NICE GIRL TO LOVE (THE COMPLETE THREE-BOOK COLLECTION)(22)

After seeing her warming his home her first night there, he’d found it impossible to stay away each following night as well. Sure, he still had his occasional evening meetings and late office work but he always made sure to be ‘home by dinner.’

What a concept.

Growing up, his father had never felt a need to do it more than once, maybe twice a week. Even though he’d had a wife and two sons waiting at home for him. As a kid, Connor had missed him, from middle school on, not so much. Now as an adult with someone to actually come home to for once—regardless how temporary it was—he felt renewed disappointment in his father. Again. Or rather, still.

“I cooked us up some Greek food tonight,” called out a cheerful voice from the kitchen, breaking into his thoughts, luring him over to where all the sumptuous smells were originating.

The sight of Abby bent over pulling something out of the oven was the best thing he’d set his eyes on all day...at least until she plopped the baking tin on the stove and gifted him with her most dazzling, room-brightening smile yet. Then that officially became the greatest thing he’d seen all day. Perhaps all year.

Yeah, it took a real bastard not to want to come home to this every night.

“Hi honey, I’m home.” He just wanted to try it on for size. Strangely, it felt good. Like a vintage suit tailored just for him. Tomorrow, maybe he’d even go pre-technicolor and trip over an ottoman on his way in. Milk the novelty of this all while it lasted.

“Everything looks great.” He kissed her cheek—the only body part she was letting him kiss. For now. “But you should’ve told me you were making such specific dishes; I would’ve ordered the groceries you needed online and had them delivered.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been paying for groceries more than I have as it is, which makes zero sense,” she retorted. “Plus, this whole traveling around the world by food adventure is my thing. You shouldn’t have to pay for it.”

“I’m eating it,” he argued back.

“Just like I’ve eaten on the nights you’ve cooked.” She gave him a look that said, ‘so there.’

See now if the lawyers he faced in court looked half that cute during their rebuttals, he was sure he’d lose a whole lot more. Grinning, he conceded, “Okay then. Since tomorrow’s my turn to cook, what say I jump on this tour of yours and whip up something really exotic. Like mac & cheese with weenies.”

Abby giggled. “What is it with you and all these comfort Americana dishes? Looking at you, I’d never picture it. Were you one of those that cooked with your mom growing up?”

He snorted. “Hardly. We had a cook, which freed up mother to drink her three square meals more often than not.”

“Oh.” A regretful frown dimmed her face. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Hey.” He tipped her chin up. “No feeling bad over the poor little rich kid with the present-but-still-absent parents. Did I mention I had my own pony growing up? Well, it was on lease at the polo club but still, how many kids can say that?”

The stubborn glaze of tears in her eyes unnerved him.

No one ever cried for him. Because of him, yes—more than he cared to think about—but never for him.

He bent down and fit his mouth to hers, telling himself it was just a comfort kiss. To take away some of her sadness. Inside, he knew he was really just capturing the memory for himself so he could open it like a Christmas gift one day when she was long gone. God, when was the last time he’d actually gotten a gift? Wrapped personally just for him?

Years, maybe.

Suddenly, the parched thirst for every desire he’d been denied this past week, every variety of warmth and affection he hadn’t really ever noticed not having until now had him pouring his soul into their kiss like a lost man aching to be found.

Soon, comfort was the last thing on his mind.

“You’re killing me here,” he drew back, but not far. Brushing his lips against her soft lips back and forth, he was amazed at how alive the simple contact felt, how every last little experience was more vibrant with Abby. “I don’t think I can last another week of this. Wanting you this bad without having you.”

Her breathless, “Me neither,” did nothing to cool him down. Without another thought, he lifted her onto the granite and slid between her legs, feeling her heat even through the cotton barrier of her shorts.

“Good lord, you’re huge,” she gasped.

He’d have smiled if he weren’t gritting his teeth hard enough to crack a molar. “And you’re wet. For me.” He traced his tongue over the racing pulse at her throat, the beat a near match to the pounding he felt all through his veins. “If you really want to stop, tell me now.”

It’d be pure torture, but he’d back off if she said the word.

Before she could say anything at all, however, he thrust his hips against hers again in reminder—and promise—of what a ‘yes’ would entail. A rush of male satisfaction assailed him when she moaned and locked her legs around his waist. He knew he wasn’t playing fair, but right now, it was hard to police himself. Not with her teeth raking across his neck every time he rocked against her. Not when every gorgeous sound coming out of her just made him even harder. Want her even more.

His name fell from her lips then and he almost lost it. Raw and needy, the sound was pure sex-on-tape. And the look on her face as she said it cast a thick, lust-filled spell on him. Had him growling in hunger by the time she finally pulled him in for a kiss—the first one he hadn’t had to instigate between them since she’d moved in.