Page 15 of A Veteran's Desire

We each pick up our cutters and find another piece of the pastry. For a while we work in silence, the way I used to work with Granny. I’ve never shared a midnight baking session with anyone but Granny. And I’ve never shared her favorite recipe. It loosens something inside of me, and I want to share more.

“After my parents died, the biggest comfort to me was baking with Granny. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep and I’d find her here, in the kitchen. She never tried to put me back to bed. Instead, she’d put an apron over my pajamas and we’d bake. We wouldn’t talk, except when she was instructing me on how to sieve the flour or roll the pastry. But I’d always feel much better afterward.”

Grant presses out another cookie onto the tray, and this one’s perfectly round. He places it down with a quiet carefulness that’s unexpected in the large ex-soldier.

We’re so close our elbows brush, sending zings of energy up my arm. Grant turns to me, and our eyes lock. My breathing quickens and need tugs in my core. For the past week, we’ve danced around each other. Longer than that, since it’s been three months. I’ve caught him looking at me so many times that now I’m sure he’s as attracted to me as I am to him. I’m not sure why he’s holding back, but if he won’t make a move, then I will.

I lean toward him. We’re so close it doesn’t take much. His eyes dart to my lips, and I don’t give him time to back away. Gently, I press my lips to his.

Grant goes still, and I pull back. I’ve done the wrong thing and messed it all up.

“I’m sorry…” I don’t get to finish my sentence. Grant pulls me toward him. His lips crash into mine, and his hand slides to the back of my neck. His mouth is heated and insistent, and I allow his tongue entry. The kiss deepens, and its warm tendrils spread down my neck and chest and into my core, lighting everything up as it goes.

The need that’s simmered in me all week boils over, and I slide my arms around his neck, drawing him closer to me. He groans as my body brushes against his, and I feel him grow hard.

Then he’s pulling away, and we stare at each other. I’m panting and hot, and my desire is reflected in his eyes.

His hands slide down my back and around my waist until he’s holding me at the hips.

“You’re too good for me, Hannah.”

But he doesn’t release me. There’s a battle going on inside Grant that I don’t understand, but I want desire to win.

Slowly, I roll my hips against him, against the hard mound sticking out from his sweatpants.

“I doubt that, Grant.”

He groans and closes his eyes, and I slide my hand down his neck, over the ridge of his muscular torso, down his washboardabs, and into the waistband of his sweatpants. Until I find his hard cock and encircle it with my hand.

His eyes fly open, and the desire in them burns hotter than a furnace.

“Hannah…” His voice is a groan as I tug my hand along the length of his cock.

“I want you, Grant. I need you.” It’s easier to confess in the quiet of the kitchen. “Don’t you want me too?”

His eyes blaze, and I taste victory. “Oh honey, you’re theonlything I want.”

His lips crash against mine, and his hands grab my backside as he grinds himself against my aching core.

7

GRANT

Hannah’s lips against mine, her hands around my length, and her soft body in my arms are too much to resist. She smells like sugar and tastes like chocolate. I’ve held myself back for months, but being so close to her in the past week has chipped away at my defenses.

It was hard to love myself after Mason died, after I let him down and left his wife a widow and his young son fatherless. It’s the reason I left the military and the reason I came to Jake’s Retreat. But the reason I stayed in Hope is right here in my arms.

I don’t deserve happiness when Mason’s wife is widowed. But as Hannah rolls herself against me, all I can think about is the woman in my arms. She told me she needs me, and that’s the one thing that broke through. Maybe I’m being selfish by holding back. If Hannah needs a release, then I’ll give her that. Right here in the kitchen.

My hands close over the lush curve of her ass, and a groan tears from my throat.

How many times have I watched her walk away and imagined this? Imagined the weight of her in my palms, the softness of her body pressed tight against mine, the way I’d pull her closer and never want to let go.

Now she’s here.

Every curve fits against me, yielding to the hard lines of my body as if she was made for me.

Because she was.