It takes nearly forty minutes, but with a boiled sandwich bag and a trusty emergency Wilton piping tip I keep in the glove compartment of my car, I re-pipe the half-dozen cupcakes flattened by Cormack. It's lucky I’m professionally trained or the fire-sparking intensity bouncing between us would have had the frosting skidding off the cupcakes as badly as my heart has skipped beats this morning.
It took approximately thirty seconds for the lingering awkwardness of our exchange to vanish. From thereon out, it was smooth sailing. For a man who seems wealthy, Cormack is extremely down to earth. While watching me coerce frosting into obedience, he shared he chose “Talent Scout” as his job title because he loves the arts so much.
I also discovered he has three younger siblings and that he has resided in the Hopeton/Ravenshoe area since his final year of college six years ago. He briefly mentioned that his mother was unwell, but his father’s whereabouts never came up.
With our time limited, we never revisited our discussion of his family lineage, but, to be honest, even if we had as many hours as he has dollar bills, I don’t think we should open that can of worms just yet. Cormack appears to be brutally honest, so I’m confident his evasion wasn’t accidental. Since I’d rather him disclose his life history when he feels comfortable, I refuse to strong-arm him into sharing.
“So your brother is a freshman at Calton Tech?” Cormack asks, swiveling in his chair to face me head on.
I smile, proud as punch. “Yeah. He was awarded three scholarships his final semester of high school. After a lengthy discussion with our mom, they decided Calton Tech was the right fit for him. I’ve always believed when you know, you know, so I went along with their decision.”
“And your dad?” he asks, his tone genuinely interested. “Was he happy with their choice?”
I smile again, but this time it’s a sad smile. “My dad passed away three years ago.”
His spine stiffens with remorse. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t realize. You talk of him so fondly, I didn’t make the connection.”
“It’s fine, really,” I assure, waving my hand through the air. “It’s been three years, but I often forget he’s gone.”
“That influential?”
The distress in Cormack’s tone surprises me, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “More than he ever realized.”
I don’t grasp I’m on the verge of crying until he drags his finger across my cheek. No tears have fallen, but he's ready to catch them if they do. His attentiveness is a welcome hit to my stomach. It reminds me that there are still good guys in the world; you’ve just got to shovel through the shit to find them.
I’ve never had an abusive boyfriend or a jerk who mistreated me, but I’ve never met a man who can read my emotions as well as he can. It's bizarre—a little creepy—but mind-blowing at the same time.
“I’m good,” I assure him, hating that he sees the moisture in my eyes as sorrow instead of fondness.
My father was a brilliant man whose final wish was for his family not to mourn his loss. Although I miss him every single day, any tears I’ve shed since his death were done with love and admiration, not sorrow.
Needing a moment to calm my heart rate from Cormack’s caring touch, I nudge my head to the cupcakes sitting proudly on a table at our left. “That funky mottled cake you asked about earlier?”
I wait for him to nod, acknowledging he's aware of which cake I'm referring to before disclosing, “That’s my dad’s recipe. He created it one Halloween for our annual street party. Without frosting, it resembles dog food, so no one was game to taste it but me. My god—it was better than any cake I’d ever eaten. It’s been my all-time favorite since.”
“All-time favorite out of all the cakes in the world?” Cormack double-checks.
With a grin that shows the absolute honesty of my words, I nod.
My eyes follow him when he stands from his seat and makes his way to the cake stands. If the contrast in our heights didn’t award me a glorious visual of his backside, I’d join him tableside.
“This one?”
When he points to a green, seedy creation, I nod again, loving that out of all the cakes displayed, he picked the correct one.
My brow rises in suspicion when he plucks the cake from the stand before slowly pacing back my way. With his attention on prying away the thin wrapper circling the cake, he fails to spot my fifteenth appreciative gawk of his body in the past thirty minutes. Even with my eyes weighed down with exhaustion, his appeal doesn’t fade. He’s indisputably gorgeous. I should be ashamed to admit I’ve been eyeballing him like a nymph all morning, but I’m not.
Cormack’s gazes may not be as brazen as mine, but they're still there all the same. I don’t even need to see his eyes to know I’ve captured his attention. The heat of his gaze tells me everything I need to know. Our perving tally is precisely even, in both length and dedication. I’m not ashamed when he catches my appreciative stare. I wouldn’t necessarily say he is embarrassed either, but I’ve never seen a man blush like him before. You can sure as hell guarantee I’ll aim to see it once a week from here on out.
I lick my lips. My dry mouth isn’t what you’re thinking. It isn’t Cormack’s panty-wetting features drying up all the crevices in my body. It's from him inching my most favorite treat in the entire world toward my mouth.
“Ladies first.” His throaty croon makes it seem as if he's offering me something more risqué than a cake I spent all night perfecting.
With my eyes locked on his, I take a generous bite of the witch puke-inspired dessert. A moan rumbles up my chest when a burst of flavor activates my taste buds. Pure heaven.
My hearty moan escalates when I spot Cormack’s flaring nostrils. He’s not angry. He’s merely sucking in air to cool his flaming cheeks for the fourth time this morning.
I clamp my hand over my mouth to conceal my rudeness of talking with a mouthful. “It’s really good, but it’s nothing like my daddy used to make. No ingredients can replace the love he put in every batch.”
I remove the sliver of cake I didn’t devour, then spin it around to face Cormack. My heart shudders in my chest. I’m anticipating a rejection, but silently praying it’ll never come. I bit into it first, so I’ll understand if he’s not eager to share.
He continues surprising me. He doesn’t glower at my offer or screw up his nose in disgust; he merely accepts it—throaty moans and all. “Ohh. . . Mmm. . .”
I squirm uncomfortably, my body incapable of hearing his gruff groans without responding. His sultry moans shoot down to my groin, adding to the sticky mess his gorgeous face already created in my panties. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard such a provocative noise. I can only pray another two years don’t pass before I hear it again.
“You’re right, Harlow. That was even better than the first six cakes I ate.”
I laugh, even though he's being one hundred percent honest. I thought I was the only resident in Ravenshoe who demolished sugar as if it's packed with good nutrition. My love of treats has nothing on Cormack’s sweet tooth. If I hadn’t scolded him for eating before his guests arrived, I have no doubt he would have demolished half the cupcakes by now.
My laughter melds into a moan when a pleasing zap dances across my cheek. Not that I mind, but he is once again touching me without permission.
“More egg?”
When he nods, I arch a brow, calling out his deceit. His smile turns blinding as the mischievous glint in his eyes triples.
His lack of coyness has me asking, “About last night. . . The more I think about it, the greater your web unravels.”
He retakes his seat. His smile isn’t as bright, his eyes not as dazzling. “My web?” His voice is still sexy even though it reeks of suspicion.
Enjoying the switch in power, I let him stew for a little bit.
Seconds have never felt like hours until now.
Realizing self-restraint and I will never be friends, I blurt out, “The egg on my face last night, was it yolk or straight up egg whites?”
“What?” He sounds shocked. Rightfully so. Our conversation did just do another one-eighty flip. I thought he’d be accustomed to the rapid switch in our exchanges since he's the one who instigates them.
“The egg you removed from my cheek last night. Was it yellow or clear?”
He sits straighter in his chair, aligning our eyes with sheer perfection. It's a smooth move on his behalf as now I’m too busy calming my surging libido to remember the point of my interrogation.
It's fortunate Cormack’s thought process doesn’t slip off the tracks as often as mine. “What makes you ask?”
I shrug. “I’m just wondering, that’s all. It seems a little strange I got egg on my cheek when mine wasn’t the one cracking them.”
His lips spasms as he strives to conceal his smile. “Maybe it was leftover residue from the one you fused with my face.” His chest rattles as abruptly as mine, our conjoined laughter unheard but visible.
“Hmm. . . Maybe. . .?” My eyeroll looks more mature than my nearly twenty-six years.
“You don’t believe me?” Cormack intuits, his smile shifting from wary to playful.
“I’m not saying that—”
“You’re just implying it.” His interruption isn’t made in malice. He’s merely adding to the sexual energy teeming between us with a playful game of tit for tat.
“Not at all. I’m just wondering if I had frosting on my face, or were you just looking for an excuse to touch me?”
“I need an excuse to touch you?” His voice lowers to a growl, stimulating my senses as well as his smile is.
“Not. At. All.”
My heart does a crazy boom-boom, skip a beat, boom-boom pattern when Cormack scoots to the edge of his chair. His eyes remain locked on mine as his hand lifts to my face. I’m saved from making a fool of myself when the quick stroke of his thumb across my lips stops me from nuzzling into his embrace. I’ve never been a fan of cuddling, but I’m confident I could snuggle into Cormack’s side for years and never grow bored.
The slightest hue adorns my cheeks when he pulls his thumb back far enough a smudge of pink icing becomes visible. Damn it. I thought he was touching me because he wanted to, not because I had frosting on my face. That’s a bigger let down than when news of Stan Lee’s passing reached my ears.
The heat on my cheeks switches from embarrassed to needy when he pops his thumb into his mouth. He doesn’t hold back his appreciation of the sugary goodness invading his taste buds.
I fan my cheeks, suddenly overheated. Did he forget to turn on the air when he arrived? I know it’s fall, but it’s real stuffy in here.
“Mmmm. Soooo good.” The gruffness in his voice exposes he loves baked goodies as much as me, but that isn’t the only thing it divulges. He’s teasing me. Again!
Straightening my spine, I thrust out my chest. It’s time for this player to meet a professional. “I’m so glad you’re satisfied with the service I supplied today. Harlow’s Scrumptious Haven prides itself on ensuring our customers are well satiated. You’ll never be left wanting after devouring our sugary treats. We have a satisfaction guarantee. If we don’t get it right the first time, you can come back until you’ve reached the pinnacle of satisfaction.”
I mentally fist pump, pleased my rusty dating skills aren’t as corroded as first thought. My counter-tease was over the top, but necessary. Now he’ll not only be unable to outwit me, he’ll be incapable of hiding the effects of my tease either. If I lose this match, I’ll bow out with my head held high, but if he reacts the way I’m praying he will, fuck social status. No one walks away from fireworks—not even a blind man.
As the creases in Cormack’s pants flatten, I add up the tally: Baker – 2. Billionaire – 0.
“Are you okay?” My voice is as sweet as the treats that brought us together. “You’re looking at little flushed. Aroused, even.”
I expect him to laugh, glower, or blindside me with a witty comeback. I don’t get any of those things. I get the one item I never anticipated, but will give a left lung to hear again and again and again.
I get a growl.
Then. . . then I get a pair of luscious lips.