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He leans his hip against the counter. “You make your own sauce?”

“Sure, if by making it, you mean opening a jar and pouring it into a bowl.”

Trevor laughs. “So… boxed spaghetti and pre-made tomato sauce. What’s with the fancy name then?”

“Well, alla means in the style of.” I puff my chest out and pat it. “I’m the one making it. So, it’s in the style of me.”

Still laughing, Trevor shakes his head and moves toward the coffee maker. “Okay. We’ll have that. Spaghetti in the style of Bram. And while we wait for you to cook it, I’ll have a coffee. In the style of Trevor.”

I grab the creamer from the refrigerator and set it on the counter next to him. “A spoon of sugar, and enough creamer to lighten the color to a pale tan.”

“That’s it.” Trevor nods his thanks, taking the creamer and filling a quarter of his mug with it while his coffee brews. “How’d you remember that?”

“I pay attention.” I open cabinets until I find a stock pot. “Plus, I’ve had coffee with you every day I’ve been here.”

Trevor pulls a jar of sauce from an upper cabinet and puts it next to the box of spaghetti.

The pot clinks against the sink as I set it in place under the faucet. “I know we’ll do some investigating this week, in between my working on the podcast episodes, but I was thinking… what if I stayed until Halloween?”

That’ll give me two additional weeks with him.

“Really?” His smile is immediate, his eyes sparking with what I hope is the same excitement I feel at more time with him. He grabs my wrist. “Yeah, stay. Stay as long as you want.”

The pad of his thumb brushes over the pulse point on my wrist, and I close my eyes. “It’ll give me more time to investigate. And, gives me more time with you.”

Golden flecks spark in eyes I’ve known and looked to for comfort for most of my life. The heat of those eyes singes me, but I have no intention of running from this fire.

In a beat of my heart, he’s on me. Pushing me against the counter, arms on either side, caging me in.

His mouth fuses to mine and I’m lost in him.

Hell, I’m lost to him. His knee pushes between my legs and I spread them, welcoming him closer until his broad chest is plastered to mine.

Heat flares in my gut, and I band my arms around his waist, wanting—no, needing—to keep him close.

Strong hands cup my jaw as he positions my head to better ravish my mouth.

He tastes of coffee and chocolate and I moan as he takes the kiss deeper.

This is what I’ve craved since our last kiss.

What I’ve craved for far longer than I’ve admitted to myself.

His hard body wrapped in soft flannel pressed against me from chest to thigh.

The tickle of his beard on my lips. The hum of approval when I trail my hands to his ass, digging my fingertips into the denim covering hard muscles, urging him closer until I can feel the heat of his stiff length through our jeans.

He rotates his hips, grinding against me, and we both groan at the contact.

I rip my mouth from his to suck on the skin beneath his beard. “We need to keep doing this. Never stop.”

“Yes.” The word is a rasp, and when he grinds his hips again, I see stars.

But I need more.

His lips move to my neck. My hands tug at his hair.

With every nip and suck, every soothing kiss, my cock stiffens until it’s painfully pressing against my zipper.

My trembling fingers find the button on his jeans.

With a pop, they open, and I make quick work of pushing them to his thighs. “This okay?”

“Fuck, yeah.” He steps back only far enough to rip open my jeans, yanking them and my boxer briefs down in one swift motion.

Pausing, he roams his gaze over my exposed skin, his chest rising, then falling with each heavy breath. My cock twitches under the heated scrutiny.

This, both of us half undressed, my pants pooled at my ankles and his sagging on his thighs, his hair standing up in every direction, mine probably just as wild, with him looking at me like I’m the answer to every question the universe can pose is the hottest, sexiest, the most arousing thing to happen to me of my sexual life.

He licks his lips, and my aching cock bounces against my stomach. “Take off your shirt.”

I take care with unbuttoning the flannel I borrowed from him, then lay it on the counter. With my own tee, I’m far more rough. I yank at the hem, tear it over my head, and toss it to the side. Where it lands, I have no clue, nor do I care. “You too.”

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move, just stares.

A niggling of discomfort skitters up my spine.

He’s still close enough, the heat radiating off his body warms my cooling skin.

The edge of the counter digs into my back.

If he’s having second thoughts, I’ll drop to the floor and cry right here.

And I’ll have to stay with Agnes, because there’s no way I can face him after?—

“You’re gorgeous.” His voice is gruff and gritty. He traces a fingertip down my sternum and up again with such unfettered reverence my eyes sting. He dips his head, placing an open-mouthed kiss on my nipple. “So beautiful.”

My head drops back on a moan when he twirls his tongue around the nipple until it pebbles to a pointed peak. He kisses his way over to the next, doing the same thing. I palm the bulge still covered by his black boxers, squeezing slightly. “Need to feel you.”

He pushes the boxers down and takes my mouth again. The kiss is hungry and desperate, exhilarating and transforming. With it, I’m treasured and annihilated at the same time.

I grab the back of his head, holding him in place. He wraps an arm around my waist, tugging with more force than I thought my sweet Trevor had, forcing a surprised breath from my lungs. My cock pulses, leaving a wet spot on my stomach.

Outside, the shriek of an owl slices through our heavy breathing and panting.

Trevor pistons his hips, grinding his cock into my hipbone.

I wrap my fingers around the silky steel, sliding my thumb over the tip of his cockhead and slicking it over his length.

His moans vibrate into my mouth and ricochet into my groin, spurring an avalanche of quivers through my body, and leaving me wanting.

Wanting more of this.

More of him.

Just more.

As though he can read my mind, Trevor takes hold of my cock. His sure hand grips me with certainty while his tongue takes ownership of my mouth. The soft fabric of his flannel brushes my chest, and is as much a part of him as the tiny red birthmark on his left shoulder.

We jack each other, our grunts muffled by our kiss.

Every slide of his palm and squeeze of his fingers brings me closer and closer to the edge.

And when I think I can’t take any more pleasure, he rips his mouth from me, roaring my name.

His release erupts over my fingers and his teeth sink into my shoulder, the sting driving me to the finish.

A current of electricity travels up my spine as my balls draw up, and my eyes roll back in my head. His name falls from my lips, “Trev. Trev. Trev.” Pleasure explodes and upends me as I clutch Trevor and he strokes me through the destruction of everything I’ve known before now.

When the final tingles subside, I drop my head to his shoulder, inhaling his mountain air scent. My legs jelly, he takes my weight, holding me up with the same quiet strength he’s always had. “Wow.”

The vibration of his chuckle rumbles through his chest, unleashing a torrent of fluttering butterflies in my center. “If this is what it’s like to help you cook, sign me up for pasta alla Bram for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

Laughing, I tuck my head under his chin and tighten my hold on him, soaking up this moment. “Or we can expand our culinary repertoire.”

“I’m happy to explore anything and everything with you.” He presses his lips to the top of my head, and I don’t have to look up to know his smile is as wide as mine.

How will I ever be able to leave Maplewood, and more importantly, Trevor, again? And do I even want to?