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“There’s no mystery to it. I just want you in tip-top shape for round two.”
Warmth floods my belly, and my nipples go hard at his words. “Round two?”
Owen places my foot back on the bed and lifts himself over me, the corded muscles in his arms flexing, and licks a path up the inside of my thigh. “And rounds three and four, if I’m lucky.”
“But what about booking our flights?”
He slants me a look that has my thighs tingling. “I’ll get you where you need to go, Sweetness.”
And because it’s just one night, I follow his lead.
5
Owen
Istretch against the sheets, flexing my foot and realize there’s no corresponding twinge up my knee. That’s good news. Maybe all I needed was a little horizontal therapy to get my blood flowing. I reach for the reason I have a big, stupid grin on my face and feel nothing but cold fabric. My eyes snap open and I listen for movement in the room, the running of a shower, anything, but the room is perfectly quietly. I sit up and scrub a hand over my face, seeing my bag and nothing else. No lacy bra, no sexy boots, and absolutely no sign of Serena.
I throw off the covers and get out of bed, my heart racing. Last night was incredible for any number of reasons, but mainly because when I wasn’t worshipping her beautiful body, I was captivated by her smile and way too interested finding out as much about her as I could. Which wasn’t much. I know she lives in Los Angeles, loves to read cookbooks and works in public relations. She runs her own company, which didn’t surprise me in the least because she seems like a leader. At one point, we turned on the hotel television and tuned in to one of those games channels. Both of us are clearly very competitive and she would have kicked my butt in trivia had the final category been anything other than sports. Laughing with her felt just as good as fucking her, and that’s not something I’ve experienced in a very long time.
But no matter how many questions I asked, I got no further than her first name. Not even a social media handle. I thought about just taking her phone and adding my name and number, but we never got around to it, and I figured I’d have time this morning.
Shit. This morning. I glance at the time. I need to figure out how I’m getting to Toronto. I grab my jeans and pull them on, opening my phone to the airline website. The good news is that it looks like flights are leaving this morning. I head to the washroom to quickly clean up and brush my teeth. I need to get to the gate and hopefully that’s where Serena is. I can’t believe she just left. The room feels empty, except my clothes smell like her. The faintest hint of her perfume, of sex and sugar and my heart clenches. What the fuck did this woman do to me? I need coffee, protein, a flight to Toronto, and Serena’s promise that we can repeat last night again, and not necessarily in that order.
I grab my bag and send a quick text to Olivia who is panicking about the fixer her super-secret bride is sending to help organize the wedding. I roll my eyes. I heard all about the celebrity wedding from last summer, which was equal parts amazing and terrifying from Liv’s perspective. It shot her business sky-high and now she’s worried that this bride is going to ditch her for the Cariston’s fancy place at the other end of the lake. I remind her that this bride wants the Gingerbread Inn and that everything will be fine. In between texts, I shoot a mobile order to the airport Starbucks and swing by to grab my breakfast sandwiches and flat white. I don’t know when I’ll get to eat again today, so I better make it count. I unwrap one sandwich and tuck the other in my bag, hustling to the airline counter. I glance around but I don’t see Serena’s dark red hair or those sexy boots anywhere. The woman at the counter is obviously tired as she takes my passport and looks up my ticket information. She pauses on my name and her eyes dart up to my face. “On your way home, Mr. Lebkuchen? How’s the knee?”
A hockey fan. Maybe this can work in my favor. I flash her a smile. “Trying to get there, and not bad.”
She types quickly, shaking her head. “I don’t have anything until this afternoon.”
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
“You’re lucky you’re travelling alone. Some passengers aren’t getting out of here until tomorrow.”
Speaking of single passengers. “Can you look to see if my friend is booked in on this flight?”
“Name?” Her fingers hover over the keyboard.
“Um, Serena.” God, how am I even supposed to google her. I don’t even know her last name.
The attendant looks over the rim of her glasses at me. “Last name?”
I wave it off. “Actually, never mind.” If Serena is on my flight, I’ll see her.
Nodding, she finishes my booking and hands me a boarding pass. “There’s lots of movement today, so make sure you’re at the gate when they start boarding. And good luck with the knee.”
I acknowledge her comment with another smile and head to the gate. Along the way I notice a bookstore, and with time to kill, I find myself checking to see if there are any cookbooks. I might not know her last name, or how to find her, but I’m not ready to give up just yet.
6
Owen
Many, many hours later, I pull onto the narrow causeway that takes me down the lane to my childhood home. A few things have changed, and I notice the tiny twinkling lights shimmering through the trees as my too-small rental car slowly crunches through newly fallen snow. That’s a pretty touch and it has Olivia written all over it. This part of the lake was developed years ago by my great-grandfather, who envisioned a farm he could work all day, bordering on a lake where he could fish when the work was done. My great-grandmother opened the bakery, and her sons continued the business, adding to the family house and expanding the bakery. My grandfather bought out his brother and expanded house further to ensure everyone who wanted to stay had a room. He passed everything down to his daughter, my mother. My mom met my dad when she was working as a pastry chef at a ski chalet in Switzerland, and when they married, he took her name ensuring the Lebkuchen legacy continued. The beautiful big farmhouse is now a bed and breakfast, thanks to my sister, and the Gingerbread Inn and Bakery is a local heritage site and very popular with the town and tourists.
The old-fashioned farmhouse comes into view, and it looks like a postcard, the wrap-around porch glowing with warm lights that spill out onto the snow. Fresh greenery, red berries and simple bows complete the look and my sister’s pale mint green vintage truck is parked out front, so the whole thing looks like a snow globe.
If I was in the mood for holiday cheer, it would be perfect.
Instead, I’m tired and grumpy and spent the drive from Toronto to Sugar Maple Shore thinking about how my injury could be the beginning of the end. What if I’ve peaked and it’s all downhill from here?
