calloused fingers pressed her back, until the curve of her bottom fit snug against his groin, and she had to brace herself against the freezer door since her body had turned to Jell-O.
The other hand trailed up her arm, over her elbow, her wrist, between her fingers, before palming the basket handle.
“It’s a surprise.” Gabe’s lips grazed her lobe. Setting the basket on the counter, his thumb teased the skin that peeked out between the top of her jeans and the hem of her shirt.
Gabe excelled in multitasking. In fact, he was a multitasker extraordinaire. He explored every inch of her stomach while digging out the scissors and a ball of twine, reminding her that she was a woman. A woman who had wants and needs that went beyond what her double-A boyfriend could provide.
Gabe made her feel sexy and smart and wanted. And silly or not, she hadn’t felt wanted in a really long time. Not in the way that Gabe was making clear, as he pressed his erection against her back. Plus her battery-operated boyfriend didn’t like to cuddle.
Regan wanted someone to share her life with. Not the hard times—she was more than capable of handling whatever came at her on her own. But times like this, with Holly busting at the seams with laughter, a warm meal in the oven, and the table set for three. Someone to share her wonderful daughter with, and after she went to bed, someone to snuggle up close to.
Her head fell back, resting on the center of his chest, and she looked up into his eyes and felt her panties go wet. Even through the candlelight she could see exactly what he was thinking, and it involved the table, her naked, and maybe a tub of Rocky Road. Or maybe that was her thinking.
“Perfect,” he breathed, setting a black Sharpie on the counter. Whether he was talking about how well they fit, or the Rocky Road sexcapade, or that he’d found the tools he needed, she didn’t know.
A lazy smile crossed his lips and his finger, not so lazy, dipped slightly below her waistband, running along the edge of her panties. A quick tease, gone as fast as it came. But effective as hell.
“Just give us ten minutes.”
Gabe’s words hummed through her.
Ten minutes? That wouldn’t even give the ice cream time to soften. He had her so wound, ten hours wouldn’t even do it.
As if reading her mind, he chuckled. “I meant that Holly and I need a few more minutes and then we’ll be done.”
“Oh. Right. Ten minutes.” She stepped away and, hoping that the dim candlelight hid her blaring red cheeks, busied herself with stirring the rice on the stovetop that didn’t need stirring.
She could feel Gabe watching her, waiting for her to look up. When she did she forgot to breathe, because his gaze slid from her eyes to her lips, slowly over her breasts and hips, stopping when they got to her bare feet.
She felt her body heat and all she could think was, Don’t look at the table. Don’t look at the table. So, of course, she was so busy telling herself not to look at the table that she looked at the table. And Gabe saw. And understood. And slid her a smile so hot she still felt its burn even after he and Holly had left the kitchen. Even after she told herself that she was not going to have sex with Gabe—kitchen table or elsewhere.
Ten minutes later, she walked into the bedroom to gather the troops for dinner. Two feet from the threshold, she ducked into the shadows and watched from the doorway, careful not to intrude. Gabe and Holly had so much glitter on them they looked like a couple of Christmas ornaments.
Blinking though the limited light, and a little moisture if Regan were being honest, she watched as Gabe helped Holly sprinkle glitter on a piece of paper then carefully stick it to the wall.
“One, two, three,” they said in unison, Holly holding up a little finger for each count. When finished, Gabe slowly peeled back the paper, and any hope that Regan would be able to walk away from today with her heart fully intact fell to the carpet with the construction paper.
She swallowed, so touched by the drawing on the wall that she didn’t even question where all the extra glitter had come from, or how she’d ever manage to get it out of the carpet, let alone all