Milk & Cookie (Spice in the Mountains #5)

1. Vince

1

VINCE

I ’m lost.

The mystery I have to solve is taking my brain in circles, and I can’t quite grasp the answers that must be right in front of me.

I’m supposed to find the bad guys and protect the vulnerable, but I’m a failing piece of shit. Someone needs my help, and I’m too boxed in to think straight. What the fuck am I doing if I can’t even do the thing I’m meant to be best at?

My office chair groans under my weight, as I swivel to look out the window.

Everything is fucking gray in this city, except for the handful of bright white and yellow chamomile flowers, gracing the fading feathery greens in my window box. Though, like a metaphor for everything else I’ve been neglecting lately, they’re well on their way to drooping. A confined window box is not their happy place, and I can relate.

Suddenly all too aware of my hunched shoulders, I lift my head and stretch my neck. I’m definitely in a fucking slump. I bet things would be different if I was living the life I really wanted.

I push up from my chair with a grunt. No point chasing that fucking pipe dream. It’s been months since my heart took its last tumble, and I’m still not ready to fall again. It hurts too much.

Apparently, I’m not husband or father material, and the universe wants me to focus on my work and contribute to the world that way. Fine .

I give the chamomile some water, and then harvest the few remaining flowers for a soothing tea. It’ll be my last real herbal tea for a while. I’ll have to buy the boxes of dried garbage from the store that claim to be organic, when my research has often shown otherwise. I sigh and swirl the petals to watch them dance in the water like floating feathers on the wind.

Fresh everything has always tasted best to me, but I don’t have the space to grow what I need. The huge garden I had, growing up, would have been more than sufficient to sustain a man my size, but as I look around my apartment — which was advertised as spacious — it’s hard to believe there’s any place around here that could truly accommodate my needs.

I miss the country. The fresh air, the wide open spaces, and all of nature’s colors. My friends and family, and the way we all play. I miss laughing .

The photographs on the wall draw my gaze, and they’re a welcome change from the morbid crime-scene pics I spend too much time staring at. I’ve been forgetting what happy faces look like .

I stand taller, and then walk to my bedroom and start packing a bag, so I can take my case on the road. I need a friendly face. One that doesn’t come with a large serving of an enviable family situation, because I’m pining enough for that life already. Besides, I haven’t seen Daryl’s new place yet, and he moved in over a year ago, so I’m sure he’s dying for me to visit.

It’s the perfect time for a change of scenery.

When I wake up to Daryl, jumping on my bed and shouting Earthquake , I know I’m in for some fun, but focusing on my work will be a challenge.

When he bounces me right off the bed, yells Morning is here , and then crows like a rooster, while he flaps and struts up and down the mattress, I should laugh, but I don’t — can’t . He seems to realize at the same moment as I do that it isn’t in me.

Daz shakes his head and tells me to take the day off, to frolic in the sunshine and get my sparkle back. I roll my eyes, and within ten minutes, receive phone calls from Gunnar, Ben, and Jason, to back him up. Eventually, I agree to leave my files in his basement guest suite and go outside, where I find a cute organic bakery and buy an armful of snacks before I return.

Woken by bouncing and hand-trumpeting the next morning, I’m quickly pushed out the door, to get a workout at the local small-town gym Daryl describes as adequate .

I don’t get my hopes up about what I’ll find when I enter the workout space, but nothing could have prepared me for what this gym has.

It doesn’t contain the right equipment to suit my needs, but what is does have, is a compact and mouthwateringly voluptuous angel, performing eye-poppingly enjoyable yoga poses that leave me so awestruck, I forget how to fucking breathe.

Our gazes lock in the wall of mirrors.

She smiles, and it’s so warm and inviting, I feel instantly at home in her glow — literally so welcome and comfortable, it’s like I’ve known her all my life. Known her and wanted her.

An unexpected flood of sensation rushes through my system, and my future flashes through my mind’s eye. I picture her naked in my bed. Then knocked up, with her fruitful belly rounding out her wedding dress as she walks toward me. And finally, walking hand in hand through lush fields and sunshine, while our children run and play alongside us — because my brain is an asshole and wants to really round out the delusion when there’s no way I could ever hope to engage in any kind of consummated marital relationship with her.

She’s beautiful. Radiant . Soft-looking and young. And she is most definitely far too small for me to fuck.

I give her a shy smile in return, and then sit on the nearest bench and get busy loading weights onto a bar, so I can keep my head down while I get myself under control.

Moments feel like years, but I don’t dare lift my head too soon. What if she’s still looking my way with those magnetic blue eyes? If I look up, she’ll know what I’m thinking. It’ll be written all over my face. Maybe she already saw it? Or the way my dick went insta-stiff? That had to be hard to miss.

God , I hope she’s short-sighted. Or long-sighted. Whichever one would make me a blur. My brain won’t work properly to remember — but I’m well aware that a big brute like me, sporting a giant boner, is a terrifying experience for any woman on the receiving end of my interest, and it would be a million times worse for someone her size.

I strain my ears, but the gym remains eerily quiet. Maybe she did see my dick, and she died of fright. Do I risk a peek, to check if she’s still alive?

Nerves flutter in my stomach, and the urge to steal a secret glance is getting harder to suppress. I’ve got my breathing back to normal, but not looking at her feels weirdly like being deprived of something as necessary as oxygen.

There’s a soft scuffling sound, and then I hear the intentional puffed breaths of someone in an exercising rhythm. The tension leaves my shoulders, and I lift my gaze to the mirrors. Unable to see her clearly beyond a rack of kettlebells, I slowly slide along my bench, until I can see her doing crunches on the padded mats behind me, in the reflection. Her angel face is set in an expression of extreme focus and determination, so I take a moment to appreciate her without worrying she’ll notice.

If natural instinct and intuition are prompts from the universe, then surely this level of attraction has to be a sign I can’t ignore. Maybe she’s The One ?

My mind practically razzes its hypothetical lips at me. You’re too big , y ou’ve always been too big, and you’ll always be too big .

I crane my neck a little more. Maybe she’s bigger than she looks?

Objects in mirrors aren’t always the size they appear, right?

Not that I want to objectify the curvy goddess with a ponytail of thick, sun-kissed brown curls.

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?

My dick clearly wasn’t interested in finding out if she has a great personality before declaring its appreciation. Despite all countermeasures, it’s intent on giving her a standing ovation, so I move my sweat towel over my lap, in an attempt to hide the automatic and inconvenient response.

It’s a hopeless situation. Nothing could camouflage the mammoth cock in my shorts, and it’s impossible to reverse my gargantuan erection, when I can’t stop staring at the wet stain on her tights. It’s right smack between her thighs, and coupled with her gorgeous, pink, and panting concentration-face, it’s luring my mind down a sordid path. No matter how I try to distract myself, all attempts lead to more desire, until one completely inappropriate question circles around and around in a continuous loop. Can my dick fit inside her?

Shit .

I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but the dark streak in the crotch of her leggings has me by the balls. Maybe it’s sweat, or maybe she got so excited about working out, she peed a little, but all I can think about is her cunt being incredibly juicy, and what she may look like, stretched around my cock.

I gulp down my guilty thoughts and force myself to turn away from the mirror, but not before a quick look over my shoulder at the woman seriously committed to her sit-ups, over on the mats.

Damn it . She’s definitely on the small side.

Not that grab-able ass, those poorly strapped down tits, or that soft looking chub around her middle I want to rest my head on while I dream up fantasies, but overall. She’s closer to five foot than upward of five-and-a-half, so she falls directly into the don’t even think about it category.

With a dick as big as mine, options are limited. Small, sexy, beautifully chubby women are excellent dream fodder, but I’ve got to curb those desires and be more realistic if I’m ever going to have kids of my own. Even big-boned women get scared when I mention wanting children, and every girlfriend I’ve ever had has left me within a few days of my bringing up the topic.

It’s not like I haven’t been in love or had serious relationships. I’ve loved more women than I care to remember, but each time, they break my damned heart at that last hurdle, and I end up having to start over.

I glance at the pretty, pocket-sized gal again and shut down all considerations of going over to introduce myself. My heart isn’t in any shape to get shot down right now, and that’d be a sure thing with her.

I drag both hands down my face and stare at my water bottle .

What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s got to be more than my size.

I’m a nice person. I can be charming, and I know how to care for and please a woman. All my nieces and nephews think I’m awesome. I thought I’d be happily married and settled in a small and picturesque mountain town like this one with a ton of kids by now, but I’m forty-four and alone.

Perpetually alone. Dumped before things get serious, every time. Just how fucking brave does a woman need to be to love me? Am I so undesirable?

I grip my bench and do a set of triceps dips before sitting again to stare at my weights. I rock the barbell back and forth with my foot. It’s not heavy enough for my liking. I should be lifting substantially more, but with all the heaviest plates in the gym already loaded onto my maxed-out-for-space bar, I’ll have to lower my expectations.

Story of my life.

I don’t want to have to apply the same depressing principle to love, but it’s time to set romance aside and face the truth. I’m too big to like small women. They may float my damn boat, but if I want a family, I’ll have to learn to love something else.

“Excuse me?” a soft voice enquires from behind me.

I close my eyes and swallow hard, because there’s only one other person in the gym, and apparently, she has the husky voice of an absolute sex kitten. My dick was actually starting to deflate, but there’s no hope of that happening now. She’s like fucking crack to my libido. Highly addictive, but impossible to indulge in crack. It’s like the universe is tempting me with every dirty trick up its sleeve, as if to say, Fall in again, Vince. I dare ya .

“Um… excuse me?” she says, a little louder.

“Yeah?” I ask, not turning around.

“Sorry to interrupt your workout. It’s just that nobody else is around, and you look very strong. Would you mind spotting me when I’m doing my squats? It doesn’t have to be right now or anything, but I’d really appreciate… you looking at me, for one thing.” Her tone hardens for that last part. “Didn’t your mama tell you it’s rude keep your back to people when they’re talking?” The direction of her voice changes, as if she’s circling. “Why are you squeezing your eyes shut?”

I wince and slowly un-hunch my shoulders, as I crack one eye open to find her standing in front of me with her hands on her hips.

Oh fuck . She’s even younger than I first thought. In her early-twenties, maybe? And so fucking out of my league — which makes her even hotter. I’m fucking doomed.

Her frown softens, and she lets her arms drop to her sides. “I didn’t mean to make you…” She folds her arms over her chest and sighs. “You’re not from around here, and I don’t know your story, so I’m not going to scold you more, okay? You don’t have to look so scared of me.” She gives me a slightly bewildered smile and raises one shoulder in a slow half-shrug. “I’m only little.”

I clear my throat and avoid looking directly at her. “Little but mighty, methinks.”

“I like to believe so.” The lightness in her amused tone is too fucking delicious. Like sunshine to my soul, it makes me want to grin like a fool. So much for not wanting to fall in love with her. She’s adorable, and I want to take her home with me.

Damn it. Damn her sassy little britches straight to the fires of Hell, leaving her adorable punk-ass naked and ripe for?—

Desperate to tame my cock and hold back my quick-trigger lust and love reflexes, I steer my thoughts toward awful things. Mixed-spirit hangovers. Giving myself stitches. The stink of fresh dog shit. Crime-scene photos. Falling in a sewage pond with my mouth open.

“Your nose is wrinkling, but your dick is hard and ridiculously noticeable,” she says. “Are you okay? Like, mentally?”

I snort a laugh, and I turn sideways to her, to better hide my dick and my burning cheeks. Why does she have to be so fucking cute? I wipe the nervous damp from my palms and grip the bench hard, anchoring myself. “I’m experiencing an awkward level of anxiety, being this close to a sexy as fuck stranger. Does that count as being mentally unstable?”

“Probably.” She steps into my space and takes a good, long look at me. “Especially if said stranger is crazy-hot, and you’re so close to them you think you’ll lose your mind from it.” Her eyes are bright and full of mischief, and they sparkle, as she tosses her hair. She’s flirting ?

What the fuck is this madness? And is it mine or hers? Both? I must be hallucinating. Did I have a stroke? Do I have a fever?

I continue shielding my dick with one hand and hold the back of the other one to my forehead, and then to each of my cheeks. I do feel overly warm. Inside and out. Something’s gotten under my skin, and I’m pretty sure it’s her.

Can people fall in love this quickly? It feels fast, even for me. And I’m notoriously quick to adore women and children. Jason says I’ve won and held the record for fast-falls since Kindergarten, when Shannon Morales asked me to rock her baby to sleep while she got the Play-Doh cookies out of the oven.

I stare at the gorgeous stranger in front of me and imagine our life in the country together.

I’m definitely falling in love. Harder than ever, from the feel of it.

Seriously in need of cooling down, I reach for my water bottle and gulp down several mouthfuls.

“I don’t really need you to spot me,” she says. “I just saw you checking me out and needed an excuse to come over and ask if you wanted a closer look.”

I choke on my water, and she kindly pats my back until I stop spluttering. She continues to rub it for a good few moments after I’ve recovered, too — if my sweaty brow, galloping heart, and even bigger erection count as recovered .

I’m done for. My goose is so fucking cooked. Well done, angel girl. I’m in love, and I don’t even know your name. This is a new fucking record.

She sits next to me on the bench and gives me a curious look before she holds out her hand in greeting. “Fred.”

Fred?

“ Frank might be a better name for you.” I shake her hand with both of mine, and it’s so soft and small inside my huge paws, I get all skittish again and drop it like it’s hot. “It’s very nice to meet you, Fred, but I should hit the showers before I embarrass myself any further.”

I push myself up to stand, and she giggles.

I follow her gaze and see my sweat towel hanging on my boner, like it’s a wall hook. “Oh, for the love of all things country. Can I catch a fucking break already?” I turn my back to her and groan at the ceiling. “This is the worst best first impression I’ve ever tried to make.”

“You’re actually trying?” she asks with another chuckle.

I lower my head and sigh. “I always try,” I mumble before I head for the showers.

“Are you trying to make a bad last impression, too?” She catches up and walks next to me.

I look down at her, so thoroughly confused by what’s happening, I can’t even respond.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she says, her hand prompting me to give her one.

“Oh. Uh… Vincent. Monaghan. Vince .”

“There. See?” She offers a friendly smile. “Now we’re not strangers, so you can stop being nervous.”

I give her a wary sideways look, not trusting myself to relax. “I don’t think I could ever not be nervous around you.”

“Why not?” She looks oddly offended, and I stop in the men’s changing room doorway, almost certain she was about to follow me in.

“Honestly?” I ask .

“Honest would be the only kind of communication I’m interested in.” She folds her arms again.

I wipe my hands with my towel and look around for someone in their right mind I can wedge like a buffer between us, but there isn’t a soul in sight. “Well, for one thing, it’s sort of freaking me out that you don’t seem at all worried about my giant, inappropriate hard-on.”

She drops her gaze to the straining seam of my tented shorts.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” She lifts her attention to my face.

“You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen,” I admit, looking her over with open appreciation, since she doesn’t seem to mind.

She glances at my erection again and shrugs. “Then what’s so inappropriate about your body showing it? It’s only natural.”

God , I definitely fucking love her.

Fuck .

I shake my head. Time to back-paddle. “Um…” I scratch my beard and furrow my brow. “It’s not really the accepted thing, though, is it? By society’s standards, I mean. I should hide the thing, and I would if I could, but?—”

“Society can shove its opinions elsewhere.” She snorts and gestures for me to keep walking. “The idea of what’s acceptable by the masses is up for negotiation between individuals when they’re alone, and not even the law gets to dictate how you or I feel. You enjoy the look of me, and I’m the opposite of offended by that. We’re not breaking any laws, so we can feel and do whatever we want.”

Whatever we want? I can never do what I want. I’m too fucking big.

She presses a guiding hand to my back, but I plant my feet, rendering myself immovable. “Fred, I’m kind of scared about where this may be going.”

She squints up at me, scrunches her nose sweetly, and quirks her eyebrows. “To the showers?”

I look that way, and then back to her. “Yes. Maybe. Do you want to shower together?”

She presses her lips into a line and rocks back and forth on her heels. “Are you asking me to? Or checking if that’s what I had in mind?”

I have no idea how to read her face or interpret her tone. She’s giving nothing away with either. I go with my gut. “Both?” I ask, on the cusp of wincing again if it’s the wrong thing to have said.

She twists her mouth to the side, plumping her lower lip slightly, as she considers me from top to toe. “I only have time for a quick one today.”

A quick what ? Shower? Or what that shower implies when she thinks we’re doing it together? And if today needs to be a quick one, is she suggesting we should have longer ones together another time?

How have I not alarmed her to the point of running away yet? She should be scared out of her skull at the sight of my giant cock. I’m fucking scared for her. I’d probably rattle her ribcage from the inside if I could even breach her. She can clearly see that I’m bigger than most horses, but she’s still acting like she wants to ride me. Either she doesn’t understand the physics, or she knows something about the capabilities of her body that I can’t even imagine.

That thought makes me so curious, I want to spread her thick little thighs wide and assess the situation myself, because I’m dead keen to fuck her like a wild man, but I don’t want to hurt the poor girl.

Which I will. Why am I even entertaining this fantasy? “Fred, I thi?—”

“Hold that thought.” She pulls a vibrating phone from the side pocket of her cotton tights. “Mom?”

The woman on the other end of the line calls her Frederica loudly enough to be heard over a lot of crying in the background.

“Yeah, I hear it.” She glances at me, and the obvious disappointment on her face quickly morphs into something more concerning — a frown. She mutters under her breath, and I search her face with bated breath, unwilling to accept that this phone call will bring an end to the most intriguing feminine encounter I’ve had.

Fred throws me an apologetic look, and her cheeks gain a sweet flush, as her gaze drops to where two wet circles are blooming over her breasts.

She’s lactating. And the crying on the phone is definitely baby-like. She’s a mama.

And she’s acting like there’s no daddy around.

Enter Vince .

A sweet, milky mama, all of my own?

My heart thunders in my chest with desire, but it’s a preposterous idea. I must have dropped the barbell on my head when I was lifting weights. That’s it. I’m probably lying on the gym floor with brain damage. This is either a coma dream, or I died and went to heaven. Nothing else makes sense. There’s no way my dream woman would approach me like this in real life. In fact, the only part of this situation that resembles reality, is how stupid in love I already am with this clearly fictitious woman.

I stare at her tits again, and my cock strains at her. If it’s a dream, I can touch them, right?

She fills my palms to perfection. Warm and firm and wet.

Holy fuck . She’s real. And my hands are on her.

I meet her wide-eyed gaze, and it snaps me from my disturbingly inappropriate, overly entitled stupidity. I snatch my hands back in a hurry and keep my palms high, where she can see them. “Sorry,” I whisper, swallowing down the raging appetite rising within me.

She stares at me but doesn’t baulk, and when she speaks into her phone, her tone is calm. “Hold tight, Ma. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She puts her phone back in her pocket and grabs hold of one of my hands. Without taking her eyes off me, she repositions my palm to cradle her breast again. “It’s not the way I planned to tell you, but the universe has its own way of making things known.”

“You’re a mom?” I ask.

She leans into my touch. “I’m a mom.”

“Single?” I need to make sure I haven’t misread the situation.

She nods.

“Not for long, if I can help it.” The unguarded words rumble from my mouth before I can stop them .

She lifts her eyebrows slightly, twitches her lips, and presses closer.

I graze my thumb over her raised nipple, but draw my hand back before I get carried away. “You’re leaking.”

“Yeah. I do that a lot.” She cups her breasts and gives the slightest squeeze, making the wet circles grow while she watches me. “It doesn’t bother you?”

I wet my lips and try not to look too hungry about it. “The exact opposite.” I reach down and grip at the ache in my balls, meeting her incredible disinhibition head on. “Does it scare you that I’m so interested?”

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and gives me a coy smile, as she shakes her head. “You’ve got a really warm and sincere energy about you. I like it, and I’m intrigued by the things you’re making me feel.” She studies me, and I grow hot and restless under the attention. “You’re leaking too, by the way,” she says.

I follow her gaze to my shorts, where pre-cum has wept from my thick cock to darken the gray fabric stretched taut over the bulge. “So it seems.”

She smiles. “This was nice.” Her eyes hold a mysterious twinkle, as she walks past me and collects a sweater from the cubbies near the changing rooms. She pulls it on and frees her lush ponytail from the collar. “We should see each other again.”

“How will I find you, Angel Girl?”

“However you need to.” She winks, grabs her gym bag, and heads out the door.