He seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then asked, “Cheesy potatoes?”
She nodded. He had to already think she was a little cuckoo, so what could it hurt to go all in here? “I found it sexy how you ate the cheesy potatoes.”
Yeah, that was definitely a look of surprise on his face.
“So anyway,” she concluded, “I’m not exactly fine, but I’m going to survive. Especially if you could just, you know, go back to Chicago. But until then, it will all be okay.”
There, that hadn’t been so bad. She turned and started to open her door.
“Jocelyn.”
But his deep voice—and her full name—stopped her.
He knew her full name?
She turned back. And swallowed hard. There was no way she could have labeled the look on his face, but it was… not uninterested.
“Yes?”
“You have a crush on me?”
She felt her cheeks heat a little, but she rolled her eyes. Come on. He had to hear her say it twice? Really? “Yes.”
“And you think that it’s not reciprocal.”
“Right.”
“And that’s why you’ve been acting strange tonight? Because you’ve been uncomfortable around me because you think you have unrequited feelings?”
She blew out a breath. “Is this the serious-businessman thing? Like how much you love spreadsheets and stuff? You have to go over every single point and make everything really black and white?”
His lips curled again. “Probably. Though it might also be that I want to be very sure about your feelings right now.”
“Why is that?”
“Just tell me all of that is true.”
She threw her arms wide. “Okay, fine, yes, Grant. You got it all right. That’s all true.”
“Very good to know.” Then he reached up, cupped the back of her head, stepped her back until she was against her car, and kissed her.
Oooo-kay.
So maybe indifferent wasn’t quite the right word to use.
Grant did not kiss her as if he was indifferent to her. He kissed her as if he’d been thinking about it as long as she had. And had been thinking about covering her in cheesy potatoes.
Then he gave a little groan, tipped his head, pressed even closer, deepened the kiss, and all she could think was no, marshmallow fluff. For sure.
Josie felt every stroke of his tongue in her lower belly and between her legs. She was immediately up on tiptoe and gripping his shoulders, arching closer.
They kissed for long minutes before Grant finally lifted his head. They were both breathing hard and just stared at each other for several seconds.
Josie licked her lips. He let her go, and she lowered back flat on her feet.
“Very reciprocal,” he finally said.
“The first day you just walked out of the bakery,” she said. That was the part that had been bugging her the most.
He nodded. “I was afraid you were going to make me want to stay in town.”
Oh. That was definitely not what she’d expected him to say. And she was equally surprised by how much she liked that answer. “But you are still in town.”
“I guess I didn’t get out of the bakery fast enough.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re still in town because of me?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t blunt the answer. He didn’t even blink.
He was a very straightforward guy. She was used to the charming, flirtatious guys she’d grown up with.
“So why haven’t you asked me out?”
“You don’t seem like the casual dating type of girl.”
She thought about that. Was it casual dating when you literally fell into the guy’s arms and you locked eyes and you both became immediately smitten? But he was right. She nodded. “I’m not really.”
“Exactly.”
She should let it go. If he just wanted to casually date and she wasn’t the type for that, then she should let this go.
And she might have, if he hadn’t kissed her.
“Did you really have something else to do that made you leave before dessert?” she asked.
“Yes. I needed to walk you out and make sure you were okay.”
That clinched it. “Well, I need to go home and bake.”
He seemed confused.
“I bake on the side. For people who have last-minute work potlucks or kids’ school parties they don’t have time to bake for themselves. It’s purely to help people out. Stuff the bakery doesn’t do,” she added quickly. “You can’t tell Zoe.” She felt a flicker of guilt. That was familiar, however. She always felt a little guilty when she baked behind her best friend—and boss’s—back. Well, when she did it for money, anyway.
“My lips are sealed.”
His lips. Yeah, she really liked his lips.
“So I was thinking… if you just stopped by my house tonight and sampled a few things for me then that’s not really a date, right?”
Hey, she couldn’t be held responsible if he took “sampled a few things” as innuendo.
His eyes flickered first with understanding, then heat. “No, I wouldn’t call that a date.”
“Four Fifteen Elm Street,” she said. “The kitchen door will be unlocked.”
“I just have one more question,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Can you be late for work tomorrow morning?”
Heat flashed through her. His meaning was clear. Her reaction to it was as well.
“Yes,” she told him simply.
Hell, she could play up the I’m-not-really-feeling-well thing in the morning too if necessary.
And after that kiss, it was going to be necessary.
“Great. I’m definitely in the mood for something sweet.”
She had never had a one-night stand. She’d never slept with someone she hadn’t known for at least a year. Actually, if she thought about it, she probably hadn’t slept with anyone she hadn’t known for three years or more.
But Grant was Aiden and Dax’s friend and partner. Aiden Anderson, her best friend’s fiancé, had known and worked with and trusted this man for nine years.
“I’ll see you there,” she told him. Then she got into her car and headed for home, her heart pounding, her breathing uneven, and her panties much warmer than even the early summer night should account for.
She had nothing to worry about with inviting Grant over to her house for… whatever.
Except that she was ninety percent sure she didn’t have any marshmallow fluff at home.
That was really unfortunate.
3
This was really one of the worst ideas he’d had in a long time.
Grant acknowledged that even as he followed Jocelyn Asher home.
He didn’t have bad ideas very often. In fact, it was pretty typical that he was saving others from their bad ideas.
But even the taillights on Jocelyn’s bright blue Ford Fiesta were tempting him. He wanted to follow her home. He wanted to back her up against the wall of her—no doubt—bright, cute, sweet kitchen. And kiss the hell out of her.
He had an inkling of what the draw was here.
There was no question Jocelyn was gorgeous. She had long, wavy blond hair that fell nearly to the curve of her lower back. She had big blue eyes. She had a tiny body with sweet curves and a bright, quick smile. She had a tinkling laugh.
Yes, tinkling. Like bells or wind chimes or something. Something bright and cheery and impossible to hear without it making you feel happier.
She was clearly a bubbly, sweet, happy, sunny person.
Not his type at all.
Yet he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since she’d fallen—literally—into his arms the first time he’d set foot in the bakery where she worked.
It was very likely that fall—and the one that had happened the second time he’d ever seen her, also at Buttered Up—was messing with his subconscious.
He ha
d a hero complex. He saved damsels in distress. Not in the old-fashioned, slaying-dragons way. Not in the I’ll-physically-protect-you way. Not in the putting-himself-in-danger or sacrificing-for-them way. In fact, damsels kind of annoyed him.
That sounded cold even to his own ears. But he was determined to make sure that the women in his life were strong and confident and knowledgeable and never dependent on anyone else for survival or happiness.
He didn’t teach self-defense classes or anything, though he was a big supporter and advocate of those. He wasn’t a psychologist or a counselor. Though, again, he was a big fan of those. He was a financial coach, who worked almost exclusively with single moms and widows. He taught women how to make, invest, and spend their money so that they were financially independent.
He didn’t feel worried or protective of his clients. He felt motivated. Energized by the opportunity to help. And often frustrated. With the women who thought they were “dumb about money” or “not good at math” and couldn’t handle their finances. And the men who liked having women depend on them. He also got exasperated with the women who attended his seminars and then hit on him. It was like they weren’t listening at all. He wanted them to leave his seminars understanding that they didn’t need a man.
He’d also recently been very uncomfortable with one of his attendees. His most recent seminar had been Michelle’s third time participating, and she’d made it very clear afterward that she was only there because of him.
Finding a woman naked in his bed in his hotel room had been a shock. That was the kind of thing that happened to Dax and… No, really only Dax. Grant had quickly dissuaded her of any idea that he was interested and had told her he thought it was best she didn’t come to any more seminars. He’d been able to get her out of his room without getting hotel security involved—which, according to Dax when he’d heard the story, meant the woman wasn’t really a fan—but Grant had decided that he needed to start wearing a wedding ring and talking about his “wife” at these seminars. Or at least bringing an assistant along. He thought, for the right price, Piper would accompany him, but he wasn’t sure he could afford her.
Jocelyn Asher, however, was neither a mom nor a widow. And she was most definitely making him feel protective. And he’d love to find her naked in his bed.
He didn’t like that. He didn’t want to nurture or take care of someone.
But he couldn’t stop thinking of her.
Following her out to her car tonight had truly, initially, been out of concern. She’d seemed quieter than he’d expected her to be at a meal with her friends. Then when those friends had commented that she’d been acting strange, and Maggie, clearly the mother figure to all of her daughter’s friends, had seemed legitimately concerned, he’d gotten concerned.
But then Jocelyn had told him it was because she was attracted to him, and he couldn’t keep his lips off her any longer.
Once he’d tasted her, resisting her was futile.
He was going to have to figure out why she was making him feel so protective. But first, he was going to get her naked.
Again, maybe not the wisest decision, but fuck it. He had no idea how to fight it. Nor did he want to.
Dax and Ollie got to make dumb decisions all the time, and they always landed on their feet. This was Grant’s turn.
They pulled between two stone columns with lamps set on top and drove up a curving driveway.
Grant knew his eyes were wide as Jocelyn stopped her car in front of a three-car, carriage-house-style detached garage. The garage was set back from the main house. An enormous 1800s Victorian mansion, to be exact. The house sat back from the road several yards and was surrounded by trees, grass, and flowers.
The fading light of the evening didn’t give him a perfect look at everything, but his first impression was that of a gorgeous, peaceful, old, and majestic property, and he knew his mouth was hanging open as he got out of the car and met Jocelyn at the front bumper.
She was wearing a pale pink sundress with a subtle flowered pattern. The skirt hit her just below the curve of her calf and her dainty feet were in nude-colored sandals that showed off pale pink toenails. The bodice of the dress, however, was strapless, leaving her shoulders and arms bare, showing off lots of smooth, pale, creamy skin. The top of the dress cupped her breasts and fit to her narrow waist before flaring slightly at her hips. It was a very feminine, sweet dress. With her long blond hair falling in soft waves to her lower back and her general gorgeous-girl-next-door looks and easy smiles, she was so unlike the polished city women at the top of their corporate game in law, real estate, marketing, and sales of all kinds, that he could only shake his head in wonder. He’d bet Jocelyn didn’t have a single pantsuit in her closet.
Why was he drawn to this woman? This woman he knew next to nothing about and who he had nothing in common with?
Then again… he glanced at her house. Maybe there were layers upon layers of things he didn’t know about her that he’d find fascinating and familiar. He was definitely used to spending time with women who were from old money. He didn’t visit them at home, but he could imagine some of his clients having stately old mansions that sat at the back of humongous lawns and had gardens overflowing with flowers behind them. Along with stone cherubs dotting the property and wrought ironwork that was older than his grandfather.
Jocelyn took in his expression as he looked up at the house.
She smiled. “I inherited it from my grandparents. My great-great-grandparents lived here, then my great-grandparents, then my grandparents. Now they live in a small, much easier to care for townhouse about ten blocks away.”
“This is…”
“Surprising?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She laughed, and he thought of the comparison to wind chimes again. The sound was light and happy and soothing. He focused fully on her, forgetting about the house.
“The house has been paid off forever, so I only have to come up with the money for the utilities. And the repairs. I was the only one who wanted to take on the upkeep. It’s gigantic and… old. There’s lots of issues with pipes and electric and creaky floorboards and leaky roofs. But our family has a ton of great memories in this house, and there was no way I could let it go.”
Grant felt himself frowning. “How do you take care of all of that?”
She shrugged. “Myself, when I can. Favors, when I can’t. Pinching pennies when that doesn’t work.”
“You have people who can do some of that stuff for you?”
She nodded. “I’ve lived in this town all my life. I know everyone. And I’m an amazing baker. You’d be surprised what people will do in exchange for free cookies.” She peered up at him, a tiny crease between her eyebrows. “Actually, you probably would be surprised.”
He was aware of how short she was when she stood looking up at him like that. When he’d kissed her just before, it had been obvious. He’d had to bend, and she’d had to stretch. But tasting her, touching her, absorbing her little gasp and then moan had been at the forefront of his mind then.
“Why would I be surprised by that?”
“You don’t really like cookies.”
He lifted a brow. “I don’t?”
“You never get cookies from the bakery. Or cupcakes.” Her frown deepened.
“I come to the bakery at seven thirty in the morning,” he pointed out.
“You could get them and eat them later.”
She seemed offended that he’d never bought cookies or cupcakes. And she’d been paying attention to what he bought. Maybe she knew everyone’s order. That wouldn’t surprise him actually. Appleby was a very small town, and the bakery seemed to have a lot of regulars. As she’d said, she’d lived here all her life. Still, he liked that she’d paid attention to his order.
“Remember what I said about if I got to know you I’d want to stay around?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I was pretty sure if I ate your cupcakes, I’d never
want to stop.”
Did ate your cupcakes sound as dirty to her as it did to him? He hoped so. Because it was true. In the sex sense and the cake sense. There was something about this woman that made all kinds of warning signs flash for him.
Yet here he was.
Jocelyn smiled at him then. And the warning sign flashed even brighter.
But did he turn around and get back in his car?
No, he did not.
“So you were avoiding the good stuff at the bakery because you were afraid of it?” she asked.
That was so true. On so many levels. He nodded. “Definitely.”
“You might not want to come into my kitchen, then,” she said. “I’m trying something new tonight, and I think it’s going to be amazing.”
He was trying something new tonight too. Sleeping with a sweet, small-town baker, who wore pink, flowery dresses and didn’t date casually. She was also friends with the fiancées of two of his best friends. Which meant if he hurt her, he’d be fucking a lot up.
“I’m absolutely coming into your kitchen tonight, Jocelyn.”
Yep, that definitely sounded dirty.
He was, apparently, also making bad decisions he knew were bad going in. Which was also new.
Heat flickered in her eyes and she took a quick breath. Then she nodded. “Okay, then.”
She led the way across the loose white rocks that covered the drive toward the steps that took them up to the back porch. She turned the knob and pushed the door open.
“You don’t lock your doors?”
“In Appleby?” She laughed. “No. Besides, I don’t have anything worth stealing.”
He frowned. “Someone could just want you. They wouldn’t necessarily want to steal anything.”
She just laughed and stepped inside.
Grant didn’t think it was funny. He stepped through the door, but nearly plowed her over when she stopped and bent to slip her shoes off.
His hands landed on her hips, her ass pressed against his groin. The position was provocative but clearly unintentional. Still, his body responded.
Well, nothing like getting up close and personal in minute one.
Jocelyn straightening quickly, jerking her head around to look at him, her hair whipping against his face. “Sorry!”
Making Whoopie Page 3