Bliss

by Hilary Fields

  “I’ve no doubt they will turn out brilliantly, given who’s making them,” Asher opined, edging the rest of his easy-on-the-eye frame into the shop.

  Sera shrugged off the gallantry, uncomfortable with such ready praise. Blake would’ve been on my back, breathing down my neck about how those little suckers better pop out perfect or my ass could find another line of work, she couldn’t help thinking. But Asher wasn’t Blake. Oh, boy, was he ever not Blake.

  “Come in, come in,” she said, wiping her hands nervously on her jeans and turning for the back. “I was just closing up. Let me double-check that everything’s off in the kitchen.” She disappeared behind the glass wall, feeling the need to avoid Asher’s gaze. How’m I supposed to feel; a guy like that walks in all windswept and sexy? After three weeks with not a word?! She wanted to lob day-old bagels at his head. But not nearly as much as she wanted to tackle him to the floor, slather him in homemade buttercream, and lick it off inch by inch with her tongue.

  Down girl. She retreated to her happy place—the store’s commodious kitchen.

  “Bliss,” said Asher.

  When she turned around, he was much nearer than she’d expected—had followed her into the kitchen and was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off him despite the Navy peacoat and olive wool scarf he’d worn against the late November chill.

  “Bliss,” he said again. Deeper.

  “Hm?” Her voice was a scant breath, her whole being mesmerized by the intensity of his scrutiny.

  He gathered her, quite suddenly and quite thoroughly, into his arms. She squeaked, but had time for nothing more before his lips claimed hers.

  It was—or at least felt—about ten minutes later when he let her go. Stroking Sera’s hair back from her flushed cheek, forehead pressed against hers, he was murmuring something over and over. It took Sera’s scrambled brain a while to parse it out.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” she asked. Giving me hope? Or giving me a case of the screaming “I-gotta-have-ya’s”? Sera pulled back to study his face. Green eyes shot through with golden spikes, brows that knit appealingly, lips that were slightly swollen from their kisses and so, so enticing…

  “For taking so unforgivably long to return to the best thing that’s come into my life in many years.”

  “Oh, that.” Sera crossed her arms under her breasts, reminding herself not to succumb to his apology without at least token resistance. But token resistance was pretty much all the resistance she could muster. “Yeah, Asher, what was all that about? I thought you said a week, maybe two. It’s been three. And the last words you left me with weren’t exactly reassuring.”

  His features creased with confusion. “What, that I wanted to take you out?”

  Scratch that. Now Sera really was ready to nurse a grudge. “Um, no, Asher. I believe you muttered something about having a little chat with your wife before you disappeared for nearly a month.”

  Asher’s hand scrubbed at the stubble that scruffed up his perfect jawline. “Oh, chara,” he swore in Hebrew. He had the same look he’d worn the day she’d dinged him with the dildo—the day he’d been worried about taking advantage of her.

  Hangdog. Ashamed.

  Good.

  “Come here,” he entreated, holding out his hand.

  Sera debated, but she couldn’t resist. He enfolded her hand in both of his, drawing her close as he backed up until he hit a countertop. With a lithe movement that would have done a dancer proud, he grasped her by the waist and twisted to deposit her, light as a feather, to sit atop the stainless steel counter. Sera could feel the coolness through her jeans, and then Asher’s heat as he crowded up close to her. Somehow, her legs were spread wide, and he had wedged himself between them. His fingers speared into her hair, cupping her face and turning it up to his. Even atop her perch, he towered over her. “Bliss. My wife has been dead for four years. I went to make my farewells, make peace with my memories of her. I did this because, after you came into my life, it became clear that I had met a woman with whom I could perhaps make a future. Before I could pursue this—pursue you—in good conscience, I had to say good-bye to my past, and so I went to visit her grave.”

  Tears stung Sera’s eyes, threatening to spill over. Her own hands rose to cup his cheeks in return, and she leaned forward to bring her lips to his, telling him wordlessly that she witnessed his pain; honored it.

  “I’m a dumbass.”

  That startled a laugh out of him. “Your ass,” he said with a twinkle, “is smart enough to fascinate me on quite a regular basis.” He demonstrated by sliding his hot hand up her leg until he reached the portion of her anatomy in question, wedging his hand between it and the counter to give it a squeeze.

  “It’s I who have been the ‘dumbass,’ Bliss,” he continued more somberly. “And I’m sorry for it. I had no business being so cryptic, and then not calling… It was wrong of me.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d be gone just a few days, that I’d have plenty of time to take care of my business and get back to you to explain more fully why I’d gone. However, when I returned to Tel Aviv, I found my family in a bit of disarray.” He stroked Sera’s leg absently as he spoke, perhaps taking as much comfort as he was giving.

  “My father is getting on in years, and his health has been declining for some time. Whenever I would call, my mother and sister always assured me it wasn’t serious, that they were looking after him and there was nothing to worry about. Yet less than a week after I returned home, he had a stroke.” At Sera’s stricken look, he hastened to reassure her. “It turned out to be very minor—some kind of infarction, I believe they called it—but he was in the hospital for several days and I needed to be there. And after that I stayed to help my mother and sister settle him back at home, to be sure they had all of the support they needed.”

  “Of course,” Sera said, feeling daring enough to run two fingers down the side of his face in a gentle caress. “I’m so glad you were able to be with your parents at a time like that.” Her own parents were long gone, but Sera remembered how devastated she had been at even the hint that her aunt might be sick, when Pauline had told her and the BRBs about the lump in her breast.

  Asher caught her fingers and kissed each one. “I think my family has been shielding me too much. Since my wife’s death, they’ve tried to keep things light and respect my need to process my grief in my own way—even to moving halfway across the world. Perhaps they thought I couldn’t handle another illness, and so they played down my father’s condition. When I saw the reality… well, I’m afraid I became a bit caught up in family concerns. Still, Bliss, I should have called. But somehow… I just wanted to wait until I could see your face again… touch you…” Asher suited actions to words as he stroked one callused hand down her arm. “…gaze into those pretty gray eyes. And tell you… how much I’ve longed to be with you.”

  “Asher, you really need to stop talking now.”

  Sera very much enjoyed the look that crossed her handsome suitor’s face.

  “I’m sorry?” He took a step back, leaving her bereft of his warmth.

  Sera grabbed his hand, reeled him back in. “You should be. I went to a lot of trouble to put on this mascara”—she pointed to her lashes—“and I don’t think you’d enjoy seeing it decorating my cheeks like a bad batch of icing. So please, spare us both and come here and kiss me, before I start to blubber.”

  Asher was nothing if not obedient.

  From there, things took a rather delicious turn. Sera couldn’t keep her hands off her lovely landlord, and he seemed to feel the same. Between lush kisses and caresses that sent her pulse soaring higher than the Santa Fe ski basin, he murmured words that were music to her ears. “I thought of you all the time I was away. I wondered how you were faring; whether the store had opened yet, and how you were getting along with Malcolm and Pauline. I pictured how delicious you looked the last time we were together, flushed and wanting atop that countert
op in your aunt’s kitchen—much as you are now. Hell, much as I am right now.” He grinned, framing her face in both hands so she couldn’t look away despite the fresh blush that bloomed across her cheeks. “I couldn’t wait to get back to you, Bliss. And I can’t wait to take you out—on a real, true date.”

  I can’t wait either, Sera thought. I don’t care how badly this ends. I want to follow this fantasy as far as it takes me—to smile with him, hold hands with him, and hell, yes, make love as best I can with him. So what if I’m destined for the worst case of female blue-ball syndrome in the history of the world? I’m not giving this up one minute before I have to.

  She kissed him for all she was worth.

  Asher kissed her back as if she were priceless.

  I’ve never been happier in my life than I am right at this moment, thought Sera.

  The universe thought that was very funny indeed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Well, well, well.”

  The words, uttered in tones of mockery so saturated as to drip disdain, came from the doorway that led to the front of the store.

  Sera knew that distinctive blend of derision. She’d endured it day and night for years; had lived and breathed it for the better part of her career. She gasped and pulled back from Asher.

  Yup. There he was. Blake Fucking Austin, haunter of nightmares, squasher of livelihoods, eviscerator of egos.

  Was it possible to go from passion to projectile puking in one point two seconds? Sera was afraid she was about to find out.

  I shouldn’t be so shocked, thought a tiny part of her brain that was in fact very, very shocked. He’s managed to ruin every other moment of happiness in my adult life. Why shouldn’t he pop up, like the rotten little troll he is, to destroy this one?

  “Serafina Wilde,” drawled her nemesis. “And right where I last left you. Spreading yourself like second-rate caviar on a cracker for the kitchen help.” That laugh. That bastard, horsey laugh that scraped her spine like harpy claws. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve quite the penchant for canoodling in kitchens.” He eyed Asher, who had swung around, every muscle tense, to size him up.

  Sera tried to see Blake as Ash might see him (rather than with the devil horns and cloven hooves her imagination always supplied). Powerfully built, but with the beginnings of a midlife paunch. Craggy features and thick, slightly oily black hair that waved back from a high forehead to brush his collar. Cashmere blend Burberry overcoat, white silk scarf tucked just so against the lapels. Loafers that were very likely Ferragamo. A smile that defined snide.

  “What are you doing here?” Sera gasped. The hand Asher laid on her shoulder steadied her, but did nothing to dispel the atavistic horror that erupted in her belly. “What the fuck, Austin, didn’t you get enough of making my life a living hell in New York? You had to follow me two thousand miles just to make sure I was still properly miserable?”

  God, when would the bullying stop? When she was reduced to flipping burgers in some truck stop in rural Iowa? Sera hopped off the counter, keeping Asher close by her side but needing her feet on the ground in this moment. Yet even with feet firmly planted, shoulders squared, she still felt about a foot shorter than her already meager stature; as if she’d withered from the sheer proximity of her ex. She was keenly aware of Asher observing this confrontation, of the questions that must be swirling in his mind. God, I hoped I’d never have to tell him about Blake… Her heart was racing, her palms sweating. She wiped them surreptitiously against the legs of her jeans. She had to keep it together. The only thing keener than Blake Austin’s palate was his ability to sense—and exploit—fear. “When’s it going to be enough, Blake?” she demanded, hating the slight quaver in her voice. “When are you finally going to leave me alone? You’re obsessed!”

  Blake let another smile slither across his lips, leaning familiarly against the frame that supported Sera’s two-way mirror wall. “Egotistical as always, aren’t you, pet? And every bit as deluded as you ever were. As if I’d bestir myself such a distance merely to get reacquainted with your pathetic self.” He snorted. “No, I’m here in this quaint little town for a different purpose—utterly unrelated to your presence, I can assure you. I’m overseeing the opening of a new restaurant I’m backing on Canyon Road.” He ran a lambskin-gloved finger down the edge of the freshly painted doorframe, as if he expected to find grime. “I’d heard about your little porn-themed pastry shop, and as it was already along my route to dine with my investors tonight, I decided to pop by and see for myself just how far my former protégé had fallen. Really, Serafina.” He shook his head. “Selling novelty penis cakes and boob-shaped bonbons? Even I had no idea you’d sunk so low.”

  Why did we have to sell out of pie, today of all days? Sera had a blinding, breathtaking need to plant a lemon meringue square in Blake’s smirking puss. Her fingers clenched into fists, and she realized she hadn’t exhaled in far too long. Probably breathe flames if I did, she thought.

  Asher brought Sera back to her senses, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing gently. “Bliss, who is this incredibly rude little man? I would very much like to rearrange his face.” Sera could feel his muscles bunch, practically smell his testosterone go into overdrive. “Do I have your permission?”

  Sera almost said yes. Very little would have given her more satisfaction than to watch the powerful, tender man she loved wipe her nice kitchen floors with her sadistic ex-boyfriend.

  Holy shit, wait… I love him?

  Yes, Sera marveled: indubitably and irrevocably, I love the hell out of Asher Wolf.

  A lightness blossomed in her chest. The sick knot in her stomach unraveled, replaced by a wonderful, calm warmth that stole over her. She felt her confidence swell, grow steadfast—something she’d never been able to sustain in Blake’s presence before. A part of Sera marveled as she realized what had happened. I… I actually care about myself. I care enough about myself to give my heart to a good man, a kind man. I am done with all that self-destructive bullshit I sought out for so long—no more booze, and no nasty, belittling boyfriends to make me feel second-best. Hell, I don’t care if I can’t have a stupid orgasm. I don’t care if I screwed things up in the past. I deserve better than to be treated the way Blake treats me.

  All the years of living small, of curtailing her dreams in favor of her fears—she’d come to Santa Fe to put that negativity behind her. And this—realizing she’d fallen for Asher—confirmed she’d really started to do it. I am done being treated like dirt. Done being intimidated by mean-spirited bullies like Blake Austin and Robbie Markham. I’m never going to be the scared little girl who kowtowed to those jerks again.

  “Bliss?” Asher prompted. “What do you say? Shall I teach this oaf some proper manners?”

  Sera started to smile. And once she started, that smile just grew and grew.

  Blake didn’t like the look of it. “Setting your goon on me?” he sneered, but she could tell he was uneasy. Asher was younger, fitter, and at this moment, bristling with a menace Sera had never before seen in her easy-going landlord and soon-to-be-lover.

  My lover. My champion. The guy I adore.

  I am one lucky woman.

  Sera had to laugh. She turned to Asher. “Sorry, goon.” She grinned. “This is one demon I need to slay myself.” She stepped up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Asher’s scruffy chin, seeing his features soften as he searched her eyes for confirmation she was all right. “Really, Ash. I’ve got this. But thanks for the offer. You’ll never know how much it means to me.”

  At least, I think I’ve got this, Sera thought as she turned back to Blake. Even now, infused with the delicious, pink-cloud-inducing knowledge of her love for Asher, Sera wasn’t quite as confident as she pretended. Blake had been the stuff of her sweat-drenched nightmares, the source of her deepest insecurities, for far too long. He’d ruined her reputation, nearly put her out of business. Worse than that, he’d made her doubt everything from her talent as a chef to her desirability
as a woman. Still, she’d be damned if she’d let the bastard bully her in her own goddamned kitchen. His very presence was threatening to soil her beautiful new business, and God knew what he had in mind when he really got going.

  For, whatever he claimed, Sera knew Blake hadn’t flown all the way to Santa Fe to manage any grand opening. Not one so coincidentally timed anyhow. No, her ex was here to snuff out any happiness she might have created for herself, just as he’d done so many times in the past. He must have seen the news coverage of her new bakery and decided it behooved him to smash her chances of success here as he’d done so thoroughly back in New York.

  She’d better smash first.

  Her new solid marble rolling pin seemed a likely weapon. It was in her hand before she even realized she’d swiped it off the counter. Blake watched her movements, black eyes narrow. A look of amusement—she couldn’t tell whether real or feigned—stamped itself across his louche features. Sera planned to wipe it off, one way or another.

  “Listen to me very closely, Blake,” she said softly. “You are not welcome here. I want you to vacate my property—right fucking now. If you don’t leave—and stay gone—I’m going to call the police.” Sera waved the pin threateningly as she approached her nemesis, stopping with a few feet still between them. “Do you understand me? You’re trespassing on private property and I’d be within my rights to use this in self-defense. So unless you want me to make pâté brise out of your ugly mug, I suggest you go meet those investors of yours—if there even really are investors—and Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Shop!”

  Blake shrugged upright, casting a derisive glance down at Sera, rolling pin and all. “I’ve seen what I came to see, Serafina. There’s nothing of any appeal to me here.” He dusted his sleeve, as if it had been contaminated by contact with Sera’s walls.

  A horrible thought crossed Sera’s mind. She advanced once more toward Blake, pin at the fore, until the tip stopped just short of his chest. “Don’t even think of pulling any of your bullshit out here, Blake. Badmouthing me and bullying the local business community to get me blackballed won’t get you anywhere. I have friends here. You don’t.”