Marrying a Delacourt by Sherryl Woods Page A

beautiful.
    “Everything except this blasted cake,” she retorted. “It’s lopsided.” She withdrew the pan to show him. “Would you tell me why a woman who has mastered any number of skills cannot bake a simple chocolate cake?”
    To be sure one side of the cake sank to no more than a half-inch, while the other side rose to a full, plump two inches.
    “Is this cake going to be one layer or two?” he asked.
    “Two, why?”
    “Because you can fill in that crater with icing and no one will be the wiser. In fact, knowing how kids like icing, it’ll probably be a huge hit.”
    Her expression immediately brightened. “You’re a genius,” she declared, giving him a smacking kiss on her way past. “Where are the boys?”
    Michael barely resisted the desire to snag her by the apron strings and draw her back for a more leisurely exploration of her mouth. Instead, he said, “They’re on the deck, chomping at the bit to get in here to see the surprise.”
    “Oh, dear, not yet,” she protested at once. “I want everything to be perfect.” She frowned at the cake. “Well, close to perfect, anyway. Send them upstairs for showers, but don’t let them near the dining room.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Michael agreed. “On one condition?”
    “What’s that?” she asked, eyeing him warily.
    “That I get to steal a kiss from the cook.”
    “I just kissed you,” she pointed out.
    He grinned. “Which makes it my turn. Do we have a deal?”
    “Michael…”
    The protest died as his mouth covered hers. She tasted of sugar and chocolate and smelled of roses. After a fleeting instant of resistance she melted against him, her body fitting itself to his as instinctively as it once had. Breasts, thighs, heat—they were all as familiar to him as the sigh of her breath against his cheek. He held her loosely, but she didn’t even try to get away.
    “I never said yes,” she whispered.
    “That’s why they call it stealing,” he reminded her. “Something tells me I could get into the habit of doing this again.”
    “Stealing?” she teased. “I suppose in this instance, I’d have to come to your defense. You’re very good at it, Michael.”
    “I’ll get better with practice.”
    She murmured something at that.
    “What?”
    “I said if you get any better, we’ll have more trouble around here than having two runaways on our hands.”
    He regarded her with delight. “Sounds promising.”
    “Just go get the boys,” she said. “I have work to do. I need an hour, okay?”
    “Do you also need help?”
    She regarded him with surprise. “From you?”
    “Who else?”
    “Since when do you help in the kitchen doing women’s work?” she inquired tartly.
    He winced at the too-accurate description of the way he’d been a few years ago, leaving everything connected to running their household to her. Fending for himself in recent years had changed all that. If he didn’t cook these days, he didn’t eat. Not at home, anyway.
    “You’d be surprised at the things I’ve learned to do since you dumped me.”
    The claim seemed to fascinate her. “Then by all means join me back here and demonstrate,” she said.
    “Some of them will have to wait till we’re alone in the house,” he taunted, thoroughly enjoying the quick rise of color in her cheeks.
    “I’ll…” Her voice trailed off before she could complete the thought.
    “You’ll what?” he asked. “Look forward to it? Is that what you were about to say, Grace?”
    “No, absolutely not,” she denied unconvincingly. “I was about to say I’ll be frosting this cake. Thefirst batch of caramel sort of burned in the pan, but I think the second batch looks pretty good.”
    He peered at the gooey, golden concoction. “If you say so.”
    “I do.”
    He gave her one last, skeptical look, then went off to shoo Jamie and Josh upstairs.
    “Why can’t we see what’s going on?” Josh asked.
    “Because Grace said so,” Jamie told him. “It’s a surprise,