Your One True Love (The Bennett Family 8)

“How about pancakes?”

I do a double take. “Come again?”

“I can make us pancakes.”

“You don’t cook.”

Daniel winks. “You’re behind the times, Caroline. I added some skills on my résumé over the years.”

Mouth open, I stare at him. “Hang on, I need more info. How did this happen? You survived on takeout during college, and Blake’s fried eggs.”

“Yeah, but takeout is not healthy. Loaded with fats and sugar. Had my nieces and nephews sleep over a few times. Learned to cook the basics for them. Pancakes are everyone’s favorites.”

Ahem, I’m not melting. Not melting. Not melting. Yeah, who am I kidding? I melted already sometime between “nieces” and “favorite.” Daniel, the family man. That’s something I look forward to seeing. I mean, he’s always been close to his parents, overprotective of his siblings, but just the thought of Daniel cooking for his nieces and nephews does things to me.

“You look like you just had an entire conversation in your mind just now.”

I smile sheepishly. “Yeah, we women tend to do that.”

“Walk me through it. Can’t read minds. Not part of my skillset, I’m afraid.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

He levels me with his stare. Stepping closer to me, he brushes a strand of hair out of my face. Uh-oh. I can practically feel my determination slipping away. Pulling myself straighter, I try to work in every ounce of severity I can muster in my tone.

“Now, don’t go all intense and domineering on me.”

“I have other ways of persuading you.”

I try to look away from his eyes, or mouth. Unfortunately, the rest of him is just as distracting, if not more so. Why isn’t he wearing his shirt? All those hard muscles and defined lines on display is messing with my concentration—not to mention my hormones. In an attempt to put some distance between us, I step back, hitting the counter. Placing my hand on his chest, I shove him gently away. He takes the hint and steps back, but unfortunately, his taut skin simply feels too good under my fingers for me to let go, so instead of retracting my hand, I trace the dents and planes of his abs, the V-shaped lines.

He groans. Oops, lost my head there for a second, and my hands somehow ended up at the rim of his jeans. Flashing him what I hope is a convincing doe-eyed look, I grin, letting my roaming hands drop.

He grips my hips, aligning our bodies. I burn for him at every contact point. Skimming his hands up, up, up the sides of my rib cage, he stops when his thumbs are level with my breasts. Dragging them inward, he flicks my nipples over the fabric until they’re tight peaks, until my entire body is wound up.

Then he kisses my forehead and steps aside, biting into his own sandwich, leaving me so hot and bothered I’m entertaining thoughts of an incognito trip to the shower. I need a cold spray.

“By the way, my parents are hosting a Halloween party at their house next week,” he says.

“Halloween? That’s new.”

“Eh, Halloween is a much bigger draw for the kids than Thanksgiving, I’m telling you. And all the adults are having a kick out of wearing costumes too.”

“Wait, what? I can’t picture—all adults, really?”

He nods, chuckling. “Yeah. It’s a sight, all right. I’d never thought Sebastian or Logan would be up for it, but you wouldn’t believe what parents will do for their kids.”

“What are you going as?”

“Pirate.”

Pressing my lips together, I fight hard not to laugh, but I lose the battle, giggling.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, channeling your inner five-year-old. A pirate.”

Daniel points a finger at me. “Stop laughing or I’ll tickle you.”