Page 75 of True North

He cups my jaw with one hand, dotting a kiss to my forehead. As he pulls back, he brushes my hair behind my ear. “Waitin’ never killed a man. I waited ten years, Lou. Take your time, darlin’.”

“I’m sor?—”

He moves to one side, coming back with a handful of cake and the cheekiest grin I have ever seen on his gorgeous face.

“You gonna feed me?” I ask, a giggle almost drowning out the last word.

“Something like that,” he drawls.

Cake squishes over my lips. Icing shoves its way up my nose. I gasp, mouth agape. He loses it, bending over with a cackle.

“Oh. My. God. That’s it, Harrison Rawlins. You are getting it now!”

Swiping up two handfuls of the silky cake and icing, I lunge at him. He moves too slow. I coat the side of his face and neck with it. He swings around, catching me with one arm. I scream, trying desperately to pull from his strong hold. He chuckles into my ear, edging me closer to the table. To the cake.

“Uh uh, no way. It will take me days to wash the icing out of my hair, Harry.”

“Not if you have help,” he growls into my neck.

He turns us as one, pinning me to the table. I slam my eyes shut, holding my hands up in a desperate attempt to hold back the chocolatey assault. The earthy cocoa scent shrouds the space between us as he plucks up a handful with his free hand, rubbing it over my face and into my hair.

“Oh! You!”

The heartiest laugh rumbles up this throat. “You look kinda dirty, Louisa May.”

I grab handfuls of his hair and drag his mouth down. Icing cakes my face. I don’t care.

I taste him.

He sinks into the kiss.

Rough hands pull me to his hips as he wanders around the apartment blindly. “Bathroom?”

I point to the middle door, and he pads for it. Letting me down, he runs the bath. I trail a finger through the icing on his neck, tasting it when I reclaim my finger.

Lots of steam and too many bubbles later, I’m lifted into his arms. He steps into the bath. We sit, Harry at my back, relaxing into the hot, soapy water as the chocolate melts from our skin.

Mama Mancini’s chocolate Italian cake is some kind of aphrodisiac.

A coincidence? I think not.

I chuckle to myself and lay my head on Harry’s shoulder. A kiss dots to the crown of my head.

This right here is heaven.

“Can you stay?” I ask when the silence floods the small bathroom space.

“Sorry, Lou. Early start.”

Of course. Ranchin’ never ends.

Just like this thing between Harry and me. Ever present. All-consuming.

“A little longer?” I ask. Heavens alive, I’m beggin’ now.

“I’ll stay and snuggle. Whatever you need, you ask, and I’ll make it yours.”

I turn my head back, planting a kiss to his jaw. He folds his arms around me, and I’m caged in as bubbles slop about the bath. “Good to know.”

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