He gives me a lazy grin. “Never spent Sunday morning doing this before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
The glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about, although I’m not sure there’s much connection between having sex on the hood of my car and eating blueberry muffins at eleven in the morning.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to disappear?” Charity waves her fork with a piece of melon in our direction. “Because just for the record, your bedroom talk isn’t going over my head.”
I don’t suppose it is, seeing as I’ve shared most things with her. Not that I want Zach to guess that, though. “I don’t know what you mean.” I sound buttoned-up even to my own ears.
Charity smirks and sucks the melon into her mouth without answering. Zach takes a bite of muffin and chews slowly, as though he’s a judge in a competition.
He licks his lips. “Your muffins are worth waiting for.”
It’s an innocent enough statement, but he manages to infuse each word with a sizzling sexual undertone. I go warm all over, and regret insisting that my sister join us for breakfast because all I want to do is climb onto his lap and share a muffin, using only our mouths.
The door intercom buzzes. “I’ll go.” My sister strolls back into the apartment, and I give in to temptation and go sit on his lap and wind my arm around his neck.
“Are the blueberries juicy enough for you?” Wow, now I’m doing it, and not too badly if his leer is anything to go by.
“Just the way I like them.” He pulls a berry from the muffin and teases it across my lips as he leans in close and breathes in my ear. “I’m gonna dip this berry into your sweet pussy and eat you up. Right here, right now.”
I’m wet just thinking about it and tangle my fingers in his hair. “We could always finish off our breakfast in my room.”
His hand’s on my knee, inching up my thigh beneath my dress, when Charity reappears at the door. Zach pauses, but I don’t think she even noticed what he’s doing.
“Grace.” There’s a strangled note in her voice. “Mom’s just turned up—”
She doesn’t get the chance to say any more, as not only does our mom step onto the balcony, but she’s followed by Russell.
What the heck? I’ve never stood up so fast in my life. My face is flaming and all I can think is I’m not wearing any panties.
“Grace, sweetie.” Mom leans forward for her usual kiss, as though there isn’t a big tattooed guy she’s never seen before taking up all the oxygen. “I didn’t know you had guests over.” She bestows a smile she reserves for intrusive strangers in Zach’s direction.
The atmosphere is so electric I swear shocks are zapping me every time I breathe in, and Mom’s waiting for formal introductions?
I clear my throat and resist the urge to grip my fingers together. Did they see him with his hand halfway up my dress? “Mom, this is Zach Reynolds. Zach, this is my mom, Harmony Mulholland.”
“Pleasure,” Zach says, and I’m kind of stunned when he stands and shakes Mom’s hand, but he still he manages to drop the temperature by about ten degrees with that one word. Not that Mom, who looks as effortlessly elegant as she always does, misses a beat.
“I’m delighted to meet you.” After giving him another smile she turns back to me. “Russell dropped in earlier, so I thought we’d pop round for a coffee. I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient.”
Russell looks thunderous, and is clearly insulted that I haven’t yet formally introduced him, and over Mom’s shoulder I see Charity gripping her throat with both hands and pretending to choke herself.
So helpful.
I can’t believe that today of all days Mom decides to drag Russell along for one of her impromptu visits. What was he doing at my parents’ house in any case?
“No, it’s fine. I made muffins,” I add unnecessarily, and wave my hand at the table in the vain hope that’ll take some of the heat off me.
“Wonderful.” Mom sits in my vacated seat and turns her attention to Zach. “This is Russell.” She indicates my ex, who gives a stiff nod and goes to lean against the balcony wall. “An old friend of the family.”
At least she didn’t call him my former fiancé. Not that Zach looks appeased.
Charity brings out extra cups and plates and pours coffee, while Mom chats about absolutely nothing, the way she does at her social functions. Since she’s never done that here before, it’s all for show in front of Zach.
I guess it’s better than an awkward silence, but it still grates on my nerves. I glance at Zach. His expression’s carved in granite, and it looks like one false move and he’ll be out of here. No one would guess just five minutes ago he was laughing and joking. It’s like he’s turned into a different person.
And I know why. It’s not because my mom is doing her lady-that-lunches thing. It’s because Russell’s here. I shoot him a dark glare, but his gaze is fixed on Zach, as though he can’t believe his eyes.
I want to put my arm around Zach’s shoulders so there’s no mistaking exactly what our relationship is, but I have the terrible fear that a gust of wind’s going to blow my dress up and show everyone I’m not wearing any lingerie. So I keep my hands on my thighs and hope Zach isn’t really as pissed off as he looks.
…
Zach
Grace’s mom hasn’t shut up since the moment she walked onto the balcony. She keeps tossing her head so her long blonde hair, which is pulled up into a ponytail, bounces over her shoulders. She could easily pass for thirty years old.
I see where Grace gets her class from, though. Her mom’s not given me a sideways glance out of place, and she keeps smiling at me, as though to include me in her superficial conversation.
I might even have played along with her game if she’d turned up alone. But she brought Russell. And he’s everything I thought he’d be.
Looks like he’s about to play a game of fucking tennis. He has a white sweater tied over his shoulders, and floppy blond hair that for some reason really irritates me.
“Coffee, Russell.” Charity hands him a cup and he takes it without bothering to look at her.
“How long have you known your new friend, Grace?” He gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“A while.” She sounds cool, but I can tell she’s wound up tight inside. I’m tempted to grab her hand and pull her onto my lap, just for the reaction, but if she wanted to touch me she wouldn’t be standing just out of reach.
“Are you from around here, Zach?” He favors me with that shark-like smile, and I have a satisfying vision of filling his mouth with my fist.
I want to give him a smart retort, but there’s only one answer to his question. “No.”
His smile now borders on a smirk. “Not really your scene, is it.”
“Russell.” Grace sounds agonized, but she doesn’t need to be offended on my account.
I give the jerk a slow smile that’s filled with deadly intent. “What scene’s that, Russell?” I use his name deliberately, and it works, if the way he tries to hide his shudder is anything to go by.
I’m in the mood for a fight, and all he needs to do is throw down the challenge. But instead of responding, he turns his attention to Grace. “Are you free tonight? There’re some things I’d like to discuss with you.”
No, she’s not fucking free tonight. I only just manage to keep that thought locked inside my head and forcibly relax my fist. There’s nothing I’d like better than to flatten him, but this is Grace’s world, not mine. And doesn’t that prick know it.
“There’s nothing to discuss. Or are you talking about work related issues?”
The look on Russell’s face is almost as satisfying as a bloodied nose. He obviously didn’t expect her to knock him back like that in front of her mother.
“No, of course I’m not.” There’s a hint of irritation in his voice. “But Grace, we do need to talk.”
“There’ll be plenty of time to talk ne
xt week.” Grace’s mom smiles round at everyone as though that’s going to relieve the tension. “You’re still coming to Thanksgiving dinner, aren’t you, Russell?”
It’s a punch to the gut. If there’s one holiday I actively hate, it’s Thanksgiving, and I try and forget about it as much as I can. Except, not only is it next week, but Grace’s ex is going to be there with all of her family, and I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out they’re going to try and get the two of them back together.
In my world I’d call him out on it. But things are different here, and while I don’t give a shit about playing by anyone else’s rules, I don’t want to push Grace away.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
They leave soon after, without even trying one of Grace’s muffins, and only when we’re alone again does she sink into her seat, lean over to me, and take my hand.
“I’m so sorry about that. I had no idea they were coming round today.”
I shrug. No way in hell am I letting her know just how much her ex pissed me off—or that I can’t get over the fact she kept her distance from me the entire time her mom was here.
“No big deal.” I drain my third coffee to underline that point. I’d planned on staying with her until midafternoon but I need to get away from this place. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
She doesn’t try to stop me. “Oh. Okay. Well, how about I come straight to your place after work on Tuesday? I could stay over if you like.”
I should tell her it’s over, whatever this is between us. Except I don’t know what it is, and I sure as hell don’t want it to end.
Fuck Russell. Fuck the lot of them. I cradle her face and lose myself in her gorgeous blue eyes. “You do that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Zach
Ever since Sunday I’ve been trying not to think about Grace, but it’s like she’s a permanent fixture inside my brain. No matter what I do, I see her face or hear her voice, and I should be batshit crazy by now. Who wants a chick to take up so much headspace? Especially when she’s not even around.
Except I’m fooling myself. I like thinking about her. Even after the fucked up meeting with her mom and ex I still can’t get enough of her. Christ, it’s a good thing my brothers can’t read my mind.
She arrives early on Tuesday afternoon, along with what looks like half of her kitchen. “You moving in?” I’m only half joking.
“I want to make up for our ruined Sunday breakfast.” She hauls a bag filled with ingredients from the trunk and I take it from her.
“Stop apologizing for that jerk.” She even texted me Sunday night about it. I can’t figure out why the whole thing still bugs me. She’s with me, not him.
“I’m sorry.” She clasps a couple of baking trays to her chest and flashes me a smile. “Whoops. Can’t help myself. But anyway, you were so nice about my muffins, even though you ended up not eating a whole one, so I thought I’d do a special home-baked delivery for you.”
“You’re gonna bake me some muffins?” It’s not really funny, but I have the urge to laugh. “I don’t know if the oven’s up for it.”
We leave her overnight case in the trunk and make our way inside. “No, I’m going to bake you some of my famous cupcakes. Well, admittedly, they’re not famous yet, but I live in hope.”
I’m not big on cake, but I sure as hell am going to eat whatever she makes. I can’t remember the last time anyone did something special for me that involved the kitchen.
My smile fades. That’s not true. Mom always used to knock a cake together for each of our birthdays, despite how, as soon as we hit our teens, Gage and I used to complain that we were way too old for that.
Not thinking about it. Trouble is I always think about our mom and dad this time of year. Can’t help it.
I dump the bag of ingredients on the kitchen counter top. “And they’ll never be famous if you don’t get your shit together.”
She gives me a sideways glance as she spreads her stuff out. “It’s not easy deciding to leave the family business, but I am working on it.”
“You’ve been working on it since the day we met.”
She starts to unpack the bag and doesn’t look at me. “Is this because Russell turned up on Sunday? Because I—”
“If you say sorry again I’m gonna tie you to my bed and gag you.”
She looks at me then. “Ooh,” she says, giving a fake shiver. “That’s so tempting. But you can tie me up after you’ve sampled my cupcakes.”
“Yeah.” I’m trying not to laugh but failing. “Doesn’t sound as dirty as sampling your muffins, though.”
I’m still grinning when she shoos me out of the kitchen like she owns it. “Don’t come back in here until I call you.”
…
For a couple of hours I work on my latest job, and manage to ignore the faint unease gathering in the back of my mind. It’s the same every damn year, although usually this compulsion to unlock the drawer starts a day earlier.
I know what’ll happen if I do. I’ll need to drink, and not just a few beers. If Grace weren’t upstairs I wouldn’t even be having this crazy conversation with myself.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and throw down my tools. When I first met Grace I told her I was over my mom and dad’s deaths. Christ, I should be. It’s been ten years. But a small, secret place deep inside has never really moved on from when I was eighteen years old and had to take over as head of the family.
I go to the steel workbench along the far wall, and unlock the top drawer. Buried beneath a heap of shit is the photo, and I pull it out.
It’s creased around the edges and nothing special. Just a regular family pic of the five of us together, and my gaze snags on the laughing face of my mom.
It’s been almost ten years since Gage, Kat, and I watched her slowly die of lung cancer, and nothing will convince me it wasn’t connected to the shock of hearing how our dad had been murdered while inside.
Sometimes it feels like only the other week they were both here, fooling around. They were crazy about each other, and you’d never think they’d been together for twenty years. Every year Dad was in charge of the Thanksgiving turkey, and we were all under blood oath not to breathe a word of that to anyone.
It was kind of a family joke. The Sergeant-at-Arms of the Viking Bastards who, once a year, would take over the kitchen and create something that looked like it came right out of a celebrity food show.
The last Thanksgiving I celebrated was ten years ago, when this photo was taken. It was the last time the five of us were all together, as the following week Dad was arrested.
I couldn’t even fake it enough to keep this holiday going for Kat’s sake, and if not for Jett’s old lady she would never have had another Thanksgiving dinner, since I always spend the day getting hammered.
I wait for the craving to hit me, but it’s a faint echo of the usual clawing need that rips through me when I do this annual ritual. Instead, Grace’s smile fills my mind, and a weird sense of peace wraps around the ache in my chest.
Would she stay the rest of the week, if I asked her?
The door opens behind me, and instead of shoving the photo back in the drawer I stuff it into my pocket before swinging around. Her hair’s piled on top of her head and her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and she’s wearing a sexy as hell apron covered in pink roses and frills. I’ve never seen anything like it and have a hard time not just grabbing her and holding her close.
“Cupcakes,” she says, like that’s a surprise. “Come and get them while they’re fresh.” She gives me what I guess she thinks is a suggestive leer, although all it does is make her look cute. “Spiced pumpkin with cream cheese frosting.”
I clean up before taking her hand and letting her lead me upstairs to the kitchen. The smell filling the apartment is amazing, but more amazing than that is there’s only two days until Thanksgiving, and I don’t have the powerful need to hit the bottle at the sound of “spi
ced pumpkin.”
She pushes open the kitchen door and my smile freezes as I catch sight of her handiwork. On top of each swirl of frosting there’s a little figure. I bend closer, fascinated. On one there’s a motorcycle helmet, on another the words Harley-Davidson is stuck into the frosting like a flag. And on others she’s created tiny Viking inspired images.
“You like?” There’s an odd note in her voice, as though she’s not sure what I make of it.
“You made all this?” I jab my finger at the helmet because cake is one thing but the toppings are real unexpected and works of art in their own right.
“Yes. That’s my specialty, making customized edible cake toppers.”
I take her hands and tug her toward me. I’ve had enough of her messing about. “When’re you opening your first shop?”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“Only because I’ve seen what you can do.”
“I can’t do anything before Christmas. But next year I’m just going for it. At least if it fails I can say I tried, right?”
“You won’t fail.”
“No. I won’t.” Her smile does something weird deep inside my chest. “You should be a motivational speaker.”
“That’s a new one.” I can’t help my derisive tone, even though her comment makes me grin.
“Well, you motivated me. Obviously it was fate that made my car break down that night so we could meet. Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?”
Does she expect an answer? I don’t talk about fate and shit like that, although since meeting her I’ve had all kinds of conversations I never thought I would with a girl. “Yeah.” I feel more is needed although I’m not sure why. “Must be destiny or something.”
“Yes.” She squeezes my hands. “I’ve just had the best idea. That’s what I’m going to call my shop. Must be Destiny.”
It sounds like a weird-ass name to call a cupcake shop, but strangely, it also feels right. “Invite me to the opening.”
Hooked (Viking Bastards MC) Page 11