Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
LOUISA
I swirl the dark icing around the top of the triple-layer chocolate cake, like I’m Van Gogh putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece. I am a hundred percent certain it will taste like one. So same, same. Mama Mancini’s eyes follow the spatula, never leaving the task.
This cake right here is her legacy, and she is giving it to me. Well, the recipe and the technique, at least. It smells divine. I can only imagine how incredible it will taste. This is the second layer of icing, the first being a crumb layer, and she cuts no corners. Thus, nor do I.
The bell to the restaurant chimes. Her focus breaks. I stifle the urge to breathe in my first useful lungful since I picked up the spatula.
“You want me to see who it is?” I ask.
“No, no! You ice, I’ll entertain.”
Entertain?
She’s expecting company?
I send the spatula round for one last swipe, leaving a swirl that looks delectable. I drop the utensil in the sink with the bowl of icing and stand back.
Wow, she’s a real beauty.
I take the recipe in Mama’s handwriting from the counter and slide it safely into my folder. I’m not losing this one. A familiar low chuckle comes from the front of the restaurant. I glance at my wristwatch. Almost six. The last of the sun’s rays splinter through the front glass of the establishment, scattering its brilliant light over the red-and-white tables and chairs and glinting off the black-and-white tile floor. It’s serene.
“She won’t be long,” Mama says, rounding the corner as she waltzes in.
“You set me up, too?” I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Bambina, I have no idea what you talk about?” She smiles, then pulls a silly face.
I duck my head around the door.
Harry sits at a table for two, his hat under his chair, hands on the table by the cutlery flanking his plate. The other side of the table is now sporting a fresh place setting. Every other table is bare, seeing it’s the one day of the week the restaurant is closed.
“What did you do?” I whisper at her.
She chuckles, swiping up a tea towel and diving her hands into the hot, soapy water in the sink. She washes the icing bowl and sets it to drain. I pull the tea towel from her shoulders and dry it up.
“No, no. You and the cake have a date.”
“You’ve been talking to Rosie?”
“Bambina, the whole town’s been talking. You two are the only ones who aren’t seeing what’s happening.”
That’s not entirely true.
My mind flies back to the other day at the base of the mountains. The ride home. The unspoken things exchanged with the smallest of looks as we swayed our way back to the homestead on horseback.
The spatula hits the draining rack. I reach to pick it up and she slaps my wrist away. “You go. Or will I have to take your place?” Her brows shoot up, the cheekiest smile blooming on her kind, wrinkled face.
“Alright. But we don’t need a village to figure out what this is between us.”
“Oh, mia cara , you have neither the choice in that nor the heart to tell a soul no. Go on now!” She waves me off. I untie the apron over my dress and fold it before placing it on my folder under the counter. I slide the cake plate from the counter and into my hands. It’s heavy.
Stepping into the dining area, I hold my breath as I walk the cake to the table. Heart thundering, I set it in the center of the table. Harry clears his throat and stands. “Lou.”
I meet his gaze, and my body vibrates with nervousness.
Dammit.
One little escapade into the mountains and I’m a puddle around Harry Rawlins. It takes a beat to steady my nerves enough to say, “Hey, hungry?”
“For cake?” His eyes darken, dipping to my mouth.
Yeah, me neither.
“Sit! Sit!” Mama squawks at us as she pulls out the linen from under each place, setting mine down on my lap. Harry catches his before she can do the same for him, dropping it beside his plate.
“Mangia! Eat, it’s only good fresh,” Mama insists.
“Good, good.” She pours water into our glasses and lights a small candle. This is feeling more and more like a date with each passing moment.
The front door chimes again. Papa Mancini waltzes in, in golf shoes and outfit, and he greets his wife with a hug and a peck to the cheek. He winks at me as she takes his hand and drags him back to the kitchen.
Harry chuckles. “Does this seem like a setup to you, too?”
“Subtle, aren’t they? If only they knew...” I flash wide eyes at him.
I take the cake knife and sink it into the center of the cake, pulling it down to make the first cut. It cuts like a hot knife through butter, the texture absolute silk.
Sliding a slice onto his plate, I suck the icing from my thumb. Looking back up, I find Harry’s eyes stuck on me. He hasn’t moved. His hands nowhere near his cutlery.
“You don’t wanna taste it? It took me hours, literally .”
“I—”
“Well, you two! We will see you tomorrow. Lock up for me, will you, bambina?” Mama pats my cheek as her husband walks past. They are out the door not a moment later.
Oh yeah, definitely a setup. What is it with this town?
That is the second time this has happened. First with Rosie and the meal at the old place, now this. Seems they all think we are none the wiser to this thing between us.
Remembering the cake, I wedge a bite from the first slice and hold it out to Harry.
His brow raises, mirth lighting up his eyes. “You feedin’ me now?”
I huff a small, tight noise and spin the fork back around, biting the cake from it a second later. Harry tracks the movement, surprise stretching his features. My eyes flutter shut the instant the rich velvetiness hits my palette. A soft moan slips out.
Holy Mary, mother of—this cake is a life experience.
“Lord above, woman, you keep making those little noises and this cake is going to end up on the floor.”
My eyes snap open.
I find Harry’s darkened eyes locked onto my lips. He shifts on the seat, as if he’s no longer comfortable where he sits. His hands grip his cutlery as his jaw clenches.
With him, I’m totally alive.
Simply by walkin’ into the room, he raises me up.
I lower the fork slowly, digging it into the dark chocolatey goodness. With my gaze locked onto his, I take my ever-lovin’ time to part my lips and slide the fork onto my tongue, then bite down.
Harry glances through the oversized windows of the restaurant. Then, as if deciding something outright, he stands, hauls me to my feet, and sweeps me into his arms. His corded forearms hold me to him as he nods to the cake. I twist and pick it up, cradling it in my arms.
Without a word, he heads for the stairs, climbing them one by one to my apartment. His eyes burn into mine as his Adam’s apple bobs. His grip turns too tight as we push through the door. A few long Harry strides and my ass hits the surface of the small kitchen table.
Harry snatches the cake from my grasp, depositing it by my side. I want to run my hands through his hair. Sink into his kiss and surrender to his touch everywhere. But he stands back, chest heaving, body so rigid that, if you didn’t witness the last few moments between us, you would pick him for angry or upset.
I know better.
I know what we do to each other.
How the burn takes over.
“Harry,” I whisper. “Come here.”
He shakes his head, so subtly it almost doesn’t register. “Ain’t movin’ a muscle.”
“Why not?”
He tilts his head before closing his eyes ever so briefly. A groan leaves with his next breath.
Deciding I have waited long enough for this man, I pull the shirt from my body and toss it at his feet. I want him.
At least, I think I’m ready for this.
His gaze snaps to mine.
The fire in his eyes could turn even the hardest element to ash. I let my hands wander to the clasp on my jeans, flipping it open.
He takes a step forward, boots scuffing over the floor as it creaks. His attention flits from the cake to me. A heartbeat passes, and his rough grip surrounds my face, his body pressed between my legs.
He claims what’s his.
It’s all I can do to tame my desperate heart, to slow my rapid pulse. Sliding my hands into his hair, I curl my fingers around his locks, tight. He lowers me to the table, his rock-hard cock grinding into my center. The pressure is bliss against my aching clit.
He pulls back when I’m lying before him. The meal in front of the man.
My hands fall from his hair to my sides, breaths heaving as I lay waiting.
“We doin’ this here, darlin’?” Harry rasps.
“Anywhere, I don’t care.”
His jaw feathers before he tugs at the jeans hugging my hips, darkened blue eyes staring down at me.
I want to see him.
Touch every toned ridge. Every hard line.
I snap up, sitting on the end of the hard surface. I draw my knees up, pressing the soles of my feet to the edge. Letting my legs fall open, I lean forward and pluck the buttons open on his old work shirt. He stands, stoic, rigid. His gaze never leaves my face as I bare him, first the shirt—he toes off his boots—then the jeans and boxers.
I hold my breath as I trace a finger over his jaw, down his neck, and over his bounding pulse point. Lower, I send my hand over his toned pecs, before tracking a digit over his corded bicep and forearm. God, I love these.
Harry’s breaths turn erratic when I brush my hand lower, finding his rock-hard length. It’s warm, velvety, and makes my center coil into itself with the lightest touch.
A low groan splits his lips as I rub a thumb over his tip.
That sound...
I release him and lie back.
It takes him a beat to realize I’m once again spread before him. The ache in my center is so intense. Implosion imminent. Harry’s dark stare flicks back to the cake.
I can’t wrangle the burning breaths in my lungs as something sinister flashes through his eyes.
“Having trouble choosing which to eat?” I ask.
Harry leans over the table, bracing above me on corded arms. His teeth nip my nipple before scattering rough kisses up my neck and claiming my mouth.
I open for him, but he breaks away.
“Who said I had to choose, darlin’?”
I glance at the cake. When I turn back, his hands are sliding under my back. The bra hits the floor. The panties follow.
“What are you up to, Harrison Rawlins?” My words are threadbare.
“Close your eyes, Lou.”
On a shaky breath, I do as I’m told, letting my eyes flutter shut.
The table creaks as he leans in again. Something cool swipes over my nipple a second later. The earthy tang of chocolate floods my senses.
He didn’t .
I crack an eye open.
“Closed, Louisa,” he growls.
The same cool, silky sensation covers my other nipple. It dots in places over my belly and lower still on my hips.
He hovers above me, and I’m tempted to open my eyes again. The rich icing tingles against my skin where he swiped it. I wriggle on the table, desperate, needy. My core aches, my clit is consuming me, reducing me to one point.
“Harry,” I whisper. The word is wobbly, weak, and strung out.
“Patience.”
The table creaks again as he leans over me, to the cake, I assume. His shadow above me disappears, and a rough hand grips my hips. I can’t help but roll them under his touch.
A low growl echoes through my apartment.
A thud tells me he is on his knees.
“Come on, let me open my eyes. Please...”
“The only thing you’re opening for me right now are these pretty thighs.”
He pushes my legs wider. His hot breath hits my center, and I lose a whimper.
“Har—”
The cool icing hits my clit and sweeps through my folds.
Oh. My. God.
“Jesus Christ,” Harry drawls. His raspy words falter as if sticking in his throat. “I’ll be back for dessert later.”
The table wobbles a little as he rises to stand. A hard bite closes around my nipple, and I snap up from the table, unable to stifle the cry rattling up my throat. Harry’s hardness presses into my thigh as he sucks and licks the icing from one nipple.
“Heavens abo?—”
“Keep ’em closed until I tell you otherwise.”
He bites down before licking the nipple, soothing it. I rock my hips into him. My entire body is on fire. My heart hammers, sending the echo to my head.
Harry moves to the next nipple. “So fuckin’ delicious, Louisa May.”
Lord knows if he’s talkin’ about the cake or me.
Knowing this man, both.
My nerves flare. My body wants this. My heart and mind are borderline undecided.
Still.
I can’t escape the insane chemistry between us, yet I can’t fully give in to it either.
“Dessert time,” he murmurs.
My breath hitches as he descends my body, placing one chaste kiss to my skin at a time. It takes every inch of willpower I have to keep my eyes closed.
I grip the edges of the table, my hands desperate to hold something. Harry nudges my thighs, sending my legs wider for him, and I moan. My body burns for his touch. The throbbing in my clit drowns out every last sensation.
“Harry, please... I’m going to?—”
“Open your eyes. I want you to watch me take my fill.”
His tongue runs the length of my soaked center. I cry out, arching from the table. My hands sink into his hair as he looks up, those deep blues holding my attention. Barely shifting the air in and out of my lungs, I’m a trembling mess as I widen my legs further for him.
“Fuck,” I rasp.
Something dark flashes through his gaze.
My insides melt. When the undertone doesn’t leave his eyes, my liquefied core flips the misshaped lump over in my gut. Teeth cinch over my clit. My head falls backward, hair dangling down my bare back, hands snapping on the table behind me, bracing against my inevitable demise as Harry suckles my clit. His hot tongue forms circles over my bounding apex as he sinks two fingers into my wet center.
I hiss, a hand snatching at his hair.
I shake. Each breath is more useless than the last. He works me over with purposeful, slow precision. Like we’ve known each other’s bodies for years.
A stone forms in my airway.
We don’t.
We haven’t.
Instantly, the air merely sustaining me peters out. I shift on the table as the emotions I have kept at bay for so long break free of the dank place I shoved them, soaring into the light. Harry takes a long, hard pull on my clit with his lips, fingers thundering into me. I come hard.
The thoughts splinter and crash out around my mind, dissolving to nothing. My hips rocking, he coaxes me through every last wave of bliss.
God, this man.
Always taking his damn time.
Always paying attention.
This. This is why we’re too intense.
Why being everything to each other is dangerous. Like we climbed in this hot rod of a relationship and floored it, throwing caution to the wind.
I slump backward, lying on the table. The emotions that soared before bliss crash down on me like a concrete blanket.
A strong arm sweeps my back up and off the wooden surface. Harry tugs me, hands gripping my hips, to the table’s edge.
“Jesus, Lou...” he growls.
His erection looks painfully hard.
I want to cross that line, I really do. But my head is not moving as fast as my heart. I shake my head, with a breathy moan.
“What is it?”
I drag in a wobbly breath, and it takes every bit of nerve I have left to lift my eyes to his.
“I-I can’t.”
I want to. God knows I want to. But I know when we do this, I will be careening off this cliff, headfirst, at a million miles per hour. If I end up moving somewhere else, then what happens to us?
To Harry? I?—
He cups my jaw with one hand, dotting a kiss to my forehead. As he pulls back, he brushes my hair behind my ear. “Waitin’ never killed a man. I waited ten years, Lou. Take your time, darlin’.”
“I’m sor?—”
He moves to one side, coming back with a handful of cake and the cheekiest grin I have ever seen on his gorgeous face.
“You gonna feed me?” I ask, a giggle almost drowning out the last word.
“Something like that,” he drawls.
Cake squishes over my lips. Icing shoves its way up my nose. I gasp, mouth agape. He loses it, bending over with a cackle.
“Oh. My. God. That’s it, Harrison Rawlins. You are getting it now!”
Swiping up two handfuls of the silky cake and icing, I lunge at him. He moves too slow. I coat the side of his face and neck with it. He swings around, catching me with one arm. I scream, trying desperately to pull from his strong hold. He chuckles into my ear, edging me closer to the table. To the cake.
“Uh uh, no way. It will take me days to wash the icing out of my hair, Harry.”
“Not if you have help,” he growls into my neck.
He turns us as one, pinning me to the table. I slam my eyes shut, holding my hands up in a desperate attempt to hold back the chocolatey assault. The earthy cocoa scent shrouds the space between us as he plucks up a handful with his free hand, rubbing it over my face and into my hair.
“Oh! You!”
The heartiest laugh rumbles up this throat. “You look kinda dirty, Louisa May.”
I grab handfuls of his hair and drag his mouth down. Icing cakes my face. I don’t care.
I taste him.
He sinks into the kiss.
Rough hands pull me to his hips as he wanders around the apartment blindly. “Bathroom?”
I point to the middle door, and he pads for it. Letting me down, he runs the bath. I trail a finger through the icing on his neck, tasting it when I reclaim my finger.
Lots of steam and too many bubbles later, I’m lifted into his arms. He steps into the bath. We sit, Harry at my back, relaxing into the hot, soapy water as the chocolate melts from our skin.
Mama Mancini’s chocolate Italian cake is some kind of aphrodisiac.
A coincidence? I think not.
I chuckle to myself and lay my head on Harry’s shoulder. A kiss dots to the crown of my head.
This right here is heaven.
“Can you stay?” I ask when the silence floods the small bathroom space.
“Sorry, Lou. Early start.”
Of course. Ranchin’ never ends.
Just like this thing between Harry and me. Ever present. All-consuming.
“A little longer?” I ask. Heavens alive, I’m beggin’ now.
“I’ll stay and snuggle. Whatever you need, you ask, and I’ll make it yours.”
I turn my head back, planting a kiss to his jaw. He folds his arms around me, and I’m caged in as bubbles slop about the bath. “Good to know.”