I Crave You - C.C. Wood Page 0,54

present. Even she wouldn't be oblivious to the sexual tension for much longer.

Relief flooded me when the child in question piped in, "Do we still have to eat salad?"

Brody came closer and ruffled her long hair. "Yep. You still have to eat it."

I inhaled. He smelled like warm cotton and whatever soap or deodorant he used. I decided it was even better than the scent of the food.

Like Jacks, he hugged me. I hadn't exactly been expecting it but I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I managed to resist the urge to bury my face against his chest and smell him like a puppy. There was a good chance I would lick him too. Probably not a good idea with his daughter just a few feet from us.

"You smell like vanilla, cinnamon, and chocolate," he rumbled in my ear.

He. Was. Not. Helping.

I cleared my throat and released him. "Uh, cream cheese chicken enchiladas smell really good."

"They're awesome," Jacks stated.

Brody smiled. "I know it's bad manners to brag but they are awesome."

I took another step away because the temptation to launch myself back into his arms was strong. "I didn't realize you cooked."

I didn't have personal knowledge of his finances but I was pretty sure he could afford to hire a personal chef. I knew his parents had one.

"I like cooking," he answered with a shrug. "Jacks usually helps me."

"He said I'm the best kitchen helper he's ever had!"

Well, that explained it. He used it as time to spend with his daughter.

"We've taken a couple of cooking classes together," she continued.

It was official. I was a puddle inside. I had to do something to offset this.

"Next, you're going to tell me that you clean your house yourself."

"That's going too far," he said with a chuckle. "I have someone come in and do the deep cleaning once a week. Though we do pick up after ourselves and do our own dishes around here. Right, Jacks?"

She pulled a face and nodded. "Yeah. I hate it."

I rolled my lips in to keep from laughing. If I had a guarantee that my child would turn out like Jacks, I'd be ready to have a baby tomorrow.

And where in the hell did that thought come from?

I'd never had baby fever before and this was freaking me the hell out. The room suddenly felt extremely hot.

"Uh, could I get something cool to drink?" I asked. "It's still pretty hot out there."

"Want a margarita on the rocks?" he asked.

I wanted to yell, Hell yeah!

But I settled for, "That sounds delicious."

He looked down at Jacks. "Wash your hands and then go set the table, please."

Surprisingly, she didn't argue. She scampered off in the direction of the hallway. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Brody reached out and grabbed me. His lips hit mine and my legs immediately went weak. This wasn't one of the sweet kisses he'd been giving me lately. This was hotter and deeper.

I twined my arms around his neck and gave him more of my weight. To be honest, I basically draped myself all over him.

"Dad, I can't reach the plates!" Jacks called. "Where's my stool?"

We broke apart, both of us breathing heavily. Brody winced and reached down to adjust himself. I turned my head away so I wouldn't stare at the zipper of his jeans and imagine what lay behind it.

"Good idea," he murmured.

"What?" I asked, still not looking at him.

"If you don't look at me, I just might be able to keep my hands off you."

My head whipped around and I gaped at him, but he'd already turned his back to me. And holy shit, those jeans looked just as good on him from the back as they did from the front.

"The kitchen's this way," he called over his shoulder.

I looked around for the first time since I entered and noticed that the living room to my left was bright and cheerful. The walls were painted white and the couch was beige. There were also bright blue, turquoise, and yellow pillows on the sofa. The wood floors were a warm amber color and a rug sat beneath the sectional and coffee table in the same colors as the toss pillows, only the hues were muted. The windows were covered with white blinds. The walls were still bare, as though he hadn't had time to hang artwork yet and there were no curtains over the blinds. It was clear the house was still a work in progress but it