He didn’t want to leave her. And yet, he couldn’t take her with him.
“Bloody goddamn hell.”
“Baxter?”
Rosemary. “Yes,” he called out. “Right over here.”
“Oh good, you haven’t left. I’d like to talk over tomorrow’s schedule with you, make a few changes based on this afternoon’s tape.”
“Certainly,” he said, with a deep sigh of relief. If work was what he had, then work was what he’d do.
Chapter 14
Lani pulled up in front of the cottage and sighed when she spied the lights on, then noticed that only Charlotte’s little rental sat parked out front.
“Thank God,” she murmured as she pulled in behind it. Charlotte had come by a few times during the day to watch the first round of taping, but there had been no time to talk. She’d seen enough to know Lani would likely be exhausted and wouldn’t be surprised by her wanting to head straight to bed—which was just as well. She wasn’t in the mood for a bitch and bake session. That would mean talking about Baxter. But she was too tired to talk about him.
It had been such a challenging day on so many levels. No recipe was therapeutic enough to allow her to think clearly at the moment. She just needed to go to sleep and not think at all. Rest. Restore.
“Right, so you can get up and do it all over again first thing in the morning,” she muttered. “Without any time to think at all.” She could only hope she woke up with sudden clarity about the situation with Baxter.
That entire morning had been brutal, trying to figure out how to handle herself on the set and handle her rioting hormones where Baxter was concerned, all at the same time. Then had come the lunch break—which had given her libido a whole new raft of things to fantasize about. If Alva hadn’t come in when she had, Lani couldn’t rightly say where that kiss would have gone. The rest of the day on the set had been pure torture. The only saving grace being she was so hyperaware of every breath Baxter took, she couldn’t worry about all the other demands being made of her at the same time.
She was basically on autopilot, worrying that Rosemary would have a fit because she was coming off like a zombie. Either the producer had more or less given up on her putting in a good performance, or she was so desperate to get the day over with, she’d told Lani whatever it was she thought Lani needed to hear. It had seemed as if Rosemary was pretty happy with how the rest of the day went. Maybe Baxter had had a talk with her or something. Lani wasn’t sure—and didn’t much care. It was over. She prayed she didn’t come off looking like a complete spaz, but at the moment, she didn’t even care much about that. All she cared about was bed. Sleep.
Tomorrow she’d deal with another day in the trenches. Tomorrow, she’d deal with her rioting emotions about Baxter. Tomorrow, she’d get a grip.
She stepped up onto the porch ... and that was when she saw the sock. A white sports sock that wasn’t hers was draped over the front doorknob. “What in the ...” She picked it up, thinking the only time she’d ever seen a sock on a doorknob was in the movies when—“Oh. Oh!” She shook her head. Nah. That can’t be it. Who would Charlotte be entertaining?
Then Lani heard what sounded like a squeal, and she instinctively glanced through the gauzy drapes covering the front picture window—and immediately slammed her eyes shut and spun so her back was to the front door. “Well,” she said, gripping the sock against her chest. “That certainly answers that question.”
She blindly stepped down from the porch and went back to her car. Once safely inside, she stared at her house. And tried like hell not to picture what the current occupants were doing inside it. On her fold-out couch. “Thank goodness the house is set back off the street.” She looked at the sock in her hand and wondered if she shouldn’t put it back on the doorknob. Would Alva or Dre know the signal? Normally, she wouldn’t be worried about having anyone drop by so late. Charlotte had texted her that they’d already come by earlier, and baked. Clearly they were gone. But the way her life had been lately, it wouldn’t be completely out of the question for them to come back.
Well, Lani wasn’t going back up on that porch, so she could only hope that Charlotte had locked the door. Lani squeezed the sock to toss it on the passenger seat so she could start the car, but felt something crinkle inside it. She pulled out a rolled up piece of notepaper, which she recognized as being from the Strawberry Shortcake grocery list pad she never used, but kept magneted to the side of her fridge. Her mother had given it to her when she’d gotten her first apartment, and Lani had moved it to each successive fridge in each apartment she’d leased. Just in case. And because it made her smile whenever she looked at it.
She unrolled it to find a hastily scrawled note from Charlotte.
Yes, I’m the worst houseguest ever. But it’s been TEN months, Lan. Turns out Carlo makes more than good coffee.
There was a smiley face after that. And lots of exclamation points. Which was so un-Charlotte-like, Lani had to laugh. The note ended with
Hope you can stay over the shop. I’ll make it up to you! Promise! TEN MONTHS! The drought, it is over!
Lani smiled, and folded the note back up. Just because she was stupid enough to turn away the only man she’d ever wanted didn’t mean her best friend had to turn down an opportunity. So ... Carlo. “Huh.” She shook her head. She didn’t see it. Except, well, for the part she had seen. Now that the shock had worn off, she had to admit... “Go, Charlotte.”
Her smile faded before she was even halfway to town as weariness settled in bone deep. She was going to crawl upstairs, crawl into bed, and let tomorrow take care of tomorrow. A night spent not tossing and turning and overthinking everything would be a blessing.
She parked behind the kitchen trailer and shimmied between it and the production trailer, then climbed the narrow, wobbly set of metal stairs leading to the second story door. There was entry from inside the shop, but she didn’t want to look at the cameras, cables, and lights littering her kitchen. In fact, she wanted to block everything out of her mind completely. She let herself in the back way, having to push a bit to make the warped wood door open. The dampness from the sea air made doors and wood flooring a challenge to keep properly fitted, but she thought it added to the charm of the place. Most of the time.
She worked the door shut again, then leaned against it for a moment, and oriented her vision to the shadowy open space. The wood floor, covered with linoleum, had buckled here and there from the damp air. A few area rugs helped to cover the worst of it, and take a bit of the chill off during the cooler months. Lani kicked her shoes off and curled her toes into the rug she was standing on, then took a moment to stretch them again, and let the soles of her sore feet relax fully into the pile.
The entire left side of the loft space was used for storage of nonfood items like packaging, shop bags, storage containers, and extra kitchen equipment. The other half contained the old double bed frame that had been left there by the former tenant, to which she’d added mattress, box spring, and linens from one of the guest room beds at Harper House. A small bedside nightstand with a lamp, an aging rolltop desk with a banker lamp on top, and an old television with rabbit ear antennas were also left behind. The TV actually picked up the local networks surprisingly well.
The bathroom was in the far corner. Originally she’d thought about taking a long, hot shower, but she just wanted to go straight to bed. The moonlight coming in from the two front dormer windows provided enough light. She shuffled straight over to the side of the bed and peeled her clothes off, letting them fall in a heap at her feet. When she felt a light breeze on her skin, she absently realized the overhead paddle fan was moving. And the front windows were cracked open. She must have left them that way after she’d hauled up her last order of shop bags, and done a quick inventory of stock. Even though the entire building was wired with heat and air conditioning, the steamy temperatures during the day made the upstairs pretty muggy.
At the moment, she was thankful it felt fre
shly aired out. As she flipped back the covers she made a mental note to remember to turn the fan off and close the windows before going back downstairs to the shop. With a sigh of appreciation, she slid between the cool sheets and reached up to plump the pillow ... right at the same exact moment her toes came into direct contact with very warm, very naked flesh.
She squealed and shot upright and would have flown out of bed, but she got tangled in the chenille cover, trying to preserve modesty and get away from whoever the hell was in her—
“Whoa, whoa, slow down there, luv. It’s just me.”
A large, wide hand closed around her upper arm, keeping her from flailing herself right to the floor.
She twisted around, clutching the white, fuzzy-nubbed bedspread to her chest, while spluttering her hair from her mouth. “Baxter?”
“In the, um ... flesh.”
She was too discombobulated from tangled hair, twisted blankets, and a serious punch of heart-pounding adrenaline to be able to see him clearly, but she couldn’t mistake the amusement in his voice. “What on earth are you doing in my—”
“I believe I was invited. So to speak. I ended up okaying some edit work with Rosemary after you left, then opted to just climb up here and sleep. I didn’t know you planned on joining me, or I’d have left a light on.”
“I’m glad you’re finding this amusing. You scared me half to death.”
“Perhaps I should be the one asking why you’re here. I thought you headed home.”
“I did. But Charlotte was already there. With company.”
“Ah, more of those marauding all-night bakers?”
“Oh, no.” She tried to get her heart under control. “Just one baker.”
Maybe he heard something in her voice, or maybe he was just a good guesser. When he said, “Oh,” he clearly understood that the baker in question wasn’t Alva or her shop assistant.
“Oh, indeed.”
“Is your friend in the habit of bringing home stray ... bakers ?”
“She’s impulsive, as I believe I mentioned, but this would be a first, even for her. She did leave a note.”
“Decent of her.”
Finally Lani managed to scrape the last of the tangled mess of hair from her face and make him out in the moonlit darkness. Perhaps it would have been better if she hadn’t. He was lying half on his side, half on his back, one hand behind his head, the sheets draped somewhere between his chest and a dangerously low spot below his navel. She’d thought about him many times, in a variety of settings, but she’d never once imagined he’d look that damn good in her bed.
“Yes,” she finally said, knowing she should look away, but not exactly managing it. “I—I’ll just be—can you like, roll over or something, so I can get my clothes back on?”
“I’m hardly going to kick you out of your own bed, luv.”
“Yes, well, I appreciate that, but you were already deep asleep, and so it seems to be smarter for me to just—”
“I have another bed.”
“And I can go to Harper House.”
“And explain to your father why both of your beds are taken at the moment?”
She sighed, and might have even sworn under her breath. “You have a point.” She couldn’t seem to get her heart rate back to normal, her thoughts were a rioting jumble, and she wanted everything to slow down for five blasted seconds so she could think straight.
“There’s a perfectly good bed right here. And you’re already in it. Might as well stay.”
“You know that’s not—we can’t—”
He reached out then and traced his fingers up the side of her bare arm. She shuddered in pleasure at the sizzle that single touch sent skittering over her skin.
He slipped his fingers around her upper arm, and tugged ever so gently. “Come here, Lei.”
She sighed, and her willpower wavered dangerously. Oh, who was she kidding, her willpower deserted her completely. “It’s going to make things so much harder,” she said, as she let him pull her toward him.
She could see his grin in the moonlight. “Luv, I don’t believe it could be any harder than it is already.”
She shouldn’t have laughed at that. But she did. And that’s what did in any last chance she had of reclaiming control of the situation, or at least control of herself.
It was one thing to get swept away in a moment of passion, but laughter—especially shared laughter—had a way of grounding the moment, making it a conscious choice, not something mindlessly swept aside to be dealt with in the morning. And still, she wasn’t choosing to move away.
“You’re beautiful in the moonlight.” He eased her down next to him. The chenille was bunched up between them, so they weren’t skin to skin ... quite yet. He rolled more to his side as he tucked her close, then skimmed the backs of his knuckles across her cheeks as his gaze roamed over her face, her neck, her bare shoulders.
Her breath caught in her chest and she couldn’t seem to form words. She was too busy reveling in the reality that she was in the exact place she’d dreamed of being, for so long. It was light years better than anything she’d ever fantasized it would be. His hands were big, but gentle. His words soothed, but there was an edge to his voice that incited as well. And he was bigger somehow, more imposing, more densely muscled than she’d imagined him to be. She’d thought of him as the tall, lanky golden boy, all sunny good looks and breezy charisma.
But, looking up at him from where she was, tucked in the shelter of his body, she could see the street in him. She’d had a hard time imagining that such a good-natured charmer could have been forged from the rough and tumble life he’d described. But she believed it now. There was a hard edge to his jaw, and the muscles in his shoulders bunched tightly as he skimmed his fingers into her hair. He exuded heat, and she swore she could feel the thudding beat of his heart, even with the bedspread bunched between them.
“What are you thinking?” He brought his fingertips back to her cheeks, then ran them along her bottom lip.
She moaned softly at the contact, and recalled, quite vividly, the way he’d leaped the counter and taken her in that claiming, branding kiss. Yes, there was a lot more rough and tumble to Baxter Dunne than she’d ever imagined. And now all that rough and tumble was sprawled naked in her bed, focusing a formidable level of attention on her.
“You’ve nothing to be afraid of, luv,” he said, as if reading her mind. And maybe he had. Or maybe there was something of what she was feeling in her eyes.
She felt like she was tucked up against a jungle cat, muscles coiled and bunched ... just waiting, tail flicking, all languid and relaxed to the casual eye, all poised for just the right moment to pounce. She tried to speak, but her throat had gone desert dry. She didn’t know what to say to him.
He leaned down then, and she held her breath as her pulse rate tripled, waiting, spellbound, mesmerized ... in almost excruciating anticipation for what he was going to do next.
He didn’t kiss her. He nuzzled the side of her neck as the palm of his hand lightly skimmed her bare shoulder. Her hips already wanted to arch up—violently so—and it was only the wound bedspread between them that kept them from doing it.
“I’ll leave you alone,” he whispered roughly, against her soft skin. “If that’s what you really want.”
“You—” The word came out on a strangled croak. She tried again. “You promised. Not to push.”
She heard him chuckle against her shoulder, where he was presently pressing the hottest, sweetest kisses she’d ever received. “I promised I wouldn’t start it,” he murmured. “You climbed into my bed, luv. Naked, I might add.”
“Not on purpose.” She intended the tone to be heated, but instead it came out like a plea.
He lifted his head. His hair was tousled and impossibly sexy, and his grin lent the whole look a wicked air. “Well, whatever the cause, the result has us here. Together. With no schedule demanding our attention, no eyes prying ... and nowhere to be until morning.”
She held his gaze, and tried—hard—to reclaim a single shred of common sense, a sliver of the rationale she needed so neither of them would make such a colossal mistake. “If we give in now, it’s going to be so much more painful when you go. At least for me.”
His smile faded, but as her eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, she could see the desire in his eyes, along with a wealth of emotion she shied away from labeling. It looked an awful lot like what her heart was feeling at the moment.
“Whether we give in or not, walking away from you will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
She swallowed, not sure what to say to that, or how it made her feel. Other than more conflicted.
“Less pain, more pain,” he said gruffly. “I don’t know that there’s a real measure for it any longer, Lei. Or that it matters what we do or don’t do.”
Her heart clutched at his earnestly spoken words. Being held in his arms, his warm touch on her skin, made the thought of his leaving all the more wrenching. “I wish there was a way,” she whispered back.
“They say love conquers all, but I think reality can crush even the most devoutly dedicated.” Baxter propped himself up higher on his elbow so he could look more fully into her eyes. “Even if you were willing to move back to the city, and I turned my world upside down so we’d have more time together ... at the end of it, after what you’ve found here, you’d be miserable back in New York. We both know that. Eventually you’d either resent me for it, or simply drown in the chaotic, stress-filled frenzy of it all.”
“I wouldn’t resent you,” she said. “I make my own decisions. But you’re right. I don’t want to go back to that kind of life again. I’d feel suffocated and cut off from what I really need. Just as I know your goals are different from mine, and you can’t do what you do on some dinky island off the coast of Georgia.” She untangled one hand from the bedspread to reach up and brush the tousled strands from his forehead. “I know that.”
Sugar Rush Page 24