“You’re full of surprises,” she said.
“My mom taught me how to bake.” He fell quiet the way he did whenever the subject of his parents came up, then turned his head and squinted into the sunlight.
“Well, you’re lucky, my mom is a terrible baker,” she said, smoothing over the awkward moment. “I once had a birthday cake made entirely of stacked Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies.”
Shane smiled.
“Which would have been fine, had she taken them out of their plastic wrappers first.”
He had a great laugh, and she couldn’t help joining in, feeling a mix of relief and pride that she’d cheered him up.
She polished off the last bite of her cookie, unnerved when she noticed him staring at her mouth. She touched her lips self-consciously. “Do I have chocolate on my face or something?”
“Let me get it.”
Before she could wipe away the incriminating splotch, Shane stopped her hand. Leaning in, he swiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, then covered it with a kiss. She allowed her eyes to slide shut, savoring the feel of his mouth as he repeated the action on the other side and then moved to her top lip, then the bottom.
Crickitt opened her eyes drowsily.
“Sorry,” he murmured, pulling away. “I lied. You didn’t have chocolate on your face. I just wanted to kiss you.” He hoisted an eyebrow. “Hope you’re not mad.”
Mad? Not quite. Drunk from his potent kisses, maybe. Wildly turned on, definitely. She found Shane downright irresistible whenever he dropped his guard, which he seemed to do a lot around her. At work and with clients she’d noticed this “consummate professional” side of his personality. But when he was with her, away from office obligations, he was relaxed. Open.
Shane rested his elbow on one elevated knee, demonstrating her point. His eyebrow lifted the slightest bit, and she knew he was about to tease her. “Your move,” he said.
The lingering taste of Shane and chocolate mingled on her lips. And she wanted more.
Lifting from her cross-legged position on the blanket, Crickitt knelt in front of him, holding his eyes with hers. Heart leaping to her throat, she leaned in and kissed him. He returned her kiss with gentle pressure. Scooting closer, she clutched the hair at his nape and captured his lips again.
When his warm fingers gripped her waist, her breath hitched. Shane moved his hand away. “Sorry.”
She moved it back, continuing to tease him with her tongue and convince him he had nothing to be sorry for. He didn’t need to be told twice. Wrapping her in his arms, he hauled her onto his lap where he continued his slow, intentional exploration of her mouth.
She’d missed this. Mutual attraction. Being held, pampered, adored. Being kissed by a man because he wanted her, rather than out of a sense of marital duty. She’d forgotten the excitement of being new to someone. The way it caused her heart to swell against her rib cage as if it were ready to burst. Settling onto Shane’s lap, she enjoyed the luxury of it, allowing her own hands to travel. The sounds of nature slowly grounded her, and she ended the lengthy lip-lock in favor of much-needed oxygen.
He peered at her under thick, dark lashes, his lips parted and damp from her kisses. She moved in for another taste—she couldn’t help it—and shifted on his lap. Then she tensed as his hard length pressed into her inner thigh. Drawing away, she met his eye.
Shane’s lips tipped into a rueful grin. “You weren’t supposed to notice that.” He clasped her hips.
“Kind of hard to miss.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “I’m glad I hired you,” he said, tucking a curl behind her ear.
His light comment brought with it a heavy reality. Crickitt winced.
“Poor choice of words,” Shane said. He slid another curl away from her eye and watched her for a second. “Your brain’s working some overtime, there.”
Overtime. Another poorly chosen word. It was easy to suspend reality while they were hidden beneath a cage of trees, the waterfall splashing behind them drowning out any pragmatic argument. But what about after? When she returned to being his subordinate and he was in charge of giving her an annual review? What about her co-workers, who would soon notice their lingering gazes or whisper about how often she and Shane were in one another’s offices?
Instead of denying the obvious, Crickitt fixed him with a look and asked the question marinating in her brain. “What are we doing?”
* * *
This conversation came sooner than he preferred. Like never. Never would have been better.