Sweet Temptation

by Lauren Hawkeye

  “Your zipper is down,” Meg said, worry swimming in her big blue eyes.

  “Hey.” He zipped his pants and walked over to shut the garage door before fixing her with a concerned stare. “It’s okay to enjoy what we do, remember?”

  Tugging on his shirt, he started toward her. He needed to soothe her. Needed to kiss those worry lines away.

  “You go in first, and I’ll follow.” Kissing wasn’t on her mind, her gaze darting around the room quickly. “Here.”

  Tucking her hair behind her ears, she moved to a baker’s rack and lifted a stack of cookie sheets. “Carry these in for me.”

  “Okay,” he said and easily scooped the trays from her hands. Whatever made her relax.

  Without warning the door that led to the kitchen rocketed open.

  “I found them!” Jo’s stare darted from John to Meg, her eyes narrowing as she looked them over. A hint of disappointment inked her sharp features, as though she’d been hoping to catch them misbehaving...or was he reading too much into that?

  He was relieved when her gaze dropped to take in the trays he was holding.

  “John was just helping me carry these,” Meg said, her voice cool and collected. At least one of them had their shit together, and the fact that it was Meg was a harsh reminder that what they’d just done hadn’t fucked with her the same way it had fucked with him.

  He shouldn’t care...and yet he did.

  “What do you need those for?” Jo asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not feeding an army tonight.”

  “And your point is?” Meg retorted. “I need them for tomorrow, and now I don’t have to make five trips to carry them. They’re heavier than they look, you know.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jo tapped her foot, shifting that inquisitive stare to John. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly acutely aware that she’d once worked as a journalist.

  When she shifted to the side to let him past, he went gratefully. He was used to playing his cards close to his chest, but every time he was with Meg, he was certain that what he felt was etched in lines across his face, for everyone to see.

  When he and Meg had started this—God, had it only been a few days ago?—he hadn’t seen the harm in indulging their mutual desire, with no one in their circle any the wiser. But as he entered the kitchen and walked across the room to set the trays on the stainless steel island, he felt a set of eyes drilling into his back.

  Theo. John knew, without having to hear it, what his friend would think if he knew that he’d been with the woman he considered a sister.

  John was fine for a friend. For a business partner. But in Theo’s eyes, he wasn’t good enough for Meg. Not even if he had real feelings for her.

  What am I saying?

  He turned slowly, his eyes lifting to meet the ones staring at him. Would it make a difference to Theo if he knew how John felt, that he’d never intentionally hurt Meg because he... Because he what? Loved her?

  His gaze shifted in time to see Meg laugh at something her sister Amy said, and in that instant, the world as he knew it—his priorities—took a hard shift to the left.

  Yeah, okay, he wanted more with her. He wanted it all with Meg, but would he ever be good enough for someone as special as her? Damned if he didn’t want to try, to be the guy to give her everything she needed.

  What are you going to do about this, dude?

  “Hey,” Theo said as he crossed the room to stand before John, his back poker straight. “What’s going on?”

  He rubbed his hands over his face. While he wanted to talk to his friend, tell him the truth, this was not the time and place for a scene. “What’s going on is I’m starving.”

  Theo’s gaze slowly left John’s to take in the trays, and then lifted again, a mixture of concern and skepticism on his face. “John, listen—”

  “Handsome and strong.” Jada—was that her name?—materialized at his side, cutting off Theo as she reached out and cupped John’s biceps, her touch awfully familiar considering they’d just met. Theo’s mouth snapped shut, his teeth clicking with an audible snap. While John felt a whip crack of irritation at the younger woman’s forwardness, he was grateful for the interruption.

  “You saved us the trouble of lifting all these bad boys tomorrow.” A corner of her red-painted lips curled upward. Seriously, who wore red lipstick to work in a kitchen? “I think that deserves some sort of reward...don’t you?”

  “No reward needed.” John forced a laugh past his lips. Christ, where had Meg found this girl? “Happy to help.”

  Beside him, Theo visibly relaxed, his suspicion simmering down from a full boil as Jada leaned forward over the island, propping herself up on her elbows. This, of course, gave John a full view of her cleavage, barely encased in a black lace bra.

  Just a week ago, he might have taken a moment to appreciate the view, since it was freely offered. Now? All he could think of was the ripe weight of Meg’s glorious tits in his hands as he thrust into her from behind.

  Even though he’d just had her, the memory had his cock taking notice.

  Down, boy. Though if he grew a boner right now, Theo would probably assume it was because of the woman desperate to snag his attention.

  At least her laser-focused attention seemed to ease any lingering doubts Theo held about why John had disappeared with Meg for... How long had they been back there? It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. It was strange, being part of a group of people who noticed when others weren’t around.

  If Jada had any idea that he’d just fucked her boss in the storage bay, she didn’t seem to care. She sank her teeth into her lower lip as she looked at John, and when she opened her mouth to speak, he winced at the thought of what might come out of it this time.

  When had sexually aggressive women started to make him nervous? Not so long ago, they’d been his catnip, even if this one was a little on the young side. What wasn’t to like about a woman who knew what she wanted and went after it?

  But right now, he only cared about what one particular woman wanted.

  “Excuse me, please.” Meg stepped back into the kitchen, her hair now smoothed back into a neat ponytail. She cast a pointed look at the three of them leaning on the island. “Theo and John, get away from my oven. Jada, you were off forty-five minutes ago. What are you still doing here?”

  Jada opened her mouth to reply, but the look Meg shot her left no room for argument. John barely hid his laugh as the younger woman, clearly afraid of her boss, scurried away. Theo wandered off to rejoin Jo, but John stayed, watching as Meg bent to open the oven.

  When she turned around, a pan holding something with the yeasty scent of homemade bread in her hands, she stopped short when she caught him ogling her.

  “Your apron is crooked,” he whispered, making her cheeks flush. Flustered, she set the pan down on the island, then tried to straighten it with oven mitts still on her hands.

  Casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention, he slid a hand into his pocket to run his fingers over the panties contained within. Meg tracked the movement with her eyes, her flush deepening from rose to crimson when she realized what he was doing.

  “Stop it!” She reached for a sharp knife, arching an eyebrow at him pointedly.

  He was a smart man. He wasn’t going to argue with a woman armed with a knife. To distract himself from the fact that he and he alone knew she was naked beneath the hem of that flirty little dress, he watched as she cut the loaf of bread into uniform slices.

  Curious, he wandered over to the massive pot that simmered on the stove. It was full of a creamy liquid, and when he inhaled the steam, he identified it as clam chowder.

  Comfort food. The kind a family shared when they gathered. The kind he’d never had as a kid.

  His mouth watered, and it wasn’t just hunger fo
r the food.

  The Marchandes were the closest he’d ever come to being part of a family. He’d never, not once in his adult life, admitted to wanting the responsibility that came with belonging to other people, but right now, as he looked from Meg to her family, he felt another shocking truth force itself to the surface.

  He would want Meg no matter what, whether she had this big family or was all alone in the world like him.

  But...he didn’t hate the fact that the family was there. And Jesus, had he hit his head?

  No. He hadn’t. He’d changed—and he’d changed because of Meg.

  “Can I help?” Without thinking, he brushed a wayward lock of hair from her face.

  “John!” She stiffened, her gaze cutting to her family. He snatched his hand back and resented it.

  Occupied with setting the table and communicating with each other, no one in Meg’s family had noticed the reflex moment of tenderness. And he suddenly didn’t love that Meg was so hell-bent on keeping it from them, even though he’d agreed to it in the beginning.

  “What would be so bad if someone did see?” He leaned toward her, a satellite in orbit, and for one moment she softened, opening to him.

  Then Amy’s loud, infectious laugh cut through the air, and Meg jolted back, her shoulders stiffening.

  “Why would we tell them?” She turned to the stove, stirring the vat of soup.

  “I—”

  Ford’s stomach growled loudly. Everyone laughed as he grinned sheepishly, cutting John off.

  “Hold that thought!” Meg smiled brightly at her soon-to-be brother-in-law as she loaded a basket with bread. Tilting her head to John in an aside, she whispered, “Did I fuck the sense right out of you? It has to be like this. You know that.”

  Just hearing the word fuck on her plump lips was enough to make John want to drag her back into the storage room for another round. Instead, he absorbed the problem—his sudden need for more and her insistence that it couldn’t work—analyzed and changed tactics.

  “Have lunch with me tomorrow.” Her eyes widened in surprise, and he swallowed the grin of triumph.

  “You don’t have to use code words.” She rolled her eyes. “You can say booty call like a grown-up.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t code for anything, but before he could speak, there was Jada again. At least this time, in the presence of her boss, she behaved...mostly.

  “Jada. Seriously. I’m about to have dinner with my family.” Meg eyed her employee with exasperation.

  “I just wanted to drop off my time sheet.” Holding out a sheet of paper, she waited until Meg took it, then winked at John.

  “Thanks.” Meg was having none of it. “Next time send it in by email, please, like you’re supposed to.”

  “Sorry.” Another little sidelong glance at John told him that she was sorry, not sorry. “I’ll go now.”

  As she turned, she brushed up against John as she untied her apron, hanging it on the hook near the stove. She angled her body toward the door, then turned unexpectantly, biting down on her lip. “My ringer is on...all night.”

  “You heard her, John.” Meg cast him a look that he couldn’t quite read before sliding her hands back into oven mitts and carrying the vat of soup to the table. “Her ringer is on.”

  Goddammit.

  Catching his eye, Jada gave her phone a little shake before shoving it into her purse. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to bang his head against the nearest hard surface.

  He knew that Meg didn’t believe that he’d fucked her six ways to Sunday, then come out here to hit on her way too young assistant. Still, he felt the need to explain, to verbalize that there was no one else he wanted now that he’d found her.

  Except he couldn’t, could he? Broodingly, he watched as she set the pot down on the table, then started to spoon soup into bowls and pass them down.

  He couldn’t tell Jada that there was no way he’d be calling her, not here in Meg’s kitchen, with her family in earshot. He couldn’t, because she was clinging to the expiration date they’d set on their relationship.

  “Good night, Jada.” He waved the other woman off absently, still watching Meg. The way she walked as she moved to the huge walk-in fridge and exited holding a large bowl of salad...the way she moved was already familiar to him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known her that long—he knew her.

  She set the bowl down on the table, and he felt a pinch somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

  He wanted to be in the heart of that group, not hovering around the edges, no matter how much he’d once preferred that position. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—insert himself unless Meg said he could.

  If he believed that Meg really, truly only saw him as a fling, then he would willingly back off, even with his feelings thrown into the ring. But he didn’t believe that—hell, he knew that she cared for him, too. But she still saw him, at least on some level, as the playboy associate of the man she considered a brother. Still saw him as someone who couldn’t truly care and wouldn’t ever stay.

  He did care...but he couldn’t stay. Could he? Was he chasing something that was impossible?

  Logic told him yes, but for the first time in his entire life, he told logic where to go and how to get there.

  He had to show Meg that he could be more. That he wanted to be more, for her. Actions, things that she could see, not words that could be interpreted as empty promises.

  He’d play by her rules tonight. But starting tomorrow, he was going to remind her that she liked it when he took charge.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MEG PERCHED ON a stool at her stainless steel island. She was supposed to be working on the menu for Gavin Aronson’s mayoral ceremony, and instead she was using her four-color click pen to doodle hearts in her notebook.

  Frustrated, she slammed the cover shut and let loose an exaggerated sigh. The movement jostled her notebook, and the worn computer printout that she’d folded up and tucked inside peeked out.

  She’d looked at it a thousand times, but she pulled it out to look again.

  44 Faraday Court. Deal of a lifetime! This spacious two-level foreclosure has two bedrooms, one-and-a-half baths and a bonus room. Tons of custom cabinetry, stainless steel appliances and a newly renovated gourmet kitchen are just some of the updates made to this home in the last two years. Top it off with a large backyard with mature trees, this bargain might just be what you’re looking for.

  Before this last year, she’d never allowed herself to dream of owning a home, because she and Mamesie and her sisters had all needed to contribute to one pot just to survive. But now Jo had moved out, and Beth and Ford wouldn’t stay there once they were married...

  And she wanted something all her own, which was why she was willing to put up with Gavin Aronson’s crap if it meant she got an in with his company. She needed to stop mooning around about John and focus.

  Even as she told herself that, her gaze wandered to the clock, and she noted that it was nearing noon.

  She hadn’t heard from John yet today, and she wondered if he’d forgotten about his offer to take her for lunch. If he’d meant lunch at all. They hadn’t spent any time together that didn’t involve a lot of skin-to-skin contact, so maybe lunch had been, as she’d initially assumed, a euphemism.

  But...was this still just sex?

  She’d initially proposed this affair not just because she and John burst into flames every time they were around one another, but also because she’d appreciated the fact that their liaison had an end date. She hadn’t been the owner of A Moveable Feast for very long, and she’d been looking forward to a new era of her life, where she was able to focus on her business—something just for her.

  But...was she being ridiculous? Because being around John didn’t seem to take away from her life at all. Instead it added something she h
adn’t been aware she was missing.

  And what was the point of thinking like this at all, when he was leaving in... Was it only two more days? The realization made something heavy settle in her core. He was leaving, and she had to face that fact.

  And yet...the way he’d looked at her last night. The way he’d challenged her need to keep her family in the dark about whatever the hell this was between them.

  Was he having second thoughts about ending things, too?

  Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she checked for new messages for the forty-first time in the last hour—still nothing.

  She was going insane.

  “Ugh!” Growling with frustration, she pushed back from her work. Her stomach growled, too, echoing the sound. Eager for the distraction, she slid off the stool and padded over to the industrial-size fridge.

  She’d had deliveries from several suppliers that morning, and it was full—cuts of meat wrapped in butcher’s paper, sticks of grass-fed butter, hunks of swiss and cheddar from the cheesemonger, and a bright rainbow of vegetables and herbs.

  Nothing appealed, even though she was hungry. Heaving a sigh that even she knew was overly dramatic, she closed the fridge again.

  The front door of the building opened. Meg felt her pulse kick into overtime, as though she’d downed a triple shot of espresso, and the jolt of adrenaline left her shaky when she recognized the footsteps as belonging to Jada and her high heels, rather than the heavier footfalls she’d been waiting for.

  “Morning deliveries are done.” Jada breezed into the kitchen, bright and summery in a little romper number that Meg knew would make her look like a garden gnome. How the girl managed to look so flawless while lugging around heavy totes of food—in heels, nonetheless—Meg had no idea.

  Normally Jada’s Instagram-ready appearance had no effect whatsoever on Meg—she’d hired her because she did her deliveries promptly and because she was eager to learn about food, as Meg had learned from the owner before her. But today, the image of Jada batting those eyelash extensions at John fresh in her mind, Meg found herself feeling more than a little bitchy.