by Olivia Arran
A part of me wanted to let him convince me.
Shit. I was screwed. It had to be the pain meds.
Chapter Four
Ralph
Thick slabs of bacon sizzled and spat in the pan while I finished up giving the pancake batter one last lick of elbow grease. Along the work surface, bowls ladened with berries and chopped fruit stood ready for eating, along with freshly squeezed orange juice. Coffee gurgled as it trickled into the pot, cream and sugar all set up and ready to go. I surveyed my work space with a critical eye, ticking off the ingredients one by one. Something was missing…
Syrup.
Of course. Setting the bowl down, I spun on my heel.
“Smells good. Hopefully some of this is for me.”
I pulled up short, seconds away from crashing into Connie. Pinning my hands to my sides to prevent myself from shaking her, I shook my head. “What are you doing out of bed?”
Tossing back her mane of hair, she leaned against the doorframe, popping a hand onto her denim clad hip and fixing me with a sunny smile. “I’m feeling all better, see? Though I wouldn’t say no to breakfast.”
So that’s what she was up to. Turning away, I grabbed what I needed from the pantry and walked back over to my domain. The kitchen was where I always felt calm, even if to the onlooker it looked like I was losing my shit. I was pretty sure it was a chef thing. “You’re staying right here where I can keep an eye on you.”
“But—”
I held up a ladle, pancake mixture dripping back down into the bowl with a wet plop. “Negotiations were last night, honey.”
“Honey?” It came out an indignant splutter, and from what I could tell with my back turned, was forced out from between gritted teeth.
“Yeah, you’re right, honey’s no good either.” Deftly measuring out a portion of the batter into the waiting pan, I pointed at the coffee pot. “Since you wouldn’t wait in bed like a good girl, make yourself useful and fix us both a coffee.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she strolled past me with a confused look on her face. Faded denim hugged her beautifully rounded ass, a soft cotton t-shirt in the palest lemon tucked in and emphasizing her figure. “Cream and five sugars, honeypot.” As she started pouring, I flipped the first three pancakes and checked on the bacon. “You found your clothes then.” I was stalling—floundering—but how the hell was a man meant to think up snappy conversation when his soul mate stood feet away, looking all touchable and soft?
She made a noncommittal sound in answer to my obvious statement, her eyebrows raising in judgment as she heaped sugar into my mug.
I raised my hands, sending pancake mixture flying in sticky globs. “What? I’ve got a sweet tooth.”
“You always used to drink it black.”
Sliding the first set of pancakes onto a plate, I set them in the warming oven and started on the next batch. “That’s when I worked eighteen hours a day. Caffeine ran in my veins back then.”
Setting a steaming mug beside me, she propped a hip on the stainless steel counter, hugging her own mug to her chest as she blew the steam away. “Things change, right?”
Taking a sip, I let out an appreciative murmur. “The city is a young man’s game.”
She eyed me with a caution that stung. “You’re still young.”
Nearly choking on that last gulp, I waited until the fire in my chest had died down to a low roar. “Not that young.” Sidestep, stat! “Anyway, would you really want to go back to that? Slaving away for all hours of the day, getting paid a pittance on the expectation that you should be grateful for the fucking opportunity? All the industry infighting and backstabbing?”
A laugh broke through her cautious air. “And the gossips. Don’t forget those! God, do you remember Steph? She wasn’t happy unless she was knee deep in drama. And Curtis? He lived for arguments, spent most of his time starting them rather than doing his own work.” Her eyes danced with relived amusement, the brown lightening to a golden hue.
“Steph was the one—” I caught myself, letting my sentence fade as I busied myself with the food. Would she take the bait?
She huffed out a breath, a cross between a sigh and a chuckle. “Who caught us carrying on in the storeroom? Yup. I’m pretty sure she thought all her Christmases had come at once that morning.” Rolling her eyes, she grimaced. “I’d go back, if I could.” It was a wistful murmur, but I understood loud and clear.
I chose my next words carefully, sending thanks to whoever was listening for whatever had made Connie soften toward me. “Back to how it was, or back to the job?” Some people were addicted to the high. I could understand that, I’d been one of them back in the day.
She cocked her head, as though listening to something. A gesture I had memorized many years ago. “Both. Neither. I don’t know.” Setting her now empty mug down, she snagged a piece of bacon out of the pan, tossing it between her hands as she alternated sucking on the tips of her fingers. “I do know that you can’t change the past, Ralph, no matter how hard you try.” She said the words gently, but underneath was an edge of steel.
Ignoring the unsaid warning, I grabbed a plate and loaded it up. “If you’d just wait a goddamn minute you could have had your breakfast without burning your fingers.”
A flicker of a smile, then, “Where’s the fun in that?” Chewing on the last bit of bacon, she accepted the plate and made her way to the back of the kitchen, to the small table I kept at the back, her hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm that had my eyes threatening to pop out of my head.
“Damn…” I muttered as I threw the rest of the food onto my plate, grabbed the bowls of fruit and, juggling the jug of orange juice, followed her over. Setting my bounty down, I dragged out the chair opposite her and sat. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to swallow a damn thing, not with her so close, assessing my every move, dismissing me with a tiny wrinkle of her nose or a quirk of her full, luscious lips.
When she popped a halved strawberry into her mouth, her tongue sliding out to lick stray juice from her lips, I was fucking sure I’d died and gone to heaven. A strangled growl slipped past my guard.
Or it could be hell, given the only thing between me and my object of fascination was a table that had seen better days and the slippery grasp on my willpower. Spearing a pancake, I jabbed it with my knife then stuffed it into my mouth. No chance of making strange noises if I couldn’t breathe.
“Do you ever hear from any of them?” She was cutting her food into tiny pieces, stacking them together into mini towers before popping them into her mouth.
I’d always loved watching her eat; the sheer delight she took in savoring the experience, her love of combining flavors never ceased to amaze me. She was the kind of woman who’d try anything once, even if the thought would make a sensible person’s toes curl. Like adding chocolate to just about anything. No wonder she’d trained as a pastry chef. “Remember that time you tried to convince me that chocolate would work with fish?”
“I was right, though, wasn’t I?”
I grimaced, earning a delighted giggle. “It was … interesting.”
“It was the lemon that really brought the dish together. I seem to remember you nearly having an orgasm over it.”
Sitting back in my chair, I rubbed a hand over my permanent five o’clock shadow while giving her what I hoped was a bemused grin. “You’re good, but not that good, sweetcakes.”
“Sweetcakes?”
I shrugged. “I’ll keep trying.” Trying not to grin as she chased a stray blueberry around her plate with her last scrap of pancake, I gestured at the stove. “Still hungry?”
With a triumphant smirk, she popped the errant berry into her mouth and leaned back in her chair, giving her stomach a contented pat. “No, thank you. I’m full fit to bursting.”
“Your head?” I gestured at her temple, the area still raised and angry looking even now.
“No problems at all. I told you I was fine.”
Dusting my hands off, I threw her a wink.
“Good. You can do the dishes.” At her indignant snort, I let my smile grow wider, until it was more teeth than lips.
Her snort cut off short, her eyes widening. “You’re not kidding, are you? I’m your guest—”
Enjoying catching her off guard, I milked the moment by organizing the plates and bowls into a tidy stack. “Sugarplum, I know you better than anyone else in your life. You’d never be just a guest in my home.”
Lips pursed, she huffed. “Fine. I’ll do the damn dishes, but don’t for one second start thinking you can order me about. I don’t work for you anymore.” She was doing her damnedest to sound pissed, but I wasn’t buying it. She sounded almost … wistful? I cleared my throat. That was probably me projecting. “Listen, Connie, I was only messing around—”
“Wow, you actually called me by my God given name! What is the world coming to?” She let out a peal of laughter, rising from her chair and gathering the dishes into her arms, but again, it didn’t ring true.
Cornering her before she had chance to slide away, I eyed her the way a city guy might eye a birthing cow, completely out of my comfort zone. But words failed me. There were a million things I could say, but I didn’t have the first clue which to start with. An apology? She’d heard them all before. An explanation? Where could I start when I couldn’t come completely clean? I opened my mouth. Then closed it again.
She stared right back at me, head tilted so she could look me straight in the eye. “I bet you’re regretting manipulating me to come stay with you,” she murmured.
I edged closer. “I’m regretting my promise.”
She didn’t move, standing her ground. “But, you gave it anyway.” Her head tilted back even further to keep eye contact, lips parting in what looked like anticipation, but it could just as easily have been in preparation to give me the big old fuck you.
Did she want me to fail? To break my promise and kiss her? And, more to the point, would she kick me in the balls and walk out if I did?
“You’ve got a lot going on in there, Ralph Everson.” Her words were a throaty whisper.
I moved closer still, fabric rustling in the heavy silence, until the warmth of her body prickled across my skin. Close, but not touching—yet. “You’re not an easy woman to work out.” Part of my mind was working on how to get rid of the plates and bowls, while the rest of my mind raced ahead, trying to figure out what trap she was setting. I wasn’t an idiot; I didn’t expect it to be this easy.
But—fuck—a man could survive on a hope and a dream. I was living proof.
She blinked, lashes shielding her eyes for a fraction of a second, breaking the connection, and it was already too long. I had spent years waiting for her to look at me again, to really see the man behind what she thought she already knew, and I didn’t know if I could wait another goddamned second.
She had the power to break me.
Or complete me.
And she didn’t know the first thing about who I really was.
Chapter Five
Connie
He crowded me, with his large body and haunted eyes, his muscular bulk making me feel small and delicate in a way no other man had ever come close to achieving. His presence intoxicated me, blurring my thoughts and setting my heart thumping in my chest in an attempt to keep up with the blood rushing around my body, pooling between my legs and flushing my cheeks.
It had always been this way; the intense attraction never fading or diminishing, only growing stronger with every longing gaze or glancing touch. It was surreal, inexplicable … exciting. I’d forgotten how much of a rush it was to feel wanted, craved by a man whose eyes promised to devour me. I exhaled, looking away from eyes that saw too much. Wanted what I couldn’t give. I was out of my league, playing a game I didn’t know how to win. But, for a moment, I hadn’t been able to resist. I had acted on instinct allowing the part of me that yearned for the kind of comfort he offered out to play.
It had been a mistake. Now, all I could think about was him. How he could lift me and pin me against a wall, putting his mouth to much better use. How he liked to press his lips against mine in the softest of kisses, waiting until I surrendered before sweeping in with his tongue. How his hand always ended up knotted in my hair, as if he needed to anchor himself to me, the pads of his fingers flexing against my scalp and revealing his inner turmoil.
How he’d never pressured me for more; had been willing to wait until I was ready.
Not for the first time, I regretted saying no that night. I had been young, foolish, wanting to wait until I really knew he was the one. Young and immature, I’d been looking for a sign. The perfect happy ever after. Then everything had gone to hell in a hand basket, my life had blown up, and the moment was gone. Sure, I could have still jumped him—still could—but the young girl inside of me yearned for perfection, and I wasn’t getting that with Ralph Everson.
“Connie…” My name was a low groan on his lips as he leaned into me, intent shimmering in his eyes. A flicker of bronze curled at the edges and I couldn’t look away again.
“I—”
His body folded around me, blocking out the light. The dishes were plucked from my hands, leaving them hovering in midair, unsure and tempted. He hesitated, frustration creasing his brow and darkening his eyes. “Forgive me, Connie,” he whispered.
For this or for before? I wanted to ask, but my mouth wasn’t working, the words stuck in my throat as if I knew that by voicing the question out loud, any choice would be taken away.
What choice? There wasn’t any left. He’d have to do a hell of a lot better than a simple sorry if he wanted to—
“Connie?” a woman’s voice called out from the main restaurant, bright and cheerful sounding.
Amy! I jumped back, hitting the wall with a thump.
Ralph’s eyebrows rose until they disappeared under that lock of hair that seemed permanently attached to his brow. He considered me for a brief second, then his whole body relaxed, his shoulders easing down into a slouch. Hand stuck in his pocket, he strolled over to the sink in the corner, muscles bunching and stretching beneath his tight faded tight t-shirt, the soft fabric of his sweatpants clinging to the curve of his buttocks with every stride.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away, not even when Amy cleared her throat. That had been close. I should be patting myself on the back, but I didn’t feel like celebrating. If Amy hadn’t turned up, I was woman enough to admit that had Ralph had ignored my protest and kissed me, I would have enjoyed the ride.
More than enjoy it. I was goddamn drooling.
“I take it you’re feeling better, Con?” Amy’s voice was all barely concealed amusement, along with a good dose of sarcasm.
Turning to my best friend, I dragged my head along with my body, forcing my eyes away from the object of their fascination with a stern warning to behave. It was just a case of lust; plain and simple. Easy to ignore. Out of sight, out of mind.
Keep telling yourself that, babe, Ralph mocked from inside my head while pulling his t-shirt off, over his head and flexing a bicep at me.
Dammit!
“Uh, maybe you’re not okay?” Amy was peering at me with a look of concern. Her long, dark hair was pulled up high into a ponytail, flicking from side to side as her soft brown eyes darted between Ralph and myself.
“I’m fine. Sorry,” I muttered, pulling her in for a hug.
“Hey, Amy,” Ralph called over, giving her a small salute. Elbow deep in soap suds, he appeared pre-occupied with his task, but I wasn’t fooled. I’d had years to learn his body language, and right now he was too relaxed.
Which made me feel a teensy bit better, given that I was still all flustered and sweaty from our near miss with lip locking swoondom.
Amy gave him a little wave over my shoulder.
My brain finally clicking into place, I planted my hands on her shoulder and held her at arms length, checking her out from head to toe. “How about you? How are you feeling?” According to Ralph, Amy had hurt her foot.
She’d been in the bakery with me when the fire had started. I remembered bit and pieces, some of the shelving falling and trapping us, but after that it was a blank.
Squeezing my hands, she held out her foot. “I’m fine. It was bruised and a little sprained, but nothing that some ice and a few pain killers couldn’t fix. I’m not the one that was in hospital!”
I stared at her. “But … you were knocked unconscious, too?” At least, that’s what I’d understood, anyway.
Her eyes flicked away, pink tinging her cheeks. “I’ve got a hard head,” she eventually muttered, but it was a flimsy excuse, if I’d ever heard one.
“Honey—”
“She’s right,” Ralph cut in, wiping his hands off on a towel and throwing it over his shoulder. “You got hit on the head, while my lovely sister-in-law only passed out due to smoke inhalation.”
I looked from Amy to Ralph, then back again. “Only?”
“Jack checked me out and I’m fine,” she assured me with a weak smile.
She was lying. And she wasn’t a good liar, never had been. The day she’d walked into my store, on the run from her ex-husband, I’d known, despite her evading the truth. It was one of the reasons I’d taken a chance on her, offering her a job. She had reminded myself of a younger me, facing the world alone without a single soul to offer support or friendship. I hadn’t known her story at the time, but I had recognized a kindred spirit. We had fast become best friends.
Or, at least, I’d thought we had.
Returning her smile, I nodded and, taking a deep breath, let her go. Then I rounded on Ralph. “I have a pretty hard head too. Can I go home?”
Playing with the edge of the towel, his mouth curved up into a smirk. “Sick of me already?”
“You know it,” I shot back, planting my hands on my hips and giving him my best don’t-mess-with-me face. “I’m fine. I want to go home.” Somewhere where I’m not tempted every second of the day.
“I never thought I’d see the day when you two were actually talking to each other.” Amy’s comment was lighthearted, but tinged with concern. We’d always laughed and joked about the whole Ralph situation. She’d always insisted that love would win out and that I’d end up her sister-in-law. I couldn’t blame her; he’d never kept his fascination with me a secret. Everyone in the goddamned town knew about it, had heard me banning him from my store on more than one occasion, but no one had ever seen us together. Alone. Or knew about our past.