Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection

by Jessica Hawkins

  I set the bowl aside and dug into the paper sack to find the almond extract.

  Almond extract I was certain I’d purchased this afternoon at the store.

  Almond extract that wasn’t there.

  With a frown, I sank back onto my heels. Frustration leaked into my veins.

  Damn it.

  My first pie, and I was already failing. It was one of those ingredients I could probably get away with not using, but it just wouldn’t be the same. Looking around, my attention landed on the pantry.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got, Gramma,” I mumbled, opening the pantry door and rummaging through the few items that hadn’t already been discarded.

  “Aha.” It was a cry of victory as I held the bottle of almond extract in the air.

  Victory that was short-lived. It’d expired three years ago.

  “Damn it,” I muttered again. I tossed it into the garbage bin right before my eye caught on a white envelope tucked on a shelf at the side of the pantry wall. Like a forgotten partner to all the expired spices and extracts. A token of the past.

  Apprehension swelled, anxious and uneasy, and I slowly moved forward.

  It felt as if it were some kind of secret.

  As if I were on some kind of forbidden mission.

  Silly, I knew, but my fingers trembled when I reached in and tugged it free, the paper tacked to something sticky on the pantry wall.

  That anxiousness thickened like molasses, my throat full and bobbing, my stomach twisted in a vice.

  My name was written across the front, the familiar handwriting scratchy from an unsteady hand.

  “Oh God.” Grief came swooping back in, but I smiled through the tears that were suddenly clouding my eyes as I ripped into the letter.

  There was so much comfort in knowing she felt confident that one day I would find what she’d left for me.

  I tugged it out and quickly scanned the card.

  All moments matter. We just rarely know how important they are until the chance to act on them has already passed.

  My spirit flooded with love, and I clung tight to the reminder of this amazing woman who’d always viewed the world as if it were right on the cusp of something magical. The tough times nothing but a stepping-stone to propel us to where we were supposed to be.

  I took a fumbling step back when I sensed the change outside my kitchen window. A light had flickered on across the street. Drawn, I inched across the creaking floor, again keeping myself hidden as I crept toward the window. I pulled back the edge of the lacy drape and peered that direction, not sure if I felt guilty for doing it or if it was somehow my duty.

  Because this time there was no question I was spying.

  Unable to look away.

  Somehow knowing I didn’t want to.

  The bulk of him took up the entirety of his kitchen window, his hair, which was a dark, golden blond and a little long on top, was in complete disarray and stuck up in all directions. As if he’d spent the night tossing in bed, waging a war I didn’t understand. I couldn’t make out his expression with the way he had his head dropped between his shoulders, his hands most likely propped on the counter to hold himself up. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t clearly see him fighting with whatever demons plagued him.

  “Shit,” I whispered, clutching the letter in my hand, waging my own war. The battles I’d once fought in this town had been lost. The memories of them stalled me with trepidation, the strength I’d found through the years away coming against them and instilling me with courage.

  I glanced at the letter again.

  And I chose to take a chance.

  Before I could think better of it, I moved through the arch and out into the dated living room. I slipped on my sandals I’d left by the door.

  Then I let myself out into the muggy, Alabama night, the air heady with wafts of honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass.

  Moon, huge and high, cast the slumbering houses and trees in a silvery glow, and the steady trill of cicadas danced all around.

  It felt like stepping straight back into my childhood. The memories of the nights I’d spent on the porch with my grandmother staring up at the stars seemed so close it felt as if I only had to reach out to go back to that time.

  Inhaling the vestiges, I kept my footsteps as light as possible. Even still, they crunched against the gravel driveway, and I sucked in an emboldened breath when I stole through the night and across the street, silently making my way up his walkway.

  Carefully, I climbed his steps, hand on the railing as if it offered moral support, and crossed his freshly stained deck. I stopped at his door, my heart the thunder that incited a storm within my chest.

  What was I doing?

  This was insane.

  This guy hated me for no apparent reason at all.

  Still, I found myself lifting my hand, my fist quietly knocking at his door.

  I was shaking all over by the time the latch turned and the door flew open, and I was again met with the same unwarranted fury from earlier. Although this time it was harder.

  All of it.

  His scowl and his glare and every gloriously defined ridge of his body.

  Oh. My. God.

  There was nothing I could do to keep my eyes from dropping to explore the wide expanse of exposed flesh. His shirt was missing, and he was wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

  I gulped. That foolish attraction drenched me through, wet and hot and sticky. Flaming free and leaving me weak in the knees.

  My gaze latched on the tattoo that ran the entirety of his left upper arm. It was a landscape of a jagged cliff with a waterfall pouring over the side. The splashes rising up from the seething pool of water were bright, colorful feathers that floated and twisted as if blown by the breeze.

  Sorrow and hope.

  They were so clearly impressed into the depiction.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The severity in his voice cut through the night, impaling my stupor, jerking my attention up to his face.

  Of course, it had to be equally as striking as the rest of him.

  Powerful and dominant.

  I shook as I took a fumbled step back.

  Oh, wow, was this stupid. So damned stupid.

  Still, I lifted my chin. “I was just . . .” I fumbled for an excuse to be standing at his door at one in the morning. “Wondering if you had any almond extract?”

  His head cocked, and if it were possible, his eyes narrowed even more. “Do I look like I have almond extract?”

  “Ummm . . .” I stammered.

  Great.

  I was a blubbering fool.

  This man set me totally off balance. He was so different from the men I was used to back in San Francisco.

  Rougher.

  Unpolished and raw.

  More dangerously beautiful than any man had the right to be.

  Maybe it was because he reminded me a tiny bit of Aaron. The asshole back in high school who’d had a hand in the breaking of my heart.

  But this was more.

  Different.

  Everything about Rex Gunner was unique.

  Blinding in his darkness.

  Warm in his coldness.

  “I just—” I gestured back to my house across the street. “I was making my gramma’s cherry pie and was missing almond extract when I saw a light on over here. I thought I would take a chance.”

  All moments matter. We just rarely know how important they are until the chance to act on them has already passed.

  Was this one of those moments that mattered?

  And why did I feel like I had to take this chance?

  4

  Rex

  Lust sieged my body as I stared at her standing in the moonlight like some kind of vision.

  Like some kind of wicked enchantress with the face of an angel.

  Baking my fucking favorite pie, nonetheless.

  Her scent was all around me. Cherries and sugar.

  My mouth watered, an
d I clenched my fists in an effort to keep myself from reaching out and taking a taste for myself.

  Maybe I was still back in bed and this was just a new element of the nightmares that haunted me night after night.

  If this were a dream, I’d be inviting her in and sinking into that tight body. Fucking her hard and wild. Just the way I liked it. That would be right before she grew fangs and ripped me apart. Hell, with the way she was looking at me, it was clear she was already poised to tear me to shreds.

  “Some chances aren’t worth taking,” I said, voice rough with warning. She needed to know she was crossing into territory where she wasn’t welcome. Banging on my door in the middle of the night was completely off-limits. How could this girl possibly think this was okay?

  I set my forearm high on the jamb, knowing every inch of me was bristling with the challenge.

  All except for my dick. Apparently, that was the only part of me that didn’t seem pissed off at the intrusion.

  Her strong chin lifted in her own challenge. “No? Haven’t you ever heard you never know if you don’t try?”

  “And how many doors have gotten slammed in your face because of that philosophy?”

  “More than I could count. And why do I get the feeling you’re about to add another to that number?”

  A disbelieving chuckle rumbled in my chest. This girl was all kinds of grit and determination. “I’m easy to read, I guess.”

  A tiny snort huffed from her nose. “Hardly.”

  She angled her head, and those warm eyes turned almost pleading. “Listen, I’m going to be living right across the street . . .”

  Just the thought of it left me antsy and agitated.

  Her voice softened. “I don’t know anyone around here anymore, and it’d be nice to have a friend. I thought maybe you and Frankie could use one, too.”

  Laughter ripped up my throat.

  Cruel and low.

  “Sorry, but I have all the friends I need, and I’d appreciate it if you stayed away from my daughter. She doesn’t need anyone else making her promises they have no intention of keeping.”

  Before I could do something stupid, I slammed the door shut in her face. Exactly the way she’d been expecting me to do. I leaned my back against the wood, trying to catch my breath, to slow the raging in my spirit, that part of me that hated being such an asshole.

  All the while trying to remind myself why it was necessary.

  There was something about her that set me on edge. Left me feeling off-balance.

  Self-control was not normally something I lacked, and fuck, it wasn’t like she was out there offering herself up like a warm slice of pie.

  But just looking at her had me itching for a taste.

  I could feel her on the other side, her presence that swept the air unsettled and thick. Like I’d caused her physical pain with the rejection and she was projecting it right back to me.

  Maybe she really was just trying to be nice.

  Maybe she didn’t have ulterior motives.

  But that was a chance I just couldn’t take.

  Fear tumbled through his veins and clanged in the hollow of his chest. Frantic, he stumbled through the brushy undergrowth, the world buried by soaring trees. Branches lashed at the exposed skin of his arms and thorns latched onto the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to hold him back.

  It propelled him harder.

  Faster.

  He screamed her name. “Sydney.”

  Sydney. Sydney. Sydney.

  The howl of wind answered back.

  Sydney.

  I shot upright, chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. To orient myself to the movement that jostled me awake and pulled me from the dream.

  “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Wakey, wakey, wakey. I made you breakfast.”

  Frankie was grinning at me as she jumped on my bed. Brown hair wild and free, just as wild and free as the way she looked at the world. At the way she loved. Wholly and without reservation.

  I scrubbed both palms over my face, dropped them just as fast. It was not all that hard to return her grin.

  Her expression alone was enough to chase away the exhaustion that constantly weighed me down. The few hours of sleep I managed were restless. Plagued with the curse that darkened my life.

  I swallowed back the fear. The terror that one day it might steal her from me, too.

  “You made me breakfast?” I asked, voice groggy, my touch tender as I brushed her too-long bangs back from her innocent face. “That’s awful nice of you, thinking of your daddy first thing in the morning.”

  She giggled. “Of course I thinks about you, Daddy. And I made a whole big bowl, ’cause Grammy says you could eat a whole cow.”

  “Oh, she did, huh?”

  She nodded emphatically, her eyes going wide when I hopped up and tossed her over my shoulder. Frankie roared with laughter, the kid dressed in shorts and a tee with that same damned hot pink tutu around her waist.

  So fuckin’ cute.

  “That Grammy is going to be in big, big trouble when I see her today,” I teased my daughter, who was bouncing on my shoulder as I started running with her down the hall.

  She squealed, kicking her feet and holding on to me for dear life. “Oh, no, don’t tell Grammy! It’s our secret.”

  “I thought you said you were good at keeping secrets?”

  Damn it.

  The last thing I needed to do was bring up the conversation she’d had with Rynna yesterday. Just the mention of that woman had fantasies slamming me from all sides. Her face and her hair and that body.

  Sweet, mouthwatering sugar.

  I’d thought maybe the morning would have scraped the idea of her from my consciousness.

  No such luck.

  I shoved off the thoughts, refusing to give them voice. That was right when I came to an abrupt stop when I entered the kitchen I’d just finished remodeling.

  Frankie scrambled upright, pushing those unruly locks from her face with both hands, a hopeful smile plastered on her face. “I mights have spilled a little milk, Daddy. Is that okay? I’m gonna clean it all gone, but I didn’t want your cereal to get all gross and swoggy. Bleh.”

  Her nose scrunched, and her lips turned down as if she’d tasted something sour.

  I frowned when I saw a “little” milk was actually the entire gallon minus what she’d managed to pour into the cereal bowl. A pool of white swam between the small table set for two and the refrigerator against the far wall, the emptied plastic container floating in the middle of it.

  Her shoulders went to her ears, her voice quieting. “Is you mad?”

  Hugging her close, I pecked a kiss to her chubby cheek. “Of course, I’m not mad. We’re just gonna have to get you to the gym with me so we can start building up these muscles.” I lightly squeezed her tiny bicep. “How’s that sound? You ready to start pumping some iron? Before you know it, you’ll be as strong as The Hulk.”

  She giggled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “The Incwedible Hulk? You’re crazy, Daddy. I’m gonna be Wonder Woman. Don’t you know I’m a girl?”

  She threw both her arms in the air before she started shimmying down my body, getting free of my hold, and heading straight for the drawer where we kept the dishtowels. She climbed up the step stool so she could reach it, that smile lighting up the whole room when she looked over at me. “Right, Daddy? Can I be the best dancer in the whole world and Wonder Woman?”

  I crossed the kitchen to help her clean up the mess. “Yeah, Tiny Dancer, you can be whatever you want to be.”

  I’d make sure of it.

  Because she was the single wonder of my life.

  I’d do whatever it took to keep her that way.

  5

  Rynna

  Sunlight poured in through the long row of dark tinted windows that overlooked the bustling street. It struck the murky space like a blazing orb of fire against the quiet darkness that held fast to the silenced space, the light still muted
in the far reaches of the restaurant.

  It left the space filled with a dim hue of warmth, the atmosphere an intricate dance of peace and regret and the remnants of my lingering fear.

  Lovingly, I dragged my fingertips through the layer of dust that had gathered on the bar, exposing the shiny white counter hiding underneath.

  Buried, but not forgotten.

  Yearning pulsed through my being, my spirit full and my heart heavy, that lump at the base of my throat prominent as I slowly wandered through the old diner-style restaurant that for so long had been the center of my life.

  How many days had I spent at this counter? A little girl coloring and painting who turned into a teenager studying for the SAT?

  How many mornings had I been there before dawn, standing on the step stool so I could see over the counter back in the kitchen? I’d watch in awe as my grandmother would mix the ingredients, helping her pour them into the bowl, my arm straining as I’d followed her instructions and pressed the dough into pie crusts. The whole time I would quietly listen to her chatting about life, the woman so easily relating everything to the pies she made.

  How much life had buzzed in the bustling diner, the families that had gathered in the booths and the old men who’d sat at the bar with their tall tales to tell?

  That life had been silenced, but it wasn’t gone. I could feel it. Bated, but simmering. Trembling all around where it was restrained, pressing and vying to be freed.

  Waiting for someone to believe in it again.

  For someone to breathe that life back into its walls.

  And Gramma had somehow put her faith in me that I would be the one to do it.

  Even after I’d run like a coward.

  I just prayed I could live up to her belief.

  I jumped when the old bell jingled above the door and someone called, “Knock, knock.”

  Heart leaping to my throat, I spun around. I did my best to beat down the jolt of fear that had taken hold. My eyes narrowed as I tried to make out the two figures in the doorway.

  They stepped forward, coming into view in the dimmed light of the diner.