Page 4 of Sterling Heat

Wishing is what got me where I am, though. Pregnant and alone at thirty-eight.

“I was here to buy a Bundt cake. A little celebration of sorts.” The explanation sounds even odder than telling him I’m pregnant. While some might pop champagne, I can’t. A baby Bundt cake felt appropriate for a future birth. In roughly eight months, I’ll have a birthday to commemorate.

He huffs, swiping back at the hair coming loose from my makeshift bun. Abruptly, he releases me, and the reality of standing in borrowed socks and a stolen sweatshirt hits me. He must think I’m a nut.

As he walks away, I shamelessly check out his backside, rounded and firm in tight-fitting jeans. He circles the counter once more but quickly returns to where I stand. A baby-Bundt cake sits on a small plate and two forks are in his hand. He nudges me to return to my seat and he slides into the chair across from me again.

Placing the plate between us, he holds up a fork and nods for me to do the same.

“To babies and Bundt cakes.” His tone rings slightly somber. He taps my fork like we are clinking glasses of champagne and then he pushes the plate in my direction, suggesting I take the first bite.

The moist lemon cake perfectly balanced with a rich buttercream frosting melts in my mouth. As I close my eyes, I moan, not even exaggerating the orgasm on my tongue. The texture. The flavor. Chef’s kiss.

When I open my lids, his eyes smolder at me, and the strangest fantasy fills my head.

He’s the father of my baby and he’s so excited by my announcement he wants to take me on this table to commemorate the good news.

My eyes widen. Horror fills my face in a heated rush. My imagination would only complicate matters.

Softly, he chuckles, pulls the plate closer to him and fills his fork. As I watch him take a bite, he sucks at the utensil, taking his time to savor the experience within his mouth. A place on me that has no business beating, pulses like a kitchen mixer, strong and fierce. Slowly, he removes the tines, taking his time to release the fork, now clean of cake. My mouth dries, curious about the mystery of his tongue. Wondering what his lips might feel like clamping onto parts of me. How firmly does he suck? How roughly does he kiss?

My body heats but shivers return with the carnal need to ask these questions.

I still don’t even know his name.

However, as we share this piece of cake, and the silence between us fills with another Beatles tune, I fight back my lust and come to a decision.

A simple act of kindness might be more seductive than spreading me on this table.

No holes is a metaphor. Kindness goes around and around in quiet gestures, like fresh socks, a warm sweatshirt, a celebratory piece of cake, and a secretive smile.

And one day, I hope to repay the curmudgeon baker for his generosity in a grand way.

Chapter 2

[Sebastian]

I want to kiss her and that just makes me an asshole.

She’s fucking gorgeous. That had been my first thought when I saw her on the other side of the counter, ordering a miniature lemon cake. In her skin-toned dress, hugging her curves, and wearing high heels that should be a sin, she didn’t belong in my small-town bakery. Still, I wanted to sample all her goods.

However, I had a shit-ton of orders to fill. The day had been slow. Business tapers down a little in late afternoon which is why sometimes I close shop around three to tackle special orders and next-day deliveries.

She entered five minutes before I was ready to lock the door.

When I rang up her small purchase, a strange sense of longing overcame me. As in, I didn’t want her to leave my bakery, which was ridiculous.

She was out of my league.

However, I watched her out the front window overlooking Corner Street. In slow motion, she wrestled with her umbrella before she fell on her ass. Her firm, tight ass without a panty line in sight.

Jesus. I was just happy she hadn’t fallen backward and hit her head. The wind was wicked fierce.

When I’d helped her up, the weirdest thing happened when our hands connected. Like thunder exploding and lightning striking, which was probably only because thunder did rumble overhead, and the sky filled with a bright flash. An early fall thunderstorm was upon us as summer tried to hang on, but autumn wanted its season.

Thankfully, she followed me back into the bakery.

I knew seeing her in that T-shirt was going to be difficult. Fuck, I was hard just thinking about her in my clothes as I rushed up to my apartment and quickly changed into drier things for myself. But when I saw her in that sweatshirt, draping over her limbs, open at the front giving me a peek of the shortness of my tee and the length of her legs, I wasn’t certain I could be a gentleman.