Page 71 of Just a Little Tempted

I squeezed the piping bag too hard, and frosting squirted out in an uneven blob. Sighing, I scraped it off and started again.

Just two days ago, I’d been happier than I could remember being. I’d had a job I actually loved, working for a man I respected and admired. More than that, I’d had Simon. His rare smiles, his dry humor, the way he looked at me like I was the most fascinating thing in the room.

I’d been starting to think I might love him.

The realization had been creeping up on me for weeks, but I’d been too afraid to examine it closely. Love felt like a big word, a dangerous word, one that carried the weight of vulnerability and the risk of devastation.

Turned out, I got the devastation anyway.

Not that it mattered now. Whatever we’d had was over, personally and professionally. I just needed to move on. It would take time, and I might work my way through the entire dessert section of my cookbook in the process, but I was determined to get past this pain.

Eventually.

I finished the last cupcake, admiring my work despite my mood. Twenty-four perfect swirls, each one topped with a sprinkle of chocolate. I licked a stray bit of frosting from my fingertip, savoring the rich sweetness, when the doorbell rang.

Frowning, I untied my apron—smeared with cocoa powder and a few errant streaks of batter—and headed for the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I definitely wasn’t in the mood for company. Probably a delivery, or maybe Wren checking up on me again.

I didn’t bother looking through the peephole. It didn’t seem to matter who it was.

I regretted that decision the moment I swung open the door and found Simon standing on my doorstep.

The air left my lungs in a rush, and for a moment all I could do was stare. He looked… terrible. That was the only word for it. Stubble darkened his jaw, something I’d never seen on him before, not once in all our time working together. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his clothes, while still expensive, looked like he’d slept in them. While he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.

Those eyes burned into mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter despite everything. There was something in them I hadn’t expected to see.

Regret.

No.I steeled myself against the flutter in my chest. It didn’t matter if he regretted what he’d said. He’d still said it. He’d still broken me.

I moved to close the door in his face, but Simon was faster. His foot slid into the gap, blocking it, and his hand curled around the edge of the door with gentle but immovable pressure.

“Leave, Simon.” I snapped. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Please, Raina.” The word sounded foreign coming from him, rough and unfamiliar, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I just want to talk to you.”

He stepped past me before I could stop him, his body brushing against mine in the narrow doorway. The contact sent electricity sparking across my skin, and I hated myself for theway my pulse quickened. Hated that even now, after everything, my body still responded to his presence.

He was standing in my living room now, looking out of place among my cozy furniture and bright throw pillows. I slammed the door shut—harder than necessary—and turned to face him with my hands planted on my hips.

“I think you said enough yesterday.”

Simon didn’t flinch, but the shame that flickered across his features was unmistakable. “I know. Kurt told me what happened with Miles.”

Damn it.I’d asked Hazel not to tell Miles, but I hadn’t thought to extend that request to my other overprotective brother.

“I was a complete asshole,” Simon continued, his voice low and rough. “And I’m sorry.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. Despite how wrecked he looked, despite the regret written plainly on his face, I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. He didn’t get to show up at my door looking like a man who’d lost everything and expect me to just… forgive him. Not after what he’d said. Not after the way he’d made me feel.

I jutted my chin out. “That’s not good enough.”

The words came out steady, but inside, my blood was rushing in my ears. I’d never been someone who got angry easily. I preferred to smooth things over, find the bright side, let things go. But this? This was different. Simon had taken my insecurities, my vulnerabilities, everything I’d trusted him with, and he’d used them as weapons. How dare he think he could just push his way into my home and say he was sorry, as if that would erase the devastation he’d left in his wake?

“Please.” There it was again, that word that seemed to cost him something to say. He took a step toward me, and I held my ground, refusing to retreat. “Just give me ten minutes.”

I let out a slow breath, warring with myself. The anger was still there, hot and justified, but beneath it was something else. Curiosity, maybe. Or the stubborn hope that I couldn’t quite extinguish, no matter how hard I tried.

If I sent him away now, I’d always wonder what he would have said.