Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(76)

I blinked at the sudden brightness and tried to focus.

Her small but well-appointed kitchen was immaculate, as always. On her marble-topped kitchen island, four condiment items stood, lined up in a row toward the back edge.

Exhaling hard, I moved forward and examined them: a glass pot of honey, gourmet jars of chocolate, and caramel sauce. I lifted a finger to touch a chilled a red-and-white can of whipped cream that peeked above the rim of a filled ice bucket. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed hard past it.

“How long have these been on your kitchen island?”

“When I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. When I gave up on us and let you leave.”

The corner of my mouth kicked up. “You’ve missed me.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Not willing to spend another second without touching her, needing her connected with me, I brushed a stray lock from her forehead and leaned down. Her darkened hazel-green eyes softened, then fluttered shut. My lips brushed over hers, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Savoring her taste and the feel of her warmth, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer. With a slow suck, I tugged her lower lip into my mouth, then kissed her more deeply as I held the one woman in this world who made me whole.

“I’m blown away that you made a condiment shrine.”

Her lips twitched as she fought a smile.

I shook my head. “No, really, Maestro. All the fun and kidding aside, you have no idea what it means to know you missed me as much as I missed you. And the condiments aren’t about the physical. Nothing between us has ever been that simple.”

She gave a nod as her eyes glistened with tears, her smile finally showing. “I know.”

My gaze drifted over her shoulder, and I blinked. “Ummm, what is all that?”

She turned around and released her hold on me. “Well, that’s part of my surprise.”

Uncertain what that meant, I stepped closer to her table. Six glass bowls, some large and some medium, lined up across the tabletop with clear plastic wrap over their wide tops. The bowls held what looked like different colored frostings: pink, yellow, green, blue, dark brown, and white. A collection of small glass bottles stood beside the bowls, toppings: shiny metal balls, rainbow sprinkles, and some kind of snowflake dots.

“Frosting?” I still couldn’t believe it, and the word croaked out past a throat gone dry as I pictured Hannah whipping this together with her hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, a cute ruffled apron over a baby T-shirt and short cotton shorts.

I swallowed hard. When I turned back toward her, she looked up at me with an adoring expression, not the naughty I’d initially imagined. Caught in a mix of lust and love, torn between wanting to tear open those bowls and gathering her back into my arms to simply hold her, I blinked hard, attempting to reset my brain.

Lust won.

“Clothes off.”

She huffed out a breath, her eyes widening. “What?”

“Like that hadn’t been your plan all along.” I arched a brow, daring her to argue.

Game on. And I was beyond ready to play.

When she made no move to shed the bright yellow sundress she wore, I took a step toward her, staring hard at her, silently threatening to remove it myself.

She simply stared back at me, holding her ground.

My nostrils flared. “Off. I’m not going to say it again. Naked. Except for your little vintage apron.” I pointed to her feet. “And those strappy shoes.”

Her body shuddered, but she gave a slow nod, mischief flickering in her eyes.

When she moved to untie the thin straps holding up her sundress, I nodded. I relaxed in relief a split second before lust tightened through me as she completely bared herself. Perfect curves tempted, breasts swaying, hips shifting. She stared at me, a beautiful pink flushing her skin while the cotton fabric pooled at her feet.

“The apron is in there.” She pointed to the drawer next to me, trying not to smile.

My gaze locked with hers, I jerked it open and grabbed whatever was on top. Luckily it was the apron in question. I handed it to her and watched wide-eyed as she pulled the blue polka-dot ties over her head. Then she fastened it behind her at the waist, doing incredible things to her breasts.

Shaking my head in disbelief at a fantasy finally turned reality, I had no idea what to do next. But when I focused on the fun about to begin, left-field thoughts fired into my brain. Frosting was about to become a contact sport.

I’d been in her kitchen often enough to find what I wanted. I yanked open the drawer beside me, sending metal and wood utensils crashing into one another. One flew out, clattering onto the floor.

The corner of her mouth twitched, her luscious lips twisting in amusement.

“What are you smirking at?” I glanced down and grabbed a metal whisk with my right hand and a long spatula with my left. “Choose your weapons, Maestro.”

She blinked, eyeing the slotted metal spatula. “That’s for flipping hamburgers.”

Tilting my head, I arched a brow at her. “Says you.”

Dropping her hands onto her hips, she tipped her chin up at me. “What about you?” She continued to stare at the spatula and took a step backward.

I stalked toward her.

She took another step back.

“What about me?” I held my weapons of choice in front of me as my menu item took another step toward the buffet of frostings. “This is my fantasy, remember? Instead of saying ‘thank you’ for making my dream come true, why don’t I show you a great use for this spatula?” I smacked it onto my thigh, making a loud whack against my jeans.