Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I slid the first tray of cookies in and prepped the second. If they turned out, I could make more, but I wanted to be sure. I had tidied up the kitchen after Dante had stormed away. I shouldn’t tease him, but I did like his reactions when I called him old man. He was anything but old; however, his responses to my words were always intense. I shivered as I recalled his sexual threats tonight. My own reaction had been physical. My underwear grew damp, my nipples hardened, and I ached for something. I just wasn’t sure what that something was, although I was sure Dante would know and happily give it to me.
The timer went off, and I pulled out the tray. My snickerdoodles were golden, smelled delicious, and looked perfect. I slid in the other tray and, after a few moments, transferred the cookies to a plate, humming to keep the silence at bay. I was contemplating carrying them upstairs when I heard Dante’s heavy tread coming toward the kitchen.
“What am I…”
He inhaled again. “Are those cookies?”
I held out the plate. “Yes.”
DANTE
I couldn’t work, no matter how I tried. None of the messages were important, and the emails weren’t urgent. Even one about a piece I’d been trying to purchase from an estate didn’t hold my interest.
My interest was somewhere in this house, just out of my reach.
Brianna had crawled under my skin and stayed there. She invaded my thoughts, slipped into my dreams, wove her way into every aspect of my world.
And she was downstairs, doing God knew what, in my house. I felt bad that I had stormed away from her, leaving her in a messy kitchen, but I had no choice. If I hadn’t forced myself back, I would have taken her right then. I felt how she reacted to me. The hard tips of her nipples as I cupped her breasts. The way she arched her back to get closer to my touch. The low, needy whimper that escaped her lips as I kissed her neck. I had to get away. Leave her.
But it did no good. I could smell her on my hands. The fragrance from her hair, the scent of her skin, was still in my nose. Her laughter echoed in my head. Her teasing words and the way her eyes danced as she said them. No one spoke to me the way she did. No other woman ever had. She was unique.
I stood, giving up. I would go find her and see what she was doing.
But when I opened my door, another scent hit me. Sweet, heavy with sugar and cinnamon. And I heard humming. I inhaled again, my mouth watering.
My little bee was baking.
I raced down the steps and into the kitchen. “What am I…”
I stopped at the sight of the plate Brianna held. Another sniff and I knew. “Are those cookies?”
She had barely said yes before I grabbed one, biting down. Soft and chewy. Rich and dense. Cinnamon, sugar, and the perfect cookie, all rolled into one. I groaned at the taste. Chewed and swallowed. Reached for another one.
Brianna set down the plate as I devoured the next piece of perfection, and she slid a glass of milk in front of me. I lost count of the number of cookies I ate, opening my eyes to look at Brianna. She seemed shocked, and I realized I had eaten a lot of cookies. Probably more than I thought. “Tell me there were a dozen on that plate.”
“Sixteen.”
I had eaten six cookies. In a row.
“That was impressive,” she muttered.
“Those were amazing.”
The timer went off, and she pulled another tray out of the oven. “Hopefully these will last you until tomorrow.”
I took another one, biting down. “You let me relive a little piece of my childhood,” I told her. “Thank you.”
She picked one up, studying it, then bit down, chewing slowly. “Thirty seconds less next time. I have to get used to your oven.”
“They’re perfect to me.”
She smiled. “Good. I can practice until the cake supplies come in.”
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
I watched her efficiently put the cookies into a container, wash the cookie sheet and slide it back into the oven to dry. The rest of the kitchen was spotless. She smiled at me. “Don’t eat them all, Dante. You’ll be sick.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She walked past me. “I’m going to bed.”
I caught her hand. “Thank you, Little Bee. I mean it. They’re great.”
“Do they count as one of the sixty?”
I felt a flutter of something at her question, but I nodded. “Yes, if you want.”
A strange look passed over her face. “Good night, Dante.”
I pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “Good night, Little Bee.”
I watched her walk away, feeling strangely morose. Her cookies no longer held any appeal for me, and I put on the lid and locked up the patio doors. I noted the clouds gathering and wondered if the rain would fall in the night.