Page 3 of My Favorite Kidnapper

“Yes.”

“And bake it?” I guessed.

She straightened her shoulders and turned to face me. “Yes, I did.”

I lifted her hand, bent, and kissed the knuckles. “It is as beautiful and unique as you are. You should be proud.”

Her mouth opened in surprise. I was shocked how much I wanted to kiss those lips. I had a feeling when not spewing angry words, they would be sweeter than the entire cake and icing sculpture behind her.

But I liked her spitting and enraged.

Keeping my eyes locked with hers, I reached around and grabbed another cupcake. Her eyes widened as I lifted it to my mouth and took a bite. Before she could explode, I pressed my lips to hers.

“Thank you for the snack.”

Then I turned and walked away before I did something stupid like stay and kiss her until she begged me to fuck her right there.

Because I would.

Chapter Two

BRIANNA

The door shut behind the cupcake-stealing stranger, and I let out a muffled shriek of annoyance. I had no idea who he was, who he thought he was, but coming in here and touching the cake display?

Unacceptable.

I peered into the container, satisfied that I had more than enough cupcakes to complete the job. I had baked extra, but still. He’d eaten three. Without asking.

That was just plain rude.

If I saw him later, I would give him a piece of my mind.

I should probably tell him off for kissing me too. And touching my cake. But especially the stolen kiss. That was what I was the most pissed off about.

At least, I thought it was.

I shook my head. I was certain it was.

In the meantime, I needed to finish the cake display so I could drape it and keep it cool and safe.

I tucked some more cupcakes in place, adding icing and airbrushing them to look like the moss covering the table. Some of the larger ones became flowers that dotted the fallen tree stump. Then I positioned the edible pearls and glittering drops that looked like water, scattering them liberally.

I stood back, casting a critical eye over the table. It was magnificent. I clasped my hands together, grinning in delight. I had done it.

I had met Carolina Frost in university. She was in her last year, and I was in my first, although mine was an accelerated course. We were both taking design and had gone to sit at the same table one day when the cafeteria was extra busy and seats were scarce. We shared the table, introduced ourselves, and we became study partners and friends. Her advanced knowledge helped me with some of the classes I was struggling with, and I repaid her with cupcakes when I discovered her sweet tooth. We had two very different lifestyles. Her family was wealthy, she didn’t work, she had a boyfriend, and she was carefree and a nature lover. She was naturally graceful and lovely. People were drawn to her warmth and outgoing personality.

I was broke all the time, worked two jobs to keep my head above water, hated the outdoors with a passion, and had no love life. I had neither the time nor the inclination for a relationship. I was too busy getting myself through school. I was shy and awkward, and crowds bothered me. She was younger than I was since I’d had to work and save up the money to go to school, but that never seemed to matter to her. She was mature and kind, and we liked each other, despite our differences.

And we got along well. She never made me feel less than her because of our different-sized bank accounts or our age gap. She was as happy to hang in a coffee shop around the corner from my little basement apartment as she was to laze around her massive bedroom at her parents’ home. They were pleasant and welcoming the couple of times I’d gone there, but it made me uncomfortable, so we mostly hung at the coffee shop to study. We were schoolmates, friendly and happy to keep our relationship there. I didn’t mix with her friends, and she didn’t mix with mine.

Not that I had many.

After graduation, she got a job at a web design company owned by a relative. I finished my course, still worked part time at a graphics firm, and had added a pastry arts program, deciding that was where my real passion lay. It was my goal to open my own high-end bakery one day.

When she and Allan got engaged, she asked me to make her cake. I had been working at a bakery for years, and cake decorating was a passion of mine. I had a small side business that helped pay the bills, and I created fantasy wedding cakes—some of them taking me weeks to bake, decorate, and assemble. Part of the fee included my being at the wedding, setting up the cake, and making sure that it was perfect for the day. That it was cut and disassembled properly.

My reputation was building slowly. I didn’t make much profit by the time I bought the ingredients, the hours I spent decorating and designing, plus the fact that the old witch I worked for overcharged me to store the cakes in her freezer, use the ovens, and borrow the delivery van on the day of the wedding. She did it grudgingly and only because it often brought customers into the store.