Page 39 of Sterling Heat

Another light tap hits the door, like the tender lift and loll of his head. “I don’t want you to go.”

He doesn’t want me to go to the family dinner? Or he doesn’t want me to move out of his place?

Because I’m going to leave soon.

Suddenly, I’m at the door with a hand on the knob and my forehead against the barrier. My heart is shattering, torn between hope that he wants me to stay and fear that he wants me to go away. However, he can’t possibly scare me, like he said. The only thing I’m afraid of are my feelings for him.

As a man who has been charitable and compassionate, he’s more dangerous for my heart’s health than sugar-rich lemon cake every day of the week. Because I’m convinced a loving man stands behind this door and I want him to love me.

Love both Adara and me.

Chapter 12

[Sebastian]

The night after the movie mishap, I can’t sleep and wander down to the bakery close to midnight.

I break out the good stuff—the high-quality dark chocolate—chopping it into small chunks before mixing it with butter and placing the combination in the microwave to melt. Next, I separate yolks from egg whites, setting the whites aside before adding the yolks to the melted chocolate mixture. As I concentrate on the measurements of additional ingredients and the skill of folding for the right consistency, my mind empties of the near kiss last night and the things I said to a silent door.

I meant what I said. She isn’t a nuisance in my life. She’s become this strange necessity. Like I need to see her every day for some reason. Watch her read in the corner of my couch. Or hear her laugh while we share dinner on the stools in my kitchen. Or witness the unconditional love she has for her daughter.

I hadn’t seen Enya this morning because I was out with an order when she left. When I’d gone to the hospital in the late afternoon, I’d missed her again. A quick text message told me she was meeting with her contractor to go over the final specs for her house.

I fear she suddenly can’t get away from me fast enough.

I hadn’t missed how quickly she jumped from the couch last night, using her pumping schedule as an excuse to avoid me. With the open concept of each bedroom, I’d heard when the machine stopped, and she was free to talk to me. Or listen. Sadly, she hadn’t acknowledged that she heard me at her door.

Distractedly, I whip the egg whites until they peak like miniature mountains. Then in three separate additions, I fold the chocolate mixture with the whipped whites. When the combination is just right, I set the mix in the refrigerator, allowing it to thicken as the oven pre-heats.

When I spin away from the oven, I freeze. “Enya?”

“I heard the kitchen mixer up the staircase.” The door to the stairwell is open.

“Did I wake you?” She always looks so tired. I hate that I’ve disturbed what little sleep she gets.

“I was up from my alarm and headed for the refrigerator when I heard the noise. What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Because a certain someone is on my mind. And the desire to kiss her is haunting me. We promised we’d be friends. I can’t risk fucking that up by telling her all my fantasies. Of bending her over the armrest of my couch and taking her from behind. Or laying her flat on her back and falling into her, pinning her ankles to my shoulders. My imagination is growing heavier, darker, desperate to have her and yet for once, I’m not impulsively reacting for fear I’ll lose her . . . and Adara.

I lower my gaze and rub my fingers along the counter’s edge. I hadn’t bothered getting dressed, so I’m wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants and sport slides on my feet.

“Did I wake you?” The concern in her voice is genuine. She’s just as worried about disturbing me during the night.

I shake my head. “Stress baking.”

“What exactly are you making?” Her dark eyes meet mine, reminding me of the treat almost ready to be baked.

“How about if I surprise you?” I tilt my head, hopeful she’ll join me since we’re both awake in the middle of the night. “Although, you should probably go back to sleep.”

“I’d like to wait until I see what you make.” Her eyes spark with a bit of mischief.

I have employees who love to bake, and my family loves my creations. Even customers rave about what I make, but I want this woman’s approval most of all. A real five-star review. And that scares me.

When the oven beeps, that’s my cue to slip back into baker mode, and the distraction I need from what she’s wearing, which is my Curmudgeon Bakery tee and a pair of silk pajama shorts. Her breasts are heavy and her nipples pert despite a bra.

Bringing my attention back to task, I quickly coat the ramekins I’d set out earlier with softened butter and granular sugar to help the dessert rise straight upward and give it a perfect crust. Taking the slightly solidified chocolate mixture from the fridge, I scoop enough into each ramekin to fill it, then level it off with a knife and run the tip around the edge, carving a channel.

“Just watching you work is making my mouth water.” Enya’s low voice interrupts my process and sends warmth straight to my dick which doesn’t have much protection in these thin sweats with nothing underneath.