I had many great things in my life. I owned a small diner I inherited from my uncle where I worked with my cousin, Alana, just down the road from my best friend, Madeline. I had perfect health, even after just a handful of short months of physical therapy to help me after I was hit by a car in the pouring rain. I had a nice nest egg that promised a good retirement if I kept things up. I had my life back after the grief over losing my mother and uncle threatened to trap me in my own mind. I had a wonderful boyfriend in Grayson Sparling, movie star, and backrub extraordinaire. I had a love with him that I thought only existed in fairy tales or for people so worthy it was impossible to measure up to.

And, most recently, I had my late uncle’s pancake recipe.

The little index card was yellow with age; the pencil scratches nearly faded. But I knew Kyle Hunter’s handwriting as well as I knew my own, almost, and I could make out perfectly the secret ingredient.

“What is it?” Grayson asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. He had never met Kyle, of course, but he was nearly as excited as I was. Though that probably had more to do with the fact that my boyfriend was absolutely obsessed with pancakes. I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that my recipe could get any better.

I tucked the card in the safe where I had found it, buried behind literally years’ worth of paper napkins. “No way,” I said, spinning the dial and tugging on the handle to make sure it was locked. I had also spied an old photo album and a few letters, but I’d wait to go through it all until Alana, Kyle’s daughter, and my cousin could be there with me. As eager as I was, I knew I wasn’t the only one who would want to devour the information Kyle left behind.

“Come on,” he pleaded, wrapping his arms around my waist, pressing close to me. “I can keep a secret.”

I laughed. I knew that he could. Even after our secret courtship in the beginning, Grayson and I had decided to keep our relationship as secretive as possible until after the first of his action trilogy came out. Though that had been a bit difficult, considering the scene he had caused when he’d practically beat down my hospital door to get to me when I’d had my accident.

I pressed my lips to his, kissing him lightly.

“I don’t want you getting any fancy ideas,” I murmured. “You’re a terrible cook.”

His head lolled back as he laughed, the short, surprised one that I liked the most. He tightened his grip on my hips, and I dropped my hands to his waist to keep him steady as he laughed.

“Too true,” he agreed, grinning. I smiled back.

No longer laughing or hiding the recipes, I couldn’t help but notice how close we were pressed, hips aligned and chests touching. We were in the supply room at Kyle’s, but the diner had been closed for an hour, and considering I was the owner, I didn’t think anyone would mind if I kissed my boyfriend for a while against the shelves.

Decision made, I pushed him a little, and he responded immediately, backing up until his back pressed against the shelves. I crowded him, capturing his lips.

Grayson kissed back just as strongly, his hands weaving into my hair. He tugged, eliciting a throaty moan from me; he swallowed it and slipped his bottom lip between my lips, parting them enough to deepen the kiss.

My fingers dug into his shoulders. I tilted my head, pushing hard with my lips before grabbing the dominance of the kiss with my tongue. My hands ghosted lower, pushing the thin material of his shirt up so the pads of my fingers could delicately trail across the bare skin. His skin was hot to the touch, burning me as I softly ran my hands over his abs and the sexy, sharp V that dipped below his jeans.

When my thumbs pressed hard into the corners of the V, Grayson jutted his hips, rotating them in a quick, desperate thrust. His mouth fell open as he gasped, throwing his head back and hitting it hard against the shelves. Other than tightening his grip in my hair, it didn’t seem to affect him. I took advantage of the new position, leaving Grayson’s mouth to kiss and suck on his neck and collarbone. I kissed the area, wide, open-mouthed kisses that had Grayson rutting against me deliciously, before sucking the skin between my teeth, gently nibbling. I let it go and ran the flat of my tongue over the area.

“You’re so beautiful,” he gasped. I chuckled into his neck.

I pulled away to catch my breath.

Grayson’s chest heaved as he struggled to catch his own breath, lips swollen and parted as he rested his head on the shelf behind him. I could barely see the blue of his eyes, as hooded and dilated as they were. But his top lip was shiny, and his cheeks were flushed, small purple bruises raising on the pale skin of his neck. I loved him like this, hips still subconsciously rolling softly, hands too tight as he gripped me.

His hands slid down my neck, down my sides to rest on my hips as I continued to run my fingers up and down his abs. But he didn’t hesitate, not even briefly, and he slipped his hands underneath my shirt.

His hands burned. I hissed at the sensation, eyes clenching shut. Grayson pressed a kiss to the middle of my throat, nipping at my neck as his hands trailed up and down my sides, one teasing at the sensitive skin near where my panties sat, the other scraping nails down my back.

I was going to melt, right here, in the middle of my supply closet if he didn’t stop.

As if he had heard me, he dropped the hand that was teasing the waistline of my panties, raising it to grab my face hard, thumb stroking along my cheekbone softly as he pulled me into another kiss. It was a thousand tiny feelings at once. I would never get used to his mouth on mine, his lips moving hard and his tongue begging for entrance. I would never get used to the desperation that pooled in my stomach or the eagerness that sped from my fingertips as I tugged him as close to me as possible.

Each of our kisses delivered a new message to me. I had experienced the hot ones that would surge through me as if screaming and banging on the walls inside my skull for me to hurry up, for me to take notice and to clutch at him desperately. I liked the quiet ones, too, that were slow and deep, eyes that stayed open a little too long and hands that clutched firmly but didn’t wander. Even the gentle ones, pressed lightly against lips or foreheads or cheeks, best when one or both of us were sleepy, had a permanent place of reverence in my mind. My favorites were probably the ones that were made half of laughter and half of pure happiness. The first time I had one of those kisses, Grayson had laughed so hard that tears were streaming down his face and his mouth tasted like cherry from a candy he had been eating. I had told a bad joke, kept telling it, too, until he shut me up with a kiss and I had to swallow my words and his laughter.

There were many more kisses—the “it’s been raining, and you walked here” kiss, the “I’ve been sleeping all day, don’t judge me” kiss, the “You’re wearing a t-shirt that I purposefully washed wrong so it’d shrink but now it looks really good” kiss. Every day seemed to bring us a new type of kiss, a new reason to have heart palpitations, and to be thankful for falling in love. Today, it seemed, was the “I finally have the recipe I’ve been trying to get my whole life, and in a way, this feels like my uncle’s stamp of approval on my boyfriend” kiss.

I really liked this kiss.

Pulling away, Grayson nearly fell as he stretched toward me, eyes still closed, as he tried to keep our lips connected. I laughed lightly against his lips and took a step back; we’d hide out in here forever if one of us didn’t stop and from the pout forming on his face, it didn’t seem like he’d be the one to cool things down.

“Come on,” I said, rolling my eyes when he huffed. “They’re going to be here any minute.”

“But I’m not done with you yet.” Grayson winked.