A laugh vibrated deep within his chest. “Indeed you are my dear, which is why I doubt our afternoon between the sheets will result in much sleep.”
She gasped. “Sex in an actual bed?”
“Ah, good point.” His brows knit together. “I’ll have to come up with something better lest you tire of me and cast me aside for someone else.” While he knew she was merely taking the piss, she’d unknowingly made an excellent point. If this was in fact their last day together, he needed to make it memorable. And while he might have been wooing her as Hank Green, he still had access to a few of Prince Henry’s resources. Perhaps he could give her a glimpse into his world, without ever leaving Georgia? His frown gave way to a sly smile as an idea began to take shape. “I’ll put my depraved brain to work on that,” he said, already compiling a mental list of what he’d need. “But for now, let’s see about putting some food in that stomach of yours.”
“I don’t have anything here for breakfast.”
Hank shot her a disbelieving look. “This is a bakery, correct?”
She nodded.
“Then I assume there are eggs and bread and everything else I might need to make you a proper breakfast?”
Her eyes grew wide. “You?”
He placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, but I accept the challenge.” He might have never washed a dish, but Hank had a few culinary tricks up his sleeve. They were limited no doubt, but one in particular was tried and true.
He pulled out a stool. “Sit, and I shall cook for you.”
Cassie took a seat and waited as Hank moved about the kitchen opening and closing nearly every cabinet and refrigerator door at least twice before he’d gathered the necessary ingredients.
“French toast?” she asked as she eyed the supplies.
He raised one brow. “You’re lucky cousin Sue isn’t here or she’d give you an earful about how this recipe has absolutely nothing to do with France. In fact it predates the country itself with a recipe going back as far as the Roman Empire.”
“So what’s the proper name for it then?”
“Well the Romans called it pan dulcis.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“No.” He hesitated for a moment, then fessed up. “I call it French toast.”
They both chuckled as he washed his hands and dried them on a clean towel before slicing two thick pieces of bread off the end of the loaf he’d found in the bread box. Cassie leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter as she watched him with what appeared to be a curious fascination.
“Enjoying the show?”
“I was just thinking how the only thing that could make this better is if you were cooking in an apron.” A glimmer lit her green eyes as she added, “And nothing else.”
Hank laughed out loud. “Using my own lines against me?” He shot her a look as he cracked the first egg on the edge of a shallow mixing bowl. “Guess I should be grateful your version of the fantasy didn’t include heels.”
He added three more eggs and a dash of milk before whisking them into a froth. “Now,” he said, “I’m going to have to ask you to close your eyes for the next part. Trade secrets and all that.”
Cassie let out a sound that was half snort and half laugh. It was the most unladylike noise, but for some reason from her it seemed almost charming. “Are you serious?” she asked, when it became clear he was waiting for her to comply.
“Deadly. This recipe has been in my family for hundreds of years. If I divulge the secret ingredients I fear a team of highly trained assassins will descend upon us like a plague of locusts.”
“You’re taking the piss again, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “Yes, but the family recipe part is true.” So was the part about the team of assassins, although they weren’t in the habit of protecting family recipes, at least not that he was aware. “So if you don’t mind?”
Cassie spun herself around on the stool so that her back was to the counter. “You know,” she said, “I’m definitely going to have to add this to the list.”
Hank added a pinch of three different spices to the mixture along with a splash of vanilla, then lay the first slice of bread in the bowl. When he was satisfied with its condition he swapped it with the second one. “Which list is that?” he asked, moving to the stove where he proceeded to melt several tablespoons of butter in an iron skillet. “You can turn back around now.”
“The list of reasons I’d get down on my knees.”
Hank startled, dropping the first slice of bread into the hot butter a little harder than he’d intended and splattering his hand in the process. “In prayer?” he asked, wiping the butter off the back of his hand.
“If you mean the type of prayer you said last night in the confessional, then yes.”
Hank stilled, then his gaze lifted to meet hers. “Really?”
She slowly nodded her head. “Oh yes.”
Interesting , he thought. Seemed there were all sorts of menial tasks that resulted in sexual favor. Who knew? He flipped the slice of bread, taking pride in its perfectly golden brown color. “So does cooking a meal rank above or below hoovering?” he asked.
“Well that depends. Are we talking just straight-up hoovering or maybe a bit of light dusting too?”
He placed the toast on a plate and set it in front of her along with a fork and knife. “Just the hoovering.”
“Hmm that’s a tough one.” A crease formed between her brows as she began to cut the fried bread. “I mean, for me personally, it would probably be below since I like to cook but hate housework.” She took a bite and her eyes drifted closed in an expression he’d seen her make before, but always wearing fewer clothes. “Scratch that. No contest. This definitely ranks above a vacuum.”
Hank laughed. His agenda had been only to woo her with his charm and his great grandmum’s French toast, but far be it from him to stand in the way of a woman and her list. He’d no sooner had the thought when the clock on the wall chimed.
“What time do I need to have you back here to get ready for the wedding?”
She cocked her head ever so slightly to one side. “We have pictures beforehand so no later than three.”
Hank groaned. “Then I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but you’ll have to hold that thought. If we’re going to fit in everything I have in mind, we need to put a move on.”
She paused with a forkful of French toast in midair. “Did you just take a pass on a blow job?”
“Absolutely not. I’m merely taking a rain check for later this afternoon.” He flashed her a devilish grin. “Now eat up, we have a full day ahead.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cassie showered and changed in record time. Partly because Hank had told her he’d pick her up in front of the bakery in thirty minutes and partly because she couldn’t wait to see him again. True to his word, he’d given no hints as to what he had planned for the day. She’d even invoked the “How will I know what to wear?” clause but that only yielded a very cryptic “Dress for the outdoors” followed by “and wear jeans.”
She wasn’t sure if the second part was related to their outing or if he simply liked the way her ass looked in bluejeans. She’d never considered her ass an asset, covered in denim or anything else for that matter, but Hank had insisted it was the sight of her very fine denim-clad “arse” that had given him a raging hard-on the first night they met. Then again, he seemed to enjoy her in a billowing skirt the next night as well. She felt her face flush just thinking about the things he’d done to her in the soft cool grass, things she’d very much like him to do again.
Cassie dressed in a rush, pairing her favorite jeans with a vintage Springsteen T-shirt she’d scored at a second-hand shop the last time Olivia dragged her out for a day of “adventure shopping.” Her curls weren’t cooperating, so for the time being at least, she surrendered the fight and gathered them into a ponytail. She decided to save the glam-makeup routine for the wedding and instead kept it simple wi
th a swipe of mascara and a dab of lip gloss.
The wedding.
Ever since Matthew and Emily had announced their engagement, she’d been counting down the months, weeks, and then days until the big event. But now that it was finally here she wanted to slow time. Because the wedding meant the end of the weekend, and that meant the end of her time with Hank.
Her shoulders sagged. Some femme fatale she turned out to be. First ever weekend fling and there she was already getting all mopey. She straightened in front of the mirror. No sense getting all weepy. At least not yet. There would be plenty of time for that once she was back in Chicago surrounded by baked goods. For now, she was off on a real-life version of Mystery Date.
* * *
Hank curbed the silver Porsche in front of Sue’s Sweets & Treats. He’d considered taking the SUV Clayton had been driving, but at the last minute opted for something a bit “more.” The open Georgia roads beckoned, and not for a four-cylinder with an automatic transmission. And besides, this was still “less” compared to the fleet of luxury sports cars waiting for him back home. Christ, he’d even seen a mum driving thru town in a four-door version with a toddler seat strapped in the back. The mere thought of a high-performance vehicle with Cheerios scattered about the seat made him cringe. These cars were works of art meant to be driven by someone who appreciated what was housed underneath, not merely the name that was written on the back.
But as he stepped out of the car, the look on Cassie’s face had him regretting his decision.
“You know, when you said you were renting a car I figured you’d roll up in a Hyundai, maybe a Chevy Malibu, but a Porsche?”
Hank found himself at a loss for words. From the moment he’d stepped off the plane, he’d tried to think and act like an “average Joe,” or in his case an “average Hank.” But didn’t these men grow up dreaming of an afternoon behind the wheel of a Porsche 911? And wasn’t that exactly why so many rental companies made them available for single day use? Of course, if she thought the car he’d chosen for the day was outlandish, there was no telling how she would react to the rest of what he had planned.
“What can I say,” he offered in his defense. “I’m a bit of a petrol head. And although purchasing one of these cars can be quite cost prohibitive, as a rental they are surprisingly affordable.”
“Boys and their toys.” Cassie shook her head as though admonishing him, but the smile that stretched across her face revealed the joy she felt at discovering his passion. He found himself wanting to tell her more, to explain how his love of motor sports stemmed from his father’s near obsession and to describe in excruciating detail not only the various races he’d attended as a young boy, but about the occasions when his father had brought him to the pit or to meet with the team engineers.
Of course that was only during his younger years. Once he was of driving age a mere visit to the track wasn’t enough. His father had protested at first but in the end relented and arranged for him to take high-performance driving lessons from some of the best coaches the circuit had to offer. He wanted to tell Cassie about all of that and more. Like how his grandmum had eventually found out and put an end to his lessons or how despite all that he still snuck off for the occasional open-road drag race.
The weight of that realization hit him as he reached to open Cassie’s car door. Discussing his family and now his hobbies was new territory when it came to members of the opposite sex. But Cassie was different than any woman he’d ever met, and perhaps more surprising was how different he was when he was around her. He wanted to share things with her and have her do the same, to tell her his inner most thoughts and hear hers in return. He could do that as Hank Green, but even though he spoke from his heart, he was painfully aware that he was telling partial stories and half truths. And as Cassie lowered herself onto the calfskin seat he realized what he hoped more than anything was that the day would come when he could share pieces of his true persona, all of it, and that she would still be as accepting.
“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” she said.
Hank paused with the key in the air. “I’d ask if there was anything left to bake but I’ve seen the answer to that firsthand.”
She blushed the most glorious shade of pink. “Guilty as charged.”
“And your main duty, the wedding cake, that’s all sorted, yes?”
She nodded. “The caterer is sending a truck to pick it up later this morning.”
“Then no more worrying.” He reached over, using the pad of his thumb to gently smooth the crease that seemed to be between her brows far too frequently. “Today is ours, so just relax and enjoy the adventure.”
Cassie leaned back against the soft leather seats and smiled. “I’m all yours.”
* * *
The Georgia landscape sped by in a color-streaked blur.
“You drive like this is NASCAR,” Cassie teased.
Hank turned to look at her and smirked. “More like Formula One, seeing as how we aren’t going round in circles.”
Race cars were race cars. Like she knew the difference? But clearly Hank did. And he apparently not only enjoyed the sport as a spectator, but as a wannabe participant. She had to hand it to him though, he was good. In fact, he made driving the high-performance vehicle seem effortless. She took a moment to admire his beautiful profile as he maneuvered the winding country roads. Everything from his strong, finely stubbled jaw to his full sensual lips to the way his tousled hair fell across his brow. Hank Green was too delicious for words. And the way he handled that car, his firm grip commanding and controlling every move while pushing the limits higher and higher, was an undeniable turn on. She squirmed in her seat as she imagined climbing into his lap as soon as he put the car into park and straddling his hips, her lips finding his as her questing fingers found his button fly.
The GPS dinged to announce their arrival, pulling Cassie from her salacious daydream. Hank shifted to a lower gear and turned onto a gravel drive that led to a bright red barn.
“A stable?” she asked.
Hank nodded as he eased the car to a stop in front of the building. “It’s beautiful day. I thought we could explore on horseback.”
“Hank, I don’t know how to ride a horse.” She pointed to her chest. “City girl.”
“I thought you grew up in Wisconsin?”
She laughed. “Yes, but not on a dairy farm. I grew up in Madison, the state capital and home of the university and about a million acres of lakefront. If you want to take a kayak out for a spin, then I’m your girl, but a horse . . .”
“It’s easy. Like riding a bike.” He grinned. “Without the pedals.”
“Um yeah, if the bike was like six feet tall and a living breathing being that could buck and send you flying.”
He turned to face her full on. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. And she did. Despite the fact that she’d only known Hank a short time, she did trust him.
“Then come with me. I have an idea.” He took her hand, leading her into the barn.
“Don’t we have to check in at an office or something?”
Hank shook his head. “Everything’s been taken care of.” He walked the length of the stables, inspecting each and every horse before doubling back to the third stall. “This one.”
“For what?”
“For both of us.” His childlike grin had returned. “I’ll drive, you ride.”
There was no denying the fact that a morning with her arms wrapped around Hank’s torso sounded like the perfect way to spend an hour or two, but she could think of a few other ways to pass that time. “You know,” she said, trying her best to sound seductive, “if your goal is to have me pressed up against you, we can do that down here. . . . Naked.”
He drew her against him and let his hand glide over the curve of her ass. “Oh my Little Vixen, I plan to do just that.” He held her tight, his hips rolling against hers and sending a surge of heat racing through he
r core. He dipped his head and her eyes drifted closed. But instead of brushing his lips against her mouth, he touched them to the shell of her ear. “After the ride,” he whispered.
Cassie placed both hands on his chest and gave him a playful shove. “You’re impossible.”
“On the contrary,” he said, laughing at the expression on her face. “What I am is a horny bastard. But before I have my way with you in a hayloft, I’d like to share something with you.”
Well when he put it that way . . .
“Fine,” she said. “What’s first?”
“Brushing her down. Horses sweat when you run them, so if you don’t brush the loose hairs off first, and they get wet, she might try to shake them off.”
“And us?”
“Exactly.” He picked up two brushes and handed one to Cassie.
“You realize that little tidbit is not helping your case?” She looked down at the brush then glanced around the empty stable. “And shouldn’t this be done by people who work here? As in who actually know what they’re doing?”
Hank ignored her comment and instead placed his hand over hers. “Here, like this,” he said. “Imagine you’re sweeping a floor, and flick the dust and hair off her body.” He helped her and together they worked their way from the neck to the rear. When they finished, they repeated the process on the other side.
After rewarding the mare with a few words of softly spoken praise, Hank reached for what looked like a wool blanket. Cassie watched as he positioned it on the horse’s back then hoisted the leather saddle on top.
“So what made you choose this horse?” she asked.
“She reminds me of the first horse I ever rode. Marigold. She belonged to my mother, actually. My father bought her as a wedding gift.”
Hank had mentioned how statistically his mother had been too young to have breast cancer, and yet she was already a wife and mother? “They must have been quite young when they got married.”
Crap. She hadn’t intended to say that last part out loud, but Hank didn’t miss a beat. He answered matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes focused on the mare. “My father was twenty and my mum was only nineteen.”
Icing on the Cake Page 15