Mick plucked another berry from the basket on the Sarah Jane’s kitchen counter and watched her carefully flip another fried pie. She wore a frilly apron over her trademark sleeveless shirt and shorts, her hair pulled into its usual ponytail. A smudge of flour was on her adorable chin and, while he knew he should tell her about it or wipe it off himself, he thought she looked too damned cute.

One of her cats--Nod, if memory served--wound around her legs while she stood at the stove and all three dogs lay sprawled under the kitchen table. Norah Jones eddied out of a Bluetooth speaker and the strong scent of sugar flavored the air.

“All right,” Sarah Jane said, transferring a warm pie onto a plate for him. “I’m a pie purist, which means I don’t want any whipped topping or ice cream, however if you’d like some I have one or both.”

Mick grinned. “A pie purist?”

Sarah Jane’s answering smile was chiding. “Don’t mock me. I told you we take our pie seriously around here.”

Mick nodded and took the fork she handed him. “I remember.”

She chuckled, the sound vibrating through him. “You thought we were all crazy, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know where you would have gotten that idea.”

Sarah Jane’s lips curled. “You mean that I’ve-landed-in Yokel-ville look on your face wasn’t supposed to tip us off?”

Mick carved off a chunk of flaky pie and lifted his chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve already told you that I was too busy staring at your ass to think about pie or anything else.”

“You were facing me when we were talking about pie, boy genius.”

He smiled evilly. “Sorry. I meant your breasts.”

She gasped and whacked him with a dishtowel. “Try it,” she said, gesturing to his loaded fork.

Mick winked at her, then took a bite. Warm, sugary, the perfect blend between tart and sweet. Like her, he thought again. He groaned in pleasure and his gaze swung to hers. “This is wonderful,” he said thickly. “No wonder you win every year.”

“I haven’t won every year,” she said. “Just the past three.” She smiled. “But I’ve got some new competition this year that I’m a little worried about.”

“Oh, really. Who?”

She grinned. “Tina.”

Mick inclined his head. “Ah. What sort of pie will Tina be entering?”

“I don’t know. Though we’ve never had a secret in our lives, she’s guarding her entry like the holy grail.” A droll smile tugged at her lips. “It’s quite annoying of her, actually.”

“Well, I don’t care what she enters, you’ve got her beat.”

“Thank you,” she said, nodding primly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Seriously, Sarah Jane. It’s fabulous.” He took another bite. “Have you ever thought about trying to sell them into any of the local stores around here?”

She shook her head and a shadow passed behind her eyes. “Nah,” she said. “This recipe belonged to my mother. It’s an heirloom, not a marketing strategy.” She took a washcloth and wiped down the counter. “This is just my way of honoring her, if that makes sense.”

Mick swallowed. “Of course.”

She turned to look at him then. “What about you? Any family traditions?”

Before he could stop himself, he snorted. “Er...no.” Mick looked at her, then glanced away. Damn, this was awkward. “I’m not what you’d call close to my parents,” he admitted.

Her lips twisted. “I gathered that when you’d mentioned boarding school.”

“I was...rambunctious,” Mick said, glossing over the ‘bad seed’ he’d once heard his father call him. “And my parents weren’t cut out to be parents. They’re both college professors, scholarly, studious. They were always so wrapped up in their jobs and into each other that I think I just--“ He swallowed and gestured mildly. “--got in the way.”

A flash of outrage lit her toffee gaze, making something near his heart shift. “Bullshit. They became parents. They should have parented you, not dubbed you a problem child and shipped you off to military school.” She blushed, evidently fearing she’d overstepped her bounds. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s not my place--“

Mick waved her off, secretly pleased with her assessment and her outrage on his behalf. He’d barely revealed the tip of the iceberg and she’d pegged it right out of the gate. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.”

“Maybe now, but I’ll bet it nearly drowned you as a kid. What? Did you get in a lot of trouble? Tried to get sent home?”

He blinked, surprised. “Er...

She lifted one slim shoulder in a negligent shrug and smiled. “It’s what I would have done.”

“I did in the beginning,” Mick found himself telling her, surprised at how easily the words were coming. “But then I’d get home and I’d be more miserable.” His gaze found hers. “Believe it or not, it ended up being the best thing for me. I was always pulling some sort of prank, always getting in trouble. Hell, I told you what my nickname was, the one I got in Jump School.”

Sarah Jane’s deep chuckle sounded between them, wrapping them in an intimate glow. “The Hell-raiser?” She nodded, chewed her bottom lip, and that gorgeous gaze, lit with humor, tangled with his. “I remember. And I can see where that would fit. You do seem a bit...restless.”

“Restless?”

“Or as Tina says, ‘sitting on G, waiting on O.’”

Mick laughed. “That’s a new one.”

“I have more.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Hopefully it’s because I’m fascinating,” she deadpanned, causing a bark of laughter to rumble from his chest.

“You are that, Sarah Jane,” Mick said, sidling closer to her. He picked up a blackberry and fed it to her, felt his dick twitch as her ripe mouth closed around the succulent berry. “And more.”

Her gaze searched his. “Can I ask you something, Mick?”

Mick grimaced. “Usually that question is prefaced with a more personal one.”

“It is personal,” she admitted. “But I’m curious and it’s not in my nature not to ask questions. You can reserve the right to refuse.”

He nodded. “All right. Shoot.”

“You said this was your first job since leaving the military, but you’ve never said why you left the military.” She winced smally, waiting for his response. “Too personal?”

Damn.

“No problem,” she said, stepping away from him when he didn’t respond. “Forget I asked. I just--“

“I screwed up,” Mick admitted. “That’s the short answer. Will that suffice?”

Her gaze considered his and the flash of pity he saw in hers made him wonder what his own had revealed. He felt raw and open, as though she were delving into his thoughts, seeing things he wanted to keep hidden. “It will. Thank you.”

“Tit for tat,” Mick said. “I want to ask you something.”

She pulled another shrug. “Ask away.”

“Last night...what made you decide to trust me?” He didn’t know why her answer was important, but it was, and he’d been wondering about it all day. He’d deceived her six ways til Sunday and yet she’d still somehow managed to find merit. How? Mick wondered.

Once again that penetrating gaze caught and held his. “Because you were so desperate for me to believe you, to believe in you. I knew you had to be telling the truth.” She shrugged and offered a slightly wicked grin. “I was also hopelessly in lust with you and sleeping with you seemed like an excellent consolation prize.”

Another choked laugh got strangled in his throat. “C-consolation prize?” He’d been called many things in his life, but consolation prize was definitely a first.

“It seemed only fair,” she said. “You’d put me through hell. I figured at the least I should get an orgasm out of it.”

“Only one?” Mick said, playing along. “I was a total bastard. I think I owe you more than one, don’t you?”

Sarah Jane picked up the basket of blackberries and a can of whipped cream and started out of the kitchen. She shot him a sidelong glance and grinned. “You don’t really think you’re here just to eat pie, do you?”

 

*   *   *

 

Predictably, Mick followed her into her bedroom. He pulled his shirt up over his head, revealing a chest so heartbreakingly perfect she wanted to weep. “I thought you said you were a pie purist?”

“I am.” Sarah Jane said the berries and cream on the nightstand, then wiggled out of her clothes, leaving nothing but the apron on. She raised a single brow? “Who said the whipped cream was for pie?”
The look on Mick’s face was priceless and a slow knowing smile slid over that endearingly sexy mouth. “You like shocking me, don’t you? You like telling my heart that it’s okay to have an attack.”

“Wrong. I need you to stay healthy, otherwise I couldn’t claim my consolation prizes.”

He nodded, coming purposely toward hers, jeans unbuttoned and sagging at the waist, bare manly feet. All male. All hers. “Ah, yes,” he said. “And that would be a tragedy. I would hate for you to feel slighted.”

Her gaze dropped to the impressive bulge in the front of his pants and a shuddering breath leaked out of her lungs. “I can assure you, I have yet to feel slighted.” Her eyes widened significantly. “Overwhelmed, but never slighted.”

Mick fingered the gauzy lace around the edge of her cherry-printed apron. “Nice,” he murmured.

“I’m glad you approve. Take off your pants.”

He chuckled again, much to her delight. “You’re bossy.”

“And yet it turns you on.” She gave him a gentle shove onto the edge of her bed and quickly stripped his pants and boxers off, then swept them out of the way.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

Sarah Jane painted the head of his penis with a mound of whipped cream, causing a hissing sound to emerge from between his teeth. She took him in hand and deliberately licked it off. “This.”

Mick lay back on the bed, a shaky laugh on his lips. “Oh, well. It’s hard to argue with that evidence.”

She grinned and licked him again, making a slow deliberate path around the engorged head of his penis. “Or in this case, the evidence is hard.”

Another chuckle, one that moved into her bones. She suckled him deep, licked and laved, enjoying every inch of him inside of her mouth. He was soft and hard, slippery and wet, and she loved the way he felt against her tongue. Her body grew languid yet energized with every pull of him deep into her throat. She cupped his tautened balls, gently playing with them as she upped the tempo, sucking harder, flicking her tongue over the sensitive head.

Mick’s thighs abruptly tightened, heralding his impending climax. As much as she wanted to keep tasting him, she wanted to feel him come inside of her more. She snatched a waiting condom from the bedside table, opened the package, then swiftly rolled it into place. A second later, she was straddling him. The first bump of him against her throbbing clit pushed the breath from her lungs and feeling him slide inch by inch inside of her all but made her go boneless.

Mick leaned forward and latched onto a nipple, his hot mouth tugging at her, inadvertently pulling at a hidden thread between his mouth and her sex. She clamped her muscles around him, dragging up, then pushing back down, riding him, heaven help her, loving him with her body. He was glorious beneath her, sleek muscle and supple skin, a dusting of hair over his chest.

Feeding at her breasts, pushing up inside of her...

The beginning of climax stirred in her achy womb and she rode him harder, her thighs burning from the exertion. Her breath came in winded little gasps and with every thrust of his hips, she spiraled closer and closer to the point of no return. Mick bucked violently beneath her, moved to the other breast and flattened the crown against the roof of his mouth, suckling hard. It was down and dirty gritty sex, Sarah Jane thought, knowing the time for tenderness would come later.

After they both did.

But right now she just wanted this--him, hot and hard, driving into her as though his very life depended on bringing her to release.

The orgasm caught her unaware, broadsided her. Her body contracted around him, making every throbbing pulse weaken her further and further. Seconds later she was completely spent, wrung dry, but wet and satisfied.

Still sparkling with release, Mick quickly rolled her onto her belly, dragged her hips up off the mattress and pushed into her from behind. “I. Love. Your. Ass,” he said, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. He palmed her bottom lovingly, slid his hands over her rump in that possessive manner than put her in mind of a caveman. Or a beast. Or a hell-raiser.

Either way, she just knew she liked it.

He bent forward and licked the small of her back, making her arch into him, unwittingly meeting him. With every brutal push his balls slapped at her aching flesh and, impossibly, she felt her sex ripen for release once again.

Too soon, she thought, certain she’d pass out from the pleasure.

He reached around and unerringly found her clit, making a vee with his fingers so that every thrust squeezed with just the right amount of pressure.

She shattered.

White turned to black and black to white, then the whole world went gray before returning to color. Sarah Jane’s mouth opened in a scream, but she didn’t hear it. Couldn’t. Every sensation, every nerve ending, every bit of perception was concentrated between her legs and it was all that she could do to cling to consciousness.

Mick thrust once, twice, three times, then buried himself to the hilt and stayed there. She could feel him pulsing inside of her, his big body quaking behind her, a pool of heat where his release gathered at the end of the condom.

He kissed the small of her back once more, then carefully withdrew from her, removed the protection with the help of a Kleenex from the nightstand, then still breathing a bit unsteadily, he rolled her into the crook of his arm and tenderly stroked her hair.

“You know what I think, Sarah Jane?” he asked, his voice rusty and bit weak.

She smiled against his chest, feeling safer and more content than she ever had in her life. “What, Mick?”

He pressed a reverent kiss against her temple. “I think you’re the prize.”

Her throat clogged with emotion. And you’ve won me, she thought, imagining handing her heart over to him, silently praying that he wouldn’t break it.