Screwed

by Kelly Jamieson

  She smiled and passed him a container of food. “Let me get you a plate and a knife and fork.”

  “Nah.” He waved a hand. She’d probably be setting the table with fine china and fresh flowers if he let her. “This is good. Sit. Eat. How’s the head?”

  “Not bad, actually. I can handle my liquor.”

  He burst out laughing. “Yeah, right.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as she popped a piece of biscuit into her mouth. “What?”

  “You were hammered last night. You can’t hold your liquor.”

  “You don’t know how much I had to drink.”

  “True.” He grinned. “The ibuprofen I made you take last night might have something to do with how you’re feeling this morning.”

  Her slender eyebrows drew together. “You made me take ibuprofen?”

  “And my point is made.”

  Her pretty lips pursed. “Shut up.”

  He laughed and toasted her with his own cup of sweet tea. “Anyway. I’m sorry you weren’t having more fun last night.”

  Her gaze dropped to the food in front of her. “I was having fun. Sort of.”

  “Do you remember talking about getting a tattoo?”

  “Of course I do.” She lifted her head. “I’m going to do that this afternoon.”

  He choked on his tea. “Oh no, you’re not.”

  “I was serious! I did the design myself. I just don’t know where to go.” She sank her teeth briefly into her bottom lip.

  “What design?”

  She reached for her phone, which was plugged in, charging on the counter behind her. After a few swipes of her finger, she held up the phone, screen toward him. He couldn’t see the picture from across the island, so he moved around closer and peered at the phone. “Huh.”

  The image was a delicate flower outlined in black, with elegant flourishes.

  “It’s a lotus blossom.” She made the image bigger with thumb and forefinger. “It symbolizes going through a struggle and emerging stronger. When the lotus first begins to sprout, it’s still underwater, in muck and dirt and surrounded by fish and bugs. But it pushes through those obstacles and frees itself from those ugly conditions, and then it blossoms and slowly opens in the sun.”

  He stared intently at the phone, his body rigid. Fuck. Hearing her compare her struggles to that, and talk about being free and blossoming, made his gut ache. Finally he nodded. “I like it. Very appropriate.” He was afraid to ask where she was going to put the tattoo.

  “I’m thinking of getting it under my left boob.”

  His esophagus constricted. He tried to swallow and wheeze in a breath. “Ungh.”

  “Or maybe on my ribs.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “That’s what I said. I saw a tattoo place downtown.”

  “Fuck no.” He sighed heavily. Much as he hated the idea of someone inflicting pain on her soft skin, he knew he couldn’t stop her. “Okay, if you’re really going to do this, I’ll call the place I go and make an appointment for you. I’ll take you there, but you won’t be able to get in today.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  He swallowed a groan. Jesus. He was supposed to be staying away from her.

  Callie touched a paper napkin daintily to her lips, then dropped it to the empty container, having devoured the chicken and biscuits. “Okay. I have cookies and cakes to bake.”

  “What are you making them for?”

  She tossed her takeout container into the trash. “Mama’s birthday party tomorrow.”

  “Uh, is it a big party? How many cakes do you need?”

  “Well, just one. But I felt like baking.”

  “You always feel like baking.”

  A smile touched her lips. “True.”

  “It’s a wonder you don’t weigh three hundred pounds.” Her slight curves were perfect, but even if she did put on weight from her baking, she’d still be gorgeous.

  One corner of her mouth lifted. “Everything in moderation, as Grandma Sutherland always says.”

  “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

  “Quit teasing me about getting drunk! I’m fine now.” She lifted her chin and moved toward the big mixer.

  “Need any help?” Christ. Why was he even asking that? She didn’t need his help, and he had no clue how to bake cookies. Also, he’d only come here to make sure she was okay, and she was clearly fine. Mostly.

  “Um, sure. You could measure out two cups of flour.” She nodded at one of the bags on the island.

  He washed his hands at the sink, then joined her to measure and mix and stir. “What kind of cookies are you making?”

  “I’m trying something new. Cookie dough macarons.”

  Damn, that sounded good. He had to admit he had a sweet tooth, and Callie did come up with some amazing creations. He let her tell him what to do, feeling weirdly comfortable despite being totally out of his element. It was nice in her bright kitchen on a sunny Saturday afternoon, Keith Urban playing through speakers mounted somewhere. Callie really did appear to feel okay, bopping a little to the music as she scraped down the sides of a big bowl with a bright-red spatula. Her eyes still drooped a bit, but damn, she was as sweet as the cookie dough.

  “Hey!” She fixed her eyes on him. “No snitching the dough.”

  “Come on. It’s the best part.”

  She smirked. “Just you wait until these are done. We’ll see about that.”

  He snuck a little more of the delectable batter and let it melt on his tongue. She glared at him again.

  Jesus, he was like a little kid—even negative attention from her was better than none. He swallowed a sigh.

  She focused on another bowl she was mixing. “Macarons are supposedly French, but I learned the Italian meringue method of making them. My first couple of tries were disasters.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Everything you make is awesome.”

  “Thank you.” She flashed him a white smile. “But so not true. I just don’t share the failures. These little beauties are very temperamental.”

  “What’s in that bowl?”

  “Almond meal and confectioner’s sugar.” She gave it a stir with a whisk.

  “What else can I do?”

  “Would you mind washing out that mixer bowl?”

  “Sure.” He carried the heavy bowl to the sink and ran hot water into it. “I never thought I’d say this, but you need a bigger kitchen.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her when she didn’t reply and saw her staring into the bowl of almond flour and sugar. The expression on her face, the soft pout of her lips and droop of her eyes, made his chest ache. Damn. She’d been talking last night about selling this house because it was too big for one person. He’d stuck his boot in his mouth.

  He dried the bowl, watching her cracking eggs and separating the whites from the yolks, impressed with her skill. When he tried to do that he ended up with pieces of shell and broken yolks. Then she added some of the egg whites to the big bowl and stirred it all up into a paste.

  “Do you really want to sell the house?” he asked.

  She didn’t look at him, focusing on stirring. “I’d miss this kitchen, that’s for sure. But it’s crazy for me to be here all alone.” For a brief moment, Beau’s absence loomed like a hulking proverbial elephant in the big kitchen. She set down the spatula. “Okay, now I have to make the syrup.”

  “This is complicated.”

  She smiled. “A little. But so worth it.”

  “Does that batter taste good, too?”

  Her lips twitched. She measured sugar and water into a saucepan and attached a thermometer to the side. “You shouldn’t eat raw eggs.”

  “Aren’t there eggs in the cookie dough?”

  “No. I use a special eggless recipe because we’re going to eat it raw.”

  “Ah well, I like to live dangerously.” He shrugged and dipped a small spoon into the bowl. “Hmm. Interesting. Very almond-y.”

/>   Callie laughed. “That would be right. You could put the other egg whites into that clean bowl and start the mixer.”

  “This machine is dangerous looking.” But he did as she asked, the evil-looking beaters whipping the egg whites into a froth. For a moment, they were both silent as the machine buzzed away. Then she moved to peek into the bowl, stopping the beaters to check the egg whites.

  “Soft peaks,” she confirmed.

  Oh man. He had a dirty mind, because that made him think of other soft peaks. His gaze dropped to Callie’s chest, her high, firm breasts outlined by the tight pink tank top she wore. He swallowed.

  “Okay, keep the mixer going on low while I get this syrup to the right temperature.” Moments later she was satisfied and began to drizzle the syrup into the egg whites. She revved up the motor on the mixer and soon had a bowl full of glossy white meringue.

  “That I need to taste,” he said. “Seriously.”

  Callie shook her head but didn’t smack his hand when he dipped into it. She added a few drops of food coloring and continued mixing until it was all a uniform pale-gold color. “Okay.” She hefted the bowl, muscles in her slender arms flexing. Damn. That was hot. That shouldn’t be hot. But it was. She began mixing meringue into the other bowl of sugar and almond flour, bit by bit, until she judged it was right. Ribbons of batter ran off the spatula when she lifted it out of the bowl. “Perfect.” She gave a nod.

  It was also hot that she was such an expert at this. Hell, it was only making cookies, albeit fancy ones, but she was so focused and intent on what she was doing, his body flooded with an intense longing to jump her.

  Damn. He closed his eyes. That could never happen.

  Chapter Three

  Callie licked some batter off her finger. “Mmm. That is good.” Then she looked up at Cash and found his eyes on her. His very hot, interested eyes. She paused with her finger in her mouth, staring back at him.

  Whoa.

  Her heart gave a kick in her chest. Cash could not be looking at her that way, as if he wanted to spread batter all over her naked body and lick it off. And she could not be thinking that she might…like that.

  She gulped and grabbed a towel to wipe her hands. “Okay,” she said a little breathlessly. “Time to pipe the batter onto the baking sheets.”

  She’d already lined them with parchment.

  “Um, maybe you could hold the pastry bag for me?” Her skin tingled all over. “While I get the batter in it.” She handed him the flexible cone, and he held it as she scraped in the pale batter. She was standing close enough to smell his aftershave again, the spicy, sexy scent she knew as Cash. Close enough to feel his body heat. Close enough to admire his biceps in a snug T-shirt. She pulled in a deep breath and focused on piping the meringue into perfect rounds on the parchment.

  “How many of these are you making? Looks like enough for a football team.”

  “If football teams liked macarons. Which I doubt.”

  “I play football. I like macarons.”

  “Have you ever had one?”

  “No.” He grinned, a sexy, dimpled grin. “But your batter tastes damn good. And I like anything sweet.”

  “True. Well, you can taste them when we’re done, and you can take some home and serve them to your football buddies.”

  Cash still played football on weekends with a bunch of guys. Not the college level he’d played at UT Austin, but still a way for him to have fun with the sport he loved. She pictured him arriving at the football field with a box of fancy little cookies and laughed out loud.

  “Yeah, very funny,” he agreed. “As if I’d share.”

  She slid the pans into one of the double wall-mounted ovens, closed the doors, turned the temperature down to 325, and set the timer. Then she leaned against the counter. “These only take about ten minutes. But they have to cool before I can sandwich them.”

  She surveyed her messy kitchen and the cakes cooling over on the other counter. “I could probably ice those now.”

  “Jesus. Are you trying to put yourself in a diabetic coma?”

  “Haha.” She pushed away from the counter. “I was experimenting with making sugar flowers yesterday. That was another thing I learned in France. But it’s one of those things where you have more failures than successes at first.”

  “Sugar flowers?”

  She got to work rolling out fondant icing. “Yes. I’ll show you in a few minutes.”

  The timer dinged, and she hurried back to the oven to check her precious macarons. She did a quick exhale. “They look perfect.”

  She pulled the trays out and set them aside to cool and returned to her fondant.

  Cash started putting bowls and utensils into the sink. “You should sell this stuff, Callie.”

  She bit her lip and gave him a quick look through her eyelashes. “Um, I’ve actually been thinking about that.”

  “Really?” He ran hot water into the sink and squeezed in detergent.

  “It’s a crazy idea.”

  “I don’t know. This stuff looks pretty professional.”

  She nodded, focusing on her task. She’d spent the last two days either working on the flowers or doing online research into what it took to open a bakery. She’d learned a lot working at Duchesse in France, but opening your own business was a whole other story.

  The creative part of it was what really drew her in. Building the beautiful flowers was painstaking, and some might think it tedious, but she loved it. All the attention to detail appealed to her, and she’d been practicing making the gum paste really thin and adding color with edible paints to make the flowers look realistic.

  When she had the fondant covering both cakes smoothly, she crossed the kitchen to the dining table and carried a big plastic box over to the island. Cash moved closer, drying his hands, eyeing the box curiously. She removed the lid to reveal her flowers carefully nestled in tissue paper. They were peonies in shades of pink, from pale pink to fuchsia, various sizes, with delicate shaded petals.

  “Holy crap,” Cash said. “Those look real.”

  She nodded eagerly. “They turned out pretty good.” She pointed at one. “That one’s not so great. I used a little too much paint. And this one’s not quite right, either.”

  “Hell, they look perfect to me. You can actually eat those?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.” He met her eyes. “That’s really amazing, Callie. You’re an artist.”

  She tipped her head and gave him a wry smile. “It just took me a while to figure out what my medium is. All those drawing and painting classes were fun, but I never got really into that stuff. For some reason, I love playing around with sugar.”

  He smiled. “There you go.”

  She began to assemble the flowers and leaves, arranging them on top of the fondant cakes, using the best ones together. She stepped back to eye the creation. “There. I hope Mama likes it.”

  “Does she know you do this?”

  “No. I mean, she knows I like to bake. I always did, even when I was a teenager. She didn’t really know what to make of it. I think she was afraid I’d get fat.” She made a face. Mama was always on a diet, counting calories and working out to keep her slender shape. But both she and her mother had small bone structures and were naturally slim, so she’d never understood Mama’s obsession with not putting on weight. “But I learned to do this stuff in Europe.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll love it.”

  “I need to take a picture. Hang on.” She arranged the cake so the light was right and took a few pictures. She’d post them on Instagram and Facebook later.

  “Okay! Let’s check those macarons.”

  “Time to eat them?”

  “Nope. Now we put them together with the cookie dough.”

  She carefully peeled each cookie off the parchment. One broke. “Damn. They’re so delicate. I always lose a couple.” The rest came off easily, though, and she piped cookie dough carefully onto the flat side of a macaron and
topped it with another. She handed the first one to Cash. “Here. Try it.”

  He took a bite. It crumbled a little, but that was okay. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and she watched his face, her insides quivering as she shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Jesus. I think I just heard angels singing.”

  Happiness bloomed in her chest. “Yay!”

  He popped the rest into his mouth. “Christ. Why does it taste so good?”

  “Lots of butter.”

  He groaned. “Great. Do I need to worry about my cholesterol?”

  “You’re a young, fit man. I’m sure you don’t.” Um yeah, he was definitely fit. Firm. Muscled.

  “Right now I don’t even care. Give me another one of those.”

  She smiled and handed one over, then continued assembling. “Oh! I just had an idea of what I could do with the leftover flowers.” She paused, then reached for a plate. Carefully, she built a macaron tower, then topped it with some of the smaller rejected flowers, adding one at the base. She stepped back.

  “Nice.” Cash nodded.

  “It’s not bad. But seriously…if I made the macarons bigger…like an eight-inch cake, layered them with filling, and decorated with flowers that matched…oh yeah.” Excitement bubbled up inside her, like it did whenever she got a new idea. “Oh, I want to try that right now!”

  “Think you’ve got enough sweets at the moment, darlin’.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  He burst out laughing.

  “Oh never mind. I have to go to my parents’ tomorrow for the birthday party.” She frowned.

  “You don’t look like you’re jumping up and down about that.”

  “They still haven’t forgiven me for leaving Beau.”

  “Jesus.”

  She scrunched her face up into a smile. “It’s okay. I can handle them. I just hope they haven’t invited him.”

  “Ugh. They have kept in touch with him.”

  She eyed him. “You know that?”

  “Yeah. Beau had lunch with your dad the other day at the Houston Club.”

  “Shit.” She sighed. “Eat that macaron tower, I was just playing around with it.”