Page 57 of Cherished Lands
She attacked it like it was the last dessert on earth, making little happy noises that did nothing for my self-control. A drop of maple syrup escaped and slid down her leather glove.
"You're worse than Chase at five years old," I said, pulling out a napkin.
"You love it." She licked the syrup off her glove before I could stop her. "Besides, your mom told me all about the time you face-planted into your birthday cake."
"I was three."
"Mmhmm." She finished the last bite and tossed the paper cone in a nearby trash bin. "The annual pie-eating contest starts in ten minutes. Want to enter?"
"Absolutely not."
"Scared I'll beat you?"
"Terrified you'll win and then puke all over my truck on the way home."
She laughed, the sound carrying across the crowded street. Several heads turned our way, and I caught Mrs. Henderson watching us with that knowing smile old ladies get when they think they're witnessing young love.
If she only knew this marriage was a charade.
But then Tessa snuggled closer, tucking her cold nose against my neck, and for a moment, I forgot about everything except how right she felt cuddled against me.
"Fine, no pie-eating contest," she conceded. "But I want to check out the ice sculptures. I heard Andy's doing a live carving demonstration."
Andy's ice sculpture was supposed to be a swan. At least, that's what Sarah claimed. From where I was standing, it looked more like a mutant penguin.
"It's... unique," Tessa offered diplomatically.
I snorted. "It's terrible."
"Be nice," she scolded, but I could feel her shaking with suppressed laughter. "He's trying his best."
"His best looks like something a toddler would make with safety scissors and construction paper."
Tessa buried her face in my coat to muffle her giggle. The gesture was innocent enough, but having her pressed this close, her hands fisted in my jacket, sparked memories of this morning when she'd been gripping different parts of me entirely.
From her sudden stillness, I knew she was thinking the same thing.
"We should probably go support local businesses," she suggested. "Maybe get some hot chocolate?"
"You just had a snow cone."
"I need warming up." She pulled back to meet my eyes, and the heat in her gaze had nothing to do with beverages.
Fuck.
"Hot chocolate it is." I grabbed her hand, already scanning for the shortest route to the coffee shop. "But we're getting it to go."
"Whatever you say, Husband." She batted her long lashes at me, and I shook my head.
"Come on, Mrs. Everton." I pulled her through the crowd. With all the townsfolk desperate to stop us and offer congratulations, grabbing hot chocolate and getting back to the truck took way too long.
By the time we pulled up to our tiny house forty-five minutes later, we were both ready to explode. "You warm enough yet, Princess?" I asked, eyeing her empty hot chocolate cup.
"Not even close." She hauled herself over the center console of my truck and straddled my lap. "Need the heat of your skin."
She kissed me softly, gently, but I was having none of that. I gripped her waist and rolled her against my hard-on. I swallowed her little whimper as I claimed her mouth. She tasted like chocolate and maple syrup—a delicious combination.
"Inside, baby." I opened the driver's side door and gripped my wife's ass. "Can't do what I wanna do to this body in the cab of my truck."
