'Tis the Season for Romance

by Kristen Proby

  “It’s easier.”

  Easier?

  Austin’s gaze drifted to my lips. He stared at them like . . . wait, did he want to kiss me? Because I would be totally okay with that. But why would he want to kiss me? Austin didn’t like me that way. Or any way.

  I opened my mouth to ask what he was talking about, but in a flash, he was gone.

  He pulled his boots on faster than any man in the history of boot-wearing men and picked up his phone and wallet. Those were shoved in his pockets as he strode around the bed and toward the door.

  I propped up on an elbow, my eyes tracking his every step. “Where are you going?”

  He hesitated at the door, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m going to go scope out the place.”

  “Scope it out?” A laugh escaped. “We’re in Montana.”

  His expression hardened.

  This look, I knew well.

  It was the one he gave me whenever I offered him something from the bakery. It was the one he favored whenever I protested a security measure. It was the look he gave me whenever I smiled his way.

  “Yes, Cleo, we’re in Montana,” he clipped. “And whose fault is that?”

  Before I could respond, he was out the door. And for the first time all night, I just wanted to go home.

  Chapter 4

  Cleo

  Someone was pounding a drum in the room next door. A really loud, extremely painful drum.

  No. Wait. That was just my pulse.

  “Fuck you, champagne,” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping this headache would disappear.

  I limited myself to one bottle. Always. One bottle and then I switched to water. I’d had that rule since my best friend from college had gotten married and I’d chugged champagne at the reception like it was the maid of honor’s duty to test that all bottles were carbonated.

  The one-bottle rule hadn’t even crossed my mind last night, thanks to Austin, but if I survived today, I’d never forget again.

  I kicked at the covers, trying desperately to unwrap the sheets twined around my legs. When they finally touched air, I swung them over the edge of the bed and—

  So that was why my feet were so hot. I’d slept with my slippers on.

  My stomach pitched as I sat up, my eyes still closed. I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to my shaking legs.

  Okay. Not bad. I was dizzy but didn’t have the urge to vomit. If I could beat this headache, I just might survive.

  I took one step and didn’t wobble. Win. Except on step number two, everything fell to pieces. The world spun, flipping upside down as my foot caught on something on the floor.

  A very large, very angry man sleeping on the floor.

  This is going to hurt. I braced, ready for impact, but I didn’t collide with the carpet. No, I hit a wall of muscle. A wall that belonged to a very large, very angry man who’d been sleeping on the floor.

  “What the fuck?” Austin caught me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me to slow my fall.

  “Shh.” I patted his chest, working my way up until I felt the softness of his lips. Then I pressed in, sucking in some air as I sat sprawled across his lap.

  My eyes, which had somehow stayed closed during the fiasco, cracked open. The dim light that peeked through the slit in the curtains might as well have been high-beam headlights for how they assaulted my irises and amplified the agony in my skull. It hurt so badly, my hands flew to my temples.

  “Cleo—”

  “Shh,” I hissed, louder this time.

  On any normal day, I would have appreciated the fact that I was sitting on Austin’s lap. That I’d just touched his lips. I would have memorized the bulk of his thighs and the feel of his strong arms. But today, I was seconds from death, and survival was the only thing on my mind. I squirmed out of his hold, and rather than try to stand, I crawled to the bathroom.

  Merry Christmas Eve, Cleo.

  This was the most humiliating moment of my life and I didn’t have it in me to give two flying fucks.

  When my palms hit the tile, I moaned as the cool marble calmed my too-hot skin. When my knees crossed the threshold, I gave up and curled into the fetal position, soaking in the chill.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh.” I winced and plugged my ears. How many times did a woman have to tell a man to shush before he listened?

  “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

  Austin was scowling. I didn’t need to see it because I heard it in his voice.

  “It’s three in California.” My throat burned as I spoke. Why was he even asking? Austin knew my schedule. I arrived at the bakery by five to prep before my drive-up window opened at six. And hangover be damned, my body’s alarm clock was blaring.

  Okay. Off the floor.

  I inhaled some oxygen, then uncurled, deciding maybe my stomach wasn’t as steady as I’d initially suspected. I managed to get myself up to a seat and leaned against the wall.

  “Are you all right?”

  “No.” I shook my head, then raised a hand to wave him off.

  “Do you want me to shut the door?”

  I nodded and pulled my legs into my chest, so they were out of his way. Then he eased it closed, leaving me in the pitch-black bathroom.

  Beyond the door, Austin shuffled around the room and it sounded like he plopped down in bed. If it was only four, that meant he’d slept for a little over three hours.

  On. The. Floor.

  And he called me predictable.

  I wasn’t sure where he’d disappeared to last night. After an hour of waiting for him to return from scoping out the place, I’d drifted off. But because I was a light sleeper, I’d awoken when he’d returned to the room after midnight. I hadn’t realized or noticed when he’d snatched a room key, but the click of the lock had startled me out of my drunken slumber. Austin had disappeared into the bathroom and I’d passed out before he’d emerged.

  My mouth was dry. My body ached. I stifled a groan. What I needed was water, Advil, caffeine and calories—in that order.

  The first two were easy enough to find in the bathroom, even with the lights off. After chugging three of the tiny room glasses and drowning just as many painkillers, I fumbled around until I located my toothbrush. Now all I had to do was find caffeine and calories.

  With a fortifying breath, I tiptoed out of the bathroom. Austin was facedown on the bed, fully clothed and sleeping on top of the comforter. I silently walked to the drawers, sliding one open and taking out a bra, sweater and a pair of jeans.

  “What are you doing?” Austin asked, not moving as he spoke.

  “I need coffee.”

  He grumbled something into his pillow, then pushed up from the mattress. “Give me a minute.”

  “No!” Ouch. Too loud, Cleo. “Stay. Sleep.”

  Miraculously, the man didn’t argue. He simply buried his face in the pillow.

  During last night’s reconnaissance mission, he must have deemed Quincy safe. Shocker.

  I returned to the blissfully dark bathroom and dressed quickly, then found my shoes and picked them up along with some cash from my purse and a room card from the dresser. Even though I knew Austin wasn’t asleep, I slipped from the room without a word.

  The air in the hallway was warm and smelled like Christmas. Thankfully, the smell didn’t make me want to hurl. I made my way to the elevator, my head pounding in rhythm with each step, and when I pushed the button, the ding was earsplitting. When I reached the lobby, the scent of coffee filled my nose and I practically jogged toward the front desk.

  The young man stationed behind it did a double take when he saw me coming, then checked his watch. “Morning.”

  “I need coffee.”

  He must have sensed my desperation because he hopped off his stool and waved for me to follow. He also didn’t speak—God bless Montanans.

  The front desk was an island in the grand lobby and behind it were two doors. One I assumed was to an office.
The other, the door he held for me, opened to an enormous kitchen.

  The lights were bright and reflected off the stainless-steel prep table and appliances, but I squinted, my nose leading the way. In the corner of the room, the coffee maker beckoned.

  The guy plucked a white, ceramic mug from a tray on the clean side of the dishwasher—we had the same brand at the bakery—then went to the industrial pot and filled my mug nearly to the brim.

  “Ice cube?”

  I nodded as he went to the ice machine, using the metal scoop to drop two ice cubes into the mug.

  “You’ve done this before.”

  He grinned and handed me the mug. “Hangovers are a bitch.”

  “Thank you.” The first sip was hot, but the ice cubes helped.

  “Ibuprofen?”

  I shook my head and gulped more. “I took some already.”

  “I’m going to leave you here and get back to my post. Drink as much as you’d like.”

  “Thank you.”

  He winked before walking out, leaving me in the quiet kitchen.

  After two cups, the pain was manageable. I refilled my mug once more, then returned to the lobby.

  “Better?” he asked, turning as I pushed through the door.

  “Much. Add some food, and you’ll have saved my life.”

  He chuckled and held out his hand. “I’m Mateo.”

  “Cleo.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” I smiled. “Yesterday, the manager—”

  “Eloise. My sister.”

  Of course, he was one of the Edens. I hadn’t noticed the resemblance earlier, but now the similarities in their eyes and the classic shape of their noses were evident. Mateo’s smile wasn’t sweet like Eloise’s, but it was youthful and handsome. I suspected he put that charming smile to good use on the weekends for girls younger than me.

  “Eloise said something about a coffee shop. Run by another sister.”

  “Lyla. She owns the coffee shop, but . . .”

  “Don’t say it.”

  He glanced at the clock on his computer screen. “She doesn’t open until six thirty.”

  “Damn.” My hands were shaky and with all that coffee sitting in my stomach, I’d be a jittery mess by five.

  What I really needed was some dough. Something to kneed and work and use to burn off this hangover. If I were at home, I’d make some sort of jelly-filled pastry. Or cinnamon rolls. My stomach growled.

  “Have you been here all night?” I asked Mateo, crossing two fingers behind my back in hopes that this might work.

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  “Without a break?”

  He nodded. “So?”

  “So . . . I bet you’re getting hungry.”

  “I’m twenty-two. I’m always hungry.”

  Score. I smiled. “How would you like to make a deal?”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  My eyes whipped up from the floury mess on the prep table as an angry man stormed into the kitchen.

  Angry, but handsome. Mateo handsome. This had to be another Eden.

  I scrunched up my nose, doing my best to look apologetic. I mean, I wasn’t sorry, but I faked it anyway. “Making scones.”

  “Scones.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest and his eyes flared. “Why?”

  The door behind him burst open and Mateo rushed inside. “Sorry. Shit.”

  “What’s going on, Matty?” the other man asked.

  “Knox, this is Cleo. She’s a pastry chef in LA. She was hungry and Lyla wasn’t open yet, so we, uh . . . she made cinnamon rolls. They’re freaking amazing. Better than Mom’s.”

  “Thanks, Mateo.” My chest swelled with pride. And I was right—brothers.

  “What the hell? You let a stranger use my kitchen.” Knox huffed. “And I’m telling Mom you said that.”

  “She’s not a stranger,” Mateo said. “She’s a guest.”

  “Guests don’t come into the kitchen.” Knox turned his attention to me and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s six thirty now and Lyla’s got her shop open. Not to be rude but get out.”

  “Right.” I held up a flour-covered finger. “About that. I, uh . . . can’t.”

  There was no way I was leaving this kitchen. I was finally feeling like myself thanks to the baking, cinnamon roll and two additional cups of coffee I’d sipped while working. Besides, the only thing waiting for me outside this room was a grouchy bodyguard who planned to drag my ass to California today.

  “Why?” Knox arched an eyebrow. His chiseled jaw was dusted with stubble and his fit physique showed through even his boxy chef’s coat. Too bad I hadn’t met someone like him in culinary school. I might have won him over with my dark chocolate cupcakes and peanut butter frosting.

  Knox seemed like the kind of guy who would appreciate my bestselling cupcakes, unlike Austin. No matter what flavor I gave him, Austin greeted my cupcakes with a grimace. Even the day I’d made him a special variety pack, twelve different types nestled in my signature periwinkle box. I’d handed him the gift, and he’d sneered, then informed me that his team would love them.

  Not him. His team.

  Because heaven forbid Austin miss an opportunity to show me how much my very existence aggravated him.

  Knox cleared his throat. Mateo stared at me with eyebrows raised.

  “What? Oh.” Knox had asked me a question. Right. “Sorry, I’m hungover. I can’t leave because I’m in the middle of scones. And blueberry muffins. They’re in the oven.”

  Knox’s eyes darted to said oven, then back to the scones I’d just rolled out. “We can’t serve those.”

  “Good.” Mateo chuckled. “More for me. Can I take the extras home, Cleo?”

  “Of course.”

  Mateo yawned, then slapped his brother’s shoulder before tossing me a wink and leaving the kitchen.

  “I don’t suppose you have any strawberries?” I asked Knox. “I make this amazing strawberry-graham galette with lime zest and it would totally hit the spot this morning.”

  Knox blinked. Twice.

  Austin did the same thing when I asked him questions. Strange.

  “Is that a no on the strawberries? Or . . .”

  That earned me another blink, but instead of the scowl that usually followed when Austin gaped at me, Knox grinned. “I’m not getting rid of you this morning, am I?”

  I smiled. “Nope.”

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Austin barked. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  My shoulders fell. “You found me.”

  My trip to Montana was about over.

  Austin ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, taking in the hotel’s kitchen as he shook his head. It was rare to see him disheveled. It was a good look though, a little messy and a lot sexy.

  “Have you been here all morning?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Baking. Hiding. Same thing.

  It was ten thirty according to the clock on the wall. Had my security detail been anyone other than Austin, I might have made it until noon, but I’d figured eventually, he’d remember predicable Cleo was probably elbows deep in flour, yeast and sugar.

  “Christ.” Austin shook his head. “I was worried.”

  Whoops. I cringed, hating the guilt snaking down my spine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I was just hungry.”

  Austin waved a hand around the kitchen. “And instead of finding a morning snack at a vending machine, you decided to bake enough muffins to feed the whole fucking town.”

  “Not the whole town,” I mumbled. “Just the guests.” And employees.

  Okay, maybe I’d gotten a bit carried away. The prep table was overloaded with cinnamon rolls and carrot cake muffins. The galette was cooling by the chocolate croissants. And I’d just taken a hot sheet pan of orange scones from the oven.

  “You’re probably starving.” I swiped a plate from the shelf behind me and dished Austin a warm scone. He was a big guy so
I added a muffin and a cinnamon roll too. Maybe the reason he never ate my food was because he wasn’t hungry. But Austin had hangry written all over his gorgeous face and if there was ever a moment for him to embrace all that was my baking, this was it. “Here.”

  He frowned at the plate but took it from my grip, then he bit into the scone, chewed the bite for approximately a nanosecond before swallowing and setting the plate aside. “Coffee. To wash it down.”

  Seriously? My food didn’t need to be washed down. My scones were the farthest thing from dry. Asshole. My temper surged. Maybe it was the champagne’s lingering effects, but I swiped up the towel off the table and threw it at his head.

  He caught it before it could hit him in the face. “What the hell?”

  “Everyone likes my food,” I snapped. “Everyone. Mateo went home already because his shift was over, but just ask Knox. People. Love. My. Food.”

  Why don’t you?

  Austin’s frame stiffened. “Who are Mateo and Knox?”

  On cue, the door that led from the kitchen to the dining room opened and Knox came through with an empty tray. “Blueberry muffins are gone. So is the first batch of cinnamon rolls.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Austin snapped.

  “You’re in my kitchen.” Knox took the tray to the dishwasher, dropping it into the sink and not missing a beat. Then he turned and leaned against the edge, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who are you?”

  The men went into a stare down and before punches could be thrown, or muffins, I jumped in to give introductions.

  “Knox Eden, meet Austin Myles, chief pain in my ass and general hater of baked goods.”

  Chapter 5

  Austin

  “Mind if we have a minute?” I asked Knox, doing my best to ignore the way his eyes lingered too long on Cleo’s figure.

  It was a gorgeous figure, curvy and fit, toned and lush—I couldn’t fault the guy for good taste. But I still wanted to shove my fist into his nose. Kicking this guy’s ass would only add another delay to our departure time—that was, if we could even get a flight out. We’d missed one already.