Page 44 of Noble Neighbor
“Sweetheart,” Oliver whispered, rushing to her side.
A sob escaped even as he gathered her in his arms, and she turned her face into his chest. He soothed his hands over her back as she cried, utterly heartbroken, until her sobs turned to hiccups.
“I’m a failure, Oliver,” Sunny wailed into his shirt, one hand clutching the material at his waist, the other resting over his heart.
“Oh, baby. Of course, you’re not. You’re a brave, beautiful—”
“I’m not brave.” She slapped a hand against his chest. “I’m not, I’m not,” she cried, her palm keeping pace to her words.
Oliver grabbed her hand in his, holding it tight. “Youarebrave, Sunny Jones,” he insisted. “The bravest woman I know.One who gave her girls a fresh start in a new town. You’re building a great life for them, sweetheart, and it takes guts to do that.”
She shook her head, lifted it, and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m a coward, Oliver. A coward who fled her problems instead of facing them head on.”
To his dismay, he realized she believed those words.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, lifting her hand to his lips, dropping soft kisses on each knuckle as he scanned her anguished features. Her eyes were bright with tears, swollen and rimmed red;her lips trembling and downturned.
She slowly shook her head, holding his gaze.
But it was the overshadowing look of regret in her eyes that floored Oliver.
It wasn’t a look he liked on her. Not at all.
Sunny sucked in a ragged breath, and he could almost see her gather herself inward. She smoothed her palm against his chest and offered him a wobbly smile. “I’ve fucked up the apples, Oliver,” she said.
He blinked, unaccustomed to hearing the harsh curse on her lips, and the words so out of left field they didn’t make sense. It took a beat before he followed her gaze to the stove. Oliver released her and stepped closer to peer into the enormous pot. “Applesauce?”
She heaved a sigh and moved next to him. “Supposedto be piefilling.”
He continued staring at the mush in the pot. There were no discernable chunks of apple. “Oh.”
Sunny snorted. “Exactly. I have enough crust for five” — she held up a finger-splayed hand in front of his eyes— “five pies. And a pot of apple mush. And no desire to tackle the second batch of chopped apples.”
“What’s it taste like?”
She shrugged.
Oliver reached for a clean wooden spoon from the ceramic holder. “Well, you’re very fortunate” — with a flourish he dipped it into the sauce — “I’m a connoisseur taster.” Holding the spoon aloft, he blew over it before swiping his finger through the sauce and into his mouth. Spicy and tart and sweet, it tasted really good. “Hmm. Not bad. Open your mouth.” He pulled a finger through the sauce again and into her mouth.
Sunny closed her lips over his finger. And sucked.
Oliver felt the pull all the way to his groin, and the last thread of his control snapped.
He had to taste her. Now. Else he’d perish from want. From need.
He dropped the spoon and pulled his finger from her mouth before fusing his lips to hers, replacing his finger with his tongue. Oliver groaned, and Sunny moaned, their breaths and tastes mingling.
Spicy and tart, she was. And so, so sweet.
She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her body to his. He felt every delectable curve as her breasts fused to his chest, her thighs touched his legs, and her belly cradled his growing erection. Oliver threaded his fingers into her hair and gripped her head, holding tight as if his life depended on it.
Kissing Oliver was the best activity, hands down. And it scared her senseless.Renderedher senseless.
Each time she sternly told herself never again. That the insanity had to stop. But when his mouth touched hers, all rational thought left, replaced by the feel of him, the taste of him, and wow, the scent of him. A dash of spice mixed with a twist of sweat, heady and sexy, wholly masculine. And familiar.
All that mattered in those moments was the drugging appeal of being desired by Oliver Armstrong.
Lust pulsed through her body, warming her blood,heating her nerve endings, pooling in a boiling cauldronof need deep in her core.
