Jill Shalvis - The Sweetest Thing

He sucked in a very hot gulp of coffee and promptly choked, burning his tongue.

“Sorry.” Mia met his gaze, her own bright and intense. “It’s just that I don’t want to rule out the possibility of a brother or sister someday. You know, when you and Tara get it together and figure yourselves out.”

Just looking at her made his heart hurt, this precious kid who-by some lucky twist of fate-he’d fathered. “Honey,” he said carefully. “You do realize that things don’t always happen all clean and pretty and neat like that in real life, right? Because Tara and I-”

“It could happen.” She rose to her feet, eyes and mouth stubborn. He recognized the expression and knew he couldn’t blame this one all on Tara.

“Oh, and FYI,” she said, heading to the door. “Tara liked the flowers you delivered.”

He blinked. “She… I-What?”

But Mia was gone.

Ford flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the sun was a little higher in the sky, and there was a different woman sitting on his bed.

Tara let herself onto Ford’s boat and made her way below deck. The boat was clean and fairly neat, if one discounted the empty pizza box on the counter and the pile of clothes on the floor by the bed.

Clearly Ford had stripped before climbing into it, which gave her a little shiver as she studied his big, very still body. He was sprawled facedown and spread-eagle across the mattress, wearing only a pair of black knit boxers and all that testosterone-which never failed to make her weak in the knees. His arms spanned the entire bed, as did his legs. And then there was the smooth, sinewy expanse of back and bitable ass…

Controlling herself, she sat at his side, watching as he began to stir. With a groan, he rolled to his back, his hands going to his head as if he needed to hold it onto his shoulders.

“Oh, Christ,” he said, his voice all morning raspy. He cracked open one bleary eye, looking like a hot, adorable mess. “Shoot me in the head. I’m begging you.”

“I’ve got something better.” She lifted the basket of banana and honey nut muffins.

He closed his eyes and inhaled. “You smell like heaven.”

“It’s the food.”

He didn’t move a muscle. “Aren’t you busy working?”

“Mia and Maddie are handling the inn for a few minutes. I thought maybe you might need me.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I’ve never been all that good at needing someone.”

She nodded. She understood.

“But for you,” he said. “I could try.”

Her heart squeezed.

“But maybe later,” he said, wincing and rubbing his head. “Because right now I’m busy dying. Do you think you could put down the anchor? The world’s spinning.”

Tara laughed softly and shifted closer, giving in to the urge to run her fingers over his forehead, smoothing back his hair, making him sigh in pleasure. “Why did you drink so much?” she murmured. “It’s not like you.”

He muttered something about trying to prove he could be Superman if he wanted to and how no one should dance on a bar while drunk because it was a long fall down.

She laughed again and went to pull away but he caught her hand and held it to his cheek. “You feel so nice and cool.” He sighed, eyes still closed. “No idea how I got so lucky to get you both here this morning, but I’m grateful.” Very carefully, he sat up and reached for the basket, but Tara held it back.

“Both?” she asked.

“Our daughter showed up with coffee.” His arms were longer than hers so he managed to snatch a muffin. “As well as the news that I brought you flowers.”

That was so unexpected-a part of her had secretly hoped it’d been him-that she couldn’t control her surprised reaction.

Ford’s smile faded. “And,” he said slowly, “you thought they were from me.”

“No.” She shook her head, then nodded. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Fuck.” He grimaced and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry, Tara. But honestly, I was far too impaired for a gesture like that.”

Tara shrugged. “It’s okay. I mean they’re not really your style anyway. I knew that. Now if it’d been pizza and beer on the porch…”

He arched a brow. “Are you saying I’m not romantic?”

“It’s not your strong suit, no.”

He bit into the muffin. “What is my strong suit?”

She thought about how he could make her purr with a single touch, have her writhing in three minutes flat if he put his mind to it, and blushed.

He smiled. “Come here.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“Don’t trust me.”

That made him chuckle, and he finished his muffin. “What are these again? They’re amazing.”

“They’re honey banana, to calm the stomach. The honey also builds up sugar levels, and the bananas are rich in the important stuff: electrolytes, magnesium, and potassium, which you severely depleted with your alcohol intake.” She opened the thermos and handed it to him. “And milk. To rehydrate.”

“You always name your masterpieces. What are these muffins called?”

She squirmed a little. He knew her well, too well. She’d indeed named the muffins, but she didn’t want to tell him. It was too embarrassing. Not to mention revealing.

“Come on,” he coaxed.

She sucked in a breath and said it fast. “You’reMyHoneyBunMuffins.”

A sole brow shot up. “One more time.”

“You’re My Honey Bun Muffins.” She pointed at him. “And if you laugh, that’s the end of our friendship. Or whatever this thing between us is.”

Ford grinned. “Aw. I’m your honey bun.”

“Stop it.” She shoved a napkin at him. “And you’re getting crumbs in the bed.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘you’re getting crumbs in the bed, honey bun’?”

“Okay, that’s it. Give me back the muffins.” Tara reached for them but Ford laughed and held them out of her reach, leaning back so that she fell on top of him.

Smooth, she thought, scrambling off his hard, warm, perfect body. He was pretty damn smooth as he proceeded to inhale three more muffins and down the milk while she watched. And so… male. Logan had always been a gym rat, his body toned from a rigorous routine of weights and cardio. Ford didn’t do the whole gym thing. No, his body was honed to a mouthwatering tightness by running and sailing, and it worked for him.

It worked for her, too. “Are we going to talk about the phone messages?” she asked when he finally stopped eating, looking much better for it.

He winced. “I was really hoping that part of last night was a dream.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Nope.”

“Can we pretend it was?”

“So you don’t want to be my sex slave?”

Ford’s expression went hopeful as his gaze flew to hers, then turned crestfallen when she gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. “That’s just mean, teasing a man when he’s down.”

“You’re not down,” Tara said. “You’re never down.”

“And here I thought you were so observant.” He rolled off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

He dropped his boxers to the floor.

“You’re naked!”

“Yes, that’s usually how I like to shower,” he said and walked the finest ass she’d ever seen right out of the bedroom.

Back at the inn, Tara cooked up a big breakfast. Then she made bread and put together a slow-cooking soup for later. After that, she cleaned the kitchen, opening the back door to sweep out the crumbs.

When she turned around, Logan was standing there, watching her, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed with exhaustion.

“Wow,” she said. “You look like crap.”

His smile was grim. “You make a bedside visit to Ford with hangover muffins, and you tell me I look like crap. Where’s the justice in that? And before you ask how I know, it’s on Facebook. Lucille reported seeing you board his boat with the muffins. She tweeted it, too, and loaded a pic.”

Tara stared at him. “She did not.”

“Did.”

Tara shook her head to clear it but that didn’t help. Neither did the sneaking suspicion coming to her. “So what, you came here to hopefully get caught on camera as well?”

Guilt flashed across his pretty-boy face, but he accompanied it with a charming smile. “Didn’t think it could hurt.”

She glared at him, then realized that beneath that do-me smile was undeniable misery, and she felt her heart constrict. “Oh, Logan,” she said softly, coming around the island to push him gently into a chair.

“Ah, shit,” he said, staying where she’d put him. “The nice Tara. I’m getting dumped, right?”

“I already dumped you.” She made him some green mint tea, his favorite. “And this isn’t me being nice,” she said, handing him a mug. “It’s mercy. It’ll help your headache, but what would help even more is not trying to drink other people under the table.”

“I didn’t try. I succeeded. And it wasn’t just any other people. It was your boyfriend.”

“Ford’s not my boyfriend.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay,” Tara said. “I want you to try something new-listening to me for once.” She sat in front of him and took his hand in hers. “I’m not looking for a husband. That’s over.”

“But I’m not done fighting for you.”

“I’m not a prize, Logan.”

His smile softened. “Yes, you are.”

Aw. Dammit, he really had his moments. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, “but you need to know that everything I’ve told you before still stands. I’m not coming back to you, Logan. We’re not going to make this work, you and me.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “I’m not ready to concede yet, Tara.”

“Logan-”

“Look, I’m enjoying this town. I’ve been making friends with people who don’t bow down to me or want anything from me.”