“Mmm,” he murmured appreciatively. “Bourbon and brownies are good together.”

“Yeah?”

He dug some more brownie out with his spoon, dribbled some of the bourbon from his tumbler onto the dark chocolate mass, which soaked it in. He held the spoon between them and said, “Open up.”

Suzanne should probably have declined. But she was no more capable of that than stopping the blizzard raging outside. She parted her lips, and he slipped it in, her mouth closing around the spoon. Shutting her eyes, she savored the taste as he withdrew the implement. The bourbon supercharged the sweetness but gave it a little kick of something else.

“Mmm,” she murmured as the flavor infused her taste buds. She swallowed, her eyes fluttering open to find him staring at her lips.

Her stomach clenched at the heat, at the intensity of his gaze. Her breathing faltered.

A beat passed. Then another. Then, before she could catch her breath, his head swooped and he kissed the corner of her mouth, his tongue flicking out and lingering for long, pulse-skittering moments before he withdrew.

Suzanne sucked in a hasty breath, filling her lungs and her senses with the aromas of pine cones, bourbon, and Grady.

“Sorry…you had”—he pointed to the corner of her mouth—“some crumbs…”

Her breathing husky, Suzanne swallowed. She wasn’t sorry at all.

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Grady’s heart thumped in his chest as he stared at Suzanne. He shouldn’t have done that. He should not have done that. A buzzing noise in his head grew louder and louder, obliterating the noise of the blizzard and every modicum of common sense. All he could see was Suzanne’s mouth, and all he could think about was kissing it—again.

Longer. Deeper. Wetter.

Everything since he’d stepped inside the warm, welcoming cabin tonight had felt like it was leading to this moment. The fire and the bourbon and the brownies. And the woman waiting up for him. Worrying about him. It had irritated him a couple of days ago, but tonight…

This wasn’t Grady. He wasn’t the kind of guy who craved all that home and hearth bullshit. He’d resigned himself to going without those trimmings years ago, and he’d never allowed himself to think about what he might be missing. Not even with all the guys tonight talking about getting home to a warm house, a warm meal, and a warm woman.

Grady had been looking forward to a drink in front of the fire and spending a couple of hours in his office following the progress of the storm. But then he’d opened that door and Suzanne had been there, worried and cranky, alternating between yelling at him and hugging him, and the desire to come home to this every night—to her every night—had slugged him right in the center of his chest, making it impossible to breathe.

To think.