In the Mood for Love: A Cupcake Lovers Novel (The Cupcake Lovers)

by Beth Ciotta

  “Oh. Hey,” she said, looking a little poleaxed herself.

  “Hey.”

  She tugged down the hem of her tank top, which only caused the material to stretch tighter over her pert breasts. “I, um, I don’t always walk around like this.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Same here.”

  “Thought I’d grab a snack.”

  “I see that.”

  “I really wanted a doughnut, but you don’t have any of those. Plus I remembered what you said about a healthier diet so I…” She held up a fresh peach. “Hope you don’t mind. It’s the last one.”

  The whole time she’d been babbling, she’d been staring. At Adam. He felt the heat of her gaze sliding over his naked torso, knew the second she spied the tent in his boxers. Sexual zing, hell. More like zap! A freaking huge bolt of sexual lightning snapped between them. The air crackled with lust. Hers. His. He wanted to do something about that even though he knew he shouldn’t. Even though there was a ninety-nine percent chance she’d shut him down, Adam moved in. “We could share.”

  “What? The peach? Seriously? You want it?”

  He flicked his own gaze over the thin tank and brief briefs that barely concealed her soft curves. He made it clear exactly what he wanted. Then he braced for her to bolt.

  Or to slug him.

  Instead, she leaned back against the counter, offered him the peach then shoved her shaggy hair out of her face. “You first,” she said. “Your peach, after all.”

  Their fingers brushed and his pulse pounded. He bit into the juicy fruit, wanting to sink into feisty Peppy instead.

  Staring up into his eyes, she stole back the fruit and took a big, messy bite.

  George throbbed and Adam leaned down. “Juice.” He licked the corner of Peppy’s mouth, sampled her bottom lip—oh, yeah—then eased back with a slight grin. “Got it.”

  She narrowed her big brown eyes. “That work on most women?”

  “Question is, did it work on you?”

  Her gaze slid south. “You know how George has a mind of his own? Well, Lucy has a mind of her own, too.”

  Adam’s lips twitched as his own gaze slid between Peppy’s legs. “Lucy, huh?”

  “Yeah. We’re sort of at odds because I know that sleeping with you is a bad idea. It messes with the roomie dynamics. But Lucy … well, she hasn’t seen any action in quite a while and George has her all jazzed. Because of her, I’m distracted. I don’t like being distracted. I’m on a mission. So now I’m thinking if Lucy and George got it on and out of their system we, you and me, could knock out the, well, the distraction. I—”

  “Peppy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You talk too much.”

  “Maybe you should shut me up.”

  “No maybe about it.” Adam palmed her ass and hiked her up on the counter, stepping in so that she had to wrap her legs around his waist. He shoved his fingers through her crazy, messy hair and kissed her wild and deep. His heart hammered and George danced.

  Peppy sort of froze, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands, although her lips and tongue followed Adam’s lead. When he eased back, she frowned. “Damn,” she said. “I was sort of hoping you’d be a lousy kisser. You’re probably great at all the other stuff, too.”

  “One way to find out.”

  Peppy shocked him by peeling her tank over her head, naked as a jaybird except for those cotton briefs. Those briefs did him in. “From here on out,” she said, “it’s just George and Lucy. You and me, we’re out of the equation.”

  George wanted to meet Lucy here and now on the counter, but Adam still had one working brain cell and he wanted Peppy in bed where he could properly impress her with all the “other stuff.” He snatched her off the counter, whisking her into his bedroom while she continued to make it clear that this was sex, just sex, and probably, no definitely, a one-time show.

  “Peppy,” he said as he playfully tossed her on his bed. “Shut the hell up.” Before she could respond, he unleashed George.

  Wide-eyed, Peppy yanked Adam onto the bed and rolled over on top of him. “From here on out,” she said as she peeled off those tomboy panties, “Lucy does all my talking.”

  THIRTY

  Monday morning took forever and a day to dawn. It didn’t help that Sam had trouble sleeping. Rather than staring up at the ceiling—missing Harper, worrying about Harper—he’d spent a good portion of the night on his laptop, researching immigration laws, making sure he hadn’t tripped up on legalities. He’d double-checked the marriage license and the plans for the ceremony. He spent time scoping other custom-furniture Web sites, looking for ideas on how to ramp up his own small-business site.

  And he’d checked intermittently to make sure the Avenger hadn’t issued a new taunt on Harper’s or the Cupcake Lovers’ social pages. All he’d seen were interesting or inspiring comments from cupcake fans and soldiers and their families. Still, when he’d finally crawled into bed, he’d slept with his phone in hand, braced for a panicked call or text from Harper.

  Instead all was quiet.

  Until Mina came bounding into his room at six A.M. “Dad-deeee!”

  Getting the kids dressed and ready for school was a blur. Making breakfast, a blur. Driving them to school, a freaking blur. Mina, and even Ben, had talked nonstop—about Harper, about Sam and Harper’s trip. How long would they be on the plane? (“Several hours.”) How long would they be gone? (“Two days.”) Could they stay home from school tomorrow to watch the Cupcake Lovers on TV? (“No. But Grandpa will record it.”)

  The entire time the kids had grilled Sam, he’d been processing thoughts of his own. Standing on the curb outside of the grade school, Sam hugged them both good-bye—even though Ben squirmed—knowing that when he returned it would be with a wife and mother. Life as they knew it, as a family, would be altered. Hopefully, no, definitely, for the better.

  “Bring us back a surprise!” Mina said.

  Sam smiled. “I will.” Then he turned to Ben. “Take care of your little sister. I’ll call later tonight.”

  Ben hiked his loaded backpack higher on his scrawny shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about us Dad.”

  Sam nodded but he was certain he’d do exactly that until the day he died. Ben waved then took his sister’s hand and led her toward the front doors. Sam waited for Mina to break free, to rush back to him with a tearful, “I don’t wanna go to school!”

  But she didn’t.

  “Huh.”

  Once the kids were safely inside, Sam climbed back into his cab, checked those social sites again for good measure. It occurred to him that he hadn’t checked for messages on his own new page. Maybe Harper … “Oh, shit.”

  Every muscle in Sam’s body tensed as he read a message from the Avenger.

  She’ll wreck your life, soldier.

  A picture was attached. A picture of Harper and a young man in uniform. Harper didn’t look much younger, but she did look carefree. The fair-haired man looked like most soldiers Sam knew who’d yet to see battle. Confident. Naïve. Sam assumed the soldier she was hugging was Andrew Wilson, her former fiancé. He didn’t feel jealous, just alarmed and pissed as hell that some jerk wad was taking anonymous potshots at Harper. Sam had forty minutes before he had to pick her up for the airfield. He dialed Jayce. “You up? Dressed?” he asked when the man answered. “I’m coming over.”

  Approximately three minutes later, Sam pulled up to a house that he knew as well as his own. Until recently, Daisy had lived here. First with Jessup. Then alone. Aside from family Sunday dinners, there’d been hundreds of random parties, barbecues, and sleepovers with his cousins. A multitude of memories welled as Sam approached the three-story Colonial Revival. Rocky and Jayce lived here now and the same warm feeling greeted Sam as soon as the door swung open.

  Unfortunately, his mood was dark and foul.

  “Rocky here?” Sam asked Jayce as he pushed inside.
r />   “Already on her way to the hospital to look in on Chloe. I’ve got business so—”

  Keyed up to his social page, Sam shoved his phone in Jayce’s face. “How the fuck does he know I’m involved with Harper? Who the hell is this guy?”

  “I’ve got answers,” Jayce said calmly while checking out the photo. “Want some coffee?”

  “No.”

  “I need coffee.”

  Jayce passed Sam his phone then moved toward the kitchen.

  Sam followed, deleting the post now that Jayce had seen it. Hoping to God it had escaped Harper’s notice. While pocketing his phone, he heard a weird clicking and turned to see Brewster, a dopey-looking dog with one ear up, one down, following behind, his toenails clacking on the hardwood floor. “Hey, boy,” Sam managed in a civil tone, scratching the mutt’s ears as they moved into the spacious kitchen.

  “Sure you don’t want a hit?” Jayce asked as he moved toward the coffee maker.

  “Pass, but thanks.” Sam glanced at his watch. “Need to pick Harper up in a half hour.”

  “I’ll make it quick,” Jayce said as he poured strong-smelling java and signaled Brewster to lie down.

  Brewster curled on a braided rug.

  Jayce leaned back against the counter.

  Sam stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, temper spiking. His famous patience two seconds from snapping.

  “The Avenger,” Jayce said. “Yesterday, I located his profile page, bypassed his privacy settings and poked around.” He held up a hand, warding off questions. “Explaining my methods would take time. Just know I’m good at what I do. Once I determined his identity, gathering information was relatively easy. Did some digging, read a few reports, made some inquiries.”

  “What have you got?”

  Jayce sipped coffee then cocked his head. “The Avenger is one Edward Wilson. The father of Harper’s former fiancé. Andrew was an only son. A revered son. Smart as hell—an IT whiz. Edward’s retired military, former officer, a by-the-books hard-ass who took great pride in his genius son’s accomplishments. The boy could do no wrong in the old man’s eyes, although Edward did frown on Andrew and Harper’s whirlwind affair. Edward considered her a distraction for Andrew. A pretty face with no real substance.”

  Sam worked his jaw. “Go on.”

  “From the information I’ve gathered and accessed, Edward Wilson blames Harper for his son’s death.”

  “That’s warped and wrong. Wilson was suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. He snapped and—”

  “I know. I read several accounts, reached out to a couple of people in Harper’s old loop. Everything supports the version of the story Harper shared with you. Right down to Andrew being the one who broke off their engagement. But remember what I said. Edward’s a hard-ass and he had that boy on a pedestal. He twisted facts every which way until he came up with a scenario that made Andrew the victim and Harper the villain. In Edward’s mind Harper seduced Andrew, clouding his mind with illusions of some fairy-tale marriage, distracting him from his job, his purpose, making it difficult for him to deal with the reality of a hostile environment. He came back traumatized, and instead of sticking with him when the going got tough, Harper deserted Andrew.”

  “Andrew broke things off, told her he needed space.”

  “According to Edward, if she had really loved his son, she would’ve pushed to help him. Instead, she buried her head in the sand, focusing on her work. If she would have stayed close, she could have headed off his meltdown.”

  “Intimating she failed him.” Sam narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘according to Edward’? Did you speak with him?”

  “Hacked and read some of Harper’s old e-mails.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Comes in handy when tracking down cyberbullies.”

  Sam blew out a breath. “So, what? Edward’s been bullying her for three years now?”

  “On and off from what I could find. Tapered off a year ago then flared up again recently.”

  “What the hell?”

  “We’re talking about a father’s grief. A father who lost his only son. A guy with a chip on his shoulder and rage in his heart. He needs to blame someone and it’s not going to be the military he thinks so highly of or the son he worshiped.”

  “So Harper’s his whipping post.”

  “I dug a little, but it seems like Harper shut down emotionally after the incident. Didn’t confide in friends and coworkers about what she was feeling or going through. But I know Edward blasted her in public more than once. She escaped his in-the-face wrath by transferring to the American branch of that PR firm. Since he’s still hassling her, I’m guessing he’s part, if not all, of the reason she doesn’t want to return to Canada.”

  Sam dragged both hands down his face. “Three frickin’ years.”

  “Some people hold grudges for a lifetime. You’ve got a bitter, vengeful man on your hands, Sam. Wilson can’t move on so he doesn’t want Harper to move on, either.”

  “So he keeps reminding her, blaming her. He wants her to wallow in misery. Guilt. I’m sorry for the man’s loss, Jayce, but this is bullshit.” Sam glanced at his watch, anxious to get to Harper. “Can you get me some stats on Edward Wilson? Where he lives? Where he hangs out? His routine?”

  Jayce—ever calm—caught Sam’s troubled gaze. “Thinking of paying him a visit?”

  “This has to stop.”

  “Agreed. You take Harper to Vegas. Do your thing with her and the Cupcake Lovers. I’ll handle Edward.”

  “Why you?”

  “Given my background in law enforcement, let’s just say I’m experienced at making bad men see the error of their ways.”

  Sam raised a brow. “I appreciate the offer, Jayce, but when Edward posted that message to me, he opened the door for confrontation. I can’t manage face-to-face right now, but I can make a call. If that doesn’t do it, we’ll take it from there.”

  Jayce nodded, took out his phone. “I’ll forward Edward’s cell number, but before you call, let me give you some pointers that’ll add punch to your cease and desist.”

  “By the way,” Sam asked, “how did Edward know about Harper and me? I haven’t posted anything about us online. Neither has she.”

  “The old fox has been keeping tabs on her. I’m not the only PI in this state.”

  That would account for the feeling of “being watched.” Sam envisioned a man staked out somewhere on Harper’s property with a freaking pair of binoculars. Following them into town, maybe sitting two tables away when they’d had lunch at the Shack, chowing on apple pie and freaking spying on Harper and Sam then reporting back to Wilson.

  Fury singed the last of Sam’s patience.

  “Before you blow a gasket, I already reasoned with the dick in question. He’s out of the picture.”

  Sam dragged a hand through his hair, his blood pressure easing as he saved Edward’s phone number to contacts. “Never knew you could be so scary, Bello.”

  Jayce just smiled.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Seven hours and forty-nine minutes after taking off from Starlight Airfield and making one pit stop in Kansas City, Nash and his copilot, Tripp, landed the charter jet at Henderson Executive, a small corporate airport just minutes from the Las Vegas Strip. The flight had been smooth and the attending Cupcake Lovers a delight.

  Conversation, mimosas, and snacks had flowed. A delicious in-flight meal had been served. Their flight attendant, Bella, had been a doll. All in all, a fantastic experience for everyone involved, including Harper. She’d been anxiety-free all day and so far everything was going according to plan. She felt calm and in control with flashes of giddy excitement. She was getting married tonight and tomorrow the Cupcake Lovers would appear on Brice and Kaylee—Live! A personal milestone and a professional coup. Her mind kept spinning what ifs, but they were all good. Mostly all good. Which was a whole lot better than mostly bad.

  She attributed part of her optimism
to steeling her spine. Last night she’d broken her personal policy of not engaging with Edward Wilson. Engaging only fanned the flames of his vengeance. Distance and silence had long been Harper’s defense of choice. It had worked for a while, but now that he was on the warpath again, she knew she had to change tactics. His taunts had to end. Maybe he couldn’t forget or forgive but he had to leave Harper in peace. As much as she’d been fighting it, she’d fallen in love with Sam. A night of bowling with him and the kids had cinched her tender feelings. They’d stripped away the last layer of armor shielding her heart. She was vulnerable, but instead of feeling scared, she felt emboldened. She didn’t want Edward’s hatred tainting her and Sam’s relationship. And she sure as hell didn’t want his misery to touch Ben and Mina in any way.

  She knew Edward wouldn’t listen to reason if she called. He’d interrupt and manipulate the conversation.

  She’d opted to write him a letter. It had taken two hours to compose a heartfelt but adamant e-mail. Two hours to put her feelings into words. Words that would have the desired impact.

  I know how much you loved Andrew. I loved him, too.

  She’d questioned the true depth of her feelings—egged on by Edward and her own guilt—for far too long. She’d fallen into an abyss of doubt, unable to grab hold of substantial memories. Good memories. She’d forgotten how special those first months with Andrew had been. Yes, there had been a whirlwind romance. Yes, she’d been over-the-moon obsessed with planning the perfect fairy-tale wedding for their perfect marriage. And yes, she’d been stunned by the negative transformation of Andrew, unbalanced by his rejection, at a loss for dealing with his somber mood and anger. She hadn’t understood the exact nature of his suffering because he’d kept that suffering to himself. To protect her. Andrew never wanted to hurt her. He set her free because he loved her.