EXcapades by Debra Kay Page B

do.”
    “Let me test out that theory. Stand up and let me take in your scent,” he said.
    Not wanting to argue with his request, I stood next to him while he draped his arms across my shoulders. Blake leaned his head down next to the nape of my neck and drew in a deep breath.
    And I followed suit with his experiment. I inhaled his essence and at once his inimitable scent took me back.
    I gave him a startled gaze. “That was exhilarating. Just one sniff of your scent and my mind raced back to the first time we kissed.”
    “Shouldn’t we re-create that scene?” he questioned.
    “I thought you would never ask,” I teased.
    “Honestly, I wanted to kiss you again from the first second I saw you.” He reached both hands across my temples, slid his hands down my cheeks, and held my face between his strong hands.
    His lips touched mine slowly; his delicious kiss was soft, tender, and loving, with his warm breath against my mouth. He ran the tip of his tongue across my lips. And I whimpered a soft sigh as his tongue began exploring my mouth.
    Then, suddenly, we were interrupted by the pungent smell of burning bacon.
    “Good grief, I burned it,” Blake cried out, pulling away. “I forgot my kitchen responsibilities. You seem to have that effect on me.”
    Blake began scurrying around, taking the pan off the hot stove. I opened a window to let the smoke clear out. When I turned back around, the crispy bacon was on a plate. Blake was straining the boiling shrimp. And now steam filled the kitchen.
    Relieved the crisis was over, I washed the fresh blueberries and placed them in a serving bowl and then followed the same routine with the strawberries.
    Next, I helped Blake cut the French bread into sections, and we slid them onto the serving plate. He swirled the olive oil and herbs. He began tearing his bread and sopping it in the mixture. “Yummy. You need to try a bite of this bread. The fresh herbs we mixed in with the oil are scrumptious,” he said.
    While he spoke, I leaned forward on the bar, propping my chin between my hands. I watched him dice a cucumber. “Imagine this, a gorgeous man who is comfortable in the kitchen and likes to cook. That’s sexy.”
    He paused, looked up at me, and smiled warmly. “Spend Thanksgiving with me and you’ll really be turned on.”
    I laughed. “Now you’re talking, a day in paradise. You and me rolling in mashed potatoes and dripping butter.”
    “Should I start licking at the top or at the bottom?” he asked. He laughed and I joined in, feeling jovial and content. “How about I start with your white meat and then finish with your dark?” He flashed a naughty grin. “But I like my meat a little on the pink side,” he continued, chuckling.
    “Should we wait until Thanksgiving?”
    He stirred the barbeque sauce and licked the spoon. “Better not wait. I’m hungry.”
    I pushed the shredded lettuce into a bowl. “ Yes. Very
hung . . . ry, as I recall.” My eyes focused on him intensely.
    I realized that we just got each other’s humor. No matter how silly. He had been the first and only man to make me feel so comfortable just being myself—where I felt as if I could let my hair down and say my goofy jokes.
    Years ago, he had been the first man to make me feel at ease naked. And just thinking about those hot summer days lying together undressed made a warm tingle spread across my abdomen. I shook myself out of my reverie. And to my delight, my reality was nearly as evocative as my daydream.
    My eyes followed Blake as he walked across the kitchen to the sink. I admired how fit he had remained, his bottom tight like I remembered. My focus also fastened on his broad shoulders and toned muscular arms. He must have cast a spell on me. Or better yet, he tossed out a fishing line and I was hooked. Release me, please.
    My eyes were fixed steadily on him when he handed me a crystal wine glass. “I mixed a drink for you. I hope you like it. It’s my summertime favorite,