Mitch knocked at Claire's door, holding two bags of groceries from Bellamy's in his arms and an earnest desire to see her smile without fear in his heart.

He needed to go see Dr. Stanton and have his God damn head checked.

She'd been avoiding him the past few days, ever since giving him the sweetest and hottest kiss of his life. The existence of the two wrapped in one kiss hadn’t seemed possible, but holy hell, she’d proven it to be true.

He'd never thought something that started out so awkward could end with such force that he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his mind. But if he wasn’t awake, he dreamed about it, and if he wasn’t sleeping, he thought about it.

Fuck and double fuck.

One part of his brain had warned him of the danger, but his logical self brushed it away. It was lust, pure and simple. Claire was a gorgeous woman with a quick mind, a sweet heart, and an ass that wouldn’t quit who'd been putting him in his place since they'd met. It was a combination he'd found intoxicating.

Commitment meant expectations, and expectations meant that emotions and feelings were involved. Such delicate things. Hurting someone would be inevitable. There was no way around it.

And he just couldn’t risk hurting Claire.

The door swung open to reveal the object of his distraction in a pair of gray shorts that hugged her round, delicious ass and a lighter gray knit sweater that clung to her breasts as if knitted just for them. And he found another combination he couldn’t resist.

She looked up-and-down the street in confusion then glanced at the bags in his hands. “What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“I've been thinking. You just need practice. So I'm here to make you dinner. We’ll enjoy conversation; we’ll flirt, we’ll drink...all in the safety of your home. There’ll be no reason to run because you're already here.”

“Your observation skills are amazing.”

He ignored her sarcasm, forcing himself to keep a distance. “And if during the evening, anything I say is one of the triggers that worries you, we can identify it and work through it.”

He could hear the idiocy fall from his lips, helpless to shut the fuck up.

She raised a brow. “This is very clinical of you.”

He gave a strained chuckle. “Shut up. I promised to help.”

She stepped aside for him to enter. “I know you did. If you give me a second, I can go change.”

He moved into her space, loving the scent of her all around him. His body tightened in awareness. “You don't need to change. That's the beauty of having dinner in your own home.”

But she waved her hand up-and-down his frame. “And sit across from you looking as if you just stepped out of GQ magazine? I don't think so.”

“Oh? You like this look then?” Pleasure rushed through his chest. He hadn't dressed in anything fancy, just a pair of dark-wash jeans and a dark gray button-up shirt. But if she thought he looked good, then who was he to argue?

“If it would make you more comfortable I can always take my shirt off,” he teased, and her cheeks blushed.

Good start.

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

He laughed as he followed her into the kitchen, enjoying the sight of her long legs pouring out from her shorts.

“About that kiss,” he began.

She swung toward him. “Can we please never speak of that moment again? Please? I have never been so mortified in my life.”

Disappointment lodged in his throat as big as a boulder, but he forced himself to swallow it down so he could manage an answer. “Of course. I won't bring it up again.”

Claire disappeared into her room, giving him a few minutes to compose himself. He opened a bottle of wine and poured a large glass, downing half of it in one swallow. He needed to get ahold of himself and his emotions. His feelings for Claire were fucking with his whole purpose for being there.

Which was to help her break back out into the world, nothing more nothing less.

He straightened his shoulders and gave himself a quick nod. Time to keep his head in the game.

Starting with dinner.

She returned in a mid-thigh, off-the-shoulder, sweater dress and every good intention he’d had slid down his throat with his next sip of wine. He pushed a glass toward her to keep from checking to see if the sweater was as soft as it looked.

“Here.”

“What is it?”

“A Pinot from a winery up in the hills. Small batch, organic. It's one of my favorites.”

She gave it a twirl and a sniff then a taste, closing her eyes in enjoyment. “This is good.” Hopping up onto the counter, she nodded toward the bag, lifting her chin as if trying to peek inside. “So what's for dinner? And don't think that I don't know you’re avoiding working on my program. We were supposed to meet at the Center.”

“I'm not avoiding anything, Miss Bossypants. We will. But I feel like we need to turn around your experience on Wednesday as quickly as possible.”

And avoid any more tasks that might expose him, but he’d keep that to himself. It was uncomfortable, feeling that she could see something about him, something in him, from a simple drawing. But there was no mistaking that she must have seen something if her reaction of slamming the drawer closed was any indication the other night. He’d caught a glimpse of his drawing as the drawer had slid shut.

Clearing his throat, he pulled out baby spinach and an avocado along with chicken breasts, basil, tomatoes, and fresh mozzarella. “Chicken caprese and spinach avocado salad.”

She clapped her hands together, and his lips quirked up on their own accord.

“That sounds amazing. When did you learn to cook? This is just another of the many things I find surprising about you.”

The only other person who knew he cooked besides his mother and his sister, Mae, was Ryker. He and his sister had learned to cook when they were young in order to help their mom out. There were plenty of evenings when she’d work late, and they’d be making dinner themselves. But along with his mother's teachings to fill their lives with passion were the practical lessons of cooking and housekeeping. Though even then, she reinforced the idea of creating moments. There was no reason to eat boxed macaroni and cheese when you could make homemade Gorgonzola pasta, she'd say.

“Mom always told Mae and me that life is about experiences, making memories. So that's what we do.”

“So it's once again about decadence?”

“And why not? You know Janice. When have you ever known her to do anything the generic way if she could help it?”

He opened the container of spinach and dumped it in the colander that she'd had resting next to the sink. “I'm assuming it's OK to use?” he asked.

“You're cooking me dinner. What's mine is yours.” She raised her glass in a toast.

“Alright. I like the sound of that.” He winked, loving the light flush that deepened on her cheeks the longer he stared.

“Let's put on some music and really do this right.” She said, breaking the spell and, if he was a betting man, keeping her face hidden on purpose.

Lumineers floated out from her sound system. “Not what I was expecting. But I like it. Casual and provides a nice atmosphere. You’re getting the idea.” He rolled the avocado her way. “Here, why don't you cube this.”

She tossed it from one hand to the other. “I thought you were supposed to make me dinner. Already trying to shirk your duties?”

“Not in the least.” He grabbed the avocado out of mid-air before she could catch it with her other one. “I am a man of my word and live by my duty.”

“Sure,” she snorted. “Until something shiny and pretty comes along, then bye-bye.”

She waved her fingers in a small, mocking wave.

Her words were like a slap in the face as an image came, unbidden, of his mom staring out the window at their father while he walked away, suitcase in hand, so many years ago. “You think that’s how I operate? You think that if I decided to make a commitment that I’d end up just hurting the woman. Walk out on her?”

“Honestly?” she replied. “I don’t see you ever committing to anyone. Whatever your reasons, you seem happiest with new experiences, not old ones. But I can say this. If you ever did, I think you’d ruin her for anybody who’d ever ask her out again.”

He placed the tomatoes and mozzarella inside the chicken then layered on the basil leaves. The pressure in his chest made it difficult to breathe.

“All of you think you know me so well.” There was a rough edge to his tone, and he didn’t care.

“No.” She stepped in front of him. “No, you misunderstand.” She took the towel out of his hands, setting it on the counter. Grabbing his hands, she said softly, “I think that if you ever decided to commit to a woman, you would love her in a way that another man would never match. And when something took you away, she’d never be the same again.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” His voice was almost unrecognizable to his own ears. The emotion in his chest went from hurt to humble. It was an extraordinary feeling to have someone see something in him that was both beautiful and bittersweet.

“Claire, is that why you’re having such a hard time? You’re afraid to care for someone because you think no matter what, it won’t work out? That they’ll leave or die?”

She dropped his hands and moved back to her wine. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “The wine’s going to my head.”

“Claire.”

With a shrug, she sipped more wine. “That and the fact that the more days that pass and the more distance I put between myself and my past, the further I feel from the little toddler I should be chasing around my apartment.”

The anguish in her eyes and the tremble in her lower lip was his undoing, and he stepped toward her. “Claire,” he rasped.

“No, please.” She put her hand out to stop him. “If you comfort me, if you wrap your arms around me right now, I will break. And I don’t want to.”

He stopped in his tracks, warring with his urgency to make her feel better and the necessity to put her needs above his.

“Please.” She drained her glass with a trembling hand.

“She’ll always be with you, Claire. Time. Distance. They don’t have a say in a mother’s love.”

She stared at him, holding his intense gaze as if afraid to look anywhere else. “Do you really believe that?”

“More than anything.”

With a slight dip of her chin, she drew in a breath and released it in a drawn-out sigh that ended in a slight shudder. Setting down her wine glass, she grabbed a light pink apron off a hook next to the stove. “Hey, while the chicken is baking, I can teach you how to make Evette’s cupcakes.”

She wanted to move on to another topic, and he let her.

The pain and confusion and self-doubt that flashed across her face left him feeling powerless. And it was a feeling he fucking hated. So, he focused on the self-doubt. She needed to experience a moment where she was in charge and successful. An experience of mastery. He was always telling her to make moments...so he’d give her this one to do with what she’d like.

An image of her naked breasts covered in flour popped into his mind, and his body tightened. “I’ve never been much of a baker, but I think with the right teacher, I’d be up to just about anything.”

She grinned. “I love how you’re ready to try something new at the drop of a hat. I love how easy you are.”

Her words were innocent, but the effect of those words and the images of just how easy he wanted to be were anything but.

“You have no idea.”

Claire wished Mitch was easy with her.

Ever since he'd stepped through her front door, all she could concentrate on was how the fabric of his shirt was stretched tautly across his chest and biceps, and how he smelled so good, arousing a hunger in her that superseded everything else.

And that realization shook her to her core.

He was so easy to talk to. The time they'd spent together had enabled them to form a friendship of sorts. It was her friendships that had not only kept her afloat after losing Jimmy and the baby but had pushed her back into a rich and full life. Maybe this was the friendship that would allow her to feel the pleasure of being a woman.

And as Blayne had said, if word around town could be trusted, Mitch Brennan was the man to show her.

The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that Blayne was right. Mitch was a friend, and neither of them wanted a commitment, so who would be more perfect to finally break her dry spell?

Mr. Seduction didn't know it yet, but he was about to be seduced.

With her heart pounding in her chest, she pulled out the flour, raw sugar, and eggs, placing them on the counter. She eyed Mitch up-and-down, taking the scenic route from the tip of his sock-covered toes up along his thickly muscled thighs, to a waist she wanted to explore and a chest she wanted to conquer, all the way to the thick strands of hair on top his head.

Finally, she said, “That’ll never do.” She wiggled her fingers at his torso.

He crossed his arms and looked down with concern. “I don't understand.” And the look on his face proved it to be true. She could only imagine what he was thinking at her bait and switch.

This was going to be fun.

“Even the smallest amount of flour is going to show up on that shirt of yours. Go ahead and take it off. No reason to make it dirty, and I don’t have another apron.” She answered with an innocent lilt in her voice, forcing herself to look for a whisk when what she really wanted to do was watch him squirm.

He hesitated, looking at her as if she may have gone mad. And maybe she had.

“I think I'll be okay.”

“Oh, no.” She wagged her pointer finger at him. “I'm not going give you another thing to tease me about. I bet that shirt costs a couple hundred dollars alone. Off with it, mister.” She tugged it from the waistband of his jeans, her mouth going dry and his eyes going dark.

A shiver of excitement shot straight to her center, and she almost wept with the sensation. She’d long ago thought she might never feel it again when someone else was in the room.

“I don't think a bare chest is necessarily hygienic.”

“I won't tell if you won't.” She gave him a coy wink. He held her gaze as if trying to read her mind, then finally gave one slow dip of his chin.

His long, masculine fingers unbuttoned his shirt one by one, and her fingers itched to take over for him, but with a casual air, she pulled out a bowl and her pastry mat as if she wasn't strategizing on how to get him naked faster.

Her music switched to Lo Fang and the slow, sultry melody of “The One That I Want” filled the room. If there was ever a sign telling her to go for it, that was it.

It was about time she took what she wanted. Even if she wasn't looking for anything to last the rest of her lifetime, it was time she quit missing out on the here and now.

Her nervous excitement racked through her, and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” His voice was husky but with enough confusion in his voice to make her chuckle, but she held it back.

“Just the opposite.” She sprinkled flour across the mat. “You know, one of the things that I love about baking is the pleasure that it brings. Not only to those who eat it but to the baker as well.”

He gave her a hard stare, and she could see the wheels turning.

She’d bet the success of the fall festival that he remembered what was in her junk drawer. More like a treasure trove, if anyone asked her.

But he kept his thoughts to himself.

She dipped her finger in the flour and tapped his nose. “You're all about pleasure, aren't you, big guy?”

Mitch grabbed her wrist. “Who the hell are you? And what have you done with Claire?”

The sound that fell from her lips was one of pure delight. It was fun to flirt when the only consequence was a night of pleasure. When there was no chance of pain or loneliness. “I'm a good student, you know. You told me that life is about making memories and experiences, decadence, indulgence. I can't think of anything more indulgent then making pastries with Mitch Brennan.”

Extricating herself from his grasp, she ran her fingers along the waistband of his jeans, dipping them into the front and giving the fabric a tug. The warmth of his skin against the back of her fingers made her melt.

“What are you doing, Claire?” His voice was low and hoarse, and the fact that she was the reason sent a thrill running through her body.

“You're safe, right? You don't want a relationship. I don't want a relationship. But we’ve become friends...and I trust you.” She didn't know where the tremble in her voice came from, but she pushed through it.

“Friends?” he echoed. “Safe? I don't think anyone has ever called me safe before and meant it.”

“I don't mean safe in a boring way, I mean safe in a...you won't be able to hurt me kind of way.”

The muscles clenched along his jaw, and she could only hope that it was because he wanted this, too.

“Are you sure about this?”

She licked her lips, running a finger along the top edge of his jeans, elated when he sucked in a breath.

“Do you remember when we talked about ripping the Band-Aid off?”

The memory of their kiss flared in his eyes, and she could see that he had been affected by it, too. Which caught her off guard. She figured kissing her wouldn't even rate, much less be memorable, and not because she wasn't a good kisser but because he'd had so much experience. It was impossible for a drop of water to stand out in an ocean.

“Well, I feel like all we did was lift the edge. I need to rip it completely off. Then maybe I can let go and live a little. This is my version of cinnamon pastries and a peanut butter hot cocoa.”

He flashed a grin that was both wicked and wise, and she swore her panties would have melted right off her body. Had she been wearing any. Grabbing his hands, she set them on her waist just above her ass and stepped close.

His fingers flexed in the flesh of her hips, yanking her even closer. His erection was large and hard and pushed against her midsection in the way that elicited a waterfall of tiny flutters. She prayed that when he kissed her, she wouldn't start laughing again. She’d had enough mortification to last anyone a lifetime.

No more second-guessing or worrying about the consequences. It was pure, reckless pleasure she sought. And with Mitch, she could get lost and just feel.

Without warning, his lips slammed against hers, and a cry of pleasure caught in her throat. She could taste the wine and something spicy. His scent enveloped her as did his embrace. He was hot and hard and apparently wanted her as much as she wanted him. That in itself was a little miracle.

So many memories rushed into Claire's mind, but they were misplaced distractions. This was a moment to move forward, not look back.

Mitch softened his kiss and eased the tension. “I know you said you‘re sure about this, but I also know that you don't take any of this lightly. I don't want you to regret that it’s with me.”

She stared into his blue eyes, humbled by the uncertainty she saw there.

She never imagined she'd see the day that Mitch Brennan was unsure of anything.

Grabbing the hem of her sweater dress, she pulled it up and over her head, revealing that she'd had nothing on underneath.

“The fact that you even thought to ask means that you're a better man that I've given you credit for. It's time for me to move on. Jimmy wouldn’t want me to be alone forever. This is a big step for me, but one I’m determined to take.”

He frowned, but his eyes roved hungrily over her body in shock and awe. Her nipples peaked, and a wash of goosebumps followed. If he could make her feel like that with a gaze alone, she couldn't wait to actually feel his hands on her.

She stepped toward him, taking his wrists and placing his hands on her breasts. Going up on tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Help me make a memory, Mitch. One that sets the tone for many more to come.”

He hesitated a moment longer, then on a low grumbled growl, he swept her into his arms, lifting her off her feet and falling into the kiss at the same time.

“I always knew you’d taste this good. A combination of pastries and wine.” She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, amazed at the heat of his skin. He was big and hard everywhere, and it was a thrill to feel him against her.

“If I'd known that you didn't have anything on under that dress, I doubt I’d have ever finished making dinner.”

“Well, it's a good thing you didn't find out because I'm starving.”

He kissed her mouth hard, then asked, “You’re sure you don’t want me to stop?”

“Don't you dare,” she said. Feeling brave and bold under the intensity of his heated gaze, she added, “I want you to serve me before you serve me.”

His fingers slid to her hips and anchored her on the edge of the countertop. Her body moved easily with her bottom powdered by the flour.

“Someone's getting brazen, maybe even a little cocky.” He chuckled.

“I don't know what it is; it doesn't scare me with you.”

He dropped his head, gently lifting a breast to his lips and swirling his tongue in circles until he reached her nipple, giving it small, pressured flicks. She could feel each nip through every nerve in her body, making her squirm.

She grasped his head and pressed him more firmly against her breast. His hands were everywhere, along her sides, her buttocks, her thighs, then sliding down to cup her calves. He gently spread her legs farther apart as he trailed kisses down the center of her stomach.

“Mitch,” she whispered, breathless with pleasure and anticipation.

“I'm ready to serve you, Mistress Claire.” He trailed his lips along her sensitive skin at the juncture where her inner thigh met her torso. Her body gave little pulses of pleasure awaiting his touch. Then his slick, hot tongue met her center with feather-light strokes, and she almost fell off the counter.

“Easy now,” he said against her body, maintaining pressure on her thighs to keep her in place. He licked and suckled and twirled his tongue, pushing her higher and higher.

She shamelessly dove her fingers into his hair, keeping him from moving away from that spot. She wanted to grab the meaty flesh of his shoulders, rub her palms across his chest, but more than any of those things, she did not want him to stop, so she sacrificed the pleasure she sought for the pleasure she’d dreamed of.

“I've had dreams of this,” she confessed, her voice ragged with desire. She could barely think, as with each delicious stroke of his tongue she lost all threads of conscious thought.

“You dreamed of me?” His question was a demand, and he rose. She cried out at the loss of sensation, but then his mouth slammed down on hers, pulling her into a kiss she'd never imagined. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it was a decadent, heady experience.

“Don't fret, sweetheart,” he said. “We've only just begun.” He gently nipped at her chin then the side of her neck as he made his way back down to her center. He found her clit and swirled his tongue until she thought she’d lose her mind, one hand gripped his head, the other the counter for fear that she'd fall off.

As he continued to worship her flesh with his mouth, he gently stroked one finger inside of her, and her vision went white.

Pressure built, and pleasure swirled in a tight fist then burst, rocking her body and limbs in pulsing waves. Her hips bucked, and she gripped his shoulders to ride out the sensation and prevent herself from accidentally breaking his neck with her legs.

The orgasm hit her stronger ever before, and she could only imagine it was her pent-up energy that had accumulated over the past couple of years. As her body slowly lowered back to earth, she let her legs drop to the sides.

A low groan followed by slow, soft licks from Mitch sent a flutter of contractions throughout her stomach. “Oh my God,” she said. “I think I could curl into a ball and go to sleep right this second.”

“Oh, know you're not. We’re not finished yet.” Gliding back up her body, he worked with one hand at his buckle and zipper, shoving his jeans from his hips. She heard the crinkling sound of a foil packet and peeked at him.

One of the hottest things she had ever seen was him gripping himself in one hand as he rolled the condom down his thick, hard length in the other. Her body responded with flutters of anticipation.

“There’s no way I can do that again.”

“I don't believe that for a second,” he countered. She glanced down at herself and saw traces of flour along her breasts and thighs and a smudge on his face. “I don't think I've ever had this much fun baking before.”

He eyed her quizzically. “But you said...”

She laughed. “I was just teasing.”

“Then what do you use that little massager for?”

“When I'm on my feet for a long time, I have an area between my shoulder blades that bothers me a lot. It helps.”

He flashed her a devilish grin and slid open the drawer. Taking out the small vibrator, he turned the knob, his grin broadening as a buzzing noise filled the air. “I bet this little guy can help you feel better than you've ever imagined.”

He grabbed her from the counter and spun her around. Then he placed her hands under his on the counter with his big, warm body wrapped around her. He kissed the back of her neck, dragging his tongue from her shoulder to her ear, then giving her lobe a gentle nibble. “It's time for round two, Claire.”

“That’s impossible. I'm a one and done kind of girl,” she said.

His dark chuckle sent a wash of goosebumps along her skin. “We'll just see about that. I do love a good challenge.”

The large, round head of his cock rubbed between her legs, sending her stomach on a slow, rippling ride, then escalating to a full-on wave of pleasure as he thrust inside of her.

He continued to kiss the side of her neck, and she pushed back until there was nowhere left to go. His low, guttural groan was music to her ears, and she decided right then and there it was her favorite sound.

“Holy fuck, you feel better than I could have ever imagined.” He stroked in and out with slow, controlled movements, his harsh breathing and the trembling of his arms the only signs that he struggled to restrain himself.

He let go of one hand to pick up the small massager. Encouraging her to spread her legs farther, he placed the device in her hand, guiding it between her legs. She resisted for a second, but then curiosity won over any kind of self-consciousness.

There was little to consider after the man had literally been tasting her.

As he stroked, he turned on the vibrator, sending a rippling pleasure throughout her body. Her hips bucked, unable to control which way they moved. Mitch grabbed onto either side, digging his fingers into her flesh, increasing the tempo of his strokes.

She continued to hold the tip of the massager against herself with slow, small circles. “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh, my God.”

“That’s it, Claire, you've got it. Come with me, baby.” His strokes increased, and she had to clench all the muscles in her legs to keep standing as his groan of pleasure met her own.

She shoved back against him, trying to take as much of him in as she possibly could, and pleasure exploded once more, seemingly splitting her body in two. The sensation was so great she dropped the vibrator, pressing her fingers against her clit to increase the intensity of her orgasm.

“Mitch!” she screamed his name.

“I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here.”

As the intense sensations within her body ebbed, she felt Mitch slump behind her, resting his forehead in the middle of her back. “I had no idea,” she breathed.

“Me, neither.”

She didn't believe that for a second, but he was a good friend for saying it.

And that's what she had to keep telling her heart, which wanted to open up and cling to the emotions of gratitude and excitement running through her.

He was her friend, not her forever.

The thought should give her great joy but instead left her body still humming with strokes of phantom pleasure and her heart grasping at thin air.