Page 5

"I'm sorry, Ms. Langley. But I'm sure we've offered Mr. Almaty a sizable amount of cash so that he never has to worry about money again. He could live like a king."

"He doesn't want to live like a king," she bites back, then takes a deep breath. "Okay. Well, I didn't think it was going to be easy talking you out of completely demolishing Darling Rose, but I brought my secret weapons," she adds, placing the confectionery box on the desk then flipping the lid open. A sugary aroma fills the air around us, but nothing can disguise the scent of her perfume, etched into our minds forever.

"Just one bite and you'll... Well, it's all about the members... I mean the tongue."

What did she just say?

Also, there is no way we're letting this woman slip through our fingers, and if it means putting up a fight just to keep her fighting, we can go all the way and back.

Now how far can we push her? How soon will she belong to us?

Chapter Four

––––––––

Tia

––––––––

"Just one bite and you'll... Well, it's all about the members... I mean the tongue."

Oh dear god. What am I saying, and why haven't I found my footing yet? Since walking into their office, on the top floor of the skyscraper no less, my sense of sight and smell, and also my common sense, has taken a beating of epic proportions.

If images alone of them made Kamilia's ovaries rise up and applaud, seeing them in person has my ovaries leaping out of my body to sit on their laps. Oh gosh, what am I saying? I should stop thinking all this nonsense altogether, but every thought I have is punctuated with another of how incredibly gorgeous they are.

Even now, I've balled my hands into fists, just to stop myself from reaching out to touch them, just to see if what I'm looking at is real.

Get a grip. Get back on track. Darling Rose. Tia's Cupcake Confessions. Mr. Almaty. Boom. Everything gone in a cloud of dust if I don't get this right.

I visibly shake my head, not caring anymore that each of them is looking at me with a level of grand amusement. I'm really not that funny.

Okay, I need to regroup. I should also stop looking at them, because just the sight of them throws me off balance entirely, and then my brain doesn't work. I purposely look down at the tip of my high heels as I collect my thoughts in peace.

I asked them nicely not to turn Darling Rose into some ugly high-tech mining operation, and they refused. As they'd done with Old Jen and Jeff, who own the hardware store; Rebecca, who owns the salon; Arnold, who runs the cute little diner that only serves steak and chips; Mikey, who inherited the stationery store from his dad; and Eliza and Steve, who run a vintage furniture shop, they offered me more money than I could ever know what to do with.

They even went as far as to offer me a whole other small town. I still can't wrap my head around that. Well, I can't be bought. I hate change, and I won't allow three ridiculously gorgeous property moguls turned miners to force me to uproot my life while also completely disrupting Mr. Almaty's life in the process. His attachment to Darling Rose far outweighs mine, and I'm going to see to it that nothing happens to it.

Okay. Now I have to sell them my cupcakes. I put an extra dollop of wicked in them, and by Kamilia's words, I'll have them eating out of my hand in no time. They'll be so hypnotized, they'll even sign the roughly drawn-up contract I brought with me.

We hereby agree to cease all business dealings regarding Darling Rose immediately. This agreement remains binding in perpetuity.

I'm not going to walk out of here without their signature on that slip of paper, folded in half and resting in the pocket of my skirt.

I look up, as confident as hell, ignoring the quivering in my legs, the annoying ache in my nipples that make me want to pinch them back into submission, and the dampness spreading in my panties. What the actual fresh heck is that about?

"Allow me to introduce you to my very special cupcake creation. You see it's all about the tongue." Yes, I sound completely normal. Now I just have to carry on.

"First, the... umm... the lick. Then the bold, dreamy lap," I say, struggling to breathe when the preposterous thought of them licking me detonates in my brain. Crap.

"It's... umm... the tip of your... your tongue. You need to tip the dip. No, you need to dip the tip in the center for your taste buds. The party on your tongue that will happen when you dip with the tip. What I'm saying is, if you engulf the whole thing, lips and everything, it's luxurious. The sweetness, I mean. Even with your tongue. To get to the scrumptious center where it just spills over with that sweet cream and then—"

I should stop talking immediately. Go home, find that toy that I got at one of my friend's bachelorette parties, and use it on myself. But no, I need to get—

"And then what, Ms. Langley?" Joel Bates asks, with his killer smile, which should be declared globally illegal.

"Batteries," I blurt out.

Am I drunk? I must be drunk. There's no other explanation for this.