“I just prefer fresh stuff.”
I trail my fingers through the hair he’s already finger-combed. There are shadows in his eyes. The past is haunting him. The kid who was left alone with only another boy to care for him. Two kids doing the best they could with almost nothing. “You do what makes you feel better. Just know that I don’t think less of you because you’re wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday.”
“Noted.” His eyes lighten, but not all the way. He’s going to run home, and I’ll support him as much as he has me.
He pulls my chair out for me like he can’t wait to use all the manners he was taught. “There is something you can do for me.”
“Yeah?”
He takes a plate, grabs the waffles, and returns. “When we go downstairs, turn that music up loud and shake your ass for me.”
I’ve never had such a fun day at work. Cruz kept the music up, and I tried not to dance like I wanted twenties thrown in my direction, but he remembered the song from last time. His whistles only egged me on.
We baked and cleaned and danced. All the orders are made and in the cooler. I have cookies, cupcakes, cruffins, and trays of chocolate-dipped fruit to put out in the morning. And I dabbled with a new whiskey glaze out of the Butter Barrel that Cruz brought me a few weeks ago for an apricot bread for the Taste of Springs street fair.
The kitchen is now clean. My body is weary, but with Cruz loading and unloading the dishwasher, grabbing supplies, and making runs to the coolers and back, I got more done than I thought. I’m caught up, and I made several loaves of sweet bread.
Imagine if I had help like this most days of the week.
Maybe someday, when I’ve dealt with the blackmail.
Cruz takes his apron off and stretches his arms. “You ever eat your own stuff?”
“All the time. It’s often part of my meals. Like today, I made extra dipped fruit.” I cross to the fridge and pull out a plate of strawberries dipped in white and milk chocolate and sprinkled with various nuts. “I have these for breakfast way more than I should admit. There are four more plates in the fridge. Just for me.”
“Good.” He plucks a strawberry off the plate and holds it up to my mouth. “You need to treat yourself.”
“I’ve treated myself too much.”
“If you do anything too much, it’s work. Now let me slip something sweet into that mouth of yours.”
My lips part on those words and he slides the dessert between my lips. I sink my teeth into the chocolate. It’s such an easy thing to make, but I’ve perfected it, if I do say so myself. My eyelids flutter shut as I chew. I don’t always make these. Sometimes I use dried apricots or frozen raspberries. Potato chips, if I can’t find decent fruit. I’m picky about the strawberries because they’re my favorite.
“Tell me about how it tastes,” he says, his voice gruff. We’re standing so close together, and his usual citrus smell is tinged with fresh-baked cake. It’s like I’ve imprinted on him.
“I want you to experience it first.” I lift the plate from him, take a strawberry, and set the rest on the island behind me. I offer the sweet to him. He opens his mouth. I want to watch him eat not only something I made, but one of my favorites.
His eyes are blistering hot when he sinks his teeth into it, and I’m mesmerized by the bunching of muscles in his dark, stubble-covered jaw. Lust has me in a choke hold. Drawing a breath is difficult, and it’s like my skin shrinks while the rest of me expands. I’m restless.
“The sweet chocolate almost makes the strawberry tart, but they balance out.” He curls his fingers around my wrist and lifts my hand to feed himself more fruit.
“You have a sensitive palate.”
“I know what’s good.”
Flutters trail through my belly and sink lower. I’m never going to be able to eat these again without getting turned on. “I also drizzled it with white chocolate, so not only do you get thesatisfying crunch of the shell and pistachios, the drizzle splinters into pieces that melt on your tongue.”
He serves me another bite from the first strawberry and together we toss the green tops on the plate. I think we’re done, but he makes his way through the rest, feeding me while I do the same for him. A sensual snack that only leaves my skin feeling too tight from the desire building inside.
Crowding in closer, he wraps an arm around me. “I want to fuck you now.”
Please. I’m close to begging. My breasts are heavy and they want to be covered with his hands again. “I want that too.”
He pulls me all the way to him with a hand around the back of my neck and smashes his lips to mine. I hook my arms around his neck and devour him just like I did the dessert. He tastes sweet, but there’s a richness to him that the chocolate strawberries don’t have. He’s robust and smooth, like the whiskey he makes.
He breaks the kiss long enough to say, “Wrap your legs around me.”
When he lifts me, I do as he asks and he heads right for the stairs. As he’s going up, his head scrapes the top and a pained groan leaves him.
