could guarantee one.” The voice, deep and husky, slid into her ears as she came face-to-face with the cowboy standing on her doorstep. “Maybe even two or three,” he went on, “if I’m not too worked up and there’s no vanilla icing involved. But a dozen is pushing it. Even for a McGraw.”
“I was talking about an Ultimate Milk Chocolate Orgasm.”
“I didn’t know they came in flavors.”
“Mine do. Milk chocolate.” She tried to gather her wits. “I thought you were the UPS guy.”
“Cupcake,” he said as he leaned one palm against the door frame and stared down at her, “do I look like the UPS guy?”
“No. Yes.” She shook her head. “If we were back in Houston, I would say no. But we’re here in Timbuktu, where my mailman rides a four-wheeler with a horn that plays ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas.’ So a UPS guy who looks like the Marlboro Man and drives a…” she glanced past him to the black Dodge Dualie pickup that sat in the front drive “…monster truck wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”
He grinned and her heart stalled for a dangerous second. Heat skittered along her nerve endings and she had half a mind to reach out and trace the shape of his lips. The other half of her mind voted to bypass the tracing entirely and go straight to a kiss. A hot, wet, deep kiss that would satisfy the sudden craving deep in her belly.
A full-fledged craving that had haunted her the entire weekend, when she hadn’t had more than a hankering in the past few years since she’d started Sweet & Sinful. Launching a new business left little time for socializing and so she’d been having a major dry spell when it came to sex.
Until Josh McGraw.
He’d quenched her thirst on Friday night, or so she’d thought until she’d spent the past two days wanting another drink.
She’d tried her usual remedy for a bad case of lust—a few spoonfuls of her Ultimate Milk Chocolate Orgasm batter never failed to kill the urge and keep her on the straight and narrow to the land of the financially secure. That and a few private fantasies featuring one of her favorite actors.
Neither had satisfied her this time.
Josh eyed her and awareness skittered along her nerve endings. “Do you usually proposition the UPS guy?”
“Proposition?” Her mind rushed back and she remembered her words. “Oh, you mean the Ultimate Orgasm.”
“A dozen of them.” He shook his head and grinned. “If your UPS guy can deliver that, he’s definitely in the wrong line of work.”
“I can see your point.” She couldn’t help but smile. “But I wasn’t referring to that kind of orgasm. The Ultimate Orgasm is a mousse cake,” she told him. “Made with three different textures of chocolate, fudge and a sweet cream. It’s my top seller—particularly the milk chocolate flavor. I make specialty desserts for a living.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “And here I thought you might be continuing the family tradition.”
“I might not agree with my grandmother’s choice of profession, but it was her choice.” A choice that had obviously forced her only child to run away.
Holly now realized why her mother had been so tight-lipped all those years ago. She’d moved them from city to city, state to state, because she’d been desperate to escape her past and protect her own child from such an influence. Maybe she’d feared her own mother finding her and forcing her back. Or maybe she’d simply been embarrassed. Maybe both. Either way, she’d run and she’d kept running, and now Holly understood.
Not that Holly felt any shame. Sex wasn’t held in the same taboo as it had been years ago. Besides, Holly had grown up in the city. Several to be exact. She was more open-minded. But growing up the daughter of a small-town madam… That must have been hard.
“It was her choice,” she said again, “and obviously a pretty smart choice, from what I hear.” And she’d heard an earful in the few days she’d been in town. There wasn’t a person in town who didn’t have something to say about the Farraday Inn. Holly had expected negative comments. Instead, she’d been bombarded with questions about Rose and her infamous recipe book—the sexual dishes she’d served up at the Farraday Inn.
Did it exist?
What were the recipes?
Could they really drive a man to the brink of insanity?
Maybe. Holly didn’t know. She’d barely set up her kitchen, much less picked her way through her grandmother’s belongings. She did know that there were five “dining” rooms upstairs, each decorated with a particular theme that no doubt catered to a particular recipe. As for the recipes themselves… She’d been too busy setting up shop and thinking about Josh McGraw to wonder if such a book still existed.
“My grandmother was very successful at what she did, but I’m not continuing the family tradition. I do my best work in the kitchen.”
He reached out, his finger scooping a speck of fudge from her chin. He touched it to his lips. “I’ll have to remember that.” His gaze went past her to the boxes that filled the living room. “So you’re really settling in here?”
“I needed more space for my business. My apartment in Houston barely had room to accommodate a commercial oven. Here I’ve got room for three.”
“Which is why you turned down my offer to buy the place.”
She remembered the lawyer’s mention of a prospective buyer. “That was you?”
He shrugged. “The floor you’re standing on used to belong to the McGraws until your grandmother sweet-talked my grandpa into giving her a piece.” His gaze locked with hers. “A piece in return for a piece.”
She fought down a wave of anger and smiled instead. “It’s a shame your grandfather was such a weak man.”
He stared at her as if he wanted to argue, but then his expression softened. “He had his moments. We all do.” Regret flashed in his gaze and she might have thought he referred to Friday night, but something in her gut told her the emotion went way beyond one night of lust.
“I’m sorry your grandfather couldn’t keep his head, but that has nothing to do with me.”
“I’m more than willing to pay what it’s worth. The going rate for this area is twenty-thousand an acre. That’s what I offered Humphries. But I’m willing to go twenty-five. Plus a nice chunk for this house. I can have the papers drawn up and the money in your hand by the close of business today.”
“But I just moved in.”
His gaze pushed past her and settled on the stack of boxes sitting in the living room. “You haven’t even unpacked.”
“I’m unpacking as soon as I get this order out. Not that it matters. I moved here because I want to live here. This is my place now and it’s not for sale.”
He frowned. “Not for twenty-five thousand an acre. That’s what you’re saying, right? You want more.”
“This place isn’t for sale.”
“Cupcake,
