Seven
Renee scrambled off his lap and grabbed her top, but Oliver didn’t even bother with clothes. He went streaking out of the bedroom at a dead run, his legs still a little wobbly from the sex.
Dear God, if she burned the whole damned house down...
He went skidding into the kitchen. For the second night in a row, smoke was curling out of the oven and hanging in a low cloud against the ceiling—but no flames. Thank God for that.
Oliver moved fast. He grabbed the oven mitts and turned the oven off before he snatched the cookie sheet out of the oven. Still no flames. Just carbonized cookies. Again.
These smelled even worse than the ones from last night. He didn’t want to dump them in the sink and there were still dozens of cookies covering every flat surface.
Thankfully, Renee came running into the kitchen. “Door!” he barked, the oven mitts getting hotter the longer he held on to the cookie sheet.
Coughing, Renee turned and ran. Oliver had to wonder where the hell she was going—there was a perfectly fine door on the other side of the island that opened onto the backyard, but then she yelled, “The pond!”
Right—water would be good. Oliver’s hands were growing dangerously hot despite the oven mitts so he took off after her.
She jerked the front door open and stood to the side while he ran outside and barreled straight into the pond. With a silent apology to Fred and Wilma, he threw the whole damn mess into the water before tearing off the oven mitts and letting them fall to the water. He bent over and let the water cover his hands. It wasn’t cold because the day had been sunny and warm but compared to the hot cookie sheet, the water felt amazing.
A few yards away, the cookie sheet hit the water with a sizzle, as if he’d been forging iron. He looked up to see the whole thing floating, the hockey pucks formerly known as cookies still smoking.
On the far side of the pond, Fred and Wilma made a lot of noise and flapped their wings in displeasure at having their evening swim disrupted.
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, turning his attention back to his palms. They were red but not burned. He didn’t see any blisters forming, nor any white skin that signaled a severe burn.
He dunked his hands back in the water, just to be sure.
He heard a strangled noise behind him and he looked over his shoulder. Renee was standing a few feet up the bank. She’d managed to grab her T-shirt and it hung down to the top of her hips, the hem fluttering in the breeze. Backlit by the setting sun, he could see every inch of her silhouette outlined and that was when his brain chose to remember that, less than ten minutes ago, he’d been inside her, feeling the shocks of her body releasing a climax upon his.
But something wasn’t right. Her hands covered her mouth, her eyes were huge and her shoulders were shaking. It about broke his heart to see her like that.
They were just cookies. It wasn’t like she’d burned the house down or scarred him for life. He didn’t like her looking so fragile, so scared.
But then she asked, “Are you okay?” in a voice that was strangled—but it wasn’t horror or misery that laced her words.
He recognized that voice. He’d heard it countless times back when they’d been kids and he and Clint had fallen for one of Renee and Chloe’s pranks—he was thinking specifically of clear tape strung across his bedroom door that Oliver had walked into it so hard that he’d been knocked off his feet, tape stuck in his hair.
And Renee had stood over him then, looking almost exactly like she did right now—trying so hard not to giggle at the raging success of her trick. Trying, instead, to look worried and she’d uttered the exact same words.
She hadn’t succeeded then and she wasn’t succeeding now. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No!” she answered way too quickly. “I’m...” She took a deep breath, visibly getting herself under control. “I want to make sure your hands aren’t burned.”
The smoke detectors beeped from deep inside the house. Fred and Wilma continued to express their displeasure on the other side of the pond, with Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm joining in. But all he could hear was the barely contained amusement in her voice. “Fine,” he said coolly, because it was the truth and he didn’t want her to worry. “Just a little warm. No burns, no blisters.”
“Good.” Her gaze cut to his backside at the exact same moment a stiff breeze rippled over the surface of the pond. And his butt.
His bare butt. The one that was sticking straight up in the air because he was bent over at the waist. Everything was hanging all the way out.
“Do you think,” she said, dropping her hands and trying to look serious, “that there’ll be a full moon tonight?”
Holy hell, this woman. She was easily going to be the death of him, and quite possibly his house. But honestly? He was so damned relieved she was okay, that the same mischievous, hilarious Renee who’d driven him up a wall when they’d been kids was still in there that he wanted to laugh with him.
But this was Renee after all, and he wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily. Turning, he scowled at her as he walked out of the pond. “You think this is funny?”
“Maybe.” She sobered and took a step back as he advanced on her. “Maybe not.”
“This is the second night in a row you’ve nearly burned down the house, Renee. I don’t think I’m going to let you bake anymore.”
The light in her eyes dimmed as she paled and she crossed her arms over her stomach, almost curling into herself even though she didn’t so much as bend at the waist. Shit, he’d taken it too far. He wanted to make her sweat a little but he didn’t want to beat her down.
Fight back, he thought as he got nose to nose with her. Fight for yourself. “You, ma’am, are a menace to baked goods the world over,” he intoned in the most pompous voice he possessed. “I’d even go so far as to say you’re a monster to cookies everywhere, to say nothing of how you’re terrorizing my kitchen, my swans and myself!”
Behind him, Fred—or maybe it was Wilma—whooped from much closer. Involuntarily, he flinched because no one wanted to be bitten on the ass—or other exposed parts—by an angry bird with a six-foot wingspan. He looked over his shoulder. The swans and cygnets had swum over to investigate the now-sinking cookie sheet, so his butt was safe. For now.
He turned back to Renee. She stared up at him, confusion written all over her face. “Did...did you just call me a cookie monster?”
“If the shoe fits.” He snarled. Well, he tried to snarl. But suddenly the effort of not laughing was almost more than he could bear.
She blinked at him and then blinked again before pointedly looking at their feet. “We’re not wearing shoes.”
“Fine. If the shaggy blue fur and googly eyes fit, wear them!”
Fight back, Renee.
Then, miracle of miracles, she did. She gave him a fierce look and poked him in the chest. “I’ve got news for you, mister.” Poke. “You’re not the boss of me.” Poke.
“Oh, yeah?” It was not the snappiest comeback he’d ever uttered.
But it did what he wanted it to do. Her eyes lit all the way back up as she smiled and then tried to scowl and frankly, she took his breath away again. This was a game. Maybe not one she’d played in a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten the rules. Thank God for that. She was going to give him everything she had and that, more than the explosive sex or the questionably edible baked goods, made him feel ten feet tall. She wasn’t afraid of him. He was worth the fight.
She was worth the fight. It was high time she knew it.
“Yeah!” Poke. “If I want to bake cookies—” poke “—then I’m going to bake cookies. And furthermore—” poke “—I’ll have you know that I was doing just fine before you showed up, both nights.” Poke.
“Ow,” Oliver said, backing up a step. She wasn’t poking him hard, but she was hitting the exact same spot over and over again.
“You’re the reason the cookies got burned.” Poke. “You distracted me with amazing kisses and the best sex I’ve ever had.” Poke. “If you hadn’t distracted me, we could be eating the perfect chocolate chip cookie right now.”
Amazing kisses? The best sex? He wasn’t one to brag but hell, yeah, that was good for his masculine pride. To hell with cookies. He’d have her back in bed. Or on the love seat. Hell, any semiflat surface would do just fine, as long as he could hold her in his arms and feel every inch of her body against every inch of his.
Oliver was grinning his fool head off but he didn’t care. There was something so right about Renee defending herself and putting him in his place that it made him want to sing.
Sing! Him! Oliver!
He didn’t burst into song. However, he did say, “Were they edible cookies?” just to drive her nuts.
It worked. “The last batch was!” Poke.
Stumbling backward, Oliver looked over his shoulder. The cookie sheet had sunk now, but a few hockey pucks formerly known as cookies floated on the surface of the pond. Fred and Wilma and the kids seemed mildly terrified of the things. He couldn’t blame them. “The last batch?”
“You know what I mean—the batch before that!” Poke.
Oliver retreated another step. She was in fine form, his Renee. Her eyes blazed and the breeze molded the thin T-shirt to her body, highlighting her breasts and the gentle swell of her stomach and all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss the hell out of her.
“I swear to God, if I had a water balloon—” poke “—I’d throw it right at your head. But you know what?” Poke.
He grabbed her finger before she bruised him. “What?”
A victorious smile graced her face, making her look like an avenging angel. He wanted to fall to his knees and worship before her. She pulled her hand back and said, “I don’t need a water balloon.”
This time, she didn’t poke him. She put both hands on his chest and Oliver had just leaned down to take that kiss from her lips when she shoved him. Hard.
He fell backward and the next thing he knew, he was sitting on his butt in the pond, wiping water from his face while Renee stood safely on the bank, staring at him.
“You...” he sputtered, wiping water from his face. The mud was squishing up his butt and around his important parts and, judging from the noise, the swans had declared DEFCON 1 behind him. “You pushed me!”
For a second, she looked just as shocked as he felt. Then her face cracked into a huge smile and it was like the sun breaking through clouds after days of endless rain.
“You. Pushed. Me,” he said in his most dangerous growl and then he splashed as much water as he humanly could at her. He missed, of course. From this angle, he could see under the hem of her long T-shirt and, as she danced out of the way of the water, he caught glimpses of her bare body that made him hard all over again, despite the mud.
She laughed, loud and free, and clapped her hands in delight. “Don’t move,” she giggled, pointing. “I’m going to get my phone. I think Chloe needs to see a picture of this—the high-and-mighty Oliver Lawrence stuck in the mud!”
“The hell you will,” he said, trying to get to his feet. But the mud was slippery and he lost his balance and splashed back down again. He couldn’t even keep a straight face this time.
The sound of her happiness was worth it, he decided. He’d be cleaning mud out of his crack for a week but he’d take the fall for her again, just to hear her laugh as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She wrapped her arms around her waist and bent forward, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks.
“You win this round,” he yelled, aiming for his best villain voice—high-pitched and nasal. “But I’ll be back!”
Then, just like she always had years ago, Renee jammed her thumbs against the side of her head, waggled her fingers at him and stuck out her tongue, yelling, “Nyah, nyah na nyah, you can’t catch me!” before she spun on her heels and bolted back to the house. Her legs flashed in the dim light, her bottom peeking out from under the shirt with every step she took.
All he could do was watch her go, an unfamiliar lightness settling around him even as the sun sank behind the house and shrouded the pond in shadows. He hadn’t felt this lightness back when they were kids. She’d driven him nuts and he’d done everything he could’ve to return the favor. But now?
They weren’t kids anymore. Life had changed them both but he could still give her those moments of joy.
“Are you coming?” she yelled from the front door.
He rolled onto his hands and knees and made sure he had his feet under him before he stood. Pond water sheeted down his body, leaving muddy rivulets all across his legs. “Hell, yeah,” he called back.
Because she wasn’t going anywhere without him.