Bentley was sticking his finger into a large bowl of frosting while Brant held a cookie over his head.
Jane stood on her toes, trying to grab the cookie from his brother’s hand.
And somehow, the ass had found its way inside and was standing by the kitchen table watching.
“Give her the cookie, Brant.”
“No.” Brant held it higher. “I’m saving her the calories!”
She smacked him on the arm. “It’s just one more sugar cookie!”
“You heard her, man.” Bentley grinned. “Hand it over or I’m not baking anymore.”
Brock was sure he’d heard wrong. He knew that his brother could cook but baking was a whole different beast. “You baked?”
Bentley nodded. “It’s not rocket science.”
“You baked…cookies?”
“He makes a mean carrot cake, too,” Brant added. “Don’t be too proud of him; he learned to cook because he found out the cougars liked it when a man knew his way around the kitchen. Think of it as his foreplay.”
“You’re a conniving bastard. You know that, right?” Brock nodded toward Bentley, who seemed completely unfazed, like it was normal to take up a hobby so you could have more sex.
Brant lowered the cookie to Jane’s height and dangled it in front of her face. “If I give you this, what will you do for me?”
“Well, I don’t know about Jane, but if you give her the cookie I won’t strangle you. So there’s that,” Brock said in an irritated voice.
“He’s got at least twenty pounds on you, Brant. I’d give over the goods.”
Jane grinned in triumph as Brant shoved the large cookie into her mouth, patted her head, and glared at Bentley. “Make more.”
“Don’t pressure him!” Jane said, mouth full of food. “We don’t want them burning. I’ve had four. I could eat them until I get sick. That’s how good they are.”
Suddenly jealous, Brock frowned hard at his brother. What the hell kind of game was he playing at? Did he know that food was Jane’s weakness? He sure as hell did now with all that moaning she was doing every time she took a bite of the damn cookie.
The way she moaned, the way she enjoyed even the simplest of life’s pleasures, had him realizing that she wasn’t like most women in his social circle—women his Grandfather would choose. Those types of women ate salad with no dressing. And Brock had a sneaking suspicion that if he offered one of them a cookie they’d take it as an insult, whereas Jane would ask for more.
A dab of chocolate was on the corner of her mouth. Brock tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. She looked more delicious than the cookie she was devouring. Without thinking he reached over and swiped the chocolate with his thumb and proceeded to lick the chocolate from his finger.
Jane’s mouth dropped open.
He had no self-control where she was concerned and he knew that if he kept tasting her—he’d be completely lost.
He didn’t even realize he had moaned until Bentley slapped him on the back. “Problem?”
“You’re…” Brock narrowed his eyes as Jane let out another breathy sigh and finished her cookie. “I’m suddenly really grateful for your cookies.”
“Was that a compliment?”
Brock clenched his teeth. “Don’t get used to it.”
Bentley snorted. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
They stared down one another until Jane’s moans subsided and she finally was able to speak again. “I need more cookies.”
“I will literally pay you five hundred dollars to bake more cookies for us.” Brant slapped cash out onto the table. “But make double because Jane is eating them faster than I can get my hands on them.”
“What about me?” Brock asked, feeling left out. “I didn’t even get any!”
“You hate sugar.” Bentley shrugged. Jane let out a loud gasp and covered her mouth.
Strike one.
“No, I just don’t like cotton candy,” Brock grumbled.
Another gasp from Jane, so clearly that was strike two.
Bentley shook his head slowly. “Maybe it’s because your childhood was cut short by the death of our parents? No doubt it caused you to grow up more than us.”
The room fell silent.
Brant looked down at his shoes, his face unreadable, while Jane locked eyes with Brock. Her expression was sad—not necessarily pitying, but close enough. God, he hated pity.
Almost as much as he hated being a yes man.
“Hey.” Jane slowly made her way over to him. “Bentley said something about horses. Do you think…” Her cheeks burned bright red. “Maybe I could get on one?”
Damn it, she was cute when she was nervous.
Cute was dangerous.
Cute made you want to care.
Cute made you want more than one fleeting night of passion where you left in the morning without saying good-bye.