Okay, that last part wasn’t true. Not entirely. She’d had no idea she’d end up being pulled up against his hard chest and kissed breathless by a man who absolutely knew what to do with his mouth. And hers.
Then there was the way he said her name, with that hint of a Greek accent when she was used to hearing it with a hint of Italian. He’d had her at Abriana.
He slid his palm from the nape of her neck, cupping her cheek so he could take the kiss deeper, all the while his other hand was still entwined with hers, dangling so innocently beside their hips. She was experiencing intimate sweetness with him on the one side, while at the same time being utterly seduced by his clever, confident, total ownership of her mouth on the other. The combination of the two took down every wall she might have erected. Had she been trying to do so. Which she wasn’t.
Instead, she was quivering, quite literally, in response to all the places he was touching her, both directly and indirectly. It was as if she’d never felt or experienced what it was like to have a man’s hands on her, or his mouth. She wasn’t inexperienced, and yet nothing had ever prepared her for how he was making her feel. It was exhilarating and not a little thrilling. It should be a bit terrifying, feeling so much, wanting so much, in such short order with someone she’d just met. She couldn’t explain it, though, even to herself, but her instinctive gut feeling, at the core of this sensual maelstrom swirling around them, was of being . . . well, content. Of being right where she was supposed to be.
She was with Caleb, and he’d take care with her, just as she would with him. Which, she thought, contained not a shred of logic, given they were five seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off. Without so much as a tiny sliver of expectation that this could lead to anything other than a brief, if very energized, fling. That was the opposite of taking care of one another.
So, what did she do? She sighed in bliss and let herself sink in. She kissed him back, opting to revel in the utter perfection of this moment, of him. Exult in how he tasted, like sugar, sweet pears, anise, and Caleb, how he handled her, confidently, respectfully, hungrily, all at the same time. There was no chance rational thought would gain so much as a toehold of leverage, nor did she want it to. That would mean ending this. Why would she want to do that?
It was a measure of just how good it felt being wrapped up in him that she could manage to so deeply bury the other reason she’d come to talk with him. The real reason she’d jumped at the chance to see him again.
From the moment he’d left the bakeshop with Sofia, after finishing the iced cookie and praising it again, and then again, Bree hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. At all. Nor had she been able to stop the almost overwhelming urge she’d felt to be near him again, talk to him again, find out more about him, just . . . be with him. Not even sexually, or just sexually, but all of it. She wanted to feel that sense of connection, of discovery and revelation . . . of, yes, contentment that she’d felt from the moment he’d started talking yesterday.
Most importantly, she wanted to know—needed to know—if it was a real connection . . . or one that existed only because of magic. Bellaluna magic. Her magic, if Sofia was to be believed. When it came to magic, Bree had no base of experience. She’d observed it, but she’d never wielded it. And she’d certainly never been tangled up on the receiving end of it. Or, more to the point, tangled up with someone who’d been on the receiving end of it. Was that all this was?
His lips left hers as he trailed kisses along the edge of her jaw, then caught her earlobe between his teeth. She let out a soft moan and tipped her head to the side, allowing him to kiss the curve of her neck as he slid his hand around her waist and gently tugged her up against him. Her body leapt in response to that contact, all of her soft parts aligning so perfectly with all of his hard ones. His so very, very hard ones.
To think she’d initially thought him the professorial type. That glimpse of the more alpha side of him hadn’t been a false flag. Far from.
She willfully ignored the questions she needed to be asking, should have asked before ever coming over here in the first place. Instead, she slid her free hand over his shoulder, loving the lean, defined muscle she felt there, then did what she’d wanted to do, much as he’d said he had, since first laying eyes on him. She sank her fingers into those dark, glossy curls. They felt as glorious as they looked, and his soft groan as she raked his scalp lightly with the tips of her fingers made her thighs quiver. She wanted to see what other sounds she could elicit from him, whether she could make him feel as wanton as he was making her feel. And they were just kissing.
Her head was swimming, and not just from Caleb’s touch. It took Bree a moment to realize he wasn’t nuzzling her neck any longer. She opened her eyes to find him looking into hers. She had no idea what she’d thought she’d see in his or hoped to see.
What she found was . . . acceptance. Of this moment, of what they’d just done, of her, of whatever else he hoped would come next, she wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t sorry. And neither was she. It was that quiet confidence, even more than his exquisite kisses, that shook her, even as it calmed her. Maybe it was okay if they’d been given a little boost by her magic. Because standing there, with his arm around her, their fingers entwined, looking into those beautiful eyes of his, felt so good. So . . . right.
He pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear and gently squeezed the hand he still held. So very alpha and sweet and tender, all at the same time. Everything she’d ever wanted, without ever knowing it even existed.
Was it fair to him to let this continue without saying anything? And what, exactly, would she say? You’re only feeling this way because I spiked your cookie with some good, old-fashioned Bellaluna magic?
And if it was magic, then why she was feeling it, too? She’d been just as swept away as he was and she hadn’t eaten a magic cookie. So many questions. How was it she’d come this far in her adult life and never asked them all already? Because until this moment, you wouldn’t have known what to ask.
“Caleb,” she began, at the same moment he said, “Abriana.” And she sighed, just a little, because she was pretty sure she’d never get tired of hearing him call her by her full name.
He nodded for her to speak first. “I didn’t come over here for—I mean, I wasn’t expecting . . .” She trailed off, then shook her head and let out a short laugh. “Okay, that’s not entirely true.” She met his gaze again. “I’ve been thinking about you since we met, which was just yesterday, hard as that is to believe. I don’t typically—in fact, I’ve never once . . .” She let that trail off, too, but found herself smiling when he smiled and nodded, essentially saying “me too.”
She believed him, which might have been naïve of her, given his very capable seduction. Yet, she didn’t think those sweet and sexy cornflower blue eyes could be lying to her. His gaze was much too sincere, and she wanted nothing more than to lean forward, tip up on her toes, and feel those lips pressed to hers again.
“The, uh, parade question was actually real,” she made herself say, trying to stay on topic. She dipped her chin then and felt a bit of warmth flood her cheeks, which was ridiculous given what they’d just been doing. Now you’re self-conscious? “I didn’t have to bring the muffins, though. That . . . might have been a bit more calculating. Not for this,” she hurried to add, looking up at him again. “More as a way to maybe stretch the conversation a bit.”
“I’m a big fan of stretching our conversations whenever possible. Muffins not required,” he added, then grinned, “but greatly appreciated.”
She wanted to confide in him, about the iced cookie, tell him he might be all worked up because of a bit more than a sugar rush, get his take on that, then discuss what they should do next, taking her confession into consideration. Oddly, it felt funny not talking to him about it. Not for all the ethical or moral reasons, which she’d most definitely have to address before doing this again, if they were ever to do this again. She wanted to confide in him because it just seemed l
ike the kind of thing they’d always done, would always do. Talk things out, help each other brainstorm and problem-solve, have each other’s back.
None of that made any sense. They’d kissed. Wildly and deliciously, yes, and she was pretty sure they’d have an even more memorable time if they decided to get naked and try it again. But none of that was relationship building. It was carnal expectation building, which wasn’t at all the same thing.
“You’re temporary,” she blurted out, thinking maybe that was for the best. Cut straight to the chase, to the actual reality of the situation, and just walk away and not look back at the fantasy-land stuff they’d just been doing. Magic cookie problem solved, and all issues related to it. They’d had a nice little interlude, gotten that whole insta-attraction thing dealt with, and now they could move on. Total lie. That’s not any part of what you really want.
Okay, okay. So what if she wanted him even more now than she had before? What good would it do her to take what he was offering? She’d only want more, then more. Wouldn’t it be better to simply avoid, at all costs, so much as looking at him, much less talking to him, because she didn’t need to know he was any more perfect for her than she already did. Yes, she’d have to survive the next six weeks, aching to the point of pain for the want of his hands on her again, preferably all of her this time. But then he’d go back to Philly, and she’d have to get over it. Move on.
Fine plan, her increasingly annoying little voice pointed out, except you’re forgetting that part where your Bellaluna magic finally came into being for him. Never before. No one else. Just him. Specifically him. What happens if you let him go, and . . . that’s that? No more magic, ever again?
She told herself maybe that was for the best, too. Wouldn’t it be better to settle for something almost as good, and know it was true and real and not connected in any way to magic?
He brought her out of her merry-go-round of thoughts by tipping her chin up with his finger when she would have otherwise ducked his gaze. Why would you ever settle for almost as good, she thought, getting lost all over again in his eyes, when you could have this?
“I’m a big believer in fate,” he told her quietly, as if reading her thoughts. And maybe he could. That would explain a lot. A smile played around his lips, lips she knew so intimately now. “My whole family is, always has been.”
“Meaning . . . ?” she asked, hoping beyond hope he had some solution that would allow her to stay right where she was.
“I was the last person George should have chosen to come up here,” he told her. “I’m not a management type. I’m a chef. Food is my focus, always has been.” He lifted a tendril of her hair again; this time he brushed the tips over her lips, causing a ripple of awareness to zip right down her spine and pool in that place she was trying so desperately to ignore. “Yet here I am. And here I meet you.”
“But you’ll eventually go back to Philadelphia,” she said, just as quietly. “Back to your home, your work, your family. For me, all of those things are here. This town is my place, my family is my heart, the bakeshop is my home, just like your neighborhood in Philly, your family, your kitchen in Dimi’s is yours.”
His smile spread slowly and she tried to take on the confidence he projected, so wishing she felt it for herself.
“All of that is true,” he said. “We trust in fate, but we can’t see into the future or know how things will eventually work out. You and I have only just met, and the connection feels so strong. Maybe that should seem strange, but it doesn’t to me. It makes perfect sense to me. You make perfect sense to me. You understand things about me most people simply would not get. I’m usually the one in the background, letting others do the talking, happy to observe. Happier still not to be there at all and be off cooking somewhere. Yesterday? I couldn’t shut up. I felt like not only could I tell you everything, anything, but that I had to, so you’d know it was happening, too.” His grin was disarming and wholly endearing. “Maybe right now, too, with the chatty part. But if I don’t take this chance . . .” He shook his head. “That’s, like, not even an option. I have to take this chance.”
Instead of being overwhelmed at everything he was laying at her feet, or being alarmed that someone could feel things with such intensity for her in so short a time . . . she listened to his words, looked in those eyes, and felt her heart wobble. Because he made sense to her, too. She couldn’t let him lay that revelation at her feet and not be honest in return. “You aren’t the only one feeling that way,” she said softly.
She felt the relief in him. “I’m not discounting what you said, about your life being here and mine being in Philly. This is not how I envisioned finding someone.”
“I know,” she said. “Me either.” She let out a little sigh, wishing for clarity, for some miracle solution. But there wasn’t one. “My behavior just now notwithstanding, I’m not wired to handle short term . . . anything.” She lifted a shoulder. “I know myself—I would get attached.” Am already getting attached. “And I can’t give pieces of myself away like that, not for nothing.” She looked up into his eyes. “I can’t predict the future, either, but I think we both know this feels like it could be a whole lot more than nothing.” She slid her hand from his hair and pressed her palm to his chest, forestalling whatever he’d been about to say. “So, jumping in when it could be everything, knowing from the outset that it can’t be anything, at least not anything long term, doesn’t seem like a good idea. For either of us.”
His shoulders let down a bit, and she watched as he searched her eyes, as if looking for a different answer. Finally, he nodded, agreeing with her, when what she wanted him to do was talk her out of it, tell her they could find a way. Rather than letting her go, and stepping back, he surprised her by cupping her cheek in his palm again, sliding his fingers into her hair, and lifting her mouth to his. This kiss was slow, gentle, and far more intimate than anything they’d shared thus far. It felt so much like a promise, rather than a goodbye, that she felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. Maybe he was going to talk her out of it after all, by making her feel everything, so she would be willing to risk anything. Including her heart.
“Caleb,” she whispered against his lips, as he ended the kiss, feeling wrenched and doubting everything she’d just said. “Maybe we—”
“Should take a step back,” he finished for her. “You’re right.” He lifted his head, and for the first time his expression was entirely unreadable.
That alone felt like a kick to the gut. His openness and genuine frankness were such a big part of who he seemed to be.
He let his hand slide from her cheek and stepped back, then slid his hand from hers as well. She went from being warm and content, all tucked up against him, right where she was supposed to be, to feeling cold and set adrift. That shook her, too.
They were doing the right thing. She’d look back on this years from now and shake her head at the conversation they’d had, and wonder what in the world she thought she’d been doing, spouting all that stuff about life and how they could be everything, with a man she’d known less than twenty-four hours.
If this intensity and all-at-onceness was what Bellaluna magic brought with it, she’d be far better off going back to the time when she had no idea how to wield it, happy to leave that part to the grown-ups like her mother and grandmother. She turned away and smoothed the shirt she wore, then picked up the pins from the table and made quick work of putting her bun back together, albeit far less smoothly than she normally wore it. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel him watching her. She didn’t know what to say, either. It didn’t feel awkward. It just felt . . . sad. And wrong. Listen to your heart. Stop leading with your head.
“Can I keep the muffins?” he asked, a half smile briefly lifting up a corner of his mouth. “If you don’t mind.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes, but they no longer were unreadable. Now they just looked . . . bereft.
She nodded, thinking maybe unreadable was better after all. She
took another step back, toward the corner of the table, thankful her knees didn’t wobble out from under her, then put the worktable between them as she moved closer to the back door. She paused there. You still have time to fix this. Stop this. Only she didn’t see how. If there was a solution, she’d have shared it with him, or he would have with her. “I’m, um, I’m sure we can find someone to drive. In the parade. So don’t worry about that.”
He looked as though he was about to say something to the contrary, but then apparently thought better of it, and nodded. “If I can find the keys, they’re welcome to still use the car.”
“Thanks,” she said, feeling ridiculous now. So polite. So nice. Like they hadn’t almost ripped their clothes off and taken each other right there on the table. And the floor. Up against the nearest wall. And then maybe in a booth out front. Or three.
She let out a shaky breath. You’re really going to need to stop thinking about that. About him. Anytime now.
“Just, uh, give the mayor a call. He’ll put you in touch with the right people. I appreciate it. I know the town appreciates it, too.”
“Not a problem.” He sounded so distant now, despite being perfectly polite. She’d brought that on herself, so she could hardly blame him.
With one hand on the doorknob, she looked back at him, and they stood there for another long moment, gazes locked. Tell me to stay. That I’m wrong, that we’ll figure this out. He didn’t. She didn’t, either. She wrangled the doorknob behind her and finally pulled the door open, but just an inch. It was old and a little warped. She started to say that if he needed anything, she’d be happy to help. Just as she’d do for anyone. But that wasn’t a good idea, either. Instead, she nodded and turned to leave.
“Goodbye, Abriana Bellaluna O’Neill.”
Her breath caught in her throat and she glanced back, even as she schooled herself not to. He’d said it quietly, softly. She saw he’d mustered up a smile and everything. It was the first time it didn’t warm his eyes, though it was hard to tell as he’d slid his glasses back on now.
The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice Page 5