Tasty

by Bella Cruise

  “Are you alright, Juliette?” When I don’t answer right away, he just keeps talking. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to as soon as I realized. It seemed unfair, that I would know but you wouldn’t. But I was afraid you’d think I was some sort of pervert, after everything I said . . .”

  He trails off. I let him. Because, yeah, he’s said some nasty, nasty things to me. But you know what? I liked them.

  “Tell me when you knew.”

  “What?” he says, confusion in those gorgeous eyes. The truth is, I’ve already had my suspicions. The moment when everything changed for me and cupcakecasanova. The moment when it became more than an online flirtation and instead it all turned deliciously, seductively real.

  He gives me the answer, the one I was waiting for. Just one simple word:

  “Alchemy.”

  My heart thumps hard in my chest. I find myself hugging myself. I guess I should be relieved, but my feelings are much more complicated than that. Cal sees this.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks gently.

  “Exposed,” I reply.

  He lets out a gentle chuckle. It’s not a cruel laugh, not at all. “Funny. It’s been a relief to me. You didn’t care that I was a famous TV chef, with Hollywood starlets on my arm at my premieres.” Little does he know about all the times I’ve Googled him, and all the beautiful women whose sight filled me with envy and petty revenge fantasies. “You just wanted to talk about cake and food and fucking.”

  “You could have told me sooner. I don’t care about any of that celebrity bullshit. You know that.”

  “Yes, what did you call me?” Cal asks pointedly. “The Cake Nazi?”

  “C’mon,” I say, more sheepish than offended. “I can’t be the first person who made that joke.”

  “No, you’re right. I’m practically a dictator.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “That’s beside the point. You could have told me, Cal. I would have understood.”

  “I know,” he says. Cal’s expression isn’t the look of a liar, not at all. He means what he says when he gently adds, “I know, and I’m sorry. It never seemed like the right time. You were always so angry. Sexy as hell, but damn. I could tell you didn’t trust me. What would have happened if you found out sooner?”

  I consider it. When I was fuming and hating his every move, hating the fact that I couldn’t resist him, would Cal telling me he knew all of my most intimate secrets made me feel better?

  Not a chance.

  Cal shrugs. “Maybe I was a coward. Do you forgive me, Juliette?”

  “Jules, damn it, Cal,” I say, with a soft, sniffled laugh. He laughs, too.

  “But I like Juliette better.”

  The truth is? I do, too. I could listen to that tongue wrapping itself around the syllables of my name all damned day long. So I rise from the wrought iron chair and walk over to him. Cal stands, too. And as he does, he sweeps me into his arms again. This time, I don’t resist, or pull away. Instead, I let myself melt into him. He kisses me with those beautiful, hungry lips, and I kiss him back.

  Soon, he presses my back into the cushions, still kissing my throat and my collarbone. I put my legs up around his waist. All this time, I’ve been fantasizing about cupcakecasanova being Cal, and it turns out to be true. I’m electric at the realization. So this is what it feels like to kiss my fantasy in the flesh. I think of everything that we’ve done together. Sure, it was only words on a screen. But it was so much more than that. He reaches his hand down and fondles my breasts through the soft cotton of my T-shirt. I moan. My nipples are hard. He squeezes them through the lace of my bra.

  “You have to admit,” he says, breath heavy against my neck. “There are some advantages about the way we met. I knew what you liked before we ever even kissed.”

  “Oh?” I ask, my question eliding into a long, low moan. He rumbles out a laugh.

  Then he whispers one word into my ear.

  “Buttercream.”

  I close my eyes, warm with pleasure at the memory. He rocks against me, pressing his hips into me and I go with the movement. My body is open to him, and at last, my mind is too. I’m ready to fall in love with Cal McKenzie, ready to fuck him, to hold him, to hear about his fears and joys.

  He leans into me, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Then speaks to me in a soft, sexy growl, his Scottish accent making his words even hotter.

  “I don’t want to do it like this,” he says. I lace my fingers around his neck, letting my nails scrape the surface of his skin.

  “I do,” I say. Cal laughs. “This is the rain check. I’m calling it in.”

  “I could fuck you so hard . . .” he begins, but then he gives his head a firm shake, like he’s trying to rattle that thought away. “But I want to take you on a proper date first.”

  “Mmmm,” I say, biting down on my lip. I don’t want to stop. I definitely don’t want to wait. But Cal seems determined. He lets out one last, muffled moan, and pulls away from me. My body feels surprisingly cool where he just was, but that’s probably because I’m wetter than any hurricane right now. He offers me his hand. I take it and pull myself to my feet. But I don’t miss an opportunity to reach down, and give his long, hard cock a squeeze through his jeans. Now it’s his turn to bite his lip. When I let go, he leans down to kiss me one last time.

  “Tonight. Eight o’clock. I’ll email you with the address,” he says.

  “Cupcakecasanova?” I ask. He tucks a strand of hair over my ear, smiling tenderly.

  “This one will come from my personal email,” he promises.

  #

  An hour later, I’m standing in front of my closet. It looks like a storm just blew through there. There are dresses and shimmering tops everywhere, shapeware tried on and discarded, shoe boxes lining the bed. I’m pretty nervous about tonight. And why shouldn’t I be? I’ve just learned that my dream guy, my cupcake honey, is actually an extremely real, extremely hot, and extremely famous celebrity chef. The stakes are higher than they’ve ever been.

  I finally find what I was looking for at the back of my closet. It’s a bright red satin dress that’s all loose and shimmery in front. The slit goes way, way high. I grin at the sight of it. It’s what my friend Evie calls “your fuckable dress.” As in, wear that, and you’re guaranteed to get laid. That’s why it’s been five years since I put it on.

  I’m not sure it’ll fit, but I pull it over my head anyway. It hugs my curves in all the right places, leading the eye from my tits to my belly to my hips, and lower. I feel a little naked in it, but maybe that’s okay.

  Because in a way, Cal and I have been seeing each other naked for months. As cupcakecasanova, he knew me better than anyone. That hasn’t changed, not just because his emails now come from callum.mckenzie@callum-mckenzie.com. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I throw a black shrug over my shoulders, step into my shoes, and glance at my phone.

  Quarter till eight. Just about time. I let out a nervous sigh and head for my car. It’s time to see if our emotional connection is as deep as I think it is. Time to see if Cal is everything he’s promised—or more.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I draw my shrug closer around me as I walk through the docks at night. It’s a beautiful evening, quiet after the storm, and I watch the little boats all bob in the moonlight. I have no idea what Cal has in mind tonight. A picnic on the docks, maybe, or a meal at one of the little food carts. But they’re mostly closed at this hour of night, and on a Sunday, too. The sounds of the waves lapping up against the dock are easy and soothing, but I feel bright with excitement. This is the start of something big, something real. It’s been so long since a man made me feel this way, soft and gooey and melted in the middle. I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve worn my solitude like armor. I’m glad to finally shed it, to become myself again. I’m walking briskly now, my head held high.

  And then I see Cal, and I stop in my tracks.

  For once, he’s not wearing a white undershirt and
jeans. He is, in fact, wearing a suit—an expensive one from the looks of it. His black jacket has a satin sheen. It’s fitted closely to him, the color and weight of the fabric in stark contrast with the crisp white shirt beneath. His tie is black and skinny. His hair is just a little disheveled, though, for the first time, he’s freshly shaved. He looks polished, like the celebrity he is. I clutch my shrug a little tighter around me, suddenly self-conscious. I’m no starlet. My tits are real, my purse is fake, and my dress came from TJ Maxx.

  But Cal strides forward and sweeps me in his arms, crushing me in a kiss, his mouth open, his desire urgent. If there was any doubt before whether I was worthy of him, that kiss has swept it all away. He touches the back of his hand to my collarbone, and his touch raises goosebumps everywhere.

  “You look sexy as hell, Juliette,” he says, then he takes me by the arm to lead me along the dock. I feel breathless, and a little dizzy, too. I’m not used to this kind of treatment. Hell, usually I’d make fun of something like this. But a girl could get used to this.

  “Where are we headed?” I ask him at last, when the silence has stretched out too long between us. He doesn’t answer right away. “I’m not sleeping with the fishes tonight, am I?”

  “No,” he says. “Tonight you’re sleeping with me.”

  His boldness makes me blush, just a little. But more than that, I feel full and warm with desire. Before I can respond, Cal stops in his tracks. There, before us, is a massive yacht, gleaming white. The Casanova, it says along its side in curling script.

  “This is yours?” I ask in surprise. For some reason, I hadn’t imagined Cal to be the type of guy who owns a boat. A motorcycle, maybe, or a vintage car, but not a yacht. He just presses his hand to the small of my back, leading me forward.

  “It is. After I left Scotland, I got a job chopping vegetables on a cruise ship. I fell in love with the song of the ocean at night. The only better way to drift off is in a good woman’s arms.”

  He helps me to board, then we climb together up to the top deck. There in the moonlight are a table and chairs. There’s a white linen tablecloth and a single white rose in a vase in the center. The table service is simple, but elegant. Bone china. Gleaming silver lids over either plate. And two glasses of blood red wine. He pulls out a seat for me.

  “Hello, Cal,” the Captain calls from the pilot’s house. “Should be smooth sailing tonight!”

  “That’s great news, James,” Cal says. Then he waves the man forward. “Before we push off, come meet my date.”

  I sit, politely waiting, with my hands in my lap. When the captain—all decked out, in his button-up jacket and hat—comes out, I’m surprised by his familiar appearance. Dark skin, a warm smile. We went to high school together.

  “Jules!” he exclaims, leaning over to press a kiss to my cheek.

  “Hey, Jimmy,” I say, a little flustered. He was two grades above me. I always thought he was cute, but nothing ever came of it. He was a senior, and I was just a dorky sophomore.

  “You two know each other?” Cal asks. He arches an eyebrow.

  “Aye aye,” I joke. “But no worries, Cal. We were just friends.”

  Jimmy and I take a few minutes to catch up before he hustles back inside the boat and fires up the engine. The wind whistles through our hair. The night air is fragrant as the yacht glides out into the water. Cal’s watching me carefully.

  “Does this kind of thing happen often to you?”

  I shrug my shoulders lightly. “Often enough. I grew up here. You get used to it.”

  “I never get used to being recognized,” Cal says grimly. “That’s one of the reasons I like to travel so much. New faces, new crowd, new hope that the next waitress or flight attendant doesn’t watch television.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” I insist. The corner of Cal’s mouth twitches.

  “I’m lucky,” he agrees. “I know I am. But sometimes I wish I’d never agreed to do the TV show. It was all to drum up business. But how would you like to be known as—”

  “The Cake Nazi,” I finish for him. I reach out, setting my hands on his. “I’m sorry about that. I thought I was being funny.”

  “You were. I just get so wrapped up in myself, and my work. I take myself too seriously sometimes.”

  “It’s not always a bad thing,” I say, “to be serious.”

  Cal watches me for a long moment. Then, he leans across the table and presses his lips against mine. It’s a sweet, sensuous kiss, and he lingers for a long time on my lips. Then, drawing away, he lifts his glass. I pick mine up by the stem, too.

  “To the start of something serious,” Cal says.

  “Cheers.”

  #

  Dinner is orange roughy, delicate and sweet, gourmet roast vegetables, and garlicky mashed potatoes, too. It’s delicious and rich, and even though I only have a few sips of wine here and there, there’s something intoxicating about the night. Cal hardly drinks, either, and I don’t entirely blame him after he tells me the story of his father, buried in a bottle for most of Cal’s life. I admire him for how he’s pulled himself together and excelled, despite those early difficulties. It would be so easy to fall into a glass, too. Instead, he’s dusted himself off and built something with his life.

  “You’ve created an entire empire,” I tell him as the ocean swirls around us.

  “I care about my business. I have a calling. I can bring joy with food. Why not bring it well?” He catches my expression, and adds, “I know to some it’s just cupcakes.”

  “It’s not just cupcakes,” I reassure him. “It matters. What people eat, how people feel. Cal, your recipes are incredible.”

  “Yours aren’t so bad yourself.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t seem all that impressed the day I gave you a freebie.”

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You were the competition. I didn’t want to let you know I was scared.” Under the table, I feel his fingers brush against my thigh. Warmth spreads from the contact and I lean into his touch. “That cupcake was delicious,” he says, his voice low. “I had to reverse engineer one for myself. What do you call them? Pink ladies?

  “Pink Surprise,” I say, twisting my mouth wryly. As flattered as I am, that move of his wasn’t so funny a few days ago. “So you admit: you did steal it?”

  Cal gives me a grin. “All’s fair in love and war.”

  I resist the urge to kick him under the table.

  “Just you wait, McKenzie,” I tell him. “I’ll get my revenge yet.”

  “Will you?” he asks, smirking. “We’ll see.”

  Then Cal motions off the side of the deck. I see land approaching on the horizon. It’s just a tiny cluster of trees and rocks with a small cabin in the middle.

  “Cal, what’s this?”

  “Dessert,” he says.

  #

  Apparently, Cal has more in mind for after-dinner treats than crème brûlée. He’s rented out the entire island so we can go night fishing. My dad would be so jealous, landlocked in Arizona while his daughter gets to partake in his favorite hobby in the middle of the night. Of course, I never could stand fishing with my dad. It was so boring. But fishing with Cal is another matter entirely. Still in our formal wear, we disembark near a rocky outcropping. I leave my pumps on the ship and go barefoot over the rocks. But the stones are slippery, and I nearly take a dip. But Cal catches me at the last moment.

  “Easy, lass,” he says. I could stand again, but I honestly don’t want to. I love the feeling of Cal’s strong arms bolstering me. I throw an arm over his shoulder and press my face to his lapel, breathing in the scent of him, all mixed up with the fresh seawater. I let him carry me to the door of the cabin where he disappears inside to find two fishing poles.

  Funny thing. Cal’s no fisherman, either. Our lines get all tangled as soon as we try to cast them. We untangle them, and he casts again, making wild whooping sounds that are bound to scare away the fish. I’m not helping any. I’m
dying with laughter. There’s something about this night, and the stars sparkling overhead, that makes me feel giddy, reckless.

  “We’ll never catch anything if you keep making those noises,” I finally manage. I inch toward him. He steps closer, too, until we’re nearly touching.

  “Honestly?” he says. “I don’t want to catch a fish. I can’t stand the thought of killing anything. That’s why I deal in pastries, not seafood.”

  “The Cake Master is a sensitive soul,” I tease. “I’m going to call up Perez, spread it all around the internet!”

  “Please don’t. I have a reputation to maintain,” he returns. He’s so close, I could kiss him in a second.

  “Hot and mean and hard as a diamond.”

  “You’re right about one of those,” he says. In one easy movement, he puts his hand on my back and draws me close. The satin of my dress is so thin, it’s almost nonexistent. I can feel the heat of his hands, his body.

  He leans back into the sand, pulling me against him. On my knees, I straddle his waist, dipping low to kiss him along his strong jaw. He teases at the hem of my dress, his fingers scorching against my skin. “Fuck, Juliette,” he breathes.

  I fumble with his fly. Desire as hot and desperate as hunger rages through me. I squeeze him through his pants and moan when he hardens against my hand. I’ve waited too long for this. I push my pussy against him, feeling lust pulse through me everywhere I’m touching him, and Cal grabs my ass with both hands, moving my body so all the important points intersect . . .

  That’s when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye: Jimmy, in the yacht, silhouetted against the moon. About to get a major eyeful. Breathing heavily, my hair all askew, my breasts heaving, I pull away.

  “Maybe we should go back to your place,” I suggest, angling my head toward The Casanova, “away from prying eyes.”