by Melody Grace
Now it was up to her to make it last.
Summer turned back to her baking with a new energy. If she was launching a charm offensive on the people of Sweetbriar tonight, she needed to go in guns blazing. Or rather, Pop-Tarts blazing. Her hand pies were a twist on the classic breakfast snack: shaped into small rectangles, filled with delicious flavor combinations, and topped with an addictive cinnamon-sugar crumble. They were a perfect movie snack, and soon, Summer had filled half a dozen tins with them: blueberry and lemon verbena, fresh peach and ginger, and even a sinful Nutella flavor with tart cherry glaze. She packed everything up and barely had time to jump in the shower and pull on her favorite jeans and a white peasant top before it was time to go.
She drove the winding road back into town and found a crowd already assembling on the green patch of the town square. They had a screen set up, and people were spreading blankets on the grass and settling in, getting snacks from vendors, and chatting in the warm dusk light. Summer was unloading her treats when Mackenzie called her over to a group.
“This is Debra and Franny and Bert,” she said, pointing out the older townspeople. “And this is the great Summer Bloom.”
“The baker!” one of the women greeted her.
“That’s right. Here, try a pie.” Summer offered her the tin, and just like that, the ice was broken. She’d learned a long time ago that everyone was a friend when you came bearing pastries, so in no time at all, she’d met almost everyone in town—and made them promise to come visit the bakery for the soft opening next week. “It’s the unofficial dry run,” she explained. “A chance to work out all the kinks.”
“This sounds like my kind of conversation.” They were joined by a man with a scruffy, surfer look. He gave Summer a charming smile from under his ragged blond hair. “I’m Riley.”
“Ah, I get it now,” she said.
Riley arched a brow. “My reputation precedes me. Don’t worry,” he added, leaning closer. “It’s all true.”
Summer laughed. “Pleasure to meet you.” She could see now why Poppy had wanted them to meet. He was handsome, with an easy-going air about him, and any other time maybe she would have been charmed, but Summer was already searching the crowd for Grayson’s dark frame. “Have a Pop-Tart.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Riley took a treat, then paused. “Wait, is this your way of getting us all hooked? The first hit is always free.”
Summer giggled. “Busted. Don’t worry, I open next week,” she added, handing over a flyer. “You won’t have to go long before your next sugar fix.”
“Sneaky. I like you already.” Riley wolfed his pie down in two bites. “Tell me you’re looking for a meaningless, no-strings relationship, and I’m all yours.”
She snorted with laughter. “Where’s the romance? The wooing?” she teased.
“Eh, romance is overrated. I’ve heard from at least three people tonight how there’s a new eligible young lady in town,” Riley confided, “so I figured I wouldn’t beat around the bush.”
“No beating necessary.” Summer smiled. “I’m always happy to meet a new friend.”
“Emphasis on friend.” Riley nodded. “Say no more.”
Summer felt a prickle across the back of her neck. When she looked around, she found Grayson watching them from across the park. It was dark out now, but in the string of lights, she could see he was dressed in another plaid button-down with jeans, sleeves rolled up and his dark hair curling over the collar.
He was delicious.
She shivered, feeling that pull of desire tug in her belly. Riley turned, following her stare. “Huh,” he said, sounding interested.
“No ‘huh,’ ” Summer said quickly.
Riley smirked. “A day late and a dollar short, isn’t that always the way? I’ll leave you to it. Unless you want a little jealousy,” he added. “It turns out I’m great for that. Just ask Poppy.”
“No thanks,” Summer said, a little thrown. Riley had clocked the situation quicker than she’d expected—or maybe her feelings were written all over her face. “It’s a generous offer, but I don’t like games.”
“Then we definitely wouldn’t work. Shame.” Riley grinned. “I could use a woman like you in my kitchen.”
Summer laughed again and elbowed him good-naturedly. “And with lines like that, you wonder why you’re single.”
“Oh, no.” He grinned. “I know exactly why I’m single. Haven’t met a woman yet who could handle me.”
“Or bake,” Summer added.
“Exactly.” Riley leaned in to take another Pop-Tart, resting his arm casually around her shoulders as he selected his next treat. It wasn’t until Grayson suddenly materialized beside them that Summer realized what he was doing.
So much for no games.
Riley gave her a wink. “Grayson, my man. How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
Was it just Summer, or did Grayson seem a little tense? His dark eyes moved back and forth between her and Riley, even as he sipped from a bottle of lemonade.
“I was just telling Summer I’ll be first in line when her bakery opens.” Riley kept his arm around her shoulder. “In fact, you can just find me worshipping at her feet from now on. Have you tasted her yet?”
Grayson blinked.
“Her pastries. Here, take mine.” Riley passed him a pastry, then squeezed Summer. “I’ll leave you to it. Save me a seat.” He sauntered off, already waving to another woman.
Summer had to give him points for style.
“So, you’re making friends.” Grayson’s tone was guarded. Summer turned back.
“Oh, yes. Everyone’s so nice here. And trusting. Back in New York, you’d just assume the person handing out free food is trying to poison you.” She smiled and Grayson’s tense expression softened a little.
“Or they’d throw it straight in the rubbish bin.”
“And hurl abuse at me on the street,” Summer agreed.
“Well, if you set out to win hearts and minds, you’re going about it the right way,” Grayson told her. “I’ve had four people ask when the big opening is.”
Right then, the only heart and mind she cared about winning was standing just two feet away, but Summer forced herself to stay casual. “That’s great,” she said. “Do you guys have events like this often?”
“Every damn week ’til Labor Day,” Grayson sighed.
Summer giggled. “How’s that monastery looking now?”
He caught her gaze. “Better every minute.”
Summer’s stomach twisted again. But before she could say anything, the band sounded a kind of fanfare, and people began to take their seats for the movie. “That’s our cue,” she said, not looking away.
“Seems like it.” Grayson didn’t move.
Summer stared at him, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. He was looking at her with that dark intensity again, like they were the only two people in the world. She felt a sparkle of anticipation, the feeling she always got right before she did something reckless and impulsive.
She should go find Poppy and Cooper and take her seat for the movie. Let Grayson go be inscrutable and controlled if he wanted; read the signs, and take a hint.
But where would the fun be in that?
She’d been hiding away in her kitchens for too long. It was time to live.
“Come with me,” she said suddenly, taking his hand. She pulled him after her, quickly heading out of the square.
“Where are we going?” Grayson asked, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
“You’ll see.”
“Summer . . .”
She turned down the dark street, leading him around the corner and out of sight of the crowd. Summer turned back to him, her pulse racing at double-quick time now. They were in the shadows, all alone. “Just relax.”
“That’s what my dentist says,” Grayson said wryly. “It never turns out well for me—”
Before he could say another word, she went up on her tip-toes and pr
essed her lips against his. It was a clumsy attempt, and he stiffened in shock, but then Summer wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for the slow, long kiss she’d been waiting for.
There.
His body was hard and solid against hers, his mouth warm, tasting like sugar and whiskey and him, rich and tempting and sending her head spinning in an instant.
God, this was what she’d been needing: the glorious spark of desire that burst to life and flooded through her bloodstream, setting her whole body alive. Summer kissed him deeper, and then suddenly his hands were on her waist, and she was backed up against the wall, his body pressing against every inch of her.
Yes. More. Please.
Grayson eased her lips open and stroked his tongue into her mouth, and Summer let out a breathy moan of satisfaction. She arched up against him, running her hands over the broad planes of his shoulders as his lips wreaked pure havoc on her senses. From zero to hot-as-hell in five seconds flat—this was what she’d been waiting for, ever since that first, too-brief touch of his lips to hers.
Because boy, this man knew how to kiss.
Grayson’s body pinned her to the wall, hard and hot against her as his tongue teased deeper. She’d wanted to shatter his control, but she was the one coming undone instead: holding on for dear life as her legs went weak and her body molded to him, already needing more.
Then he pulled away. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered, searching her face in the dark.
Summer fought to find a witty comeback, some glib, sarcastic reply, but her head was still spinning from the feel of his body, and god, he was too close to think straight. She reached for him again, but there was a burst of applause from across the square, the first chords of the movie striking up, and Grayson blinked.
He stepped away. “I . . .” He cleared his throat.
“Let me guess,” Summer said, her heart sinking again. “This was another unfortunate mistake.”
“No,” he said, his gaze hot on her. “It wasn’t a mistake—and that’s the problem.”
He shook his head, and then turned and walked away, leaving her body humming and restless for just one more touch.
Summer let out a breath of frustration. Something told her she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.
11
Grayson couldn’t sleep.
It was one thing when the images flooding his mind were pure fantasy, idle dreams spun by a restless mind, but the scenes tempting him now were fact, not fiction. He knew the touch of her, the taste. Summer’s body, lush and hot against him in the dark alleyway, the breathy sound of her moan as he claimed that sweet mouth for his own.
The memories were burned into his brain forever, and there was no going back.
He needed more.
Grayson threw off the covers, hot with frustration. Goddammit, that woman was infuriating.
And intoxicating.
Sexy, and sensual, with a body made for sin . . .
He got up. So much for peace, quiet, and order. Summer had barely been in town a few weeks, and already she had him thinking like a character in one of Poppy’s romance novels. How did she do that? Make a man want to go throw caution to the wind, march on over the bakery, and show her exactly what it meant to start a kiss like that?
A kiss that needed finishing—with her naked, panting in his arms.
He paced to the window. The bakery was on the other side of the orchard, invisible in the dark, but still, he could have sworn he saw a light on, glimmering in the distance.
It was past midnight. Was she awake, too? Tossing and turning in bed the way he was, thinking about that kiss and how good it felt together, hot and wild and free? Or was she up late, mixing up another batch of magic in the kitchen? Barefoot, barely dressed, licking frosting from the spoon with that wicked, delicious mouth?
Grayson stifled a groan. He had to stop thinking like this. It was torture—for his mind and his body. He was wound so tight, even a dip in Blackbottom Pond wouldn’t help . . .
Especially if she came too.
Another set of images slammed into his brain, these more X-rated than the last. Sinking into the cool water . . . peeling off that scrap of a bikini . . . nudging her thighs open . . .
Grayson clenched his jaw. Another cold shower it was then. But when he walked down the hall to the bathroom, he found his feet kept moving: down the stairs and out onto the back porch. He grabbed his sneakers and a flashlight and set out down the garden and through the gate to the pitch-black orchard before he could even register the fact he was wearing sweatpants—and nothing else.
This was madness. He’d lost his mind, clearly, and this was no way to get his sanity back. But something was propelling him on through the shadows: the smallest possibility that she might be awake too.
Thinking of him.
The moon was bright in a clear sky as he crossed the orchard, lighting the way through the overgrown bushes that snagged at his pants, wet with dew. Sure enough, when he approached the bakery, there was a light on upstairs in the apartment. She was awake.
Now what?
It suddenly dawned on Grayson that he was standing in his pajamas in a stranger’s garden, in the middle of the night, hoping for a glimpse of the woman he’d sworn he could resist.
Madness didn’t even begin to cover it.
He shook his head. What in the world was he thinking? If one kiss from Summer could drive him to this, he didn’t even want to imagine what might happen if anything more transpired between them. He was turning to leave when something brushed against his legs. He startled, stumbling, and came down on something fluffy. An indignant yowl echoed into the night—followed by the sharp pain of claws sinking into his shin.
Grayson cursed loudly. What the hell was this beast? He was reeling back in pain when movement came from inside the apartment.
“Hello?” Summer’s voice called out, and then she appeared at the window, peering out, a modern-day Juliet with her hair pulled back in a braid and some kind of cartoon T-shirt on. “Is someone out there?”
Grayson froze. The damn cat sank his claws in again, and he let out a muffled curse.
What the hell had he gotten himself into now?
“Hello?” Summer called again, her heart racing. She’d been lying awake, trying not to think about Grayson when she’d heard a noise out back. At least, she thought she had. Now, she peered out of the window into the darkness and wondered what was lurking there. “Marmaduke, is that you?”
There was no reply, but of course, if it were the damn cat scaring her, he wasn’t exactly going to yowl hello.
“I’m serious, if someone’s out there, you need so say so, right now. Or . . .” Summer gulped. There wasn’t much she could do, but they didn’t know that. “I’m armed!”
With a spatula. It wasn’t much, but she’d work with what she had.
She scanned the shadows, trying to see in the dark. Maybe she was overreacting. She was still adjusting to nights in the country, with the sound of crickets chirping, and animals rustling, and no drunks hollering their conspiracy theories up Fourth Avenue. It looked all quiet, and she was just about to go back to bed when—
“Hello.”
She yelped in shock. The voice was male, and British. “Grayson?” Summer blinked as his familiar figure emerged from the darkness. Was she dreaming, or was he standing half-naked in her garden. “What . . . what are you doing here?”
“I can’t really answer that.” Grayson sounded sheepish. “But do you have any antiseptic cream?”
She paused. It wasn’t exactly “jealous moon,” but she could work with it. “I think so, I’ll be right down.”
Summer scurried back from the window. He’d already seen her in her ratty Jetsons T-shirt, so there was no time to change into a seductive negligee. Not that she had any to wear. She hurried straight downstairs and grabbed her new first aid kit from the kitchen. She opened the back door and stepped outside, and Grayson limped to meet her.
> “What happened?” she asked.
“I, uh, had a run-in with some wild beast.”
“What?” Summer looked fearfully around before she caught sight of a familiar ginger fluffball skulking in the shadows.
“Marmaduke! I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I left milk out for him one time, and now he thinks he’s a guard cat. Let me take a look.”
Grayson sat on the back step and gingerly lifted the leg of his pajama pants. There were some ugly claw marks, bloody on his skin. “Here, this should help.” Summer found the cream and gently dabbed the scratches, trying to ignore the nearness of Grayson’s naked chest.
For a man who sat around reading all day, the man was taut.
She smoothed on a Band-Aid. “All set.” Summer sat back, and looked at him again. Grayson. Half-naked in pajamas on her back steps. She would think she was dreaming, except if this was a dream, they wouldn’t be sitting around right now.
And he wouldn’t just be half-naked.
“So . . .” she ventured. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing out there?”
Grayson bolted to his feet. “I’m sorry, this was . . . I don’t even know what this was,” he said, backing away. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
There he was again, with the formal apologies and swift exit, but this time, Summer wasn’t letting him go so easily.
“No, wait.” Summer went after him, and caught his hand. “I . . . I’m glad you came. I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly. “I was thinking about you.”
The silence crackled between them, and she saw the desire in Grayson’s eyes—and the decision there. He was on the edge, and she almost reached for him, but held herself back just in time.
She didn’t want to be the one chasing him. If this was going to happen, he had to decide.