Protect Me - Spotlight Collection, Book 2

by Hart, Cary

  “It would take too much time away from him. He stopped taking my treats to work, told everyone I was busy. Baking was cut out of my everyday life. He said I was wasting money we didn’t have.”

  Shapiro grunts. I know he wants to say more, but his restraint is strong.

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Trust me, you don’t.”

  “I didn’t see the signs. I know they were there, but I didn’t see them,” I defend myself.

  “Penny …” He drags out my name. “Love is blind. Stop blaming yourself.”

  I wish it was that easy.

  I can’t. How can I when I had the power to stop this? I stayed with a man, thinking I could change him. I did this.

  “Shut it off.” He leans over tapping my head. “The wheels are going.”

  “Fine,” I huff out.

  “Now, stop interrupting yourself.” He leans back and chuckles.

  “You did!” I snort. “You grunted.”

  “It’s a noise, Penny. Just a noise.”

  “A loud one that made me forget what I was talking about.” I bite back the laugh fighting to get out.

  “Carry on.” He’s waving me on again.

  My eyes narrow into slits. “I stopped baking.”

  “Huh?”

  “He wanted more time. I stopped baking.”

  “Oh!” He raises his finger in the air like a light bulb went off.

  “Spoiler alert!” he shouts. “Mama Ang!”

  My turn now, I lean up and smack his leg. “My story!” I shout, falling back against the armrest, crossing my arms.

  “Touché.”

  As I prepare to carry on and tell him how Mama Ang helped me find my Kool-Aid, I can’t help but get lost in the memory of that evening. It’s the night I figured out what she already knew, that baking wasn’t just a hobby it was a need.

  “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me?” I begin pacing the family room. Rattling the shelves of ceramic gingerbread houses.

  “Talk to me, dear. Tell Mama Ang what’s bothering you.” She tries to walk beside me.

  “I don’t know.” I bend over, hands on knees trying to get my breathing under control. Claiming I don’t have a clue, but I do.

  We were just watching a marathon of one of the bake-off shows I used to love. Mama Ang would shout at the television while I just smiled, but then there was an episode where a woman told her backstory and hers was similar to mine. She was in an unhealthy relationship and after years of catering to everyone else, she finally walked out to do something for herself. The prize money was going to be her new beginning.

  “I know what you need.” She takes ahold of my hand and guides me to the kitchen. “Shortbread roll-out.”

  “What?” I look around the room trying to figure out what she wants me to do. Everything is put up. Today was our day off from baking. The first one since I got here.

  “The cookie recipe. Tell me the ingredients.” She stands there waiting. “Butter.”

  “Butter,” I repeat as she grabs the butter from the fridge.

  “Keep going,” she encourages.

  “Sugar, vanilla, eggs …” I count off and she continues to gather the ingredients. “… flour and baking powder.”

  “Good.” She rubs my back, her touch calming. “Now mix,” she orders as she pulls out the stand-mixer.

  “What?”

  “Mix the dough for tomorrows cookies,” she repeats.

  “I thought today was a no-bake day,” I reply as I throw the sticks of butter into the mixer, followed by the sugar. Flipping the switch to beat them together.

  “How do you feel?” Mama Ang calls over the mixer.

  Standing there, breaking open the eggs, adding one at a time, I smile. My breathing is under control. Heart rate down. I’m good.

  “I’m going to be okay.” I turn off the mixer and throw in the dry ingredients.

  “Kiddo, you just had a panic attack.”

  “But why? I’ve been here for a couple weeks and nothing.” I prop my hip against the counter and wait for Mama Ang to shed a little light on this.

  “Think about it. Since you’ve been here we have been going nonstop. Baking is your distraction. You need it, it’s your air.”

  Holy crap. She’s right.

  “Some people are stress eaters, some are stress bakers, and some …” She rubs her belly. “… are both.”

  Since I started to bake, I’ve done this. My foster mom, high school, Tyler … I was always worried about something. Moving to another house when I just got settled in, school, and making Tyler happy.

  “Baking was the only thing constant in my life.” My eyes begin to water, realizing that a few ingredients replaced my need for family.

  “Kiddo …” Mama Ang pats my hand. “From now on we bake when we want.”

  “I think I could tell Mama Ang stories all night.” Shapiro shakes me from my thoughts as he reaches for the remote. “But, we have a whole lot of Grey’s to catch up on.”

  “First one asleep has to make breakfast.” I stand up, picking up our glasses, “Refill?”

  “It’s on and yes please.” He flashes me a quick grin.

  “You’re going down, Frances!” I holler out over my shoulder as I pad to the kitchen.

  “Sha … !” he growls out to correct me but thinks better of it. “Oh, just forget it.”

  Pouring the refills, I couldn’t help but beam with happiness. I have been through hell and back, but today, I decided to wake up and take on life.

  I’m getting high!

  Shapiro

  Well, shit … this didn’t go as planned.

  We had an agreement. Whomever fell asleep first, got the couch. The other, the bed. What actually happened?

  Penny, asleep, splayed across my lap. With my dick standing at attention.

  Fuck!

  If I slide her off, her face would graze over my cock. Not that I wouldn’t like that, but under the circumstance, it’s just wrong.

  If I try to stand and carry her to the bedroom, I’ll have to bend over and by doing that, the tent in my sweatpants will be on full display. Eye level with her gorgeous eyes. Eyes I see watching me when she thinks I don’t notice.

  A heavy sigh escapes me.

  This is a lose-lose situation or a win-win if this was a different day, another time.

  Dammit!

  My dick twitches at the thought of what another time might be like.

  “What time is …” She stretches her legs and freezes. “It?”

  Her hand just … She just … Gawh! Her touch is like a jolt to my body. My jaw hurts from gritting as I try to formulate words to reply.

  “Not sure. Can’t see the cock.”

  Oh shit!

  “I mean clock.”

  I really need to get this girl off me. Morning wood and Penny face planted in my lap is testing my control.

  “Shapiro?” She rolls over to look up at me and whatever mind control I had below has just sprung back to life.

  Say hello to my little friend.

  I groan. Throwing my head back.

  “Oh my God!” Penny sits up as I fling my head forward our two heads knocking together.

  “Ouch! Shit!” we say at the same time.

  Rolling herself off the couch, holding her head she hollers up to me, “Just forget that happened.”

  Rising, I step over Penny, I can’t help but take notice of her night shirt creeping its way up to rest under her perky breasts

  Down boy.

  “Come on.” I offer my hand. “Someone has breakfast to make.”

  “I’ll just lie here. Call me when it’s ready.” She keeps her eyes covered with one arm while she quickly tugs her shirt back down with the other.

  She probably felt you staring, asshole.

  “Nope.” I hitch up my sweats, giving my little or not so little friend an adjusting while I bend down to pry her arms away. One at a time. I want her to see me when me when I break the n
ews.

  “Hi!” She gives me a short wave.

  “Cute, but I won,” I remind her.

  Reaching to take my hand, she places it in mine and I yank … a little too hard. Chest to chest, my own breath heaves while I look down and watch her breasts rise and fall. Over and over and over again.

  Fucking torture.

  Taking a step back, she takes down her hair only to wrap it back up again.

  “Why do you do that?” I wave my finger at her. I have never understood why women take down their hair only to put it back up to look exactly the same way. It seems pointless. It doesn’t look any different.

  “Do what?”

  “You just took down your hair to run your fingers through it and then put it up exactly how it was before. It doesn’t look any different.”

  “It doesn’t.” She begins to fidget biting her bottom lip.

  I start to moan, but luckily, I catch myself and fake a yawn instead.

  Smooth.

  “You look like morning.” I walk past her, needing to put some distance between us. “It’s a good thing, remember.”

  “Yeah … I do,” she replies and follows me. “I think I’m going to take a shower.”

  Shit.

  Why did she have to mention that? Now, all I can imagine is the water running …

  Think about something else. Anything but her …

  Spinning around, I hold out my hand. “No shower for you. Breakfast, remember?”

  “You fell asleep first.” Penny pushes past me.

  No, she did.

  Reaching out I catch her arm and spin her toward me as I circle around her and step inside the bathroom.

  “Smooth move.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But I won,” she insists, but this time I can tell she’s trying to recall if she is right.

  “Let me replay this for you …”

  I raise my voice a couple octaves, mocking her. “My head hurts so bad.”

  “It did!” she screeches.

  “I know, I mean you do have a major concussion and that is why I offered to massage your temples while we finished the show.”

  Squinting her eyes, brows furrow, Penny’s wheels are turning.

  “Is it all coming back to you now?”

  “Fine, but I’ll warn you. I’m not the …”

  “Best cook. I remember. I’ll consider myself warned.”

  “Ugh!” She spins on her heel and heads to the kitchen.

  Thank God.

  Stripping down, I step slowly into the shower and turn the water on high. Stepping into the spray, the cold tile quickly warms beneath my palms as I splay them flat on either side of my head. The stream beats down in steamy rivulets, as my head falls forward.

  Closing my eyes, images of Penny flash through my mind. I can’t help but remember the rise of her shirt, her perky round breasts, just within my reach. She’s mouthwatering and the best part, she doesn’t even have a clue.

  That bastard really did a number on her. Making her doubt herself. But anyone can see she’s the real deal. A kind heart. A broken soul that needs saving. Long brown hair that I’m dying to wrap around my wrist as I make her mine. Show her exactly what a real man feels like.

  Long, lean legs that would fit perfectly around my waist. A perfect, lithe body that has curves in all the right places and a wicked smile that teases me without even trying to. Smiles that I would kill to have directed at me every day.

  And those curious brown eyes and plump kissable lips. The exact same lips that were just inches from my cock moments ago. My skin grows hot from the inside out as steam surrounds me.

  My hands curl into fists as I fight the urge to take myself in my hand and relieve this tension that keeps building whenever she is near. With each pelting drop, a new image rolls through my mind like rapid fire. My dick quickly remembering what got it that way in the first place.

  I try to talk myself down, but the voices keep murmuring in my head reminding me of how close she was to where I want her.

  I can’t. We can’t. Saying the same thing, over and over again.

  Stop it.

  Hating myself a little for feeling the way I do, I unclench my fists, letting my hands drop when her voice cuts through my dirty thoughts.

  “Do you like chocolate chip muffins?” Penny hollers through the door.

  “Yeah,” I croak out, thinking about what I would really like.

  Thinking how easy it would be to ignore her question in hope she would come to me, open the door, so I could hear her. The door closes behind her and she rests her back to it shyly as she asks again. When I still don’t answer, I let her come to me, pull back the glass and step inside with me. Not being able to push the visions back, they come at me full force and her voice is all I hear.

  That and the pounding of my heart inside my chest.

  I ignore the guilt and imagine her just this once. Closing my eyes tighter, I let the fantasy play out. The way she looks up at me as the water slowly soaks into her clothes and her skin, the drops of water working their way down from her tanned breasts to her nipples as I pull her night shirt away and let it fall to the tile floor. All thoughts of chocolate chip muffins evaporate, and her perky breasts fill my palms as we watch each other through a haze of steam.

  Her hands reach out to touch my chest and massage circles across soapy skin that sizzles under her touch. I apply a generous amount of soap in my hands and massage my way across her shoulders, collarbone, and let them fall once more to her breasts. She moans and leans into my touch as my hands pay extra attention to her budding nipples and my palms skim down to her hips as they thrust toward me, causing my throbbing cock to fall against her lower belly and become trapped beneath our slick bodies.

  I claim her mouth just as her eyes fall closed and my fingers rush up to fist in her hair as I taste my new favorite thing, her lips. We are a tangle of hands and limbs as we kiss until we’re both breathless. My kisses wander and trace the slender curve of her neck, teasing her glistening skin as I work my way down.

  Licking.

  Touching.

  Thirsty for her taste.

  Greedy for it. I fall to my knees and wrap my palms around her thighs as her hands thread in my hair and she shifts herself toward me. My restraint nearly snapping. My tongue waits to taste all of her and just as I’m about to reach her, my body convulses, and a groan escapes my lips, echoing off the tile walls. Reminding me I’m alone.

  I realize my hand is fisted around my cock, and not her thighs as my body empties itself with a jerk against the tile. The water has grown cold and just like that the images of her fade away like the steam. Guilt consumes me as I wash myself in the punishing cold before cleaning up after myself, rinsing the evidence down the drain.

  Penny

  Morning wood—all guys have it. It’s completely normal for a man to wake up with a raging hard-on. So, why am I making a big deal about this? Maybe it’s because I was eye to eye with the beast and when I say beast, I’m not exaggerating. It looked like it was ready to hunt, and I was willing to be its prey.

  Get it together.

  I’m trying to forget. I really am, but last night was AH-MAZING. I saw a side of Shapiro he doesn’t let out too often. It’s the side I knew was there when we first met, I just wasn’t sure if I was ever going to get to experience it again.

  Except I did, and it took me a little by surprise at how much I enjoyed it. Especially after …

  “Muffins almost done?” Shapiro hollers out from down the hall. A welcome interruption saving me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure how they’re going to taste,” I call back as I dump the tin that was cooling onto a rack.

  Just as I was about to pick one up to taste test Shapiro comes strolling out.

  “I’m starving,” he says while he pulls a black tee over his head, his thick muscled torso stretching the material to the max. “So, I’m sure they will be great.”

  Yummy.
r />   Ignoring the little voices telling me to turn around, I stop and stare and when I mean stop and stare, I mean I’m ogling and drooling over this man.

  For as much Kool-Aid this man drinks, I’m not sure how he keeps a frame as built as his.

  “There’s a storage room in back, I turned it into a small gym,” Shapiro says, as he comes around to where I’m standing, leaning against the island.

  “What?”

  Can he read minds now?

  Taking the muffin out of my hands, he pulls back the paper wrapper and breaks off the top. Throwing the bottom into the trash.

  “You just asked how I stayed so fit drinking all the sugary drinks.” Shapiro tears a piece off and plops it into his mouth, smirking. “Not in those words, but yeah.”

  “Oh.” We both stand there for a moment as he plops another bite in his perfect, full mouth.

  Reaching for another muffin, he repeats his actions throwing the bottom away.

  “Are they burnt?” I reach for my own and examine it. “I’m not used to this oven.”

  “They’re perfect. In fact, they are the best muffins I’ve ever had.” He plops another bite in and gives me a tight smile.

  “Liar!” I break a piece off to taste. Not great, but not bad either given that this place doesn’t even have an electric mixer.

  “I’m not a bottom guy.” He winks while grabbing one more.

  Needing space. I turn and reach for a couple glasses in the cabinet. Recalling last night that he only drinks milk with baked goods. Pouring Shapiro a glass I hand it to him, but before he can grab it I double over in excruciating pain. The glass of milk slides from my hands and shards of glass fly everywhere.

  “Oh shit!” The pain becoming too much.

  “It’s okay.”

  We both reach down to start picking up the glass, but I quickly stand.

  “I … um … I need to go,” I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “Shower.” Realization sets in and the broken glass is the least of my worries.

  “That’ s fine. You may want to go the other way.” He doesn’t bother to look up as he continues to pick up the pieces. “Oh hey! Can you hand me the dust pan before you go? It’s under the sink.”

  “Um, yeah.” The ache becomes stronger as I bend over, grabbing what he needs and toss it his way. “I need to go …”