Page 17 of Bedding the Biker Next Door

“Not at all,” Jill told her. “I’ll bake a batch of cookies with Stanley while we wait for his dad.”

Five minutes later, Jill and Stanley went into the kitchen and mixed flour, eggs, sugar, vanilla, oatmeal, and spices, then indulged in the heavenly scent of baking cookies until Stanley’s father finally got there close to six. After packaging up a dozen cookies for Stanley and his dad and then sending the little boy on his way home, Jill went back inside. She walked into her bedroom and caught sight of herself in the floor-length mirror.

“Oh my God!” She had chalk and paint all over her clothes. Normally, she didn’t care. After all, it came with daycare territory, but she’d gone next door like this?

She showered, and instead of putting on sweats or PJs like she normally would for an evening in, she threw on a fitted top and jeans then dabbled on some perfume behind her earlobes and cleavage, remembering the feel of Cole’s mouth on both places. After she dried her hair and put on just a little bit of make-up, she studied herself in the mirror again.

She hadn’t been planning on going next door. She honestly hadn’t. In fact, she’d planned to steer clear of Cole—that’s what they’d agreed to, after all. No more interaction.

But now…

Now, all she could think about was what Liz had said—that Cole shouldn’t have to grieve alone. About how she wanted to take Cole in her arms and kiss away his pain. And about all the ways, now that she was bathed and clean, Cole could mess her up again.

Chapter Six

Cole was digging through his mother’s cabinets looking for something to eat that hadn’t gone bad when there was a knock on the front door. Jill? They’d agreed not to connect anymore, but he couldn’t help hoping it was her. He focused on not rushing to the door and took his time to open it, then regretted taking any time at all. Sans paint and chalk, looking fresh and beautiful, Jill stood there, holding a plate, the sweet scent of baked goods floating in the air along with a light floral perfume.

Damn, she looked good. Her dark hair shiny and light eyes filled with both hesitation and determination. Why did her contradictions turn him on so damned much? And why was she back?

Send her away—stop playing with fire! half his brain told him.

Explore every inch of her body and find the hiding spots for her perfume, the other half of his brain argued back.

“Hi again!” she said a little too brightly. Covering up nerves maybe? That only made her more desirable. “I know I said we shouldn’t…and that we weren’t… but you see, I’m just next door, and we made cookies earlier today with the kids. I thought you might like some.” She pushed the plate toward him.

How appropriate—enticing him with her cookies. Evil woman, he chuckled to himself.

He didn’t even look at the tasty treats, though. No, he was too busy remembering what her face had looked liked when she’d climaxed last night. He’d been imagining it repeatedly since he’d woken up this morning. In fact, Jill seemed to be the only thing he was capable of thinking about when he wasn’t thinking about his mother.

Talk about fucked up.

Against his better judgment, Cole stepped back and motioned her in. “I was just starving my ass off.”

Her eyes brightened. “Well, you’re in luck. I make the best oatmeal cookies in the world. So you won’t need to lose your ass.”

Cole smiled. Cute she was, there was no doubt of that. However, he doubted she made oatmeal cookies better than his mom, because no one, in all his twenty-nine years, had even come close to dethroning his mother’s baking.

“Why, thank you. I’ll take those,” he said, accepting the plate and setting it on the already cluttered coffee table. “Have a seat. The house is pretty empty, but I have warm wine.”

Jill laughed and sat down. “I’m good, thanks. Save your warm wine for a special occasion. Sit with me,” she said, patting the spot next to her on the sofa.

Cole thought about it a moment. Only a few hours ago she’d told him they should keep their distance, yet here she was, sitting comfortably in his mother’s house, wearing perfume and a smile. Was she playing games? He didn’t think so. In fact, he got the feeling her change of heart was more about her own conflicting feelings. She wanted to stay away, but she was just as attracted to him as he was her. At least, that was the scenario he wanted to believe.

However, there was another option: that since Jill now knew he’d lost his mother, she was just being nice. God, he hoped not. Empathy he understood and could respect—pity he did not need nor want, however. He blew out a harsh breath and joined her on the sofa.

Jill lifted the plate toward him. “Are you going to try one?”

“Hell, yes,” he said. He took a cookie and bit into it. He closed his eyes, tasting the cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice. “Oh, my God!”

“What?” Jill looked worried.

Pleasure wound its way inside him. “These are amazing. Wow, I have to admit when you said you made the best oatmeal cookies in the world, my first thought was that there was no way they would be better than the ones my mom used to make.”

Jill flashed him a smile. “Well…I did cheat. Your mother gave me the recipe.”

“She did?”

Jill nodded, ducking her head. “She used to make them and bring them over for the kiddos. They loved them. Towards the end…I mean, when she started… Anyways, she gave me the recipe so I could keep making them for the kids.” She bit her lip. “I did it again. I’m sorry.”

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