Page 9 of Joy Ride
His smoldering stare burns into mine, and damn, Travis is finally giving me the kind of alpha-cowboy-throw-me-over-his-shoulder, fuck-me-against-the-wall response I’ve been waiting for. I’m not counting the original boner he had in bed because he didn’t know who I was then.
“You’re fine. It’s fine.” Unfortunately, he pulls his gaze away from me just as quickly as it came. He snags our guns and slides out from behind the bar. “It’s getting chilly down here.” His voice is matter of fact as he turns the lights off in the main room.
I follow him up the staircase to the narrow hall I discovered hours ago. “I didn’t mean to cause any problems tonight,” I say, dying to extend the conversation somehow, but he isn’t giving me much to work with here.
He opens the door to his apartment. I was so tired and so afraid of being caught the first time I found it, that I kept everything dark. I only discovered his bedroom because there was a light on over the stove.
The apartment is as neat as a pin with a fully stocked bookshelf, comfy looking furniture, and a flat screen above a crackling fireplace. The bedroom is off to the left, next to the kitchenette in the corner. I get a whiff of the unmistakable scent of ginger again, and now the full picture comes into view. So that’s why he smells so edible. I didn’t put two and two together the first time around.
“Did I interrupt a baking marathon tonight?”
Travis spins on a dime like the question’s an insult.
“There,” I point to the plate of cookies on the counter. “I thought I smelled gingerbread.”
“Well, yeah, it’s Christmas and all, and never mind—”
“No, tell me,” I press, dying to get to know my man of mystery better. “Baking cookies is nothing to be ashamed of.”
He shrugs his hunky shoulders, and leans against the counter, all long legs and swagger in those jeans. If he was wearing a cowboy hat, there would be zero chance of Travis getting out of this kitchen without, at the very least, being dry humped.
“Some friends invited me over for Christmas dinner and wanted me to bring something other than booze. They have kids, so I thought cookies would probably do.” He chuckles.
“So, you were going to be alone for Christmas?”
“My family took off on their cruise this morning. My parents, both sisters, their husbands, and kids are all on the high seas by now.”
“And they didn’t invite you or want you to come?”
He scratches his jaw contemplating me with a sly half-smile. “Your opinion of me is shockingly underwhelming but no. Of course, my family wanted me to join them, but I needed to stay behind for my employees’ holiday party. Obviously, my shopping options were limited in this weather, so I dug up my gran’s old cookie recipe.”
My mouth waters as I examine what appear to be the gingerbread cookies of my dreams. They smell divine, aren’t mangled, or lumpy, and there isn’t a charred edge on any of them. “Would you believe I was actually fantasizing about gingerbread cookies on the walk over?”
“Is that your way of finagling a taste?” He teasingly cocks a brow.
I breathe in the aromatic scent coming from the dish and tilt my head, meeting his penetrating stare.Talk about appetizing.“Sure wouldn’t say no if you offered me one.”
“Please,” he grins. “I insist.” He holds out the platter for me.
“Thought you’d never ask.” Trying to be ladylike, I select one of the smaller cookies on the edge of the plate. Travis watches while I bite into it, and I know he’s dying to find out if I think they taste okay. The anticipation is killing him. Good.
Now that I have his full attention, I put my plan into action. I’ve never even kissed an older man before, so I better make it good. Deviously, I take my time and close my eyes, savoring the sugary, cinnamon-and-ginger treat. Licking my lips for good measure, trying to be sexy, I whisper, “Hmmm.” Like a porn star, I rub up and down my belly, sliding my hand seductively over my breasts. “Hmmm, so good,” I moan, and open my left eye just a sliver to check if my attempt at turning him on is working. Apparently, it isn’t because he’s studying me like I’m a science experiment, and I’ve just lost my damn mind.
I swallow the bite and give up, honestly informing him that they are, indeed, “Delicious. They’re so soft, my favorite way to bake them.” Concentrating, I sample the cookie again and try to pinpoint what on earth is making them taste so outrageously great. “So, what’s your secret?”
He laughs. “There’s no secret. It’s the way we’ve always made them.”
“Trust me, I’ve made a gazillion gingerbread cookies and none of them have turned out as good as these. What is it?”
He plays with the rim of the plate but takes his sweet time answering. “Chocolate.” He finally blurts.
“I knew there was something unusual in this.” I take another bite. “But you can’t really tell it’s there.”
“No.” He chuckles. “It’s just a tablespoon of regular unsweetened cocoa powder that adds the extra oomph, but it’s important this stays between us.”
I laugh. “I promise I won’t tell a soul.” I pop the last bit into my mouth and quickly swallow. “So, gingerbread cookies but no tree? You are one very confusing man.”
“I told you. The cookies aren’t for me, and I haven’t had a tree in years.”
