Page 5 of Sterling Heat

However, I contained myself.

I gave her coffee and watched her lips as she sipped.

I listened as she told me her good news.

I pulled her to me when she looked like she could use a hug.

I didn’t want to let her go. But I did.

She is pregnant with another guy’s baby. And I didn’t do babies, or women that belonged to other men. I wasn’t ever going to be a father.

So, I offered her cake and struggled as she moaned in pleasure around the moisture in her mouth.

We sat in silence, while John Lennon sang around us. Questions whirled around in my head about the bomb she dropped. However, as I wasn’t willing to offer much of myself, I didn’t ask about her.

It hadn’t been a slip to not mention my name.

I just didn’t see the point. She was going to finish her cake, leave my bakery, and never see me again. I’ve lived in Sterling Falls my entire life except for a seven-year stint I don’t like to think about anymore. I knew everyone who lived here. Hell, I knew most people who lived in Milton County, named for the mountain this town sat on. Milton Peak was mountain country, and she was not a local. She had city-slick, business chick written all over her.

Comfortable with quiet myself, I could tell she was getting anxious to leave. I still didn’t want her to go but I didn’t have a reason for her to stay.

She was having a baby.

No husband and no boyfriend.

Where my thoughts went next weren’t pretty, but she tried to assure me she was okay in her condition. The anger that felt like a constant hum inside me vibrated strongly beneath my skin. I’d hurt anyone who hurt her. Which was an unsettling thought about a stranger.

“I should probably go,” she finally says when the plate between us is clean of every crumb of cake and dollop of frosting. Our coffee mugs are empty, and I have orders to fill. Yet, I don’t want her to leave.

There’s something about the rain hitting the bakery window, loud enough it almost ripples in beat with John Lennon’s soothing voice. The darkness of the afternoon sky and the soft lighting of the shop make the atmosphere of the bakery cozy, almost intimate, and heavy with something thick, sweet, and tempting. When another loud clap of thunder strikes and Enya jumps in her seat, the illusion of what her and me as anything other than two people sharing a Bundt cake collides with things I can never have.

“I’ll just collect my things.” She slips from the booth bench, leaving behind the pillow that cushioned her fine ass. Without shame, I’m going to bury my head in that thing tonight. I’m going to inhale the down like she’s on my face, riding my tongue and letting me eat her whole.

Jesus. I swipe a hand over my face as she glides past me toward the office. Looking over my shoulder, I watch her move. My sweatshirt is so large it covers all her curves, but I still sense the sway of her hips. Her hair has slowly been slipping out of the twist at her nape and long, loose, dark waves dangle down her back. Her calves are toned. She’s cute in my oversized socks. I want to see her in all my things and then nothing at all.

Fuck. I stand and snatch up the two mugs along with the plate and forks. Rounding the counter, I set the things in a bin for the dishwasher. Too quickly, she’s standing in the bakery with her bag over her shoulder. She’s no longer wearing my socks.

“I’ll just drive barefoot,” she says, noticing me staring at her toes.

“That isn’t safe.” I don’t like the idea. I don’t like her leaving while it’s still raining. I don’t want her to go.

But I tamp down my desire and circle the counter once more. With a hand at her elbow, I guide her to the door. We seem to move in labored steps when the distance isn’t far. Maybe she doesn’t want to go any more than I want her to leave.

It’s a silly thought.

When we’re a foot from the front door, she spins to face me. Her dark eyes are wide and bright. The perfect blend of coffee with a touch of cream. My sweatshirt still covers her shoulders, and the deep navy highlights her skin. Unable to help myself, I reach for her hair again, swiping the still damp pieces framing her face over her ear.

“I promise I’ll return your things. Clean, of course.”

“Keep ’em.” I don’t need them back. I like that she’ll have a piece of me wherever she’ll be going.

“Thank you.” She pauses, placing her hand on my bicep. “For everything.”

She lifts up on her toes and leans in for my cheek. The softest touch lingers against the bristly hairs before she pulls back.

However, the gentleman in me snaps. I follow her retreat, chasing her mouth until mine meets hers. Like the final spread of icing on a cake, one finished with a flourish, proud of the perfection, I sweep against her lips. Once. Twice.

She doesn’t respond at first. I’d overstepped. I need to get a grip on myself.