Icing on the Cake Read online

  Another round of drinks was brought to the table and Hank took a moment to scrutinize the waitress for any sign of being in Her Majesty’s royal service. If she was, he had certainly never seen her before. Then again, Clayton didn’t really staff Hank’s detail with beautiful women, probably because he was too afraid of sexual harassment claims which, if his personal bodyguards looked like the pretty barmaid serving his beer, was a distinct possibility.

  She leaned over to place the pint on the table in front of him, letting her generous breasts brush his arm as she did. Hank smiled, partly at the obvious attempt to get his attention and partly at the realization that perhaps it wasn’t just the crown that attracted women ready to write their number on a cocktail napkin or even their knickers. Not that it mattered. On most any other night he would have made plans to meet her at the end of her shift, most likely for a quickie in the alley given the time difference. But let’s face it, no amount of jet lag could keep a man from enjoying a good blow job in the back seat of a car. Hell, even the front seat would do. He’d known more than a few birds who could straddle a gear shift while sucking cock like a midnight ninja. But for some reason he wasn’t interested, and despite the sizable cleavage swaying in front of him—and the indisputable fact that those enormous tits would look absolutely smashing with his cock sliding between them—at the moment all Hank could think about was a redhead in an apron not a hundred yards away.

  Hank stretched back in his seat, taking in the sight of the darkened street below for what felt like the hundredth time. It wasn’t much of a view, just the faint glow the light from the front window of the shop cast across the sidewalk. But it was enough to tell him his stranger was still hard at work. It was ridiculous really. They’d shared nothing but a brief encounter—he didn’t know anything about her aside from her occupation and first name—but those few moments had left him wanting more, and as long as that light was on, it was as if their connection was still in place.

  If only he could see her again.

  Slipping his mobile out of the pocket of his jeans, Hank launched the web browser. He held the phone discreetly under the table and typed “Sue’s Sweets and Treats Georgia” into the search bar. Hundreds of images filled the screen, but they were all photos of various pastries and cakes. Not a single shot of his beautiful stranger anywhere, despite how far he scrolled. No matter. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her perfectly—soft auburn curls that fell free from their messy knot, full lips that were quick to curve into a welcoming smile, and wide green eyes, that while looking as innocent as the day was long, had a sparkle that hinted at a vixen hidden beneath all that sweet charm. And it wasn’t just her physical attributes that were etched into his mind, but her expressions and how she moved. Everything about her had enchanted him, from the way she bit her lower lip as she studied the map, to the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, to the way she gasped ever so softly when his fingers brushed against hers.

  “Nodding off on us?” Matthew asked from across the table.

  Hank opened his eyes just in time to see a peanut shell splash into his pint of Guinness.

  “Nice shot,” he said, plucking the shell out of his ale. “And you’re one to talk. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the texts you’ve been sending Emily when you thought no one was watching.”

  Matthew’s ears reddened. It had been his tell for as long as Hank had known him. In this case it revealed his friend was a pussy-whipped nob. But as much as it pained him to admit it, the fact that Matthew wanted to text his fiancée while out with the boys was rather sweet. Like the syrupy Christmas treats that gave you a belly ache when you were a kid, but still.

  The reaction wasn’t lost on the soon-to-be in-laws either. Two of Emily’s cousins picked up on it right away, and thanks to their ribbing, more than just Matthew’s ears turned red.

  “So what are the ladies doing tonight?” Hank asked in an attempt to let his friend off the hook. “It better be a quilting bee or something equally droll because so help me God, if you tell me they’re all gathering for a Georgia version of Magic Mike . . .”

  The larger cousin laughed so hard, Hank was fairly sure he saw a bit of beer leak from the man’s nostrils. “Are you shitting me?” he asked, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his denim jacket. “We don’t have nothing like that down here. Closer to Atlanta maybe.”

  “Jackson has a titty bar,” the younger cousin said just as Hank lifted his beer to his lips. He couldn’t help but smile over the rim of the glass. It was always the ones you least suspected.

  “They’re open till three.” The young man shifted in his seat then added a quiet, “Or so I heard.” He lifted his baseball cap off his head and ran a hand through his hair as he waited for a response. Normally Hank would have been the first one to suggest just such an outing. But the look on Matthew’s face was far beyond unease. The man was in a full-blown panic.

  “Tempting,” Hank said, “but I think our boy here used his one and only hall pass in Vegas.”

  “Hell yeah, he’d be limping down the aisle,” the larger cousin agreed. This one wasn’t wearing a hat but his jacket had the same logo as his cousin’s cap. It was the letter A formed partially with a tomahawk. Hank made a mental note to do a quick Google search before the next event. At least then he’d have a way to redirect the conversation should someone started asking too many questions about his life.

  A wide grin spread across the younger cousin’s red face. “Can’t have that now, can we?” he said, no doubt thrilled to have the spotlight back on the groom as opposed to shining a light on what appeared to be his extensive knowledge of strip clubs within a ninety-kilometer radius. “Gonna need his legs for carrying Em across the threshold.”

  Matthew breathed an audible sigh of relief just as his future father-in-law rose from his chair at the far end of the table.

  “I’d like to propose a toast to the newest member of the Ford clan.” He picked up a pint that was only half full. “To Matthew, may you make a better husband than pool shark.” The man’s face spilt into a wide grin as he raised the glass into the air.

  “That sounds like a challenge if I ever heard one,” Emily’s brother said over the low rumble of laughter.

  “Looks like my future in-laws want to take my last two dollars.” Matthew dug into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a rumpled bill and few coins. “Make that my last buck seventy-five.”

  Hank shook his head. “Seems you’ve forgotten everything I taught you.”

  “Care to help me win back my cash?”

  “Don’t you mean your dignity?”

  Matthew chuckled. “That too.”

  “I’m afraid you’re on your own. Jet lag seems to have caught up with me. I’m bloody knackered.” He drained the rest of his beer. “What’s the plan for tomorrow then?”

  “For me? Not a damn thing until the rehearsal. Thought we could get some lunch and maybe nine holes.”

  Hank groaned. If there was anything he hated more than American football it was golf. Chasing a little ball around for hours was about as thrilling as watching paint dry. He much preferred to whack the fuck out of a ball while riding full steam ahead on a horse. But seeing as how this was Matthew’s weekend, and considering it was unlikely there was a polo club anywhere close by . . .

  “Sounds great,” he said. “Text me the details in the morning.” Hank thanked their host and said his goodbyes, and while it was true that the six-hour time difference was beginning to take its toll, at the moment jet lag wasn’t his main concern. The more pressing ailment was the unfamiliar anxiousness that bubbled up from his gut. Because as Hank made his way down the back staircase of the pub, the only thought weighing on his mind was whether or not the light would still be on in that bakery.

  Chapter Four

  Cassie tucked the cell phone between her shoulder and her ear as she scooped the last of the cream cheese frosting into a pastry bag. Multitasking was a necessity when it came to her tenth stra
ight hour in the kitchen. Not to mention it was Olivia’s third phone call of the day. Honestly, she worried about Cassie more than her own mother did and that was saying something. Then again, maybe she was just secretly hoping one of the calls would find her basking in a post-coital glow, powdered sugar hand prints pressed firmly into her thigh and a satisfied smile plastered across her face. Yeah, fat chance of that. The only basking Cassie was going to be doing was in a hot bath, and even that was severely behind schedule. But icing the tray of replacement cupcakes was the last thing on the day’s list. With any luck she’d be in the tub before midnight.

  “Have you eaten anything today?” her best friend asked. Olivia knew her better than anyone else in the world, which meant she already knew the answer to that question. Asking was just her way of showing concern. Cassie was just about to answer when Olivia added, “And no, frosting does not count as a food group.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “Hardly.” Olivia laughed. “How is old Judy doing?”

  “Good, I guess.” One by one Cassie squeezed intricate swirls onto the rows of miniature cupcakes. “I’ve barely seen her.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Jude we know and love,” Olivia said, hitting the nail on the head. Growing up, Cassie’s mom had been what some would call a helicopter parent. And while part of her understood her mother’s need to “hover” and protect, another part of her wanted to break free and live her own life. Which was why when it came to choosing a college, and then later a job, she’d focused on options that had offered at least a fifty-mile buffer zone.

  “No kidding. But she’s been pretty much glued at the hip with Emily’s mom.”

  “Full schedule of hat events?”

  Cassie frowned. “Hat events?”

  “You know, teas, brunches, that sort of thing.”

  “Exactly.” She gave a small laugh. “Plus, she probably figures she’ll never be the mother-of-the-bride so might as well make the most of the mother-of-the-groom thing while she’s got the chance.”

  “Will you stop it? And stop changing the subject too. Back to the food. Tell me you’ve at least had a sandwich or something?”

  Cassie piped a spiral pattern onto the last cupcake. “I haven’t even left the building and there’s not much here that isn’t sugar based.” She set the pastry bag on the counter and dipped her finger through a streak of frosting that remained on the side of the bowl. At least it was cream cheese, she thought as she tasted it. A bit of dairy had to count for something.

  “I should have ordered you a pizza. I could have requested they send their hottest delivery guy. Maybe he could have helped get your weekend started.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes even though she knew the reaction would be lost over the phone. Didn’t matter really, Olivia was only joking about a fling with a pizza delivery guy—at least she hoped she was only joking. Although to be fair, there had been a hot stranger in Cassie’s kitchen, he just hadn’t stuck around long enough for there to be action against the refrigerator or anywhere else for that matter. Although not from a lack of invitation.

  What in the world had she been thinking? They’d exchanged what, maybe four or five lines of conversation? And all of them had been directions. Well, except for the part where she’d inadvertently gone all sex kitten and offered him a taste. Cassie cringed. She didn’t know which was worse, her cheesy pick-up line or the fact that it had worked. Scratch that, the worst part was how pleased she’d been when it did. She had no idea where all that had come from. The words just sort of bubbled up and out of her mouth before she’d even had time to consider them. But the fact remained that when they had, Cassie’d felt more alive than she had in months. Years, maybe. Suggesting a casual encounter with a handsome stranger was a page out of someone else’s life, not hers. Yet there was no denying the fact that it had been downright liberating. She’d felt sexy and wanton and totally free. Perhaps there’d been a floozy trapped inside her all along and she’d been suffocating the poor thing beneath turtleneck sweaters.

  “Nothing wrong with pepperoni and mushroom served with a side of—”

  “How is it you can make every situation sound like a setup for a porno?” Cassie asked. Her words were laced with laughter but in reality it was taking everything she had to block out the image of Mr. Georgia Baseball Cap holding a pizza while wearing nothing but a smile.

  “And how many porns have you watched exactly?”

  “One.”

  Olivia snorted. “Fifty Shades of Grey was not porn.”

  “Well it sure wasn’t PG-13.”

  “Okay, grandma.”

  Cassie sighed. Olivia was right. And more than sounding like she was eighty years old, she felt like it too. How in the world had her life become so boring? It wasn’t always like this. In college she’d had fun. Granted, not as much as some of the other kids, but then again they weren’t all pursuing a combined degree on an accelerated schedule. Still, she used to be more fun than she was now. Even hard-working college Cassie, who was the only twenty-one year old with an IRA, cut loose from time to time. But aside from the bachelorette party weekend she’d spent in Vegas with Olivia, she’d become a droll version of even her former self, something she hadn’t thought possible. Her professional life might have taken a definite turn for the better, but her personal life was in desperate need of resuscitation.

  For a brief moment there had been a tiny flicker of a spark. When her handsome stranger had dropped his gaze to her mouth, she’d felt her heart begin to race; and when he’d dipped his head and she’d felt his warm breath against her lips, her knees had nearly buckled. But instead of claiming her mouth with a kiss that would have no doubt left her reeling, he’d waited, his eyes searching hers as if asking a question. Yes. Yes was the answer. Whatever the question.

  But then the stupid fire alarm went off and, just like the last batch of cupcakes, Cassie’s fantasy went up in smoke. Even the memory shot a pang of disappointment through her belly.

  She’d have thought a little distance would have brought a little clarity, but instead of coming to her senses and being relieved at narrowly dodging the walk-of-shame express, Cassie found herself filled with nothing but regret. If only she could somehow rewind time . . .

  “How much more do you have to do?”

  “Hmm?” Cassie asked. She’d been so distracted by her salacious thoughts, she hadn’t heard a word Olivia had said.

  “You were thinking about sex.”

  Cassie’s face flamed as though she’d been caught in the act. “Was not.”

  Olivia laughed. “Don’t bother denying it, that little squeak in your voice was a dead giveaway.”

  Damn. Cassie could never keep anything from Olivia. She could read her like a book. Although to be fair she wasn’t thinking about sex per se, more the lack there of, something that seemed to occupy her thoughts far too often lately.

  “So how much longer?”

  “Till I have sex? Not looking good. But I could go for that pizza.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

  “No, how much longer till I can spring you from jail?”

  “Oh, um, well I just finished the last of the cupcakes so—”

  “Wait, I thought you said you were wrapping those up the last time we talked?”

  Cassie braced for an overreaction, then confessed. “Had a bit of a fire.”

  “What?!”

  “Long story, but it doesn’t matter because everything’s fine and I’m all caught up now.” She spoke quickly, in the hopes of preventing Amateur Detective Ramsey-Grant from digging any deeper. “Tomorrow I just have to finish up Matthew’s cake and put the finishing touches on the wedding cake.” The fondant adornments were already made, which meant all she had to do was frost and assemble the three-tier cake. “So I should be good to go long before the rehearsal.”

  “Great, because I was hoping to steal you away for a mani-pedi.”

  “That might be cutting it close, but let me see how much
I can get done. What time are you getting here?”

  “Sometime late tomorrow morning. Cole keeps insisting we take the private jet but I think it’s a colossal waste of fuel. I mean, what is it, like an hour-long flight?”

  “Not sure. I drove.” Cassie washed and rinsed the pastry bag, turning it inside out to dry. “But since when do you give up that easily?” Olivia and Cole took arguing to a whole new level, an art form really. It was what brought them together in the first place and it was definitely what kept them in a state of constant attraction. Cassie couldn’t imagine a fight being such a turn on, but for her best friend and her husband, a good argument was the ultimate foreplay. Most of the time the topic was inconsequential—to them it was about the thrill of battle—but in this case the subject at hand was the environment, something close to Olivia’s heart. Cole must have made one hell of a case to get her to go along with him on this one. Cassie smiled to herself. That, or it was one hell of an orgasm.

  “It’s our anniversary,” Olivia explained. “And he wants to celebrate this one at thirty-five thousand feet.”

  So it was the promise of an orgasm. Or many. “Another anniversary, already?” Cassie didn’t even bother to hold back on the teasing tone, although truth be told, the transformation in her friend, not to mention her stuffed-shirt husband, was downright . . . inspiring. Olivia Ramsey had gone from a jaded, all - work - and - no - play anti-romantic to a lovey-dovey let’s-celebrate-every-monthly-milestone sap. As for Cole, he’d been all work and all play, although in Cassie’s opinion it was the wrong kind. But all that changed after a walk down the aisle with Elvis and Angus Young. Complete with a Priscilla Presley / Bride of Frankenstein makeover for the bride, Cole and Olivia’s wedding had been outrageous even for Vegas. Cassie wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen the photos Cole had snapped with his phone, but it was all true. As was the fact that the two love birds were dangerously close to being sickeningly sweet, even for a romantic pastry chef such as herself.