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“What? You mean on the piano bench? Sawyer …” McCoy dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, assessing Sawyer. Mischief danced in her eyes, and then she leaned upward to whisper in Sawyer’s ear. “You would know when I was putting on my moves. It would start with whispering sweet nothings in your ear, like this.” McCoy’s nose nuzzled against her skin. “You’re gorgeous. I wanna taste you.”

Sawyer began trembling, all the want and need she’d had to stuff down over the years exploding to the surface with one hushed declaration.

“Can I taste you, Sawyer?”

“Oh, God,” she whined. Arousal soaked her thighs, and she clamped them closed.

McCoy kissed her ear, whispering, “Is that a yes, Chef Lavoie?”

“Yes.”

“In that case,” McCoy scooped Sawyer into her arms and carried her to the kitchen island, her throaty laughter doing wicked things to Sawyer. The granite countertop pressed into her ass as McCoy set her down on the surface.

Sawyer glanced around the kitchen. “Here?”

“Mm-hmm,” McCoy fixed her gaze on the tie in Sawyer’s robe. She reached for the rope, tugging it open until Sawyer’s front was completely exposed to her. “Fuck, you’re sexy.”

Instinct had Sawyer moving to cover herself, but McCoy grabbed her wrists, pinning them behind her on the counter. She kissed Sawyer deeply. “Let me look at you, please.”

“Yes.”

When did her voice become so breathy? She squirmed, her body flushing all over as McCoy kissed a path down her torso to her sex. There, she didn’t waste time, instead grabbing Sawyer’s hips and pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. Then she got on her knees and used her fingers to spread Sawyer open.

“Sexy,” McCoy gushed just before she buried her lips in Sawyer’s pussy.

“Oh, yes,” Sawyer cried.

“You taste liketourtière.So delicious,” McCoy said, her mouth glistening as she stared up at Sawyer.

Tourtière?Sawyer’s eyes widened. She tasted like meat pie? “What?”

“Maman, good morning. I made breakfast,” Bree sang out from somewhere behind them.

Sawyer froze, scrambling away from McCoy. She lost her balance and fell off the island.

“Maman. Are you okay?”

Sawyer blinked, rubbing her eyes to clear the blurriness from them. Bree came into view, concern written all over her face as she crouched beside her on the floor.

“Bree, what are you … McCoy?” was all Sawyer managed. Her pulse seemed to be pounding everywhere at once. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but when she did, her hands flew to her robe only to discover she was wearing one of her T-shirts and bikini briefs. Her eyes darted to her surroundings, spotting the familiar esthetics of her bedroom. The relief she feltwas paramount, and she sagged into the carpet momentarily, an uncharacteristic giggle escaping her.

“McCoy, huh? Did I wake you mid-dream?” Bree teased, helping Sawyer stand.

Oh, God, Sawyer realized. Bree woke her from asexdream. A hot, albeit strange, kitchen sex dream with McCoy. Her blush started at the tips of her ears and didn’t stop until her entire body was warm with it. How mortifying.

Bree noticed but thankfully didn’t comment on it. Excitement had her bouncing from foot to foot, and before Sawyer could prod, Bree said, “There’s no rush to come downstairs. I just wanted to let you know breakfast is in the oven keeping warm. I’ll be in the garage with Coy. She’s gonna teach me how to install the wiring in the McLaren.”

“Ok-kay.” Sawyer frowned, digesting this. Why did Bree need to know that? But her daughter was already racing out of the room, shutting the door behind her. “Well,” she muttered, heading to her ensuite bathroom for a real shower. “What a way to wake up.”

Chapter 29

Sawyer

Sure enough, she foundMcCoy and Bree in the garage an hour later in deep conversation. Sawyer watched from the garage door window, one hand on the knob, one hand pressed against her chest to calm her racing heart. Bree was seated in the driver's seat of the McLaren, hands on the new steering wheel in the same spot her father had bled out.

Trepidation and … andrageflooded Sawyer. The McLaren wasn’t aleisuretoy to play with. It was the last materialistic thread Sawyer had to her piece of shit husband. It was a job, nothing else, an asset bound in contract with McCoy, and that contract most certainly didnotinclude her only living child.

Sawyer swung the door open, gripping it tightly as she raised her voice. “Bree. Get out of the car.”