The way he touched me constantly, his hand on the small of my back when we walked, fingers trailing down my arm when he passed behind me, that heated look in his eyes that promised all sorts of wicked things. He didn’t hide what he wanted. Didn’t pretend to be civilized or polite about his desire for me.
And I was discovering I didn’t want him to.
Terry had been gentle. Respectful. He’d loved me in his quiet, steady way, and I’d loved him back. But this raw, unfiltered hunger Stephen had for me was something else entirely.Something I hadn’t known I was missing until he’d walked into my bakery six months ago and refused to leave.
Harold had been loving, but even that had been... contained. Controlled. Like he was always aware of what people might think, what his children might say.
Stephen didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.
And that was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
It was Wednesday afternoon when he proved just how little he cared about propriety.
The bakery was moderately busy—not packed, but enough customers that I was moving between the register and the display case, keeping up with orders. Pati was in the kitchen working on tomorrow’s pastries. Stephen sat at his usual table by the window, the journal nowhere in sight, watching me with that dark, heated gaze that made my skin prickle with awareness.
I was reaching into the display case for a croissant when I felt him behind me.
His body pressed against my back, one hand settling on my hip, the other bracing against the counter beside me. He was warm and solid, and I could smell leather and coffee and that distinctly male scent that was just him.
“Stephen,” I hissed, glancing toward the customers. “What are you?—”
“Been watching you bend over this case all goddamn day,” he murmured against my ear, his voice low and rough. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”
My breath caught. “Stephen?—”
“Been thinking about bending you over this fucking display case,” he continued, his hand tightening on my hip. “Right here. Pushing that skirt up, pulling those panties aside, and fucking you until you can’t remember your own name.”
Heat flooded through me, pooling low in my belly. My face burned. “There are customers?—”
“Don’t give a fuck about the customers.” His teeth grazed my earlobe. “Want you to think about it every time you reach into this case. Want you remembering my cock buried deep inside you while you’re serving coffee and smiling at these people.”
“You’re insane,” I breathed, but my voice came out shaky, betraying how much his words affected me.
“Insane for you.” His hand slid from my hip to my ass, squeezing once before he stepped back. “Tonight, Trudy. When you close up, I’m gonna make good on that promise.”
He walked away like he hadn’t just said the filthiest things to me in the middle of the bakery, leaving me flushed and trembling and aching.
I straightened, smoothing my skirt with shaking hands, and turned to find Mrs. Henderson waiting patiently at the register with a knowing smile on her face.
“That man is trouble,” she said cheerfully.
“You have no idea,” I muttered, ringing up her order.
But the truth was, I loved it. Loved the way he made me feel desired and reckless and alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.
That night, he did exactly what he’d promised.
The bakery was closed for the night, the lights dimmed to a soft glow that cast long shadows across the floor, and I was methodically wiping down the counter, removing the last traces of flour and sugar from another long day, when I heard the distinct click of the lock turning. My heart jumped into my throat. I turned sharply to find Stephen stalking toward me with deliberate, measured steps, his eyes dark withunmistakable intent, predatory in a way that made my pulse spike and my breath catch in my chest.
“Stephen—”
“Told you what I was gonna do to you,” he said, his voice low and rough, each word deliberate and weighted with promise. “Been thinking about it all goddamn day. Every single minute. Bending you over this display case. Fucking you until you can’t remember your own name, until you can’t think straight, until the only thing in that pretty head of yours is me.”
Heat flooded through me instantly, pooling low in my belly and spreading outward like wildfire. “Someone could see?—”
“No one’s gonna see shit.” He backed me against the display case with confident, unhurried movements, his solid body pressing into mine, surrounding me completely. “Locked the door. Closed the blinds. Pulled them all the way down. It’s just you and me, darlin’. Nobody else. And I’m done waiting. Done being patient.”
His mouth crashed against mine, demanding and possessive and hungry, and I opened for him immediately, helplessly. His hands were everywhere at once, sliding up my sides with rough palms, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric of my blouse, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp and arch into his touch.
