Page 34 of Long Hard Ride
Chapter Thirteen
August
I bend, careful not to wake my sleeping giant, and give Shane a kiss on the cheek. He’s on his side, his hand tucked under the pillow. I’m tempted to run my fingers through his thick coal-black hair and wake him so we can pick up where we left off last night.
But he looks so peaceful, and he needs his rest. Shane never gets the chance to sleep in. Blade is helping again this morning, so I let my man snooze away.
Not bothering to put on a robe, I tiptoe out of the room. I haven’t had to cover myself up after the night I drove him crazy wearing that see-through skirt and no panties.
We haven’t slept apart since that night. We’re into the final month of our agreement, and we haven’t really talked about what’s going to happen next. He keeps telling me to take it one day at a time, but I feel an aching dread looming over me. How am I ever going to go back to my old life without Shane?
I brush my teeth and splash some water on my face in the hall bathroom. And then, for the fiftieth time in the last four days, I check to see if I’ve finally gotten my period. I’m trying not to hold my breath, but I’m worried.
Damn. No dice. I’m normally pretty regular. When I’m late, it’s usually only by a day, two at most.
But there’s no way I could be pregnant. I’m sure I’d know it, because my body would feel different. I haven’t been feeling queasy at all—in fact, my body feels like it’s singing.
I laugh to myself and head to the kitchen. I’ve got a whole orchestra tuned up and playing through my veins. Shane and I have been fucking nonstop.
Every cell is buzzing, and, wouldn’t you know, just the thought of Shane’s fingers expertly playing me like a Stradivarius makes the warmth pool between my legs.
I lost track of how many times we made love last night. And it wasmaking love. Throughout the night we kept waking up and finding each other. I’ve never been so connected with another person in my life.
Should I come right out and tell him?
I get to work on the pancakes and try not to think of our charade ending. It won’t be long before I’m back in my Chicago flat. I got accepted to the Reflections art show. It’s one of Chicago’s most prestigious events. I should be thrilled about going back.
I wash my hands in the sink and look out the window. There’s an outdoor area in my apartment building. It’s nice, with couches and umbrellas, but... But now that I’m used to living in West Palomino, I don’t know how I’ll live without being surrounded by open land.
“Pancakes from a mix?” I smile at Shane’s raspy low voice and turn to find my sexy-as-fucking-hell beast standing at the door, his pants hanging so low they’re barely on. My eyes travel up from his waistband, over his rippling abs and broad chest. “Pancakes are my specialty.” I see a glimmer in those blazing blue eyes.
“Oh, they are, are they?” I tease, wiggling my butt, and go back to stirring the mix. He playfully smacks my ass and folds his arms across my boobs, pulling me close so my back is flush against his rock-solid chest.
“Uh, uh,” he whispers throatily, kissing my shoulder. Sparks race from the scorching heat of his lips straight to my pussy. “And I’m going to prove it,” he says, reaching around me and planting a quick kiss on my cheek.
I watch as he rummages through the cabinets.
“We have flour, baking powder, and sugar.” He gives me a devious wink, and I’m giddy seeing him so happy about making pancakes, of all things.
I set my bowl of the mix to the side. “I know for sure there’s milk in the fridge.”
“Perfect.” He goes back to rifling through boxes of cereal and canned soup. “And... the pièce de résistance, we have chocolate chips.” He waves a scrunched-up half bag of semi-sweet morsels.
I’m smiling so hard I can feel it in my cheeks. “What’s a pancake without chocolate chips?”
“Oh, but wait,” he says excitedly, digging deeper into the cabinet. “What do we have here?”
He whips out a plastic bottle and turns it so I can see the label. I raise my brows.
“Syrup. But it’s better warm,” he growls, cupping my ass and giving it a little slap on the way to the stove. He finds a small saucepan and pours the thick liquid into it.
“Don’t you think we should make the pancakes first so the syrup won’t get cold?
“Who says this is for pancakes, darlin’? They can wait.” He gives me a lecherous grin. “You’re the first course, baby girl. I’m going to coat those sugar-cube nipples of yours with this and take my sweet time licking every last sticky drop.”
