Muffin Top

by Tabatha Kiss

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Muffin Top

  Chapter 1: Evey

  Chapter 2: Vincent

  Chapter 3: Evey

  Chapter 4: Vincent

  Chapter 5: Evey

  Chapter 6: Vincent

  Chapter 7: Evey

  Chapter 8: Evey

  Chapter 9: Vincent

  Chapter 10: Evey

  Chapter 11: Vincent

  Chapter 12: Evey

  Chapter 13: Vincent

  Chapter 14: Evey

  Chapter 15: Vincent

  Chapter 16: Vincent

  Chapter 17: Evey

  Epilogue: Evey

  Epilogue: Vincent

  Also by Tabatha Kiss

  About the Author

  Bonus Book: Bodyguard

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Bodyguard: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance

  Chapter 1: Fox

  Chapter 2: Dani

  Chapter 3: Fox

  Chapter 4: Dani

  Chapter 5: Fox

  Chapter 6: Dani

  Chapter 7: Fox

  Chapter 8: Dani

  Chapter 9: Fox

  Chapter 10: Dani

  Chapter 11: Fox

  Chapter 12: Dani

  Chapter 13: Fox

  Chapter 14: Dani

  Chapter 15: Fox

  Chapter 16: Dani

  Chapter 17: Fox

  Chapter 18: Dani

  Chapter 19: Fox

  Chapter 20: Dani

  Chapter 21: Fox

  Chapter 22: Dani

  Chapter 23: Fox

  Snake Eyes Reading Order

  Also by Tabatha Kiss

  About the Author

  MUFFIN TOP

  TABATHA KISS

  Copyright © 2016 by Tabatha Kiss

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

  without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All characters detailed within are eighteen years of age or older.

  No characters engaging in sexual acts are blood-related.

  WARNING: This novel contains explicit descriptions of

  erotic and sexual acts that some may find offensive,

  including perverse adult language.

  Reader discretion advised.

  tabathakiss.com

  To sign up for exclusive updates on

  upcoming novels, giveaways, and more (plus a FREE book!),

  please click here: hyperurl.co/tabathakiss

  For a super limited time, your Kindle edition of Muffin Top

  includes another steamy and action-packed bonus read:

  Bodyguard

  The first book in my popular Snake Eyes series!

  Muffin Top ends at 48%

  Thanks for reading!

  xoxo

  TK

  For DD

  You know who you are

  and what you did.

  MUFFIN TOP

  BY TABATHA KISS

  She walked into my bakery

  and my dough wasn't the only thing rising...

  Long legs, a big chest, and perfect, round buns.

  I'd give anything to roll with her and that adorable muffin top she's packing.

  There's just one problem...

  and that's the Irish mob jerk who thinks he owns her.

  To hell with that.

  If she's gonna have a bun in her oven...

  it's gonna be mine.

  Chapter 1

  Evey

  “Shit.”

  I’m late for work again.

  I roll off my mattress, instantly feeling that whoosh of dizziness to my brain. I rest my hand on my dresser to keep myself propped up and the feeling seeps downward, crawling like spiders inside until it settles in my gut.

  Yep. I’m gonna hurl.

  I take a deep breath, fighting the urge down while I lament the decision to drink just one more shot of whiskey before bed last night.

  The feeling passes and I stumble over dirty laundry as I make my way across my apartment towards the kitchen for a giant glass of water.

  I grab my phone off the counter to check my messages, tapping the home button three times before I realize it’s dead. There’s surely a message from Tommy on here asking where I am. I should probably call him and let him know I overslept, but he’s heard that excuse plenty.

  Coffee. I need coffee.

  I rush to get ready and snatch my best skirt out of the closet. I call it my bad morning skirt because no matter how shitty I wake up, this skirt always makes me feel better about myself. My hips are a little wide and a bit too round and this is the only garment I own that makes that seem like a good thing.

  I fix my wavy, blonde hair into a loose bun, swish with a bit of mouthwash, toss on some eye shadow, and I head out the door in five minutes flat. Not exactly my record, but that whiskey from last night ain’t doing me any favors today.

  The mid-day lunch traffic of Boston slows me down. I whisper words of impatience to myself, counting the minutes until I finally get a little bit of that sweet, caffeine salvation in my system.

  “Come on!” I honk my horn at a pick-up truck for lingering too long at a green light.

  Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.

  Ryan’s House finally comes into view and I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull behind the building into the empty parking lot next to Tommy’s beat-up, old Chevy. I get out, walk around to the front entrance, and stroll right past it into the Muffin Top bakery next door.

  I fill my lungs with the smell of the place and I feel better already. That sweet scent of warm sugar. That pleasant aroma of baked cookies and cupcakes. But mostly… that perfect euphoria of freshly-brewed coffee.

  I lick my lips and squeeze around the occupied tables towards the front counter. There’s only about five of them total but this place isn’t designed to hold a lot of people, unlike my bar. It’s small but I like it that way. My own little hole-in-the-wall secret.

  The owner nods at me and reaches behind him for the largest to-go cup he has. He knows me well enough by now. We don’t even need to say a word to each other. A large coffee with three sugars and a blueberry muffin. I’ve order the same thing every day since he opened the place a little over a year ago.

  I watch him with anticipation, salivating over a little more than his tasty muffins, that’s for sure. He’s a tall guy, towering above me by nearly a foot. Mid-twenties, like me. His arms are thick and strong. He obviously spends his days off at the gym training those abs, unlike me. Sometimes, he’ll have his sleeves rolled up and I’ll catch bits of tattooed ink on his right bicep. I have no idea what compelled a brown-haired, green-eyed hunk like him to open a bakery in Boston right next to my family’s bar but I sure as hell ain’t complaining about it either.

  Vincent. I think his name is Vincent.

  He reaches into the glass case on the counter and grabs the last blueberry muffin from the tray. It’s always sitting there, waiting for me each day in the exact same spot. More often than not, it’s the last one and I just happened to be here in time to claim it. I always wonder if today is going to be the day when I’ll have to change my order but it hasn’t happened yet.

  I drop money on the counter as Vincent lays my coffee and muffin down in front of me. He gives me another nod and I smile a thank you. I don’t wait for change. It’s only a few cents anyway so I let him keep it.

  I take a bite of the muffin on my way outside. My teeth sink into it, still fresh and warm. I crush a piec
e of blueberry in my cheek and that flavor explodes, crossing my tongue with sweet, sugary mayhem. I chase it down with a gulp of hot coffee — the best damn coffee in Boston, if you’re asking my opinion.

  If I were on death row and the warden asked for my last meal, you can bet your ass it would be a large coffee and a blueberry muffin from Muffin Top in Boston.

  I walk around to the alleyway, inching closer to the bar’s back exit, enjoying the last few seconds of caffeinated bliss, until…

  “You’re late, Evey! Again.”

  I wince and let the door slam shut behind me. “Sorry!” I shout, my mouth full of muffin.

  I stroll through the storeroom towards the front, dropping my purse on the table before walking behind the bar.

  Tommy glares up at me from the corner stool, elbow deep in paperwork. He rolls his eyes and sits back, running a hand through his shaggy, blond hair. “You know, if you weren’t my little sister, I’d have ditched you ages ago.”

  “Bitch, if you weren’t my big brother, I’d have bailed on this place long before then,” I snap back.

  He laughs it off and looks down at his ledger. Bantering with my brother is a sacred part of my daily ritual, almost as sacred as this coffee. There’s never a clear winner; we’re too much alike to one-up each other on any significant level. We’re often mistaken for twins, which would be true if it weren’t for that three-year age gap.

  I take another big sip of coffee. “Shipment come in yet?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “Johnson is late, too.”

  “Well, I hope you’re planning on chewing him out for tardiness.”

  “I am.”

  “Good.”

  I set the coffee down and wander to the main floor. Chairs sit atop the tables upside down, right where I left them after last night’s shift. I do a quick scan of the floor as I pull the chairs down, catching a few spots I missed when I swept up at closing. Oh, well. I’ll get them tonight.

  The back exit opens and closes in the storeroom.

  “That’d be Johnson…” Tommy mutters.

  “I got it,” I say, swinging around the bar towards the back. I throw on an authoritative stride and deepen my voice to do my best Tommy impersonation. “Hey, Johnson, you’re late—”

  I freeze and take several steps back as they come into view. A man stands in the center, not nearly as tall or muscled as the two brutes standing on either side of him but that doesn’t make him any less menacing. He wears a tailored, navy blue suit. Black hair with a slight curl hangs down above his ice-colored eyes.

  Nope. Not Johnson the delivery guy.

  It’s Aiden Shank.

  “Hello, Evey Ryan.”

  His voice is full of that slow, Boston-Irish hybrid drawl you hear from tough guys on the street but you know they’re just faking it. Not Aiden Shank, though. His accent is very real; born and raised by the shadowed alleyways of Boston, Massachusetts.

  He cases the storeroom once before looking down my body towards my toes and I twitch as a shiver rolls down my spine.

  “Tommy…”

  “What?” he shouts from the bar.

  “Come here, please.” I keep my eyes on Aiden and his men, watching as his smirk digs a little deeper into his face. It almost lines up with that jagged scar along his cleft chin.

  Tommy lets out a huff before sliding off his stool. “Sure, no problem. I’ll be the bad guy and tell him he’s late again—” He grinds to a halt beside me in the doorway. His posture instantly stiffens and he throws on a light smile. “Aiden, hey…”

  “I think you’re the last guy that needs to be barking at folks for being late, Tommy,” Aiden says. “Where’s my money?”

  I fire a hard look at my brother but he avoids my eyes.

  “Look, Aiden…” Tommy shrugs. “It’s only the second of the month. Can’t I… Can’t we get a grace period or an extension or something…?”

  Aiden takes a step forward, nearly closing the ample gap between us with a single, wide stride. “The first time? Sure,” he says. “The second time? Maybe. But the third time?” He shakes his head. “No, Tommy. I need my money now.”

  I stare at the other two lingering by the door and I twitch as the taller of them pops his thick knuckles to intimidate me. Bulging neck, bald head. I recognize him instantly. Wherever Aiden goes, he goes, too.

  He flashes me a wink and I look at the floor.

  “I ain’t got it,” Tommy says, his voice shaking. “It’s the summer, man. The slow season. The college kids are gone. Parents got little ones at home from school. No one comes out to drink, ya know? I just need another week to catch up—”

  “No one else has any trouble paying their debts. No one else tosses blame on the college kids. Everyone else takes responsibility for their mistakes. You should, too, Tommy.”

  “Oh, I agree. Absolutely,” Tommy says, nodding repeatedly. “But… I don’t have your money right now, Aiden. I can get it, but… please, just a little more time. What can I do to get an extension — just this once?”

  Aiden pauses, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he looks at me. “I think you’ve done enough, Tommy,” he growls. “I think… that maybe… it’s time for your little sister to do her part in paying off her daddy’s debts.”

  I take a step back. “Excuse me?”

  “Whoa, hey—” Tommy says. “Come on. Leave her alone. She hasn’t done anything.”

  “Exactly.” Aiden drifts closer to me and raises a thick brow at his men.

  Baldy takes a step forward and Tommy backs off.

  Aiden’s lips curl at me. “I’ll make a nice deal with you, sweetheart. How about… for every night you spend with me, I knock twenty off that grand total. That sound reasonable?”

  I scoff. I’m not sure what’s more insulting: the offer itself or that I’m only worth a damn Jackson. “Hell no.”

  Aiden drops his brow but the smirk remains. “You should be more grateful, Evey,” he slurs. “Most men don’t like a girl with as much cushion as you have… but I do.”

  I cringe away from his stench. “No, thank you.”

  “This ain’t a request,” he says. “Either you pay up or he does.”

  He raises his hand and his dogs move fast towards my brother.

  “No—” I jut forward but Aiden grips my shoulders and pushes me back against the wall. He shakes his head silently and I look around him just in time to see Baldy deliver a hard punch straight into Tommy’s solar plexus. I gasp as he topples to the floor, held back by fear as they both kick him three times in the ribs.

  “Stop it!” I shout, barely able to move.

  Aiden wraps his fingers around my throat but he doesn’t squeeze. He presses into my skin — just hard enough to make me feel it. I flinch as he comes in closer, so close his lips graze my ear. “I’ll give you a day or two to think it over,” he whispers, his hot breath spreading across my cheek. “But don’t take too long. I’m not exactly known for my patience.”

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay…”

  Aiden signals for his men to back off. He releases his hold on me and turns towards the door, spitting once at Tommy as he passes by. The brutes step outside first but Aiden fires a cold wink at me before he joins them.

  I stay in place until the door slams shut behind him.

  “Tommy!” I fall to the floor to help him up. “Are you okay?”

  He groans as he sits up, wincing in pain the entire way. “Well, that sucked,” he mutters.

  I frown. “What was he talking about? I thought you said we were square with the Shank family through October.”

  He clears his throat. “I might have… exaggerated that a bit.”

  I slap his shoulder. “Fucking hell, Tommy.”

  “Hey — I’ve already taken a beating today, all right,” he spits. “I don’t need another one.”

  I stand up and extend my hand to him. “Come on…”

  The Shanks. The most notorious Irish mob family in Boston. Yo
u can probably guess where they got their name but no one quite knows which came first: the surname or the notorious bloodshed attached to it.

  Tommy settles back onto the corner stool while I pour him a shot of vodka.

  “What do we do?” I ask.

  He throws the drink back with a single gulp, casting a quick side-eye at me. “I haven’t the slightest idea…” he hints.

  “No.”

  “You got a better idea for getting him off our backs?”

  “Yeah, anything that doesn’t involve me having to be on mine.”

  He nods and I refill his glass. “I’ll go to the bank… see if I can get a loan.”

  “They’ve rejected us twice so far this year, Tommy,” I say. “I highly doubt third times the charm at America Bank.”

  “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears, Evey…”

  I close my mouth and grab a shot glass for myself.

  Tommy and I didn’t even know our family was indebted to the Shanks. Our father did a decent job at keeping that hidden until six months ago when he dropped dead of a heart attack. Since then, Aiden has been banging on our door for the money we never knew we owed… and for me, but I’ve been successful in avoiding that until now.

  “I miss Dad,” I say, holding up my glass.

  Tommy clinks his glass against mine and we pour the burning liquid down our throats.

  Chapter 2

  Vincent

  I wake up at 3AM every single morning.

  The streets of Boston are just settling down for the night as I roll onto the floor to do push-ups, firing blood and warmth through my veins.

  After that, I go downstairs to the bakery and preheat the ovens by 3:10.

  I head back upstairs for a quick rinse in the shower, dry off, throw on some clothes, and by 3:30, I’m baking.

  There’s little in this world I like better than a strict, daily routine. When you eliminate wiggle room, you negate possibilities for mistakes. Patterns, structure, rules; the world runs on a time schedule. The average work day starts at nine and ends at five. School starts at eight. The evening news starts at six. If we didn’t have schedules, the world would devolve into absolute chaos.