That Wild Night. Aimee Carson

Hunger… Craving.

      Next thing, she’d been rifling through the pantry, nearly bursting into tears at the discovery of one single cardboard box in the very back, and the tub of fudge frosting beside it.

      Some forty minutes later she was staring down two eight-inch rounds, fresh from the oven, mentally calculating how long before they’d be cool enough to frost and eat. Too long.

      “God,” she half moaned, recognizing the near breathless desperation in her own voice. “I want you so bad.”

      The sound of a throat clearing behind her had her jumping back, one hand moving instinctively toward her belly, the other going to her chest.

      “Jeff,” she gasped at seeing him in the doorway, tie askew, suit jacket flipped over one arm, shirt a perfect cut for his broad shoulders, looking rugged and powerful and thoroughly entertained with an amused smile tilting his lips. “I thought you had a call. What are you doing here?”

      Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he nodded toward the counter. “Looking for some cake?”

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      SURROUNDED BY THE familiar dark wood cabinetry, heated stone floors and wide granite counters of the kitchen he’d spent a significant part of his youth hanging out in—it was with immense satisfaction that Jeff watched Darcy standing at the counter where she frosted the now-cooled cakes, her head tipped back as warm, full-bodied laughter bubbled past her lips.

      “Traitor?” She teased, catching her breath. “She’s your mother. And you were the one who finagled me into staying here and working with her. You had to know we’d find some middle ground.”

      “She sold out over a trip to some baby boutique? Come on.”

      He was crying foul, but seeing Darcy in person, his anxiety about her overdoing it was alleviated. Mostly anyway. And for all the noise he was making, he knew his mom wouldn’t have skipped out for the night if she’d had even a moment’s doubt about how Darcy was doing.

      Darcy slid a fat slice of yellow cake layered with some kind of thick fudgy frosting onto a waiting plate.

      Man, his mouth watered and he went to the counter, catching himself an instant before he leaned in to drop a kiss at her neck. Which was crazy, because it wasn’t like this sort of domesticity was a habit. But seeing her there, laughing, chatting with him, looking so comfortable in her bare feet—it was like the scene flipped a switch in him and he’d forgotten exactly what they were doing and how it was between them.

      Which was, not like that.

      He slanted another look at her neck. Bare and long, and hell, with a tiny speck of cake batter along the side to match the few decorating her thin cotton hoodie.

      She looked sweet. Tasty.

      Because she was. He remembered running his tongue from her collarbone up behind her ear, and how the silky length of her hair had felt in his fingers as he gathered it out of his way.

      “You okay?” Darcy asked, a wary look in her eyes.

      Except for the way his entire body had gone online in the span of a few seconds, yeah, perfect. “Hungry. For cake.”

      Satisfied, she smiled and served him a slice. “Then here you go.”

      A smaller slice. Significantly.

      “Really?” he asked with an arched brow.

      Darcy flashed him a sassy grin and patted her flat stomach. “Eating for two. And since this is the only thing I’ve actually wanted in as long as I can remember.” She looked down at her slice with a covetous intent and put on a growling brogue as she muttered, “Get in my belly.”

      Jeff blinked, not believing he’d just heard her quote an Austin Powers movie. He let out a hard laugh as she enthusiastically swept up her plate and went to the table, his little mama-in-the-making diving in without so much as a look his way.

      Her lips closed around the fork and she gave up one of those unabashed moans that had his body reacting in a way where the best course of action seemed turning his back to her as he went to the fridge. “Think your belly’s up for a glass of milk?”

      Darcy was still sucking the frosting off her fork when he turned to look at her. Rather than just finish the bite, she continued to savor the cake and frosting, turning her fork upside down to suck the tines as she absently nodded at him.

      He swallowed, gave himself a firm mental shake and then poured a couple of glasses.

      They were drinking milk. And milk and hard-ons didn’t go.

      But even without the dairy, he shouldn’t be thinking about Darcy like that. Because he wasn’t ever going to be with Darcy that way again. Even if his head seemed to be making frequent sojourns to a time when he had, he had enough control to keep his body from following.

      The pressure behind his fly told him he was lying to himself, but he threw a mental finger in that southern direction.

      There was too much on the line with a child between them to risk emotions gone awry, which meant keeping it platonic.

      He couldn’t afford for things to end up the way they had with Margo. After all the years of friendship between them, in the end they could barely stand to be in the same room, let alone carry on a civilized conversation.

      So resisting a few wayward urges shouldn’t be too difficult considering it wasn’t love they were fighting. Darcy was just so damned sexy, was all.

      Yeah, their initial connection had been beyond the physical. But the part that was physical? He could still feel the embers from that blaze where they sizzled and burned in the back of his mind. Eventually though, he’d get past them.

      Pulling it together, he slid into the chair across from hers. “So it’s going well with my mom?”

      Seeing Darcy was still working the damned fork, he shifted in his seat, adding tightly, “No rush to answer. Whenever you’re finished molesting that fork with your tongue. By all means, take your time.”

      Her eyes widened, a satisfying rush of red tingeing her cheeks. It looked good on her.

      Sliding the fork from between her lips in a way that didn’t do him any favors, she set the utensil at the side of her plate and neatly folded her arms in front of her.

      “Your mom is wonderful. I think she’s one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.”

      Jeff smiled. “Did she try to buy you the house across the street—which incidentally is on the market if you like it. Smaller than this one but for the two of you—”

      “No,” she said waving him off with an annoyed glance. “She’s very thoughtful. And observant. When I said generous, I meant with her time and her thoughts and feelings.”

      “She is, isn’t she? I hoped she wouldn’t overwhelm you. I know you like to be on your own.”

      Darcy shook her head, picking up the fork again and scraping at frosting left on her plate. Accumulating the smallest glob before bringing it to her mouth.

      “We’ve struck a pretty good balance. We go for a walk each morning, sometimes just around the yard if my stomach is sketchy. We talk about interests and goals. And if ever I’m feeling embarrassed or something from having to rush away for my stomach, she always has some fantastic story about you to make me feel better.”

      Jeff’s brow shot up, his ego taking a stretch and pulling him forward to hear more. “Yeah?”

      “Yeah, like the time you got into the caterer’s stash of dessert toppers and then got sick in the pool.”

      He slumped back. “No.”

      Not exactly the tales of heroism and maternal adoration he’d been