7. Lila
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lila
“Ibake when I’m nervous. Or happy. Or mad.” The oven timer goes off again, and I pull on my oven mitts. “Basically, whenever I have feelings.”
Max sits on a barstool at my kitchen island, surrounded by colorful cupcake wrappers, crumbs, and smears of seven different frostings. He tried to tuck me into bed when we got to my place as if I were a fragile Victorian woman overcome by emotions.
Every time I closed my eyes, the safety bar flew open, the gondola swung, and my stomach dropped as I imagined plummeting to my death.
Okay, so I am a little overcome by my emotions, but staying in bed wasn’t going to fix anything. So, I did what I always do when my feelings are too big to fit inside my body.
I started baking.
After all, the Frosting Queen competition waits for no woman. Even one who may have come close to splatting against the ground in front of the whole town.
A shudder racks through me, and the cupcake tin slips from my grip. Metal crashes against the quartz countertop.
Max pushes away from the island so fast the barstool scrapes across the floor.
“I’m fine.” I retrieve the pan and place it on the trivet with exaggerated care. “I’m completely and totally fine.”
Mr. Biscuits launches himself into Max’s path as he heads toward me, narrowly avoiding the ball of fluff only for the furry menace to wind around his ankles and nearly send Crescent Cove’s newest resident crashing into the cabinets.
“Your shadow is back,” I say.
Mr. Biscuits meows up at Max and rubs his face against his leg.
The two of them have been playing on and off since I convinced Max that the best way to work through my feelings would be for him to eat them. In the form of baked goods. Obviously.
Mr. Biscuits usually can’t be bothered to interrupt his twenty-one-hour daily nap schedule for anyone.
Tonight, he met Max at the door, sniffed him once, then rolled onto his back and presented his belly for pets.
Max immediately found the spot beneath his chin that turns him into a purring sack of pudding, and Mr. Biscuits has been in love ever since.
“Buddy, I need to get through.” Max steps to the right, and Mr. Biscuits moves with him.
“You’ve been chosen,” I tell him, slipping off the mitts.
“I want a cat, but not at this exact moment.”
“You can’t decline his advances,” I warn. “He’ll pee in your shoes.”
Max bends and scoops all eighteen pounds of orange fluff off the floor and murmurs something into his fur that I don’t quite catch over Mr. Biscuits’ triumphant purr.
My heart squeezes.
It could be lingering adrenaline.
Or it could be the sight of a large, gorgeous, muscular man cradling my cat like a baby.
Max sets Mr. Biscuits on the pillowy bed on top of the refrigerator. The cat immediately curls into a ball, closes his eyes, and starts to snore.
“I think I’m a cat whisperer.” The crooked smile that’s been ruining my judgment for the past two weeks reappears.
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a wheeze.
He eyes me, his attention catching on where my hands grip the edge of the counter so tightly my knuckles have turned white.
Max approaches slowly and stops behind me, close enough that the warmth of his body brushes my back. “Can I touch you?”
The question loosens the knot in my chest.
I nod, and his arms circle my waist. My breath leaves in a rush as Max draws me back against him, surrounding me with heat and strength and the warm woodsy scent that already means safety to my monkey brain.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, his chest expanding against my back in a slow, deep pattern.
I try to follow, but air catches halfway into my lungs.
“That’s okay,” he hums. “Again.”
His heartbeat thumps steadily against my back, giving my body a rhythm to follow.
He breathes in. I breathe with him.
His thumb moves over the sliver of bare skin between my crop top and shorts, the motion so gentle I’m not sure he realizes he’s doing it.
Another breath, and my shoulders lower.
Again, and I lean more heavily against him.
“That’s it,” he whispers, his breath warming the shell of my ear. “Good girl.”
Heat drips between my thighs, and another shiver moves through me. But this one has nothing to do with fear.
Max inhales deeply, a rumbling purr vibrating from his chest and down my spine as his fingers flex against my stomach. His nose brushes the curve of my neck, and he draws in a slow breath that sends goosebumps racing over my skin.
“Better?” he asks.
I tilt my head, giving him more room. His lips hover over my pulse, and the tease of his touch makes a whimper build in my throat. Beneath my top, my nipples tighten into painful peaks.
His body is no longer only warm behind mine. It’s hard. Powerful. Every ridge of muscle presses along my back and ass.
I’m not hanging in the air. I’m here. In my kitchen. In Max’s arms.
And I want him.
I cover one of his hands with mine and guide it upward. His palm skims my waist and stops beneath my breast.
Behind me, his muscles lock.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
His hand moves higher, thumb brushing the underside of my bra. Sparks of need shoot through me.
Max’s breath catches, and he releases me. Cold air blankets me as he steps away, his broad chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.
“You nearly fell out of a Ferris wheel.” His jaw tightens, and he clenches his hands at his sides. “You almost died.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “It’ been a hell of a night.”
“And now…” He shakes his head. “Lila, you don’t know what you’re asking.”
Irritation burns through the haze of lust. “Excuse me?”
He winces. “That came out wrong.”
“It came out like I’m too hysterical to understand that I asked you to touch me.”
“I don’t think you’re hysterical.”
“No, you think I had a fright and lost all sense of agency,” I fire back. “I’m a grown woman, Max. I know what I want.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and the hunger in his eyes is so intense my knees weaken. “What do you want, Lila?”
“I want you.”
A rough sound leaves him, but he doesn’t move closer. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find out you were only trying to outrun what happened.”
“I’m not trying to outrun it.” I cross the space separating us. “I don’t want you to make me forget. I want you to remind me I’m still here.”
I place my palm over his fast-beating heart.
“I want to feel my body doing something I choose. I want to feel safe and alive and wanted.” My voice softens. “I want to feel you.”
“Fuck, Lila.”
His jaw works, and I can practically see the argument raging inside his head. The protective man who carried me all the way home is locked in combat with the fox shifter who’s been staring at my mouth since we met.
“I want you so badly I can barely think,” he finally says. “But if you change your mind… If you want me to stop—”
“Max.”
His bright green gaze locks onto mine, mossy around the edges.
“Touch me.”
His mouth claims mine with enough force to send me stumbling backward. One arm bands around my waist before I can fall, hauling me against him.
The first touch of his tongue is electric. I moan into his mouth, and Max answers with a growl. His hand slides into my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me deeper.
This is our first kiss. I should be cataloging the details for future reminiscing.
The softness of his lips. The scrape of his stubble. The way his thumb softly strokes my cheek despite the pressure of his mouth.
Instead, all I can think is more.
I push onto my toes and kiss him harder.
Max’s control slips, and he lifts me.
A squeal escapes me as he deposits me on the kitchen island between a stack of cupcake wrappers and nearly empty bowls of frosting.
His hands settle on my thighs. “Is this okay?”
In answer, I grab the front of his shirt and pull him back for more. My legs part around his hips, and the hard length of him presses between my thighs, sending a bolt of need through me.
Max pauses and his forehead drops to mine. “Tell me to slow down.”
“Why would I do something so ridiculous?”
“Because I’m hanging on by a thread.”
I roll my hips against him.
“Lila,” he growls, and I want more of that. More instinct and less man. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
“Then fix it.”
He hooks his fingers beneath the hem of my top, and I lift my arms as Max draws it over my head. His attention drops to my bright turquoise strapless lace bra as though I’ve revealed a priceless work of art.
“So pretty,” he rumbles, and I know those words are straight from his fox.
Max traces one finger along the top of each cup. My skin erupts in goosebumps beneath the light touch.
He finds the clasp and releases it with a flick of his fingers. The lace slips down my arms, catching at my elbows before dropping to the floor.
His eyes move over my tits, lingering on my tight nipples. The silence stretches, and I can feel the pulse in my throat, in my chest, between my legs. His jaw tightens. His nostrils flare. His pupils swallow the green of his irises until there’s only a thin ring left.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says, voice a low rumble.
“You should have said something.”
“I’m saying it now.”
He reaches past me, and his hand comes back holding the bowl of blackberry frosting.
“You always make us the most delicious treats.” He tilts the bowl, purple flecks catching the kitchen lights. “My fox loves sweets.”
He dips one finger into the frosting and paints it across my collarbone. With the tip of his tongue, he maps my skin before dipping into the hollow at the base of my throat.
“Even better than the cupcakes,” he murmurs.
“Those cupcakes won second place.”
“Those cupcakes didn’t make that sound you just made.” Again, he dips his finger into the bowl. “Let’s see if I can get a louder one.”
This time the frosting goes on my sternum.
His tongue follows the trail down, down, down.
He doesn’t rush, giving each inch of my skin attention. The flat of his tongue, then the point, then a scrape of teeth that makes me jerk and moan. My chest heaves. My nipples are tight and aching, and he hasn’t even touched them. Hasn’t touched anywhere I need him most.