The second time I wake up in Drew Delaney’s bed is infinitely more enjoyable than the first. I stretch between the soft sheets, the feel of them against my naked body reminding me of all the places his hands and mouth traveled last night. Mmm, so many pleasant memories.

The man himself is sprawled beside me, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm that says he’s still completely dead to the world. His hair is adorably rumpled. With his face relaxed with sleep, it’s even easier to see the echoes of the boy he used to be.

Based on last night, I’d choose the full-grown man any day.

I resist the urge to run my hand over his muscled chest—after last night’s workout, he’s certainly earned the right to sleep in—and slip out of the bed. My gaze falls on a small pile of folded tees sitting on his dresser, and I grab one and tug it over my head. It just barely hits my thighs, skirting the boundaries of decency by an inch, but somehow I don’t think Drew will be offended.

I pad out into the kitchen. Morning sunlight streams through the apartment with a euphoric glow—or maybe the euphoric part is just me. I glance toward the oven. My fingers twitch with the urge to put this feeling into food.

Afterglow cupcakes: An airy angel food cake base, with a splash of Amaretto to bring to mind cherries long ago popped. Top with whipped cream in case you need some for a little morning-after frisky fun.

I don’t actually have the ingredients to pull that off, but a quick browse through Drew’s cupboards gives me the basics for pancakes. “Mr. Right-Now” plays in my head as I measure and whip up the batter. I might even do a little “I just got lucky” dance to it as I pour the batter into the heated pan.

“Whatever you’re doing, it smells amazing,” Drew says as he emerges from the bedroom with a stretch. “And it looks pretty great too.”

I take a moment to appreciate the view. He hasn’t bothered to put on anything other than boxers, and I’m momentarily distracted by the flow of those muscles through his arms, shoulders, and chest.

This man needs to come with a warning label.

Then he sets eyes on me, and a heat sparks in his gaze. He strolls over and sets his hands on my waist, nuzzling my neck from behind. “Just when I thought you couldn’t look any sexier.”

I laugh. “A big fan of bed-head, are you?”

“I’m a big fan of you wearing this.” He tugs on the shirt gently. His body presses closer to mine as his hands skim up my sides. His fingers tease over my breasts. I arch back against him , and he presses his lips to my shoulder. With a pinch of my nipples, he has me gasping.

“The pancakes are going to burn,” I murmur.

“I’m going to burn up if I’m not back inside you, stat,” Drew says, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. A pleased shiver races through me. He shoves the frying pan off the element and twists the dial off. Then he’s spinning me around, bracing me against the counter as he brings his mouth down on mine.

Forget breakfast. I can survive on this. He grazes his teeth against my lower lip, and I whimper. My fingers tangle in his hair. With a flex of his arms that makes me feel as if I weigh nothing, he’s set me right on the counter, my legs spread around his waist. He cups my jaw, kissing me as hungrily as he did last night. As if he’s never going to get enough of me. I’ve probably got flour on my ass, but I’ve also got the hard length of him pressed between my legs, so I really don’t give a fuck.

Priorities.

His hands drop lower. His breath stutters when they glide over my panty-less hips. “Don’t tell me I’m still dreaming,” he says.

A breathless giggle escapes me. “If you are, promise me you won’t wake up just yet.”

He chuckles, and then he’s kissing me again, even deeper than before. His hands roam back up my chest under my—his—shirt. His thumbs tweak my already hardened nipples, and I moan. I trail my fingers down the blissfully hot skin of his chest to the waistline of his boxers. He hums in approval as I yank them down. Then I’m gripping the silky hardness of his cock. It twitches against my palm at my caress, and I smile against his mouth.

Drew grasps my hips and tugs me closer. His hand dips between my legs, with a groan as he feels how wet I already am. “Fuck.”

“Yes, please,” I say, and he chuckles roughly. He gropes for a drawer, there’s a crinkle of a condom wrapper—talk about Boy Scout—and then he’s pushing inside me, so fast and good I lose my breath.

For all the urgency getting to this point, once we’re joined he seems content to take it slow and savoring. Penetrating me with languid thrusts that somehow send my need spiraling even higher. He kisses me between ragged breaths, hot but tender. His thumb moves in lazy circles over my clit until I’m gasping for release. Drew grins and kisses me harder. His thumb works faster, his strokes deepening, and with one last thrust my orgasm crashes over me. Drew’s chest hitches. His muscles tighten beneath my hands as he follows me over the edge, thrusting deep inside one final time.

“Now that’s what I call a good morning wake-up call,” he mumbles into my hair, and I giggle.

He inhales deeply as if breathing in the scent of me. Kisses my jaw, my cheek, my mouth again. Then he pulls back, taking his heat with him, though I’m still flushed from head to toe.

I wriggle down from the counter, and go freshen up in the bathroom. When I re-emerge, Drew is looking hungrily at the pancake batter.

“Down, boy.” I elbow him lightly aside, and take my rightful position in charge of the pan. With the batter all prepped, it’s a matter of minutes until I have a plate full of soft, fluffy pancakes.

“So did Charlie talk you into that charity thing tomorrow?” I ask, as we take a seat at the table. Drew wolfs his food down bare, but I drench my share in butter and syrup—after all, I must have burned off like a million calories last night.

He sighs. “He made a decent case. And it would have been rough backing out at the last minute. So we’re going ahead. One acoustic song, no dancing.”

“And the auction,” I grin.

“Don’t remind me.”

“I’m sure you’ll make some lucky lady very happy,” I say with a wink.

Drew brightens. “Now there’s an idea. You’ll come, won’t you? Bid on me and save me from the fangirls. You can do it on my dime, and I’ve got a pretty much unlimited budget. Maybe you’ll even score another dance.”

“Oh, I have to pay you for that now, do I?”

He wraps an arm around my waist, leaning close. “Maggie.”

“Of course I’ll come,” I say, tingling with warmth all over again. “But I’m if I’m shelling out the big bucks, I’m going to expect more than a kiss goodnight.”

“Whatever the lady desires.”

* * *

This time when he drops me off at home, Drew walks me up to the door. “Tomorrow at six?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He leans in for one last kiss, panty-melting enough that I barely register the click of the doorknob turning. I’m too slow to disengage before my mom pulls the door open.

“Maggie!” she exclaims. “Drew! Good morning. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Why don’t you come on in?”

My eyes widen in horror. Drew rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish. “Good morning to you too, Mrs. Hayes.”

“Let me just—”

She turns toward the hall cupboard—lord knows what she’s planning on grabbing—and I take that brief opportunity to shove Drew toward the street.

“Save yourself,” I mouth. He chuckles, but he goes, with a little farewell wave for me.

“I was sure I had that . . .” Mom glances back and sees me closing the door behind me, alone. “Well, you could have at least let him stay for a chat.”

“Mom, to remind you again, I’m not a teenager anymore. You don’t need to vet my boyfriends. Anyway, you already know Drew. You were selling me on his virtues just the other day.”

Mom huffs, but she’s smiling. “And why shouldn’t I want to have at least a brief talk with him, then?” A sly glint lights in her eyes. “Or are you worried I’m going to embarrass you, honey?”

“Oh, don’t turn on the guilt trip,” I say with a groan, unable to repress my own smile at her teasing. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to talk to him sometime. He’s living in the city again now.”

“I heard that from Mrs. Delaney.” Mom follows me to the foot of the stairs. “So does this mean you might stay longer than you were talking about before? Philadelphia is a wonderful city to settle down in, you know. And if you started a new business here, it would be a perfect time to—”

“Whoa!” I say, holding up my hand. “Don’t go planning anything. Drew and I are just . . . having fun.”

Damn it, my cheeks flush even saying that. At least Mom doesn’t comment on that.

“Of course, honey,” she says with a knowing air. “I was only pointing it out. After all, there’s no reason you couldn’t put down your roots here, with him or not.”

“I know.”

Upstairs in the bathroom, I comb my fingers through my hair in front of the mirror, looking back at my reflection. There’s nothing like a night of hot sex and two—no, make that three—orgasms to bring a glow to a girl’s cheeks. I can barely see the shadow of the woman who got chased out of Brooklyn, broke and humiliated. No, I’ve got a smile on my face, and another roll in the hay all planned out.

But that’s not what I came back here for, I remind myself. The plan was to take a breath, regroup, and get moving with the next chapter of my life. My next big dream. And settling down back home while catering a few parties isn’t the thing dreams are made of.

Drew is pretty fucking spectacular, but this is the original Mr. Right-Now we’re talking about. He’s about as casual as they come, and we agreed this was all about the hot fun. The last thing I want to do is get attached, and wind up flat on my face again—without a cock cake to break my fall. No, I need to be smart. Focused on a game plan.

Like my baking dreams. Maybe I can still make a go of the New York scene, I wonder. I’m not a quitter, and even though I don’t have the capital to start from scratch again, it doesn’t mean I have to admit defeat. If the past weeks here have proven anything, it’s that I bake a damn good cake. So maybe I just need to get back in the game, work my connections, and try to build slowly instead of going all in.

I plop down on my bed and pull out my phone. One by one, I bring up all of my contacts in New York City and put out the word I should have been spreading my first day back here.

“I’m back in job search mode. If you hear about any positions opening up where you think my skills would be appreciated, give me a shout, okay?”

Who knows? Maybe someone will have a shot for me. The only thing I know for sure is that, Drew or no Drew, I can’t stay living out of my childhood bedroom forever.

It’s time I picked myself up and got my life back on track.

Hairy iced balls and all.