Loving Bailey by Evelyn Adams Page A

she made it to the porch, Spencer threw open the
door and hurried out to meet her.
    “Thank God. I didn’t think you’d ever get
here,” he said, grinning.
    He had changed, too, his normal chambray
shirt replaced by a crisp, polished, cotton dress shirt open at the
top to reveal a triangle of tanned skin at his neck. He wore black
pants hung low on his narrow hips and a pair of black leather
loafers she was sure cost more than her shoe budget for the year.
He looked so handsome, his sandy hair curling over his collar and
the dark stubble on his chin giving him a rakish look; her mouth
watered.
    But it was his eyes that pulled her forward –
clear, open blue with fine lines at the corners from an abundance
of smiling and an unabashed pleasure at seeing her. He wasn’t
hiding anything. He wanted her there. She didn’t need to guess how
he felt.
    “Lead me to your kitchen,” she said, handing
him the wine.
    “Hm mm, no way you’re cooking tonight. You
look fantastic by the way.” He caught her around the waist and
pulled her against him, nuzzling the tender skin behind her ear and
sending shivers of pleasure through her. “Smell good, too.” He
tugged the lobe of her ear between his teeth and she tipped her
head to give him better access. “Good enough to eat.”
    Delicious tremors followed everywhere his
mouth touched and Bailey felt her nipples pebble tight under the
silk of her bra. She slid her hands around his waist, cupping his
butt and pulling him against her. The heels made her almost tall
enough to fit him into the hot V of her body, the hard length of
him riding just above her mound.
    He bent and claimed her mouth, swallowing her
gasp of pleasure and kissed her until she doubted her ability to
stay standing.
    “Come,” he said, managing to infuse the words
with more than one meaning. “I’m cooking for you tonight. Just tell
me what to do.”
    She swallowed hard in anticipation as he led
her by the hand into the cottage and to the kitchen. He settled her
onto one of the bar stools and set about opening the wine with the
proficiency of someone who’d had plenty of practice.
    He handed her a full glass of syrah and
waited for her to take a sip before he leaned across the counter to
kiss her again, drinking the wine from her lips. Every nerve in her
body was alive and humming with pleasure. Just when she’d start to
come back to something closer to normal, he would touch her or look
at her like he planned to devour her and her nerves would zing to
life again.
    “Okay,” he said, hanging a Kiss the Cook
apron which must have come with the cottage around his neck. “Tell
me what to do.”
    The man was adorable and sexy as hell. Do
me , Bailey thought, taking a big swallow of the peppery
wine.
    “You don’t have to cook,” she said. “I don’t
mind helping.”
    “Not tonight,” he said. “You took me to town
and showed me around today. Tonight I’ve got you right where I want
you – enjoying yourself while I take care of you.”
    He planted a quick kiss on her lips but
before she could tangle her fingers in his hair the way she wanted
to, he pulled back and turned toward the refrigerator
    “Okay. How about the lamb? And I want to try
that goat cheese we got.” He carried the white paper wrapped
package of meat along with sugar peas, greens and a small tub of
chevre to the counter. “What can we do with this?”
    “What about chevre quenelles on dressed
mesculin to start and then pan seared lamb with a fresh herb
remoulade and sugar peas with browned butter?”
    “Awesome, but I don’t know what quenelles
are?”
    “It’s just the shape of the cheese. I can
show you how to make them. And give me the peas.” He scowled at her
and she laughed. “I’ll string them while you do the rest. You can
still be the cook.”
    “Damn right,” he said. “And I don’t need any
help with dessert.”
    The look he gave her let her know exactly
what – or who – he planned to have for dessert.