Coming Consumed: Welcome to Carson, Book Three

by Renee Harless

  Since turning in his application a few weeks ago, Dylan hadn’t been able to get Sydney out of his mind. He had tossed and turned for nights at a time, thinking about her curvy, petite body and her wavy blonde hair. Nights like those had many times left him lying sweaty and with a deep, insatiable craving for her. Those nights were incidentally the ones where he became good friends with his hand again.

  Even as she stares at him now, mouth wide open and a bit of chocolate smeared along her cheek, she is breathtaking to him – and that is something that could be detrimental to both of them.

  He is on leave from the FBI, a forced vacation his boss insisted he take since he hadn’t used any time off in the five years he had been with the department. But of course, on the day he was set to fly out to Hawaii to enjoy a time share, his boss called him back into the rotation.

  Special Agent in Charge, Lewis Rockwell, is a no non-sense man and he rarely gives a rat’s ass what his agents think about a mission or case. It took Dylan by surprise when he asked for his advice regarding a victim of a crime ring from a few years back who was being located by the assailants. He explained that the current team is doing all they can to shut down the ring, but the leader is hell-bent on closing all the loose ends – including the woman in question. Dylan didn’t hesitate to say that they should plant an agent close to the victim to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

  That’s how he found himself no longer headed towards Hawaii on vacation, but to Carson, North Carolina – population of barely a thousand, bore-town USA. Rockwell claimed that they needed someone with a culinary background, and since everyone loves to gripe on Dylan for majoring in both the culinary arts and criminal justice while in college, he was a shoo-in for the spot.

  He had always loved to cook and used it as a way to relax after a tough day of training when he played sports, so it seemed logical to do the same while he planned out how to join the FBI. However, Dylan regrets the decision he had made in the blossom of youth the instant he is given the new task of watchdog, forcing him to cancel his much-needed vacation.

  Snapshots were all he had been given of the woman in question, so when he arrived at the cute little bakery called Wake and Bake to apply for the job that would keep him closest to her, he was shocked to find a young woman dancing around the kitchen area, mixing bowl in hand, singing into a spatula that was dripping with chocolate.

  Dylan had waited until she completed her lonesome serenade before approaching her to ask for the job. She had blushed under his gaze, but he couldn’t help himself from gazing at her; something about the richness of her brown eyes pulled him in.

  Much like they are doing now. Everyone else in the room falls away and all Dylan can see is Sydney.

  She is just as beautiful as he remembered. When she had called him yesterday, he hopped on the first flight from Washington, D.C. to Asheville. He stayed the night in a hotel, then grabbed a rental car before making his way towards Carson.

  After taking a long moment to reminiscence in her beauty, Dylan quickly looks around and grabs a spare apron from its place on a hook, ties it off around his waist, and removes the cookies from the rack, adding them to the display as Sydney had suggested. Dylan has to fight back the smile when he notices that the bakery remains quiet, but twenty-five or so pairs of eyes follow his every movement.

  Instead of relishing in the surprise on Sydney’s face, he reaches over and grabs the change in her hand and places it into the palm of Ms. Fitzgerald, whom he remembers from the last time he was in the town. After turning in his application a few months ago, the elderly lady had flagged him down as he was leaving the bakery and had asked him to escort her to the diner down the street, all the while making no effort to hide the fact she was scrounging up any and all dirt she could find on him. She was almost as good of an interrogator as his boss, but he wouldn’t tell her that. She looked like she not only could poke him in the eye with her oversized knitting needles and cause irreparable damage, but she likely would, too.

  “What can I do to help, Syd?” he asks as he moves closer into her space, inhaling her sweet scent of vanilla and cookies.

  “Um…” she murmurs, seeming unsure of herself.

  Saving her from any embarrassment in front of her customers, Dylan adds, “How about I help get the customer’s orders, and you can ring them up until your help gets here?”

  She nods in agreement, still in a daze and unable to speak as Dylan moves around to the other end of the counter and begins gathering people’s orders. All the while, he works to hide the smirk gracing his face at her reaction to his presence.

  Don’t worry, sweetheart. The feeling is definitely mutual.

  An hour or so later, a young red-headed girl with a smattering of freckles across her nose comes running into the shop. She pulls Sydney aside as she apologizes profusely for being late. From what Dylan can make of the conversation, there was a study group that she had forgotten about.

  “Who are you?” a man looking to be around his age suddenly asks from across the counter, clearly irritated with the situation before him.

  “Hey. I’m just here for an interview. Sydney was swamped so I thought I’d step in. Dylan,” he replies, extending his hand towards the man.

  The heavily tattooed man stares deep into Dylan’s eyes, searching for something, but coming up empty. It’s then that Dylan realizes two things. One, this guy feels threatened, possibly in relation to Sydney. Two, this guy is ex-military.

  “Cliff,” the man finally says as he shakes Dylan’s hand, squeezing just a tad too tightly to be comfortable, but Dylan just squeezes back with equal force.

  “What branch?” Dylan asks once they release hands.

  Cliff seems surprised momentarily, but quickly masks his emotion.

  “Army. Rangers. How’d you guess?”

  Dylan didn’t need to tell him that he had been approached to join that team during his second year as an FBI agent. Instead, he covers with a lie, explaining that he has friends in the military.

  “Hey, Sydney,” Cliff shouts to gain her attention. “Can I get a box of your homemade doughnuts for the shop?”

  “Sure, thing. Just give me a minute.” Sydney squeaks as she scurries out of the front area back to the kitchen

  Turning back towards Dylan, Cliff adds menacingly, “Something’s up with her. It better not be your doing.”

  Not one to feel threatened, Dylan simply smiles as he says, “What if it is?”

  “You better watch yourself, Sparta.”

  “Sparta?” Dylan asks in confusion as Cliff walks towards the register to be rang up by the small red-head.

  “Yea, you look like King Leonidas from 300 with that beard.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “Yes, you do. Think of the quote from the movie.”

  Dylan ponders for a moment and then chuckled.

  This Is SPARTA!

  “What’s so funny?” Sydney asks, sidling up beside him at the counter as Cliff walks out the door.

  “Apparently, I’ve already earned a nickname.”

  “Really, what is it?” she queries as she turns her gaze towards him.

  “Sparta.”

  Her eyes narrow and she purses her lips, trying to piece together something that would indicate why the name was chosen, but she comes up lacking.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Do you want to start the interview?”

  “Yes, and don’t call me sweetheart.”

  Laughing as he follows her towards her office, they both hang up their aprons as he adds, “Whatever you say, cupcake.”

  “Not that one either.”

  “What about ‘muffin’?”

  “No.”

  “Snookums?” he asks, enjoying the back and forth, especially when she giggles after each term of endearment.

  As they enter the small office, she gestures for him to take a seat. Once she is seated behind the desk, he suddenly adds, “I’ve g
ot it. I’ll call you ‘Angel’.”

  “Why?” she asks, slightly caught off-guard.

  Taking a chance, even though he knows he’s about to permanently lose his man-card, Dylan responds, “Because you’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. How could you be anything other than an angel?”

  NGEL.

  That’s what the infuriating and incredibly sexy man had called her.

  Angel.

  As she rolled it around in her mind, she finally decided that she actually liked the sentiment - much more than cupcake, anyway. Sydney had to work to cover her shiver of fear that overcame her body when he had called her that. How could he have chosen the same name the man with the sunglasses had called her before he turned her world upside down? But she can’t let Dylan know that she thinks the nickname he bestowed upon her is adorably sweet coming from him, no. If she did, she knew that their attraction would only blossom.

  And boy, is there an attraction. Though she had stood frozen at the counter when she noticed that he was the one to come through the door instead of Jessica, she was still able to take in the way his gaze had traveled up and down her body appreciatively. Sydney had done a little appreciating herself.

  Dylan is tall, very tall, at least six foot five. He is built like a tank, towering over her five foot, five inch frame, every glorious inch of his body covered in muscles on top of muscles, which stretch the gray button-down shirt until it is taut across his chest; the way his black slacks pulled across his back side wasn’t half-bad, either.

  Sydney has to catch her breath when thinking about Dylan’s behind; it is magnificent and perfectly round, and his mother should be proud.

  The neatly trimmed beard gives him the look of someone who spends a lot of time in the outdoors. Sydney has never been drawn to beards before, but Dylan’s suits him perfectly.

  What really draws her in, though, are the mysterious silver eyes that contrast perfectly against his tanned skin. They are beacons that perpetually seek her attention. Constantly alert, they were always observing his surroundings, always noting the happenings around him, but at the same time, keeping a keen gaze upon her. The way he always keeps her in his sight, as if protecting her, is something that reminds her of Caleb and she isn’t quite sure how she feels about that.

  Caleb.

  It has been two years since she has thought about the incident, and she has worked extremely hard to keep the nightmare of her past hidden from her family. It feels peculiar to have this stranger invoke the same emotions as her past boyfriend.

  After the interview yesterday, Dylan had hung around Wake and Bake to get a glimpse of the renovations and the renderings for the expansion. He had been impressed with all that Sydney had accomplished on her own, then offered to help today to get an idea of what the clientele’s needs were. She also had a sneaking suspicion that Dylan was wanting to know her own needs as well.

  As she walks to the back of the shop in the early morning light, she jumps with a start when she finds a large man relaxing against the back wall. It takes her a second to realize that it’s Dylan, and she stands in place for a moment, breathing heavily with a hand over her chest.

  Dylan rushes over, apologizing that he hadn’t meant to scare her.

  “It’s ok. I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”

  As if that isn’t the statement of the year.

  As she catches her breath, straightening her back with the intention to move towards the door, her chest begins rising and falling rapidly again, but for a very different reason. Dylan gently wraps his hand around Sydney’s wrist, halting her movements. His touch sends a flicker of recognition through her body as she responds to his touch, but what frightens her more than her magnetism towards Dylan is the way his fingers delicately rub against the raised scar along her wrist. She wants to believe he doesn’t notice, but she knows she isn’t so lucky. The scar is nasty and raised from where it had gotten infected from the dirty blade. How she was able to convince her family that it was simply a burn is something Sydney will never know.

  Dylan moves his body closer to Sydney’s and soon his frame is pressed up against hers, their connected arms wedged between their two bodies. Though her breathing increases at their closeness, Dylan’s seems to maintain a steady and calm beat.

  He bends slightly, engulfing her body with his form as he leans towards her ear, his lips an inch away from the sensitive skin behind it.

  “You don’t need to be afraid of me, Syd. I won’t ever hurt you,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the spot where her neck meets her hairline.

  He pulls back slightly just as Sydney whips her head towards him, their lips only a breath away, their exhalations mixing as one. She searches the silver depths of his eyes for answers to her unknown questions, but comes up empty, his eyes masked by calmness.

  Without moving his eyes away from hers, he stretches his other arm across her body, sliding his hand down her free arm to her palm and grasps the keys dangling from her finger tips. Dylan opens the door with little effort, never taking his eyes or body off of hers.

  “Let’s move inside, Angel,” he whispers before straightening to his full height.

  As if pulled from a spell, Sydney rushes forward through the open doorway and heads towards her office, where she promptly shuts the door and rests against it, trying to bring some semblance of reason back into herself. She inhales the sweet smell of sugar and baked goods that permeates the building: an aroma that is notoriously known for its ability to calm her down. She waits a few minutes to get herself under control before opening the door. She finds Dylan leaning against the wall across from her, arms resting across his taut chest, and a look of concern on his face.

  As he steps away from his post, he approaches her, saying, “Everything alright?”

  Sydney sidesteps his movement and heads toward the kitchen, hoping that he’ll follow and drop his questioning, but she isn’t surprised when he calls her name.

  “Sydney.”

  Ignoring him, Sydney dons her apron and commands, “So I thought as part of the second interview process, we would see how well we work together since that is going to happen far more often than not. And I tend to want things done a certain way.”

  Dylan simply nods his head, but his eyes narrow slightly, telling her that their conversation is far from over. He reaches over and takes down the spare apron and wraps it around his waist as he had done the day before.

  “Alright, boss. Where would you like me to start?”

  Moving around the kitchen to collect mixing bowls and ingredients, Sydney explains that she always starts the morning with a specialty muffin and scone, then gets working on her daily items – the easy fare.

  “We bake throughout the day. Or at least I try to. I can usually have the morning set up ready to go by opening, then between breakfast and lunch I can get a few other items in for the afternoon. The system works for now. Any thoughts on what kind of muffin we should make for the specialty?”

  “I do. How about a Boston Crème muffin? But with a twist.”

  “What kind of twist?” she asks, quickly grabbing ingredients for the chocolate topping and custard.

  “I was thinking of using angel food cake as the base, Angel.”

  Sydney frowns as she stops in front of her supplies for making yellow cake.

  “Angel food cake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm… I’m not sure,” she retorts skeptically. “But we can give it a try. Do you want to work on the cake, or the chocolate and custard?”

  Dylan crosses the floor to where she stands with the mixing bowl and eggs, and he gently takes them from her hands while answering, “I’ll take care of the cake.”

  Sydney doesn’t know how someone can make such simple words sound so seductive, but the way they wrapped around her body and moved across her skin sent shivers down her spine.

  That man is going to drive her towards insanity, both mentally and sexually.

 
; They work together in silence, each alone with their thoughts. Well, not complete silence, since Dylan keeps humming a tune that Sydney can’t decipher. Of course he has to have a remarkable voice, she thinks to herself bitterly. Every note is in tune, his pitch perfect. Whatever he is singing to himself seems to make him happy, because any time they catch each other’s eye he is smiling, showing off his straight white teeth – grinning so broadly she can see the tiny chip in one of the corners - which in turn, makes her smile.

  As she helps him pull the muffins and scones out of the oven, she finally asks, “What are you singing?”

  He chuckles as he pulls the muffins loose from the pan and places them on the cooling rack.

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “No.”

  Offended, Sydney strides over to him and pushes at his shoulder with a finger, but of course, he barely budges.

  “Tell me.”

  “No,” he says again as he turns to face her.

  “Come on,” she urges playfully. He reaches a finger out near her face, and just when she thinks he’s going to stroke her cheek, he glides his finger and then rest of his hand into her hair.

  “What are you…” she begins quietly, but trails off as he brings his face towards hers and leaves open mouth kisses along her cheek until he reaches the corner of her mouth.

  His tongue peeks out between his lips at every kiss and licks softly at her skin.

  “Chocolate,” he whispers, placing another kiss on her chin.

  “What?” Sydney murmurs in response as he pulls his mouth away from her chin and stares at her intently.

  His other hand snakes around her jaw line, but Sydney is lost in Dylan’s gaze, mesmerized at the desire she finds swimming in the depths of the silver pools.

  “Dammit,” Dylan whispers to himself before latching his lips against hers.

  The kiss startles her momentarily, but Sydney recognizes the passion as it swirls forth from deep in her body and she reacts to Dylan’s intrusion. She opens her mouth, welcoming his need to explore with his tongue and teeth, nipping at her top lip. Reaching her arms forward, she braces herself against Dylan’s body by grabbing a hold of his tight black t-shirt, holding tight to his waist and tugging his body as close to her own as possible.