by Jodi Vaughn
After several attempts, he finally managed to snag a room at the Monmouth Plantation. He would rather been in a hotel where he could come and go without bringing too much attention to himself, but they were all sold out.
A bed and breakfast would have to do.
He locked his room and headed downstairs to the dining area for breakfast. He hoped they would have something sweet to go with his morning coffee.
“Good morning, Mr. Black. I hope you slept well.” The owner, Mrs. Spell, flashed him a smile and blushed as she patted her gray hair into place.
“Hello, Mrs. Spell. I slept like a rock.” He grinned. He spied the coffee pot and changed his direction. “Ah, just what I need.” He lifted the carafe and poured the dark brew into a white coffee cup.
“We order that straight from France. It’s a special roast.” Mrs. Spell uncovered the foil from a casserole dish. “For breakfast there is a sausage and egg casserole.” She pointed to a bowl of fresh cut watermelon, strawberries, and blueberries. “Fresh fruit from our local farmers. And…” She lifted the lid off a cake platter. “Homemade cinnamon rolls that will literally melt in your mouth.”
He sighed. And fell in love with the old woman. “Did you make those?”
“Oh no. I have a young lady, Lilliana, who made them.” She handed him a white plate with tiny blue flowers around the rim. “She went to culinary school. She’s been such a great help here at Monmouth Plantation.”
“I’m sure.” He scooped up some of the casserole, ignored the fruit, and snagged three large cinnamon rolls. He took his feast to the large antique table in the dining room. Thankfully, all the other guests were not up yet so he had the whole room to himself.
“Killian, are you here on business?” She eased herself into a chair across from him.
His shoulders slumped a little. He paused the sweet roll inches from his mouth and forced polite conversation out of his mouth. “I’m here to unwind.”
“I figured that. I have excellent instinct. I could tell when you walked in last night that you are someone important.”
He froze and held the woman’s gaze.
She leaned in and whispered. “I know who you are.”
“You do?” She was human. Not even a werewolf. Hell, most civilian Weres never knew what the famed Louisiana Assassins even looked like.
“You’re one of those famous rock stars.” She smiled and lifted her chin in victory.
He relaxed and smiled. “How’d you know?” He took a large bite of the sweet roll. The sugar exploded on his tongue like a thousand fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“I could tell by the long hair and all that black you are wearing.” She shrugged. “But don’t worry. I will keep your secret. I won’t tell any of the other guests. I know how important it is for someone like you to have time to unwind from your work.” She got up and patted his shoulder. “Enjoy your time here at Monmouth.”
“Thanks. I will.” He finished off the sweet roll and watched Mrs. Spell’s departing back.
He lingered over coffee. His gaze landed on a small display stand outside of the dining room.
He scanned the different colored pamphlets and pulled out one that said Natchez Bakery. He pulled out the paper and found the address.
The same address as the bakery that Barrett wanted him to check out.
He stuck the paper in the pocket of his black leather jacket.
This job looked like it was going to be easy peasy.
Chapter 5
Lilliana Beckway propped open the back door of the Natchez Bakery with a brick and opened the trunk of her beat-up Nissan. She carefully picked up one of the four white cake boxes and slowly walked inside the kitchen.
“What do you have for me today, Lilliana? I hope one of those is a Hummingbird Cake.” Emmett Reece, the owner of the bakery, looked down from his six-foot-four-inch height and narrowed his gaze.
Even though he was only human, the man still intimidated her. After spending so much time in French pastry school, she had thought she would be further along in her career. She hadn’t realized it would be hard to find a job in Natchez when people didn’t want the exotic; they wanted the comfort of old standbys. Like her Hummingbird Cakes.
“I have two Hummingbird Cakes and two cream cheese pound cakes with orange blossom icing.” She smiled and put the cake down.
“Orange icing? What about regular cream cheese icing? That’s what Southerners want. Not all that fancy-schmancy French stuff.” He glared and opened the top of the cake box. His glare left and instead a look of appreciation spread across his face.
Emmett Reece might want to find fault with everything she did, but it was his customers clamoring for her cakes that made him order from her every week.
While she loved the free rein she had at Monmouth, she did appreciate the extra money she got at the Natchez Bakery.
What she didn’t like was the fact that Emmett never gave her credit for her own cakes. Emmett bought her cakes but marketed them as an original creation of Natchez Bakery.
She finished unloading the desserts and lingered in the kitchen. She shoved a hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “You know, I would really appreciate an acknowledgement when you set out the cakes for display. A simple place card that says an original by Lilliana Beckway would be nice. You know, just to let people know who the creator is.”
Emmett quietly placed the cakes on decorative glass cake stands and garnished them with a string of plastic honeysuckles.
Lilliana cringed. She hated when he messed up her beautiful desserts with plastic crap. She wished he would just leave well enough alone.
He turned and looked down his crooked nose at her. “How would it look for Natchez Bakery to sell something that wasn’t made right here?” He cocked his head.
“I understand but I am trying to make a name for myself, and baking all these desserts without an acknowledgment is not the direction I want to go.” She lifted her chin. She needed to stand her ground.
“I see.” He turned and walked into his office.
Her stomach dropped. Dear God, he was going to not order any more desserts, and she was not going to have the extra money. She needed that extra money to send to her mama in Louisiana. Her mother had raised her after Lilliana’s father left when she was young. Her single mother wanted her daughter to have opportunities that she had not had.
Her mother had spent every dime, including her retirement, sending Lilliana to school.
It was now Lilliana’s mission to pay every cent back to her mother so she could finally retire and live out the rest of her days in her small country house in Louisiana and take care of her goats and quilt instead of working as a nurse at the hospital. Her arthritis was getting worse as the years went by, but her sweet mama never complained.
It killed Lilliana so she made it her mission to save any extra money she could.
For the last two years, she’d lived on next to nothing and took any extra work she could. It helped that she lived at Monmouth in a small cabin near the back of the house for free. When she went to Natchez Bakery to offer her cakes, Emmett had scoffed at first, but then once customers started requesting her desserts, he’d started ordering cakes from her every week.
Now with Emmett letting her go, she was going to have to find another source of extra income.
Maybe she could sell them herself. She sighed. It would take years to build up a client base and a lot of money to start her own bakery.
Money she didn’t have.
Emmett came out of the office with an envelope in his hand. It was fatter than normal, and she already knew what that meant. It was her termination papers.
“You should be grateful for the opportunity you’ve had here at Natchez Bakery.” He held out the envelope to her. “People who are grateful get more. Even if it isn’t in acknowledgments.” He turned and headed to his office and shut the door.
She stood frozen with a pit in her stomach.
She glanced down
at the envelope in her hands. She slowly opened it. And stared. Instead of termination papers, it was money. A lot of it.
She thumbed through the hundred-dollar bills and counted. One thousand dollars.
The office door flew open, and Emmett stuck his head out the door. “Friday, I want six Hummingbird Cakes. It’s springtime and customers want things that make them think of Easter. Hummingbird Cake is one of those things.” He slammed the door.
She looked down at the envelope filled with cash.
She wasn’t fired. She was getting a raise. All she had to do was shove down her pride and accept the fact she wasn’t going to get any credit for baking for the Natchez Bakery.
She thought of her mama and all she’d sacrificed for Lilliana.
Now it was her chance to sacrifice. If that meant no credit for baking most of the cakes in Natchez Bakery, then so be it.
Chapter 6
Killian parked his Harley Davidson Breakout along the street in a parking spot and threw the kickstand. He eased off his bike and stood in front of the Natchez Bakery.
He observed a steady stream of customers going in and out of the store. Families, older women, and young couples would enter empty-handed and leave either with their arms full of cake boxes or hands full of cupcakes.
His gaze followed a young woman carrying a perfect strawberry cupcake in her hand. Her tongue snaked out and swiped across the icing. She caught him looking and gave him a sultry smile.
He returned the smile and wondered if he could talk her out of her cupcake.
She kept walking but threw a suggestive gaze across her shoulder.
He hated to tell her, but right now he was more interested in her cupcake than her cupcake.
He looked back at the bakery. His mouth watered. Maybe Barrett was right. Maybe this was right up his alley. Just an easy assignment with all the desserts he could eat.
He opened the door.
The scent of sugar and icing washed over him like a tempting caress.
He trained his gaze on the glass display counter. It was twenty feet long and any kind of dessert was there for the taking, for the right price of course.
He waited for a family of five to move so he could start his perusal. He wanted to go from end to end before he decided what he wanted to eat. Besides, it would give him time to do some recon. Dessert and recon, that’s totally what he was doing.
“Can I help you sir?” A tall, lanky human standing on the other side of the counter asked in a low voice. It was the tone of someone trying to tell him to hurry up and put your order in and move along. Killian wasn’t ready to move along. Mr. Lanky was going to have to wait.
“I’m looking. I want to look at all my options before making my choice.” Killian cocked his head. “That okay with you?”
“Yes, of course, sir. Take all the time you need.” The lanky man stepped away from the counter and walked down to help a young couple ordering some cupcakes.
Killian’s eyes roamed the display case. There were flavors of every cookie imaginable. Cupcakes were decorated with perfect icing with exotic names like Strawberry Cream Cheese Delight and Chocolate Turtle Explosion. His mouth watered as he moved down the line, taking his time.
After the cupcakes were cakes. Large, beautiful, diabetic-inducing cakes. His eyes landed on one beautifully decorated with a weird-looking plastic honeysuckle around the bottom. He frowned. His gaze drifted down to the name. Hummingbird Cake.
What the fuck was a Hummingbird Cake?
He pressed his finger to the glass. Without looking up, he spoke. “I’ll take that one.”
Mr. Lanky hurried down the counter and looked from the cake to Killian. “Would you like a piece, sir?”
Killian looked Mr. Lanky in the eye. “No. The whole thing.”
It took about a minute to pay for the cake in cash.
He knew he hadn’t thought things through when he walked out of the store and back to his motorcycle.
It took another ten minutes to figure out how to get a whole cake back to the Monmouth Plantation on a Harley Davidson. He grabbed some bungie cord out of his luggage bag and secured the cake to the back of his bike. He glanced up at the sun. Although it was now a cool seventy degrees, it was bright, and he knew the sun would quickly melt the cream cheese frosting if it stayed outside too long.
He straddled his bike. He really hadn’t seen anything unusual at the bakery. He figured he could take the cake back to his room at Monmouth and eat a piece or three before he headed back out to do some more recon. While he was enjoying his cake, he’d give Barrett a quick update. Hell, maybe Mrs. Spell had some of that great coffee set out. He couldn’t think of anything better than cake and coffee.
He smiled, started the bike, and headed back to the bed and breakfast.
Chapter 7
Killian parked his bike and grabbed his cake. His mouth was watering at the tempting scent of the sugar. He didn’t think he would wait until he was inside. He spotted the small garden just a few feet away. The perfect place for a snack. He changed direction and found a quiet path that led to a concrete seat beside a small pond. He sat down and opened the top of the box.
“You must have bought that cake at Natchez Bakery,” a feminine voice said softly.
He frowned and turned at the intrusion. All he wanted was to eat some cake in peace and quiet.
His gaze landed on a pair of the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. The female was tall and slender, with long hair the color of a midnight sky. She wore jeans that hugged her soft curves and showed off her long legs. She had on a black T-shirt with the word Angel spread across the chest. She eyed him as she stepped closer.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. Her scent hit him like a punch. She, like him, was a werewolf.
“I did. Do you want a piece?” He didn’t take his eyes off her, which was unusual. He loved the ladies. He had been with women in every state, both Were and human. But when it came to his desserts, he never shared.
He frowned. Why the hell had he offered to share his cake?
Sweat popped out on his skin, and he pressed his hand to his head. Maybe he had the flu? Werewolves didn’t get the flu, he reminded himself. Maybe he had some kind of rare wolf disease?
“Are you okay? You look kind of sick. Which is weird because Weres don’t get sick.” She crossed her arms and studied him.
“Yeah. I’m alright.” He glanced back down at his cake. “Have you ever eaten a cake from the Natchez Bakery?”
“Yes.” She shrugged and glanced away. The spring wind caught her hair and lifted it into the air. Her scent curled in his nostrils.
He groaned. “You smell like sugar.”
She lifted her hair to her nose and sniffed. “Really? I took a shower.”
He shook his head and tried to clear his mind. “Maybe it’s your shampoo,” he mumbled and looked away.
“Are you going to eat your cake or what?” She seemed a little impatient and not at all into him.
Did she not have any kind of reaction to him? Hell, he could walk down the street and women would follow him, but Little Miss here looked like she had better places to be.
“I am.” He waved for her to sit.
She shook her head. “I can’t stay long. I have to get back to work. I have several guests that signed up for dinner.”
“Wait, are you the cook here?” He watched her nod her head slowly.
“I am.”
“So, you made those wonderful sweet rolls this morning.” A smile stretched across his face.
“I did. Glad you enjoyed them. Mrs. Spells wants me to make more casseroles and less sweets…”
“No!” he said a little too quickly.
Her eyes widened.
“Sorry, it’s just that those sweet rolls were the best thing I have ever put into my mouth.” Suddenly he was flooded with images of putting her into his mouth. His body clenched with desire, and he fought the urge to shove her up against the tall shrubbery and kiss her until she was c
lawing at him.
“That’s good to know.” A grin settled on her beautiful lips. “So what are you waiting for?”
Shit. Did she have the ability to read his mind? Was she more than a werewolf? Could she be a witch too?
“Well? Are you going to eat that cake?” She crossed her arms impatiently.
“Yeah. Right. Of course.” He grimaced. He’d certainly called that wrong.
He tried to focus on the sweetness in front of him. Oddly enough, he couldn’t stop thinking about the female beside him.
“I’m Killian.” He held out his hand.
“Just Killian?” She arched a brow.
“Killian Black.” He was feeling a bit like a loser just holding his hand in the air.
“Lilliana Beckway.” She took his hand.
Warmth shot from his hand straight to his chest and spread to his dick. He watched her eyes widen as she felt the sensation too.
She snatched her hand away. “The cake.” She nodded. “I’m curious to hear your opinion.”
Why had his body reacted that way? Had she cast some kind of spell on him? Did she have some kind of werewolf disease he hadn’t heard of?
“Right.” He turned his attention back to the job at hand. “I don’t have anything to cut it with.” That wasn’t true. There was a knife inside his boot, but the last time he used it was on a mission. It probably still had blood on it. Cake and blood didn’t go together.
“Here.” She pulled out a serrated knife from the back pocket of her jeans.
“Do you always carry weapons?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Just when I am getting ready to cook.” She shrugged. “I’m making dinner tonight, and I need it to chop some vegetables for the side dish.
He nodded and took the knife.
He carefully cut into the cake, letting the knife slice into the layers.
He pulled out a thin slice of the cake. He could smell cinnamon, sugar, and bananas. “I wasn’t expecting fruit,” he said.
“You’ve never had Hummingbird Cake?”