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  “That would be a story, wouldn’t it? By the way, if you get a delivery order for Suckers tomorrow, just ignore it. My family will launch the inquisition, and you don’t have time for that.”

  Three cooling racks were stacked on his island with perfectly browned chocolate chip cookies, and that top tray was calling to him again. “I always pass inquisitions with flying colors.”

  “Had a lot of experience?”

  “Not lately.”

  There were too many questions in the glance she tossed back at him. How many of those women you’ve dated since your divorce were serious? Did you sleep with any of them? Introduce them to your family? Are you rusty? Does your equipment work?

  “Good cookies,” he said.

  “Of course they are.”

  There she went making him smile again. Even if he were in a place where he could consider honestly dating for anything other than show, to have a woman to talk about or bring along on the occasional family get-together, Pepper wasn’t his type.

  She was right. She was too successful. Too independent. He didn’t have a single damn thing a woman like her needed, and he’d had enough heartache in his life from a woman who had needed so much more.

  Not just Tabitha, either.

  His mom had needed him. Needed him to be the man of the house, needed him to love her, needed him to take her to her treatments and doctor appointments, needed him to make those last final agonizing decisions for her.

  Pepper wiped her hands on an old dishtowel printed with a faded rooster before leaning her elbows on the island. Her stretchy black cotton shirt dipped, and a hint of cleavage drained half his blood to his crotch.

  “You’ve got chocolate—” She rubbed her thumb at the corner of her own mouth.

  If she were really his girlfriend, she’d lick it off for him. Even as his fake girlfriend, he’d let her. They could keep this skin deep.

  He rubbed the bristles on his chin. “There?”

  “No, there.” She touched the side of her mouth again, and he went full salute.

  “Here?” He scratched his cheek.

  Her lips twitched up. Fun. This was fun. Hell, she’d been right. They were two hardcore business owners. They didn’t do fun. She leaned farther across the counter, her shirt stretching tighter, his groin pulsing in sweet, welcome pain, those brilliant emerald eyes dipping to his mouth.

  “You’re a very bad man,” she whispered.

  “I’m a lonely, divorced workaholic with only a rescue cat for company,” he whispered back.

  She licked her thumb. His primal needs spiraled into a tight, focused arrow of hot, desperate desire. He didn’t need cookies. He didn’t need milk. He didn’t need air.

  He needed to kiss her.

  She pressed her chilly thumb to the edge of his mouth. An hour of baking over a hot oven, and her fingers were still cold. He caught her wrist and turned his head, sucking her thumb into his mouth. Her breath audibly caught, and he sucked harder, swirling his tongue around her, tasting chocolate and Pepper.

  “Very bad man,” she whispered.

  He released her wrist, but she didn’t pull her thumb out. Her eyes were dark, her breasts rising and falling quickly, her long hair hanging out of her ponytail, dangling over her shoulder and brushing his arm. He sucked her thumb again.

  Her eyes slid closed. He reached behind her and tugged at her hair tie, letting all that thick, silky hair cascade over his arms. Her thumb slid out of his mouth with a soft pop, and before his brain could talk him out of it, he pushed up to capture her lips with his.

  Thick, lush Pepper lips. Warm, salty mouth. Slick, talented tongue.

  She gripped the front of his T-shirt and pulled. A strong woman who knew what she wanted, and she wanted him.

  His gut tightened. His heart was a hot mess. And he was about two seconds from completely losing it in his pants.

  All because of a kiss.

  His fingers ached to touch her skin. Learn her curves. Explore her hidden parts. Make her ache for him. Drive her mad with need for him.

  Bury himself in her.

  Lose himself in her.

  Would she be hot? Wet? Tight? Quiet or loud? Could he make her scream his name?

  Did he still know how?

  Tinny music split the air. Pepper pulled out of the kiss with a gasp. “Gran.”

  He replied, he thought, with something coherent, but he wasn’t in complete control of his mouth. Instinct demanded he grab her, shove the cookies to the floor, and throw her on the island. Strip her. Pump into her. Claim her.

  But she was dashing to her canvas bag near the doorway, hand brushing her mussed hair back, bending over and giving him the sweetest view of her heart-shaped ass.

  He rubbed his throbbing erection through his sweatpants. So close. He’d been so close.

  Still was. Another stroke or two, and he’d be finished.

  He dropped back down on his stool, trying to even out his breathing while Pepper spoke into the phone. “Doesn’t Basil have a key? I gave him a key—oh. I—yes. I’m just next door… No, no, it’s no trouble.”

  She hung up a minute later and didn’t meet his gaze when she looked at him.

  Probably good, because he didn’t like to be the one to flinch away either.

  “Gran’s locked out. I need to—thank you. For letting me hang out and make a mess of your kitchen. Hope you get lots of new business tomorrow. With the big game and all. I’ll drop a few hints.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for coming.”

  Or not coming.

  “I’ll call you later this week. So we can get our stories straight. The breakup story, I mean. So they don’t ask why you’re not at the wedding, but don’t take it out on Pepperoni Tony’s.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes when she gave a friendly finger wave from her side of the kitchen. “Thanks again.”

  He slid off his stool onto wobbly legs, too slow to stop her, not sure he knew what he’d say even if he’d succeeded.

  But his dick knew what it wanted to say.

  And for the first time in months, it was fully armed, ready, and not backing down.

  Little victories.

  So why didn’t he feel like celebrating?

  7

  Sunday night, three-quarters of Pepper’s family gathered at CJ’s bar to watch the game. He’d shut down Suckers to all but family and close friends tonight, since family and close friends put the bar almost at capacity.

  This was one of her favorite spots in all of Bliss, and not just because the short-order cook made a mean Cobb salad. She’d celebrated buying into Bliss Bridal in the corner booth. She’d made friends with countless locals around the steel semicircle bar. And while she hadn’t dated much since moving to Bliss, she’d had her share of tears-in-my-beer drinks with friends after discovering yet another ex-boyfriend was getting married, which she’d followed with two more tears-in-my-beer drinks after helping two of her exes’ brides find their perfect wedding gowns at Bliss Bridal.

  At this point in her life, her dating record was nearly a source of pride. Who else—besides Lindsey, of course, Bliss’s resident matchmaker—could claim to have participated in the successful union of fifteen happy couples? And letting go of the traditional idea of the perfect happily-ever-after had freed her to set her own course for her future.

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow, she’d know.

  Tonight, she’d soaked up love in the baby circle, getting baby hugs and snuggles and cuddles, and hopefully baby cooties. She’d rubbed Kimmie’s belly, she’d rubbed Lindsey’s belly, and she’d rubbed Dahlia’s belly.

  She’d done everything she could, and the next fourteen hours would be agony.

  Too bad she couldn’t use Tony as a distraction again tonight.

  Too bad she’d turned chicken and fled last night. Once that test came back positive tomorrow, she wouldn’t have a man’s hands on her again for a very, very long time.

  “I still don’t get why Tony couldn’t just hire extra dr
ivers tonight.” Rika slid onto the stool next to Pepper, her fruity drink half-gone. She was third youngest in the family—right behind Poppy, who had her by four minutes—but she was getting close to thirty herself. The whole family, growing up, getting older. “Aren’t there Uber drivers around here?”

  “In Bliss? No. And hiring extra drivers for one night of the year would be like me hiring extra bridal consultants for Knot Fest week. You buckle down and get it done.”

  “You’re bringing him to Tarra’s wedding, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m bringing my other boyfriend.”

  “He needs to get his ass here so we can—mmph!”

  A hand clamped over her mouth. Cori, next in birth order behind Pepper, flashed a smile while she muffled Rika. “Leave Pepper alone and let her enjoy having a boyfriend. Eew! Did you just lick my hand?”

  “Yes, and you should wash more often. Oh! Look! That guy in blue touched that guy in red on the butt. I have that on my bingo card.”

  “Bingo!” Tarra called across the bar.

  “Shut up,” Cori called back. “Lucky pain in the ass,” she muttered.

  One of the babies let out a wail while the adults all laughed and groaned. Except Tarra’s fiancé. He rolled his eyes.

  Pepper’s womb squeezed. The next family contest could be about her baby—gender, date, and how many hours she’d be in labor.

  Gran squeezed up to the bar. “Your pizza man’s late.”

  “He’s delivering pizzas,” Cori and Rika chorused with her.

  “That’s why I ordered up a dozen.” Gran’s wide grin was impossible not to smile back at, even as Pepper’s shoulders headed up toward her earlobes.

  She hadn’t talked to him today. She assumed he knew better than to show up here—he’d been warned and threatened—but she’d been too chicken to call and confirm.

  Because she’d been the one who fled like her pants were on fire last night. Who hadn’t gone back when she could’ve.

  “I made sure to tell them I only wanted the boss man to deliver to us,” Gran said. “We need him for the—”

  “Touchdown!” Cori yelled.

  “That’s a first down, not a touchdown, you dolt,” CJ said from behind the bar, where Noah, his and Nat’s six-year-old, was helping with the soda gun.

  “They both have down in them,” Cori retorted. “And you shouldn’t call your son’s aunt names in front of him. Babies deserve to grow up in non-hostile environments.”

  “What’s a bolt?” Noah asked. His brown hair tumbled over his forehead, and his dark eyes were sparkling with curiosity. “Is that like a nut?”

  “Exactly like a nut,” CJ confirmed. He glanced at something behind Pepper, winced, and then swung Noah up into a football hold. The boy was slight—he had Nat’s build, petite and small-boned—and CJ stood solid at six three, so he managed to pull off the awkward hold with ease. “Let’s go score a touchdown in the ice-cream freezer in back. Don’t tell Mom, okay?”

  “Pizza’s here!” Sage called from the door.

  Pepper glanced in the mirror behind the bar, and she froze.

  He hadn’t listened. And now—

  “Lock the door!” Gran crowed. “The stripper’s here!”

  Pepper glared at him. I told you not to come.

  He answered with a stubborn, wolfish smile. That was your first mistake.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Margie intoned beside her.

  “Would you want your new boyfriend to meet the whole family again?”

  “We’re missing four siblings.”

  “Why am I explaining to a scientist that nine people still outnumber one by nearly a factor of ten?” She skittered off her stool and headed toward the door, but Gran was already ahead of her.

  Her old bones could move quickly when she wanted them to. “Tony, my sweet boy. I brought Cards Against Humanity, but none of the other wusses here will play me.”

  “We respect you too much, Gran,” Saffron’s husband, Dylan, called from one of the booths.

  “Oh, phooey. You’re just not man enough to get beat by an old lady.”

  Tony put an arm around her, and Pepper’s heart might’ve gone a little soft at the edges. “I don’t understand why you’re still single, Gran.”

  “It’s by choice, young man. Don’t go flirting with me. We need you to marry Pepper.”

  “We’ve only been dating a week.”

  “And you’re not getting any younger,” Gran declared.

  “Hey, don’t start the inquisition without me.” CJ swung out of the kitchen, Noah-less. He leaned over the bar to poke Basil, who was watching with his normal affected boredom from the stool near the back wall, priest’s collar stark white against his black clergy uniform. “You’re up too, Your Holy Grouchiness. Come on. Time to quit being a father and step up and be a brother.”

  “I surrendered my brotherly duties to God twenty years ago, and I’m not taking them back now.”

  “Tony has pizzas to deliver,” Pepper said to CJ. “We don’t have time for an inquisition.”

  “Have you ever been caught in a compromising position with any farm animals?” Rika called.

  “Rika—” Pepper started.

  That smile growing on Tony’s lips stopped her. It was the I will win this game smile. The they don’t scare me smile. The try your worst smile.

  “No, he hasn’t,” she finished. She reached his side and snagged his hand, but when she tugged him toward the door, he didn’t move.

  “Does a skunk count as a farm animal?” he asked.

  “You’ve had sex with a skunk?” Gran said. Silence settled over the bar. Kimmie gaped. Her mother—here with Nat and Lindsey’s father—seemed on the verge of a stroke. Even Mikey and Will—the Southerners in the group—seemed flummoxed. Sage—veterinarian of the group—stared on horrified, eyes wide.

  “Sex?” Tony said. “No. I was behind it while my brother was trying to teach it to fetch. My nose was compromised for a week. And my clothes had to be burned.”

  Snorts and giggles went up around the room.

  “I approve,” CJ announced.

  “Not so fast.” Gran lifted a finger. “While I approve of his personality, I still don’t know his sperm count.”

  “Why is it always the sperm count?” Margie said. “Why can’t we ask about his IQ or his arrest record?”

  “A man’s not living right if he hasn’t visited the slammer at least once. And gotten a prison bitch. And a tattoo. I got mine right—”

  “Whoa, Gran—family-friendly establishment here,” CJ interrupted.

  “Gran, if Tony shows you his abs, will you let him get back to delivering pizzas?”

  “Depends. Are they worth seeing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  More silence filled the bar. Pepper’s cheeks went hot.

  “You don’t know?” Margie said in the silence.

  “I don’t know if Gran will think so,” she amended quickly. “She has very eccentric taste, and she might be disappointed he doesn’t have an extra nipple over his belly button.”

  She sent him a quick, silent, you don’t have an extra nipple over your belly button, do you?, which he chose not to answer.

  Instead, he linked his hand with hers and swung it.

  “There’s only one woman I strip for,” he said. “Sorry, Gran.”

  “Then you owe me your sperm count. You get them tested. You told me so.”

  “Gran—” Pepper started.

  “What if I come from a long line of thieves?” he said. “Or charlatans? Or internet spies?”

  “You don’t—” she started again. He hooked his hand behind her back and pulled her into him, pressed her head into his shoulder, muffling her, letting her whole body feel just how hard he was.

  Hard chest under his red jacket. Hard abs. Hard—oh, yes.

  That was what she’d left yesterday?

  Priorities, she reminded herself. Being a mother would make the sacrifice worth it.

&
nbsp; “Our genes can compensate for a lot,” Gran said.

  “What if he comes from a long line of liars?” Margie put in. “He did let Gran think he was a stripping pizza-delivery man.”

  “Is that one Nutmeg?” Tony said to Pepper.

  Shrieks of laughter went through the bar.

  “Hey, I know that joke,” Nat called.

  “Have you ever gone to a wedding with one woman and left with another?” Sage asked.

  His whole body went stiff. Not good stiff, either, like that stiffness against her hip.

  She shoved back. “And we’re done,” she announced.

  “No,” he said, quite distinctly, with more than a bit of annoyance twisting his features. “That’s a jackass move.”

  “What about a Blueper Bowl party?” Saffron called. She was nursing her month-old baby girl at the musicians’ table with Will and Mikey and their pregnant wives, staring Tony down without blinking.

  “Not at the Super Bowl, not at the Blueper Bowl,” he growled. “I don’t leave my date for other women. Period.”

  An approving murmur rolled through her family and friends, and a thrill at his words sent a hot longing zinging between her legs. She should’ve been indifferent—this wasn’t real or permanent—or at least evolved enough not to get a thrill at feeling claimed, but protective caveman Tony was the sexiest thing she’d seen in months.

  Hormones, she told herself. Early pregnancy hormones.

  Which was exactly why he wouldn’t be hers, and they wouldn’t be rolling in the sheets. She gave one last sniff of his jacket—hot pizza and hotter Tony—and took another step back. “Thank you for delivering us pizza. Don’t let us keep you from work.”

  “Not so fast, young lady,” Gran said. “It’s halftime.”

  “Dibs on the cucumber!” Cinna yelled.

  “Tarra gets the cucumber,” Sage yelled back. “She’s pushing forty. She needs it most.”

  “What’s with the cucumber?” Tony murmured.

  “Just be glad it’s not the goat,” she replied. Dang goat. It was the only thing she hadn’t tried. Not that she needed it or truly believed in it, but she would’ve taken it in a heartbeat. “And don’t let them suck you into the middle of the group, or you’ll never escape.”