by Ivy Layne
But I did want Royal to kiss me.
I might as well see what it was like, I reasoned. Royal would lose interest and move on eventually, so I should kiss him while I had the chance.
At that moment—my heart beating a fast rhythm in my chest, his hands warm on my face, his mouth dropping to mine—kissing Royal made complete sense.
His lips brushed mine, soft and warm. Gentle but coaxing. He wasn’t all tongue and saliva like the last guy I’d kissed. He'd been enough to put me off kissing for—had it been a year? Maybe J.T. was right. It had been too long.
My thoughts faded as Royal tilted his head to the side and deepened his kiss, his lips nudging mine apart, his tongue dipping in to taste.
Chocolate. Royal Sawyer tasted like bittersweet chocolate. Like chocolate and heat and man.
I rose to my toes, winding my arms around his neck, and pressed my body to his. So much strength. And big, bigger than me. His arms closed around my back and my toes left the floor. Before I had a chance to panic, Royal turned and set me on the worktable, making space between my spread knees, his mouth still on mine, his kiss hungrier.
Demanding.
I did the only thing I could—I tilted my head back and gave him more. Who knew Royal Sawyer could kiss like this?
Royal’s mouth tore from mine, his breath coming in harsh pants. “Daisy,” he breathed, “I knew it would be this good.” His mouth skimmed along my jaw, settling beneath my ear with a light suck that sent another wave of heat shimmering through my body.
“You taste like dessert.” His lips were back on mine, his tongue stroking until my head spun so hard I thought it would roll right off my body.
I could have kissed Royal all day. Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought about dragging him up the stairs to my little apartment and stripping off his suit. I wanted my hands on all those hard muscles. I wanted to taste him all over. I wanted…
A thud against the swinging door to the shop broke through my haze of lust. Royal was already moving. By the time Grams walked into the kitchen, we were standing five feet apart, Royal unpacking the lunch he'd brought me.
Flustered, I tried to cover like I hadn’t just been about to strip him naked in the middle of the bakery kitchen.
Pretending I didn't see Grams, I said, “You didn't bring anything for yourself. Are you going to keep me company while I have lunch? Do you want a drink?”
Grams set down a stack of empty trays on the worktable, her eyes popping between the two of us, bright with curiosity.
“Royal Sawyer. Those are some nice flowers you sent my granddaughter. And now you're bringing her lunch?”
“How are you, Ms. Hutchins?” he asked with a deferential dip of his head. Grams shot me a look. I could practically hear her voice. The boy has pretty manners. He did.
“I'm good, Royal, I'm good. Even better now that Daisy's mama is home. All we need is her daddy and I'll have all my chicks in the nest, so, I'm pretty damn fine.” Grams pulled her long gray braid over her shoulder and crossed her arms over her tie-dyed Phish T-shirt. “You courting my girl, Royal?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am. Or I’m trying to. She says she’s not interested.”
“Oh, I’m sure my Daisy is smart enough to know a good thing when she sees it. She's a clever girl. She's taken over running the bakery, you know. And she has plans for expansion. Outdoor seating, sandwiches for lunch, and new ovens. She set the budgets, figured out how to put aside the money and everything. We’re almost ready to start, right, baby?”
My stomach clenched. We would have been almost ready to start. Except the money was gone.
Chapter Nine
Daisy
If I had the guts, I’d have told Grams right then. I even opened my mouth, drawing some strange sense of reassurance from Royal's presence at my side. Why that was, I didn't know.
I didn't want Royal to know how dumb I'd been, did I?
I didn't. I didn't want anyone to know I'd been stupid enough to give my father money, but somehow, I felt like Royal would understand.
I closed my mouth and said nothing, just listened to Grams describe how we were going to turn the scrubby patch of grass on the side of the building into a deck with pretty, black wrought-iron tables and chairs and umbrellas for shade in the summer. I already had in mind the exact planters I’d put out, the summer blooms to fill them. Bright and pretty, so they’d catch tourists’ eyes from the sidewalk.
My chest ached to know it wouldn't happen this year.
It's okay, I reminded myself. I’d made a mistake. Eventually, I'd get the courage to tell everyone, and I wouldn't make the same mistake again. Nothing else I could do but move on.
If only reminding myself of all that made me feel better. It did, a little. Mostly, I still felt like a gigantic dumbass.
“You've gone silent with hunger,” Grams said, giving me a funny look. “I'll leave you to your lunch. I'm just going to grab that chocolate cake from the cooler.”
“I'll get the toffee-chip cookies lined up on the tray for you,” I said, glad to have something to do other than talk about our plans for the bakery.
Grams swung open the door to the cooler and let out a gasp. “Daisy, these violets are a work of art. Royal, come look at this and see how talented my Daisy is. You'd never believe those flowers were made of sugar.”
Royal looked over her shoulder into the cooler and then back at me. “You made that? The flowers and the vines and stuff? Out of sugar?”
I concentrated on lining up toffee chip cookies on the tray, a little embarrassed at the way they were raving over the cake. I’d always loved decorating cakes, and I was pretty good at it.
“Some of the violets are actually real violets that I candied. The rest of the violets and the vines and leaves I made from sugar and a kind of gum paste and then painted with edible color. It's for the wedding over at The Inn tomorrow evening.”
“The garden wedding?”
“Do you have more than one weekday wedding?” I asked, curious. Most of our wedding cakes were for Saturdays, but the date was important to the bride and groom, and they didn't care if their wedding was on a Tuesday.
Royal laughed. “Not this week. Three over the weekend, though. The event planning staff is going a little crazy.”
I handed off the tray of cookies to Grams and watched her hustle through the kitchen door to the shop. “Is that what messed up your morning? The weddings?” I asked.
Royal looked away and let out a breath. “No, that was my aunt and my cousin. And my former sister-in-law. Long story. Family.” He shook his head.
“Family's always complicated,” I said, knowing better than anyone how family could turn a great day upside down.
Royal unpacked my lunch from the paper bag as Grams came back in holding two glass bottles of sweet tea. Royal took his with thanks and Grams left, saying over her shoulder, “Make sure she eats every bite, Royal. She’s been skipping too many meals.”
I tried not to fall on my lunch like a ravenous fiend, but I'm pretty sure I ended up with mustard on my apron and plenty smeared across my face. After I got the first few bites in my stomach, I remembered to use my napkin.
Royal was smiling at me again. I wiped my face one more time just in case I'd missed a glob of mustard.
“I like watching you eat,” he said.
My eyebrows knitted together as I thought about that. “That's interesting. Do you have some kind of food fetish?” I was mostly kidding.
Royal’s rich, full laugh filled the room again. I was starting to really like that sound. “No food fetish,” he said, still laughing. “I just like the way you eat. Full throttle. It's sexy.”
I smirked. Saying I was a full-throttle-eater wasn't the kind of flirting I was used to.
But it made me smile, so maybe it was the kind of flirting I needed. “I'm pretty
sure I still have mustard all over my face. Maybe you have a mustard fetish.”
“I think I have a Daisy fetish.”
At that, I shoved a chip in my mouth. I didn't trust my own response. Royal was just too easy to talk to. He made me forget to be careful.
“What kind of family situation do you have that’s complicated?” he asked. “It seems like you get along pretty well with your grandmother.”
I glanced at the swinging door between the kitchen and the shop. It was soundproof, but it did swing open without warning. “I do get along well with Grams. She raised me, for the most part. I love her to pieces.” Another glance at the door. “The rest of it is—better saved for another time, I think.”
“Fair enough,” Royal said. “I'll tell you about my morning instead.”
He launched into a story about his aunt and weasel of a cousin who were trying to milk The Inn for every penny they could charge to the room they weren’t paying for. Every family had one, I guess. At least Royal and Tenn were smart enough to cut theirs off before they handed them a chunk of cash like I had with my dad.
“And the ex-sister-in-law?” I asked. “What did she do to ruin your morning? Was she Tenn’s wife?”
Royal let out a bark of surprise before he grinned. “Oh, hell no. Vanessa was engaged to Griffen, then dumped him to marry Ford.”
“Oh, that sister-in-law.” I shook my head. “I don’t know her, but I heard the story. Why is she bothering you? I thought your brother divorced her years ago.”
“He did. She’s been living off our name and his alimony all this time. But their divorce decree said the alimony was based on Ford’s income.”
I didn’t need Royal to fill in the blanks. “And he’s not collecting a salary from jail, right?”
“Exactly.”
My eyebrows shot up. “And she expected you and Tenn to do what? Give her a job?”
Royal busted out with a belly laugh, his eyes so bright they made my chest hurt. He laughed until his eyes teared. Wiping them with the back of his hand, he said, “Damn, I needed that.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “No, Vanessa didn’t want a job. Vanessa doesn’t work, except at the gym. She wanted a big fat check.”
“Ugh. So, you spent the morning getting hit up for money? That doesn’t sound fun.” At least he had practice saying no. I needed to get some of that. If I’d been prepared, maybe I would have sent my dad packing like Royal had his own moochers.
“It wasn’t. Hopefully, there won’t be any surprises at Heartstone.”
“Why are you going over there? I thought you worked at The Inn?”
“I’ll tell you if you go to dinner with me.”
“I have a boyfriend,” I said.
No, you don't, a little voice whispered in my head.
I do, I reminded myself. J.T. Sweet, loyal J.T. Funny, cute J.T.
J.T., who I'd only kissed once a long, long time ago.
J.T., who’d told me to go after Royal.
See? He's not your boyfriend.
Yes, he is!
Fine, then he's a boy-friend. Royal is a man. You don't need a boy-friend, you need a man-friend.
“You're staring into space. I can’t tell if that's a yes or a no,” Royal said, the side of his mouth quirked up in a bemused grin.
I wanted to kiss him again.
No, I'm not dating Royal Sawyer.
I thought you just decided you needed a man-friend, mocked the little voice in my head. She could shove it. I opened my mouth to turn him down and nothing came out.
Royal took a step closer and raised his hand as if to touch my face. It hovered in the air in front of me for a moment, magnetic, drawing me closer.
I almost leaned in to close the distance myself. Royal’s hand dropped to his side.
“Daisy,” he said slowly, his voice low and private. “I'm in an odd position here. Every instinct I have is telling me to pursue you. To ignore you every time you tell me no. To chase you down until you're mine. But I don't want to scare you or make you feel cornered. If I'm making you uncomfortable and you want me to leave you alone, I need you to tell me. I’m persistent, but I'm not a stalker.”
“Are you always this persistent?” I had to ask. Some guys get off on the chase. Maybe Royal was one of them. Maybe if I went to dinner with him he'd lose interest.
“Not usually. In business, yes. Not with women.”
“Just with me?” I asked, my voice thin and high-pitched in my ears.
“So far, just with you.” When he lifted his hand and stroked his fingertips over one of my unruly curls it felt like he'd given in to a need he’d been denying. “Am I scaring you, Daisy?”
“No. I think I might be scaring myself. And I need to think about dinner.”
Royal studied me for a long moment before he nodded. “Understood. I'll just take this and go.” He dipped his head and ran his lips across mine, the brief taste drawing me closer. So sweet. I could've reached up and—before I finished the thought he was gone, stepping back and turning for the door.
I stared after him, my lips cold, missing him already. I looked down and spotted the pack of cookies I’d put aside for Hope when I made up the tray. “Royal! Wait a sec.”
“Change your mind?”
“For Hope.”
I shoved the cookies into his hand and leaned up to press a quick kiss to the hard line of his jaw. “I'll see you later,” I said before practically pushing him out the door and closing it behind him.
Chapter Ten
royal
Griffen and Hope were waiting for me in Griffen's office, a lunch tray taking up half of the desk. It was hard for me to think of it as Griffen's office. For most of my life, this had been my father's place, the massive leather chair a throne from which he lorded his power over the rest of us.
I hated this room. I hated the trophies hanging on the walls, animals he'd hunted himself—though I had my doubts about the bear. Prentice wasn’t above a little cheating when it suited him, along with taking credit for somebody else's achievements. I'd always had a feeling the hunting guide had taken down the bear.
The look on the majestic bear’s face had always struck me as sad. Trapped. Forced to spend eternity nailed to a wall when he should have been free to roam the mountains. Prentice's children hadn't been much different from those animals. We were trophies to him. Evidence that unlike our Sawyer ancestors, Prentice was capable of producing more than a paltry few offspring.
Prentice had packed the family tree, though he’d gone through three wives and a mistress to do it. By the time someone broke into the Manor and shot him dead, most of us had moved out to get away from him.
These days, I was coming to regret our hasty departure. Our father had been largely alone in Heartstone Manor over the last few years, and everything had gone to hell. He'd been so proud of the house, one of the finest examples of Jacobean architecture in the United States and one of the very few Gilded Age mansions still used as a private home.
Once, Heartstone Manor had been a showpiece. It would be again when Griffen finished with it. I’d never been able to uncover the truth of what had gone wrong. I only knew that one day Prentice had been hinting that a new Mrs. Sawyer would be moving in, had completely renovated the master suite of the house for her, and then… nothing.
The new Mrs. Sawyer had never arrived, and Prentice had changed. If possible, he'd grown even more cruel and demanding. Even Ford had moved out of the house by then, saying he could put up with Prentice for the sake of the company, but even he needed a break by the end of the day. Miss Martha, the housekeeper who’d practically raised us, had quit and refused to return.
And Prentice, who had taken such pride in Heartstone Manor, let the house fall into a state that could best be described as benign neglect. The gardens were choked with weeds. Most of the rooms in the hou
se were still coated with dust, furniture and art missing, the house barely habitable.
Griffen was determined to change that. He and Hope had hired Savannah Miles, Miss Martha’s daughter, as housekeeper. Like her mother, Savannah was efficient, hard-working, and she didn't take crap off anyone, all skills necessary for managing both Heartstone Manor and the Sawyer family.
In the office, the savory scent of soup filled the room. A tray held three steaming bowls sitting beside two plates with thick roast beef sandwiches and one with a neat stack of saltines.
Hope was newly pregnant and morning sickness was kicking her ass. Seeing me in the doorway, she looked up with a smile. “Royal, you're here. The front gate called when you came through and Savannah brought in lunch. Beef and barley soup, sandwiches for you two and saltines for me.”
I took a seat in front of the desk. “Stomach still bothering you?”
Hope shook her head ruefully. “Sometimes I can barely choke down water and sometimes I think I could eat a horse. Today is one of those days I don't want food.”
I slid the packet of toffee-chip cookies across the desk. “Daisy sent you these. For when you think you can eat something.”
Hope's eyes widened as she reached out and snatched up the cookies. I'd already known they were her favorite, and apparently, so did Daisy. That's what best friends were for. “Royal, you brought me Daisy's cookies? Today, you're my favorite brother-in-law.”
“Just today? Why not every day?”
“Well, Finn made me that carrot and ginger soup the other day when I couldn't keep anything else down. That day he was my favorite.”
That soup had been amazing, especially considering I'd thought it would be disgusting. I'm not a fan of carrots. “Fair enough. What about the soup today? Did Finn make that too?”
Griffen and Hope shared a look. Sometimes I thought they had whole conversations with a single glance. Hope shook her head. “The new cook, Ms. Haverty, complained to Savannah about Finn, and Savannah banned him from the kitchens unless it's Ms. Haverty's day off.”