Sweet Victory: BTU Alumni Series Book #3

by Ciz, Alley

  She was at least a foot shorter than him and had an impressive rack—what? He was was a boob guy, among other things—stretched out the cotton of her festive and highly appropriate t-shirt that read 'Bitch better have my cookies,' with a picture of the big man himself—Santa—pointing like he meant business.

  There was a streak of flour on her cheek and frosting on her forearm. She was a mess and obviously Christmas obsessed, but he couldn’t keep the edges of his lips from tipping up as he took her in.

  “Oh, crap.” The hand not holding the piping bag went to cover the spot over her heart. “Well, that was slightly pornographic,” she said more to herself as she reached out to clean up the spray of frosting.

  She may not have meant for him to hear her, but he did and couldn't help but grin at her. The answering thump from his heart had him cursing Maddey, their resident romance author, and the romance books she’d gotten him hooked on. Because as he stood there taking in the hot mess express of a baker, he was pretty sure he was already on his way to falling victim to love at first sight.

  Goddamn Coven.

  Chapter Two

  Coming face-to-face with the Greek god of all things holy-hotness-Theo-James-looking perfection was the last thing Holly expected. Yet no matter how many times she blinked, he was still there.

  Who was he? What did he want?

  Piping bag still crushed in her palm after shooting a thin stream of buttercream frosting clear across the room like a world-class porn star during the money shot, she admired the faintest hint of five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw.

  Unfurling her fingers, she placed the bag beside the partially finished unicorn cookies she’d been working on, wiped her hands on the outside of her yoga pants, and cursed herself for not wearing an apron when she left white streaks of frosting behind.

  Jesus, I’m a mess. She felt like she was coated in flour and frosting from the hours she'd already logged baking.

  Then there was the Dauntless-leader-looking Adonis. How he managed to look so flipping mouth-watering in a pair of Nike running shoes, black gym shorts, and a gray hoodie from Brighton Tynes University was beyond her. It was a classic example of why guys had it easier than girls. Still, a part of her wanted to lick him like the mixing bowl after making brownies.

  When Bon Jovi’s voice faded out to be replaced by the tinkling piano keys of Bruce Springsteen’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” she became aware she hadn’t actually spoken to the purveyor of hotness in front of her.

  “Can—” Her voice squeaked. She took a moment to clear her throat before trying again. “Can I help you with something?”

  She didn't recognize him, and the shop wasn't laid out so customers could wander in accidentally on their way to the bathrooms.

  As if her panties already hadn’t felt a bit damp from the sight of him, his smile turned downright carnal, a dimple popping out in the middle of his left cheek. That damn facial imperfection was another unfair advantage to someone already so genetically blessed.

  “Yes. I’m hoping you can save my ass.”

  Do not look at his ass, Hol. Don’t do it. If you do, you’re getting nothing but coal in your stocking this year. Might be worth it if the back is as good as the front. What are you even saying right now? He’s facing you. You can’t see his ass.

  “Gotta say…even if it’s a little early in my book for the Christmas music, you have one hell of a playlist.” One of his hands pointed toward the speaker wailing out notes from a saxophone in the E Street Band. “Two of the greats to hail from our fair state.”

  “I also have a few songs by the Jonas Brothers.” The playful comment slipped free without thought. Because though some of their music might be on her guilty pleasure playlist, they were leagues away from being classified with JBJ and The Boss, regardless of their hometown.

  “Anyway…” She clapped quickly to get the attention off of her playlist. If they were to go down that road, he would get whiplash from her eclectic randomness. “You said you needed me to save your ass. Not really sure you need any help in that regard.”

  Shit. Did I just admit to checking him out? Oh god, I’m a mess.

  The left side of his mouth pulled up again, bringing back the perfect dimple in his cheek with it.

  Why the hell did it feel like he could read all of her thoughts with a look?

  And why didn’t she feel intimidated standing near him? He looked like he could literally break her in half if he felt so inclined, and retreat should be her first instinct. Yet all she wanted to do was lift the hem of his sweatshirt and see if he was as sculpted underneath as she suspected.

  “Ahh, yes. Well, the Wonder Twins out front said they thought you were working on a new batch of the blueberry crumbles. And I’m praying it is true, because if it is and you can be talked into parting with a few, I might just have a chance of making it through the rest of the day in one piece.”

  It didn’t seem right that he could manage to come across with the innocent air of a kid asking for a snack before dinnertime while his disheveled inky black hair, so dark it looked blue under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, made her think of sex—hot, sweaty, dirty, bent-over-the-counter sex.

  Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? Rein it in, Hol.

  As she mentally bitch-slapped her hormones back in line, her gaze got stuck on how the gray of his eyes looked almost reflective surrounded by a thick fringe of lashes the women in her old circle couldn’t manage no matter how much they paid for extensions.

  “You're in luck. I put a batch on the cooling racks not too long ago.” A flirty, suggestive comment was on the tip of her tongue but she bit it back. She was so far from being in the right headspace to handle anyone—let alone this example of genetic perfection—she might as well be in Narnia. Nope, best to let this go and keep her focus on her baked goods, where the only threat posed was to her waistline.

  Using a sheet of waxed paper, she grabbed two blueberry crumbles from the rack and placed them inside a white paper bag before handing them over to Mr. Dauntless.

  “Thank you.” His fingers brushed against hers when he took the bag, a bolt of electricity shooting up her arm, while his deep voice rumbled through her own chest. “You seriously have no idea how big of a deal this is to me. With this, I might just live long enough to see my niece or nephew be born.”

  Lyle’s voice rang out from the front of the shop, saving her from making the mistake of asking for more information. “Yo, Buns of Steel, Maddey said you might want to get your fine ass back to the gym before Rock blows a gasket.”

  “Thank you again,” he said to her before turning and shouting, “Buns of Steel? Since when do I look like Jane Fonda?”

  There was no stopping the giggle that escaped at his quick wit or the way her eyes automatically fell to said buns in all their muscular glory as he strode from the room.

  She didn’t get his name, but she had a feeling her carefully crafted new life was about to be knocked off its axis.

  Chapter Three

  Vince headed to Espresso Patronum to find out the name of the Christmas-loving beauty he'd met the day before, and if he was lucky, he might be able to wrangle a date from her as well.

  It was such a rookie mistake, not locking down at least her name, but to be fair, he was more focused on not getting his ass kicked by his sister and her husband than his love life.

  Once again, he found Lyle behind the counter. Skirting around the line of customers waiting to place their orders with one of the other baristas, he headed straight for him.

  Lyle’s eyes lit up as he approached. “Two days in a row during camp? Careful, handsome, I’m gonna think you like me, and I’m a happily married man.”

  Vince shook his head and chuckled. The girls liked to joke Kyle needed to keep him in a cage because he was not safe for public consumption, but he couldn’t get enough of Lyle’s outrageous comments.

  “Who taught you not to pull your punches, Ly? I come in here, riskin
g the wrath of The Coven, and you go and break my heart with a statement like that? Stone cold, man.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing you train for the UFC and not the WWE if you can’t handle it.”

  “Oh, you got jokes this morning, huh?”

  “Always.” Lyle gave him a wink. “Anyway, what can I do for you this morning? It’s way too early for you to have pissed off Rock so…”

  He was right. He hadn’t even seen his sister yet.

  “No. As far as I know, I’m still on her good side. Day’s still young.” He shrugged. Things could always change.

  “Okay. So you’re here because…” Lyle encouraged him to fill in the blanks.

  His hands slid into the front pouch of his dark gray Blizzard's hoodie—the state’s professional hockey team—a little embarrassed by having to show his hand if he wanted a chance at finding out more information on the little Christmas Elf he hadn’t stopped thinking about.

  “So…what’s the story with your new baker?”

  As suspected, Lyle’s turquoise eyes lit up with interest immediately, already drawing his own conclusions. If he weren’t so adept at navigating the waters of The Coven and their habit of butting into everyone's lives, Vince might have been concerned by that devilish sparkle. But, please, Lyle was child’s play compared to the six founding members and their newest recruit.

  They were damn lucky he was related to a few of them and loved them the way he did, or else there was no way he would let them get away with even half the shit they made him go through. Okay, that was a lie—they could take over the world if they wanted to, resistance was futile.

  “I take it you’re referring to our Holly?”

  Holly. The name was perfect for his little Christmas lover. Shit. Did he really just think of her as his? Don’t get ahead of yourself, Steele. The mental chastising did nothing to dissuade him from thinking of her possessively. Yet another thing The Coven would have his ass for. Or maybe not. They seemed to have a thing for alpha males.

  Dammit, Steele. Focus.

  He nodded, afraid if he spoke he’d give away how jumbled his thoughts were.

  “She’s in the back if you wanna go see her.” Lyle gestured toward the kitchen.

  Not needing to be told twice, he rounded the front counter and headed down the back hallway. He grinned as he recognized yet another Christmas hit, this one *NSYNC’s “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays.” And as he stepped inside the kitchen for the second time in as many days, there she was, bouncing around and singing along to the radio while decorating a set of cupcakes.

  He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, settling in to watch the entertaining show for as long as he could before she noticed him.

  This time she stood with her back to the door, letting him appreciate her heart-shaped ass as she shimmed side-to-side to the music. With each swish of her hips, the urge to grab them increased. He shoved his hands inside the pouch of his hoodie again and adjusted the semi he now sported.

  It wasn’t until he chuckled at her fancy celebration footwork that she was finally alerted to his presence. She whirled around, piping bag once again in hand, with an almost identical expression on her face as yesterday, eyes wide, lips in that enticing O.

  Unlike the day before, no frosting went shooting across the room. When she relinquished her hold on the bag, placing it safely on the counter behind her, another smile tugged at his lips as he read the words on the pink t-shirt tied at her hip: 'Cupcakes are cheaper than therapy.'

  “You.” The breathy tenor of her voice made him imagine all sorts of ways he could get it to hitch.

  “Me.” He shrugged, hands remaining in his hoodie.

  “There’s no way the blueberry crumbles are already sold out.”

  “That would be an accurate assumption. I think there was an entire row left when I passed the case.” He forced himself to maintain his position and not stalk in her direction to claim the kiss his lips were begging for. The need to know if she tasted as sweet as the yellow frosting was primal.

  “So, what brings you into my kitchen today?” Her hand fumbled to find purchase in her jeans.

  “You,” he stated succinctly. With his friends, he might be laid back and a jokester, but he never shied away from what he wanted. It was one of the reasons he was posed to challenge the light heavyweight title on New Year’s Eve. It was about damn time he put some of that single-minded focus on his love life. Lord knew it would make his mom happy.

  She slowly blinked at him.

  “Did you hear me, Holly?” Her name felt good falling from his lips. He had every intention of making it a daily occurrence.

  Her eyes widened to the point that he could see a clear white outline around her irises. “H-How do you know my name?” Her words were tinged with more nerves than he liked.

  “Lyle.” He hooked a thumb toward the front. Even though his answer had her relaxing, his internal alarms were ringing, alerting him that there was more going on than met the eye. There was a hint of fear in her eyes, but when a soft smile touched her lips, all thoughts fled his mind.

  She was beautiful.

  “He never was one to mind his business,” she commented.

  “I don’t think it’s in his DNA. He’s almost as bad as The Coven.” The last part slipped out almost subconsciously.

  “The Coven?”

  He waved off the question. The last thing he wanted to think about was his sister when he was with Holly.

  “So…since you bake, I take it your nights are generally free?”

  “Depending on the orders, yeah, most days I’m done by two.”

  “Perfect. Are you free Friday night?” He wanted to see her tonight but didn’t want to seem like an over-eager puppy. Though puppies were cute and all, he was hoping for a hell of a lot more than a belly rub from her.

  “W-What?”

  He couldn’t resist the temptation of her any longer. Pushing himself from the doorjamb, he strolled over, not stopping until the toes of his Nikes touched the tips of her pink Chucks. His sister once again broke into his thoughts, and he grinned—she would appreciate Holly matching her footwear to her outfit. Rocky had more sneakers than any other female on the planet.

  “I wanted to know if you were free Friday night so I could take you out on a date.” There was a streak of yellow frosting on her left cheek. He lifted a hand to brush it away with the pad of his thumb before bringing the finger to his mouth to lick it clean. The way her eyes darkened at the sight proved she wasn’t immune to him after all.

  “A date?” she choked out.

  “Yeah, you know, dinner. Some good conversation, maybe a round of pool or a game of darts. Whatever floats your boat.”

  “What makes you think the conversation would be good?” Girl was spunky.

  “Oh, Cupcake.” He broke off with a chuckle, shaking his head at the ludicrous question. “You’ll be with me. I’m always a good time.”

  Her eyes flashed down to his groin, causing his dick to stir again. If he were in jeans, this wouldn’t be a problem, but he was once again dressed for the gym in a loose pair of basketball shorts. He needed to start thinking about something else, anything else except her and how she smelled up close, like one the cupcakes she was frosting earlier, or he was about to have a very obvious problem on his hands.

  “I just bet you are.” Her gaze finally left his semi-hard dick to meet his again.

  “I wasn’t talking about sex, but if I were, I can pretty much guaran-damn-tee you’d enjoy yourself.” He bent so his mouth was next to her ear. “Multiple times.”

  She hissed in a shocked breath, and he felt the hitch of it as he trailed his nose across the soft spot behind her ear, breathing in the lingering scent of sugar on her skin. Fuck. He wanted to lick her all over.

  “But I meant more in a big-picture sort of way.”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Muffin,” she countered.

  “Muffin?”

  One of her eyebro
ws lifted in challenge. “What? You called me Cupcake.”

  “As long as I’m your Stud Muffin, I’m okay with that.” He reached to cup the side of her face.

  He could see her fighting a giggle, but she eventually caved to it. “God, you’re cocky.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” He trailed his thumb across her lower lip and knew before he left the room he would know what it tasted like. “But we can work toward you getting the chance of finding out starting Friday night. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  Her words were slow to come as she opened her lips slightly for him. “Who said I wanted to go out with you?”

  “You do.”

  “What if you aren’t my type?”

  “I’m your type.”

  A small growl emitted from the back of her throat, and damn if it didn’t turn him on and make him want to push her buttons more. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Muffin,” she snarked.

  “This delectable mouth of yours”—his thumb stroked across it again, this time pulling her lip down slightly—“might be able to lie to me, but the rest of your body can’t. Your eyes are almost black with the lust—”

  “There’s no lust here.”

  “Sweetheart…there’s so much lust it’s palpatating between us.”

  He brushed his other hand along her clavicle.

  “The goosebumps I can see along here tell me my touch affects you as much as touching you does me. And if all that wasn’t enough, the fact that your nipples look like they could cut glass would do it.” His eyes dropped down to the tempting peaks. “So no. You want me. And fuck if I don’t want you just as bad.”

  Another hitch of her breath. And when her tongue peeked out to touch her bottom lip, the last of his control snapped and his mouth was on hers.

  The hand cupping her face held her in place as his tongue stroked inside her mouth to duel with hers. He hooked his free hand around her middle, pulling her body flush against his and lifting her onto her toes so he didn’t have to bend as far.