“Em, watch out!” He’d pushed me, and I’d stumbled forward and fallen. Next moment, I’d woken up in hospital with a dull ache in my legs and a fuzzy feeling in my head.
We’d been hit by a drunken driver. John had saved my life by pushing me forward, although my legs had been well and truly mangled in the ensuing crash. John had died instantly. He’d saved my life, and only moments earlier, I’d held back from telling him I loved him.
It took me months to physically heal, but the mental and emotional pain had barely lessened with time. I couldn’t forgive myself for getting him killed, for not saying I loved him. Once I was physically well, I’d planned to go back to college but had found, to my horror, that I couldn’t walk through the gates. There were too many memories, too much of him. I’d been unemployed from that day on. I saw a shrink, as little good as that actually seemed to do. I tried hard to get well, but I only seemed to get worse.
The walk to Jacques had become my therapy. It got me out of the house daily, strengthened my legs and made me more comfortable with being outside again. It might not be much, but to me it was my redemption. At first, it was a small triumph that I had gotten that far away from my home. Each day I made it, I felt better. Soon, the walk had become a habit and no longer an achievement, but that in itself made me feel good. I started to walk further, to go to different places. I enjoyed a walk around the park and a browse through the shops. I started to feel normal again.
But it took only a moment to take me back to the quivering, shuddering mess I had been after John’s death.
“Miss, are you okay?”
I focused again and found a man in a black apron standing before me.
“Erm, yes, I think so,” I replied.
“You look so pale. Come on. I’m taking you inside.”
“No, I’ll be all right.” I started to feel dizzy, and suddenly, a strong arm was around me, and I was being led forcefully in the direction of the door.
“I’m okay,” I insisted, but the man would not listen.
“Here you go, love. Sit down here.”
I bent my knees and sat on a hard wooden chair. My hands shook, and I laced my fingers together in an attempt to calm them.
“I’ll just go. I’ll be okay—”
“You’ll stay there,” he commanded. His tone of voice brooked no contest, so I stayed where I was. He moved away from me and I heard the tinkle of glass then the whoosh of water in another room.
“Here, take slow sips of this.” He pressed a cool glass into my hand, and I took a small mouthful of water and swallowed.
“Thank you.” I smiled, and he nodded. His wavy hair bounced and settled around his strong brow and asparagus-green eyes. I was overwhelmed by his smell for a moment. All around me was the comforting scent of vanilla and the tempting hint of chocolate and spice. But I could only smell him. He smelt like a spice cake, cinnamon and nutmeg blended with a musk that was purely masculine and, even through my shocked daze, I felt the shudder of arousal.
“What happened? I thought you were going to faint.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
“Well, never mind, you’re okay now.”
“I should go. You’re working,”
“Oh no, sit there for a while. Truth is it’s very quiet this time of day. I could do with some company.”
“Oh, okay.”
My heart thumped in my chest, and it was not all due to the screeching breaks and painful visitation to the past. I’d never really seen him before. I’d just grabbed glances of his hands and his smile through the display in the window. Now that I saw him up close, I understood why so many women left the shop smiling, sometimes even giggling to themselves.
“You’re the lady who comes and looks in everyday, aren’t you?”
“You’ve noticed me?” I asked, horrified. My cheeks burned as the heat rushed back to my face.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed you before. Why do you never come in?”
“Erm, well…” This guy certainly didn’t mince his words, and in the fraction of a second, I decided honesty was the best policy.
I sighed. “I can’t afford to.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. At least, it’s not because you think I’m ugly or something.”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” I gibbered. “You’re lovely.” I wanted to add that I’d be as happy to sink my teeth in to him as I would be to nibble on one of his cakes, but I resisted.
“As are you,” he replied with a laugh and a cheeky smile that made me feel dizzy with pleasure. “Well, I tell you what. If you come in and spend some time with me in the afternoons, you can pick any cake in the shop you’d like as payment. How’s that?”
“Really?” I lifted my brow in disbelief. Why would this handsome, confident man want me in his shop?
“Really, I get a little bored in the afternoons—and a little lonely, if I’m honest. It’d be lovely to have someone to talk to for a while.”
“But maybe I’m boring!”
“You? No, I doubt it. You’re eyes are too bright for you to be boring.”
I blushed again. I suspected I looked like a ripe Victoria plum, and I hoped he wanted to taste me.
“And anyway, I talk way too much,” he continued. “You’ll just have to listen, mostly.”
“Okay, then, you’ve got a deal.” I smiled, and he held out his hand. I took it in mine and was thrilled by the power and strength in his grip.
“You’re fingers are so cold,” he said. “Let me get you a hot drink.”
“I should really be getting home,” I said, a little bit overwhelmed by it all and needing space to digest everything that had happened.
“Just stay for a brew, please. I’m not convinced you’re well enough to be walking yet.”
And when I thought about it, he was probably right.
“Oh, okay.”
“How do you take your tea?”
“Milk, please,” I said. “I like it creamy.”
“Any sugar?” he yelled from the other side of the empty doorframe.
“No thanks, I’m sweet enough,” I replied out of habit. John used to think it was cute. A stab of grief took me, and I felt a wave of guilt roll over me. How could I be lusting over another man so soon? I was just about to get up and make a break for it when a cup of tea came in followed by the gorgeous man who’d caused my panic.
“Here you go. This will warm you up.” He passed me the cup, “Now, you can’t have a cuppa without a cake. What would you like?”
I looked down at the display shelf before me and hmmed.
“Decisions, decisions.” I wrapped my fingers around the warm cup and leant further forward to get a better look. “I’d love one of those meringues actually,” I said in the end.
“A great choice,” he enthused as he picked up a light, creamy shell filled with fluffy cream and decorated with berries. He laid it down on a paper bag and pushed it to the end of the counter by me.
“So, who bakes the cakes, Jacques?” I asked as I put down the warming tea and tried to work out how to approach the meringue. In the end, I split it into two halves with roughly the same amount of cream and fruit on each.
“Well, yes, sort of. I do. I bake them all, but I’m called Jack. I Frenched the name up a bit,” he replied.
“I’m Emma.” I smiled. “You must work really hard if you bake and sell all these cakes.”
“I get up at four am every day. When I close at three-thirty, I go upstairs and pretty much go to bed. It’s a long day.”
“Wow, you could do with someone to give you a hand.”
“Well, once the business is on its feet and making good profit, I plan to hire someone to help me out.”
“It seems like business is booming to me.” I made a whimpering, appreciative noise as I bit into the meringue and was enveloped in the scents of summer and the tastes of heaven. “With meringues like this, I’m not surprised.”
He blushed a little then regained his composure.
“Oh, it is, but one has many overheads at the beginning of a business. I’m just starting to clear the backlog of debt from opening this shop in the first place.”
“Have you always baked?” I asked as the tea and cake loosed my tongue and made me feel more and more relaxed.
“Yeah, I’ve always loved baking. My dad thought it was a girly thing though and made me go to business college. I was a banker for a long while, then one day, I decided I couldn’t face another piece of boring paperwork, and I quit. I started this place.”
“Are you happier now?”
He sighed. “Considering it lost me my fiancé and the respect of my father, yes I am.”
“Oh, I’m sure your father will come around. Has he seen this place?”
“No.”
“You should invite him. He’d be proud of you, I’m sure.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say, but I’m not sure it’s true. I’d not change my life now for anything, though. I wake up to do what I love to do. It makes each day a joy.”
I missed that. I used to have that when I taught. Every day was a pleasure. I felt hollow once more and put down the last morsel of my cake, suddenly unable to eat any more.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’ve gone pale.”
“Yes. I had your joy once. It’s gone now, that’s all. “
He squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find it again, or it’ll find you.”
“Thank you.” I pulled myself off the chair. “Now, I have to go. Thank you for your kindness.”
“You’ll come in tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Okay, cool, see you tomorrow.”
* * * *
I thought of Jack all the way home. His scent lingered, that spicy masculinity that overpowered every other smell seemed to be stuck in my system, I could not escape it, and I didn’t want to. I thought of his meringue, how it tasted and how its fresh vanilla and cream scent excited me before even a crumb hit my lips, but mostly, I thought of Jack. It seemed strange that, in all the time I’d spent outside his shop, I’d never seen him properly before. I’d never taken notice of him, but now that I’d met him I couldn’t think of anything else.
I needed a shower when I got home, I still felt the clammy panic on my skin, and I needed to clear my mind. I switched on the shower then quickly jumped back. I took off my clothes and waited for the water to warm up.
I really had thought I was over the public panic stage of my grieving, but the screeching brakes and near fainting fit proved that was not the case. If Jack hadn’t come out to my rescue, I’d probably be in Accident and Emergency now, my face covered in scratches and my mind being prodded by on-call psychologists.
As I slipped under the water, I moaned. I needed the cleansing heat, and it soothed my body. The sting of the powerful droplets impacting my skin massaged me, and I stood beneath the fake rain and just enjoyed the sensations for a long moment.
John would hate how screwed up I was over all this. He was a sensible man, and he just could not understand how emotional I could get at times. He’d be mortified to know I had gone to pieces over his death.
I remember once we were talking about a particular incident that had upset me. I don’t remember exactly what it was now, but at the time, I was a complete wreck.
“I don’t want you ever to get like this over me, Em,” he said, “I’d hate to do that to you.”
Oh well, it’s not like you can stop the way you are, is it? You can’t exactly divorce yourself from your emotions, or at least I couldn’t. John would shake his head and hold me tight until the tears stopped. Then he’d tell me he loved me, to pull myself together and to smile. He’d strengthen my resolve.
A tear rolled down my cheek as I wished for the millionth time that he waited nearby for me, that I’d be able to get out of this shower and into his arms. I remembered then a time when he got into the shower with me and took me in his arms then and there.
He rubbed my shoulders and my back and kissed my neck. He spun me around, and we kissed, water dripping over us both, his arousal evident. Joy had filled me when I’d dropped to my knees and pleasured him right there, with the water tickling my back.
He was not a particularly bold lover, and that instance was a startlingly enjoyable break from the bedroom only routine. I loved John dearly, but I always felt guilty for longing for more than he’d ever give me.
I’d brought it up once, over a silly scene in a television programme.
“I think spanking is kinda sexy,” I said. I bit my bottom lip and prepared to play the naughty little girl.
“I don’t,” he replied. “It’s not right to exert power over another.”
And that had been the end of that. I hadn’t argued. John would have won out in the end, and I did not want to reveal my perverted nature. I love to be submissive, to be held under the power of a man. I never had that with John.
And suddenly my mind flicked back to the patisserie and Jack commanding me to stay where I was. My stomach tightened, and arousal ran through my veins. Jack seemed like a man who would take control well. His hands were big and hard, and I could just imagine them pulling down my trousers and knickers, to spank me for being bratty and wilful.
He would just bend me over his lap. I’m not a small person, but he’d manhandle me into position, and he’d spank me, ignoring my kicks and yelps. He’d punish me, for being a dirty, naughty girl, and I’d love every moment of it. My fingers had sneaked into the soft springy down on my pubis, and they slipped lower, the wetness between my thighs, thick and unctuous and nothing to do with the warm trickling droplets of the shower.
I swallowed down the guilt and imagined myself on my knees between his thighs, the musk of his skin so apparent, the spiced vanilla luring me in to taste him. I imagined my bottom on display, red from his ministrations and his cock in my mouth, his fingers in my hair. I wanted to worship this man like that, my hands behind my back, my mouth the only tool available to pleasure him.
My fantasy flicked to another scene as my fingers rubbed urgently at my clit. The need for an orgasm had taken over me and I would do anything to come. I was back in the shop, but I wasn’t sat on the chair. I was kneeling on it, my hands clasping the back, my arse stuck out, naked, wet and wanting. He fucked me then, hard and without a moment’s thought to my pleasure. His cock slammed into my cunt, and as he violently thrust into me, he held onto my hair like reins.
I exploded, yelped and shook. I felt warm and peaceful for a moment, then guilt pricked me. It was too early to think of replacing John, surely. It had been barely a year since his passing. We had been in love. That shouldn’t be forgotten so quickly, should it?
I stopped the flow of water and stepped out onto the thick bath rug. I wrapped a towel around myself and remembered John. He’d want me to move on. I’d known that for so long.
“No regrets,” he would tell me time and time again. “Learn to live with no regrets, and you’ll find peace.” It was always so black and white with John, whereas I was always a cloud of grey. How could I not regret having our love terminated so sharply and so prematurely? I wondered, if it had been reversed, if he’d been injured and I’d been dead, whether he’d be over me, living with no regrets. I concluded that, probably, he would be.
Maybe, I should have moved on, but just because I fantasised about Jack did not mean he would fantasise about me. He only wanted me there to talk to. He was a little lonely, and probably, he felt sorry for the strange, fainting unemployed girl. I’m not the kind of woman a hot man like Jack would be interested in. I have far too many curves in all the wrong places.
Chapter Two
“I thought you weren’t going to turn up,” Jack said as I walked through the door a good half hour later than I’d said I would. The sweet shop scent wrapped around my senses and embraced me, the traces of spice and vanilla heating my body as I thought of Jack and the fantasies I had enjoyed the night before.
&nb
sp; “I know. I’m so sorry. I was just about to leave the house when the cat decided to puke all over the place. Bloody animal.”
“But you love it really,” he laughed.
“Yeah, something like that. My mum bought it me after the—” I pulled myself up, I didn’t want to reveal so much so early on. “Well, so I wouldn’t be lonely. I prefer dogs.”
Jack laughed again, and my heart thumped harder.
“I reckon I should only give you half a cake for your services today.”
“Oh, you don’t have to bother with that.” I blushed. “You were so good to me yesterday.”
“No, a promise is a promise. Any cake you like. Choose.”
“Oh, well, can I have a slice of the cheesecake? I’ve been fantasising about your cheesecake for so long. I’ll take it home, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, but watching you eat it is my favourite bit, you know. I don’t get to see people enjoying my cakes enough. Especially if you’ve been fantasising about it.”
My stomach was too full of butterflies to swallow even a mouthful, though I really did want to please him.
“Not today I’m afraid, Jack. My stomach couldn’t take it.”
“All right, I’ll box you up a slice. Take a seat, do. Would you like a drink?” I shook my head, and his brow crinkled a little.
“How’s business been today?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Oh, not bad, not bad,” he replied, “I had a good morning anyway. It’s been dead this afternoon. Here, let me take your coat.”
I undid the buttons on my sensible, woollen coat. It looked a bit past its best, though it had been expensive when I bought it all that time ago. It still kept me warm, and as autumn was rolling in, I needed it against the bitter cold wind and the freezing rain that came in unexpected bursts through the end of summer.
I did have a cat, though it spent most of its time outside, and I was pretty sure it had two or more homes, and it hadn’t puked up at all. I’d just taken a very long time deciding what to wear.
It was too cold to wear anything particularly revealing, not that I owned anything particularly revealing. As a teacher, I had learnt to dress conservatively, especially with seventeen year old boys in the mix. I did find a deep, dark orange top with a long floaty hem and a deep V of cleavage that covered up my tummy nicely and brought attention to my abundant breasts. I’d paired it with a long, heavy brown corduroy skirt that came down to my ankles and covered the tops of my boots. I felt pretty sexy, especially as I wore my favourite red lace underwear underneath.
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