He laughed, trying to imagine how that conversation would go. “If I tried to fire Rosie, she’d kick my ass and send me to my room.”
He liked that he could see the relief on Paige’s face. He liked that she cared about a woman he loved. And he really liked the way she leaned forward to rest her elbows on the counter so he could see down her shirt. He couldn’t see much, but the hint of cleavage was enough to make him hard.
“You know,” she said, “I wouldn’t mind you coming over for dinner every once in a while. Save you a few microwave meals, at least.”
He’d been kidding about the microwavable dinners. He could cook well enough for himself. But he wasn’t fool enough to turn down an invitation to sit at Paige’s table, which, thanks to the size of her trailer, wasn’t too far from her bed. He’d been thinking about getting back in that bed since pretty much five minutes after he’d left it.
“I might even make you dessert,” she told him.
“I like desserts with whipped cream. Lots of whipped cream.”
The flush that spread across her neck and up into her cheeks made him want to take her out back right then and there and find a supply closet or something. “I just happened to buy some when I was at the market.”
So she’d heard that story, too. This town was a pain in the ass. “When?”
“Tonight?”
“I can get there by six.”
She smiled a flirty smile promising fun and all sorts of naughty things. “I’ll be waiting.”
So would he, because walking around with a raging hard-on until six o’clock was going to suck. But she was worth it.
Chapter Twelve
It was ridiculous to spend the entire meal distracted by the upcoming dessert, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the can of whipped cream sitting in her refrigerator. Maybe she should have bought two cans. One for the strawberry shortcake and one for all the things she’d spent the day imagining a man would do with a can of whipped cream and a naked woman.
“You feeling okay?”
Paige looked at him, thinking he looked more amused than concerned. “Sure. Why do you ask?”
“You look a little flushed.”
“It’s a little warm in here.” She stood and threw her plate away—she’d made the dessert but succumbed to more carry-out from the diner—then cleared his place since his plate was empty.
She should heat up the biscuits for the shortcake and take the strawberry topping out of the fridge. And the whipped cream. Paige jumped a little as Mitch’s hands slid around her waist from behind. Then she leaned back against him, twisting her neck to get a kiss.
“You seem nervous tonight.”
She was nervous. She’d felt ridiculous buying whipped cream at the store. Sure, a lot of people bought whipped cream, but how many were buying it for sex? On second thought, she probably didn’t want to know.
“I’m not nervous.” His hands slid up under her shirt and she suspected it might be time for strawberry shortcake, hold the strawberries and the shortcake.
“Not nerves.” He kissed the back of her neck, sliding one of his hands around her body to cup her breast. “Anticipation?”
“Maybe. I happen to be very fond of strawberry shortcake.”
“I happen to be very fond of this spot, right…” His hand slid down into her jeans until he found the sweet spot. “Here.”
Paige would have liked to enjoy that more, but her mind was on the whipped cream. In her imagination, it was sexy and she could picture things that would make her blush. Actually, she had pictured things that did make her blush.
But the reality was awkward. At what point during the getting naked and the foreplay did one of them walk to the refrigerator and get the can? And wouldn’t the can be very cold? Where did one indulge in whipped cream anyway? The bathtub wasn’t big enough for both of them. Anyplace except the kitchen would cause a huge mess, but nobody wanted to have sex on cold, hard linoleum.
“Hey.” He spun her around and looked into her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I…” There was probably no sense in lying. She wasn’t very good at it, anyway. “I’ve never done the whole whipped-cream thing before.”
“If you’re not into it, that’s okay, Paige.” He grinned and shook his head.
“No, I am. I just don’t know…how it works.”
“There’s no whipped-cream protocol as far as I know.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” He pulled open her fridge and took out the can of whipped cream. After getting the cap off, he held it up. “Do you know what you do with whipped cream?”
“What I do with it is put it on strawberry shortcake.”
“Open your mouth.”
“Excuse me?”
He laughed at her. “Just open your mouth.”
She did and, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, he squeezed the nozzle and filled her mouth with sweet, creamy foam. Then, while she tried to swallow it all without laughing or spitting it on him, he squirted some in his mouth, too.
“And that’s what you do with whipped cream,” he said, making her laugh. Thankfully, she’d swallowed.