Page 18 of Beautiful Mess

“Right,” Grace rasps. In my periphery, I watch her nod once. “I’ll let the kids know.” Before she leaves the kitchen, she adds, “Can you leave the oven on so I can toss the cupcakes in?”

“Sure.”

Heart thrashing, I set the hot pan on top of the stove before grabbing enough plates and silverware for everybody. It’s a miracle I’m able to calm my body down before everybody comes back inside.

Well, dinner should be interesting.

Seven

Conway

“More wine?” I ask Grace as I stand from the table.

“Oh, uh…” She looks from her empty glass back up to me. “Sure. Just one more, but I’ll go with you to the kitchen. I gotta frost the cupcakes before the kids hound me.”

As we all ate, I don’t think Grace looked up at me once. All three kids kept the conversation flowing, talking about school and baseball and the birthday party last weekend, so nothing felt awkward. But now that everyone is finished eating and the kids are playing catch outside together, I’m finding myself wanting to bring it up, if only to get a rise out of her. See if she’ll deny being turned on, give me a snarky retort, and show me that same feisty face she always gives me when she’s bickering with me. The crinkle in her brow, the tick in her jaw, and the way her gaze narrows. It’s fucking adorable.

I don’t know which would be more satisfying, having her outright admit she was turned on too, or having her deny it and play it off like she’s unaffected. To be honest, probably the latter. What does that say about me, that the teasing and charged banter coming from her makes me hotter than the idea of her simply folding. The back-and-forth with her feels a hell of a lot like foreplay, at least in the last few weeks. Seeing her on a more regular basis, and outside of playdates, is getting to me. I should reel it way on back, but it’s like my brain and my body are on two very different wavelengths.

In the kitchen, I grab the wine bottle, bringing it up to Grace’s cup. Our eyes meet for a long beat before she looks away. What I would give to know exactly what she’s thinking about. Once I’ve refilled my glass too, I rest my hip against the counter while I watch her work. The music’s still on from before dinner, and my lip twitches as I watch her gently sway along to it like she did before, focused as she frosts each individual cupcake.

Seeing Grace bake in my kitchen, looking comfortable, after having her eat dinner at my table, makes my heart race. It’s domestic, but whereas usually that would fill me with dread and discomfort, like to the point of making my skin crawl, right now, it just…doesn’t. The sight of her in here only turns me on more and puts me strangely at ease. All the heat from before rushes back to me. Once she’s finished frosting them, she grabs one, peeling the liner back before taking a bite. A groan sounds from her as she chews, the sound a double shot of arousal to my dick.

“Good?” I ask, eyebrow cocked.

“So good,” she groans, turning to look at me. “Want a bite?”

“Please.” The supercharged energy from before dinner surrounds us again, somehow amplifying, as I take three steps toward her, holding her gaze as she hands me the partially eaten cupcake. Instead of grabbing it from her, a smirk tugs on my lips as I lean in and take a bite off the end while she continues to hold it up. Grace’s breath hitches as my lip brushes against her finger, and her pupils blow, heat flickering in the darkened orbs.

As I chew, I watch her swallow and lick her lips before appearing to regain some of her composure as she clears her throat and stands a little taller. “Was that really necessary?” she quips, enough annoyance in her tone to make me think she’s cool, calm, and collected. Or at least that’s what she probably thinks, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Yeah, I think it was,” I mutter after I swallow the bite. “You make a mean cupcake, Sin.”

Grace rolls her eyes, lip twitching to fight a smile. “You have frosting on your lip,” she drawls, setting the rest of the cupcake on the counter.

“Where?”

Giving me her best bored expression, she breathes out a sigh, then points to the corner of my mouth. “Right there, you idiot.”

My body warms, heart pounding harder. “Clean it for me.”

“Fuck you,” she says with a chuckle. “Clean it yourself.”

Keeping my voice low, I say, “Why would I do that when I know how bad you want to?”

She snorts, folding her arms defiantly over her chest. “You don’t know shit.”

“Clean. It. For. Me,” I repeat, voice deepening.

Watching as the humor drops from her expression really shouldn’t fill me with as much excitement as it does. For a moment, she doesn’t move. I’m not even sure if she takes a breath. Waiting for the inevitable “fuck off” to come, I’m pleasantly surprised when, instead of saying that or walking away all together, Grace lifts her hand up to my face like she’s about to wipe it away with her finger, but before she can, I grab her by the wrist again and yank her into me.

Her eyes fly up to mine, a breathless, “Oh fuck,” falling off her lips.

With my free hand, I brush the hair out of her face, her pulse racing against my fingers on her wrist. “That’s not what I meant, Sin,” I murmur, no louder than a whisper, bringing my mouth closer to hers.

I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is beating against her hand. Time stands still as we look at each other. Her breath is hot and sweet as it fans my lips. When she doesn’t say anything or move after another few seconds, I think maybe I’ve read the room wrong. Maybe she doesn’t feel the connection between us right now. But then she tugs her hand free and grabs onto either side of my face, flicking her tongue along the corner of my mouth. My breath catches in my throat as our lips brush, and the pillow-soft feel of hers has me wanting to turn my head to find out what it would be like to kiss Grace for real. But before I can, the kids come barreling through the back door, Grace and I jumping back from each other before they can see the predicament we’re in.

“Is it time for cupcakes?” Willow whines as all three round the corner into the kitchen.

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