Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,98

involved.”

Chapter 15

She gutted him . . . effortlessly. Reached right in, wrapped her hand and all the rest of what made her so unique right around his heart, and she’d be damned if she’d let go. He’d never felt so vulnerable in front of anyone, which was saying more than he could comprehend, given how vulnerable he’d been most of his life. It wasn’t because of what she could see in her mind’s eye; it was what she saw every time she looked at him.

She’d meant every word she’d said. He had not a single doubt. Just as he’d meant every word he’d said. They were about to join forces, knowingly, and . . . well, the power of it scared the ever loving hell out of him.

Was that what love was supposed to feel like?

While it didn’t make any sense—none of it had—he didn’t know what other emotion to name this . . . feeling he had. It was the only label big enough, broad enough, deep enough, to come close. Maybe that’s what scared him. Knowing this beautiful, powerful thing, was swimming between them, if they were brave enough to wade out into uncharted waters. Rough waters, ripping, roiling, powerful waters . . . deep waters.

Standing there, looking into those sea green eyes, so steady, so true, the past didn’t matter. Not like he thought it would. Yes, he wanted her to know, but it was because he wanted her to understand him, what drove him, what mattered to him . . . and what didn’t. And why. Not because he worried she’d consider him unworthy or too big a risk.

Hell, it was just like she said . . . it wasn’t about the stuff spinning in orbit around them; the only thing that mattered was what was at the core of it. His throat worked, and a sensation tightened the corners of his eyes, burning with the threat of emotions he’d sworn he’d never let come to the surface again.

“Come here, sugar,” he said roughly, finally feeling confident in putting his hands on her because he knew she trusted him. No matter what.

He pulled her into his arms, wrapped her up tight as he leaned back against the truck, and drew her face up to his. He looked into those eyes . . . and stepped right off into the deep water. “Come with me,” he murmured, the words sounding like rough sand against smooth glass.

And she did.

He took her mouth like a man starved, who’d just been offered the feast of the gods. No holding back, no worrying about what touched where. He felt primal, like he was claiming what was his . . . and yet, when she opened her mouth, took him inside, and held him there, so tightly, so wetly, so warmly . . . it was he who’d been claimed.

If it was terrifying, opening himself up and diving in deep, the utter thrill of it made every second of sheer terror exhilaratingly, stunningly worthwhile.

He hitched her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist, and she followed, without his having to say a word. He turned, pressing her against the side of the truck, moving between her legs, the feel of her sweet softness pressed against him wrenching a guttural groan from somewhere deep inside his chest.

He knew he should pause, make sure she was with him, but oh, she was with him. She gave when he demanded, then demanded her own in return.

“Why in sweet hell do we start these things where we can’t see them through to their most amazing, rightful conclusion?” he growled against the side of her neck. Rigidly hard, it was painful to breathe, much less move.

“Because fate has a sense of humor?” she panted, sounding every bit as put out as he was, and it made him laugh. Oddly, it was the thing that tipped him completely over and in.

He lifted his head, keeping her wrapped all around him, and smiled into eyes he wanted to smile into for a very long time. “I did actually plan a real dinner. Lolly is home right now, standing guard.”

“Dinner is at your place?”

“Well, sugar, I admit I’ve been something of a pain in the ass to deal with this week. Seems maybe I’ve been missing you. Some.”

“Some,” she repeated, and her smile was a shade smug and a shade thrilled. He loved both.

“So, I didn’t want to share you with the good folks of Sugarberry. This