“I know, and I’m so sorry I put your safety in jeopardy,” he repeated his apology, and I noticed he didn’t address what we’d done.

“But you’re not sorry for kissing me, are you?” His gaze heated and dropped to my lips.

“No,” he admitted without hesitation or remorse. “I could never be sorry for that.”

“What if I hadn’t wanted it?” I challenged. He took a step closer to me, and I took a step back, bumping into the adjacent counter. I was backed into the corner, caged in with nowhere to run. And I didn’t want to.

“I don’t think that’s the issue here, darlin’.” God, he was right. He was so right. He reached for me again, and this time I would let him keep going. I wouldn’t stop him when he held my face in his hands and devoured me like I was his last meal. He froze at the sound of keys jingling in the lock and jumped back. I immediately turned back to the cookie dough, knowing what that sound meant. My heart pounded, fear gripping my insides and twisting them into knots.

“Damn it, Hannah,” Drake hollered from the front entrance. I stiffened, and a wave of nausea rolled over me.He knows.“You left the door unlocked. How many times do I …” His voice trailed off when he caught sight of Devon.

“Hey, man,” he greeted Drake. I looked down, unable to meet my boyfriend’s gaze, and noticed dough all over Devon’s hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” Drake asked, his lip curled up in disgust.

“Waiting on your ugly ass to get home.”

Drake snorted out a laugh. “Ugly?” he questioned with a hand pressed to his chest in mock surprise. “Hardly, bro. You’re just mad because I got all the girls in high school. You were too busy chasing tail to realizetheywere chasingme.” He smirked and went to the fridge, setting a case of beer on the bottom shelf. “But seriously, dude. Why the fuck are you covered in flour and cookie dough? Am I gonna have to take your man card while you change your name to Betty Crocker?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Devon deadpanned. “Hannah’s teaching me how to bake cookies.”

“Why? You gonna make a batch for all your SEAL buddies?” He said it teasingly, but there was something else in his tone. Resentment maybe.

“I might,” Devon replied in a playful challenge, ignoring the undercurrent in Drake’s question.

“I better get these into the oven,” I interjected before this conversation could go south. I passed between the two men on my way to the oven, feeling the tension thicken as I did, and I slid the cookie sheet onto the center rack.

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