Текст книги "Sweet Obsession "
Автор книги: J. Daniels
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
I swallow thickly and repeat her words in my head like a mantra, hoping for confidence but only butting against my own self-doubt.
This is insane. How can this be happening? How can either one of them think I can handle this? I’m not Dylan.
I am not Dylan.
I think about the bride on her big day, without a cake. I imagine her disappointment and her anger, her sadness and the memories I’m keeping from her with just a simple phone call and some regretful words.
“We’re so sorry,” I will say. “We just can’t do it. Medical reasons. It’s just not possible. Please don’t hate me.”
She’ll cry into my ear or curse me out. Maybe both. Probably both.
I continue to pace, my eyes losing focus somewhere on the floor passing under my feet. “God, I can’t cancel on her. I can’t. It’s her wedding day. I would feel awful.” I rub at my chest, pressing my palm against my heart. It flutters wildly.
“Brooke.”
I can’t cancel. There it is. My decision made, and one that comes with a mound of stress, knowing how easily I can still end up ruining this woman’s wedding day by screwing up this cake. But canceling? I just . . . I can’t do that. I will never do that to someone.
Maybe she’ll be so deliriously happy on Saturday, she won’t notice my blunder in the corner of the reception hall?
I bite at my thumb nail and squint at the floor, the wall. I force air into my lungs and will my pulse to slow.
If I have a stroke right now and Dylan has to go against doctors’ orders and get up to call an ambulance, everyone will hate me for dying.
“Brooke.”
Turning my head at the sharp sound of my name, I focus on Dylan’s face and halt near the window. I lower my hand. “Huh?”
She smiles hesitantly. “Why don’t you do a practice run this weekend? The whole cake. That way if you have any issues or difficulty with any of it, you can figure it out ahead of time. Plus, I’ll be right upstairs if you have questions.” She rolls her eyes, sighing. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”
My spine straightens. A practice run?
I can work on the cake until I get it right. Until I get it perfect.
“Really? Dylan, really?” I move around the bed and stop to stand beside it. “You don’t mind if I stay and work on it after hours? And Sunday?”
“Not if you clean up your mess.”
“I will!” My own excitement startles me. I place a hand to my mouth, a rush of hot breath bursting against my fingers. “Sorry,” I murmur, blushing as I spin to grab my bag. “Okay. Yeah . . . okay, I’m just going to go get changed now.”
Dylan laughs quietly, reaching for her magazine again.
After dressing quickly in my dark washed jeans and a print v-neck top, I pull my hair back into a haphazard bun and dart down the stairs, stowing my bag away before rushing into the main bakery up front.
I have so much to do now that Dylan is bedridden. But first things first.
Joey eyes me curiously while he helps a customer, nudging against my hip as I reach for the design binder on the shelf.
“What are you doing?” he murmurs.
I open the binder on top of the display case and flip to the special orders paperwork we keep in the back flap.
“I want to see what I’m up against with this cake. I’m going to do it. Dylan suggested I practice it this weekend. I want to be prepared.”
“Wow, really? You’re actually going to make a wedding cake by yourself? You?”
I glance up when I hear the disbelief in his voice, then fake glare at him for obviously playing it up. His spirited smile beams at me.
“I have all the faith in you. Rock it out, girl.”
Taking the money being held out for him, Joey hands the woman behind the counter her purchase while I search for the order form for next weekend. The woman takes her change and exits the shop.
“Here.” I slide out the form after matching up the dates and lay it out flat on the open page of the binder. I drag my finger down the thin paper to the bottom where the description is scrolled in Dylan’s handwriting.
Three-tiered almond cake with a chocolate ganache filling and a mocha buttercream.
Okay. I can do that. Three-tiered is better than five-tiered. See, Brooke? No big deal. You got this.
I continue reading the notes on the design.
Edible flowers. Tons of them . . .
Make them epic?
Oh, God, no. No. No. No. No.
I drop my head into my hands, groaning. “Fuuuck. Why couldn’t she have wanted farm animals or something? I hear country weddings are all the rage. Shit!”
“Don’t believe what you hear. I went to a country themed wedding one time. We all sat on hay bales during the ceremony and drank out of mason jars. Talk about slumming it. I was itchy the entire night.” Joey’s body presses into mine as he leans closer. “Oh . . . gardenias,” he quietly observes. “Dylan’s really good at those.”
I slowly look up at him, my scowl unforgiving.
Flinching, he steps back. “You know, I think I’m going to go get my coffee now.”
“Good idea.”
As Joey hurries out of the bakery, I lean against the case and rub my temple, digging my fingers into my flesh. I stare down at the order form and fight off tears when my eyes begin to sting.
This is it. This is how I’m going to get fired. Taken out by the mother of all baked goods.
Tugging out my phone, I sniffle and type out a message as tears dampen my cheeks.
Me: Hi.
God, I need him to talk me through this. To tell me I’m not going to fail.
His reply comes within seconds.
Mason: Hello, gorgeous. How are you?
Me: Freaking out.
My stomach coils and my hands shake. I wipe at my face and wait for his response, staring at the screen, waiting for those little bubbles to appear.
I wait.
And wait.
They never come.
The bakery door chimes open. I look up, expecting to see a customer, or Joey returning with his coffee and hopefully something alcoholic for me.
I’ve never needed a drink so badly before in my life. Screw unprofessionalism. If I’m getting canned, I might as well spend my last week of employment drunk and oblivious.
To my surprise, Mason steps inside the shop, looking more keyed up than I feel, if that’s even possible.
His fretful gaze slams on me as he clutches his cell in his one hand and rakes through his sweaty hair with the other. The muscles in his arm swelling and glistening. His chest heaving.
“Brooke,” he rasps, some emotion tightening his voice.
I study him. The apprehension in his eyes. His distraught demeanor. It confuses me. I don’t understand it.
Until I glance down at the phone in my hand and read the last message I sent.
MASON
She’s crying. Fuck. She’s freaking out, and she’s crying. Fuck!
What happened? It’s barely been an hour. What the fuck? Did someone say something to her again? Get inside her head and cause Brooke to over think this and the way it makes her feel? The way I make her feel. She was fine.
No. Fine is cheapening it. She was much more than fine. So much more.
She was fucking perfect with me this morning. Unreserved. Laughing and completely open. Free with her affection. Then she comes here and reverts back to those old familiar habits. Drawing in on herself and slipping behind that shield of uncertainty.
Baby . . . God, don’t do this.
What do I need to do? Pull each one of her friends and family aside and tell them to back the hell off? Fine, if that’s what it takes. Their opinion of me notwithstanding, this is between me and Brooke.
No one else.
I take a step closer just as she looks up from the phone in her hand.
“Oh, Mason, no,” she says, shaking her head. Her eyes filling with new tears. “No, this . . . I didn’t mean us. I’m not freaking out because of us. God, I’m sorry. That’s what you’re thinking, right?” She sits her phone down and wipes at her face. “I’m not. I promise, I’m not. I’m with you.” Lifting her eyes, she captures me with the steadiest look I think she’s ever showed me.
“I’m with you.”
Relief loosens my tongue and slows my rapid pulse. I move across the shop and around the counter, need filling me.
“Baby.” I grab her face and kiss her full, pink lips, tasting the juice she had with me this morning and the faint hint of tears.
She’s with me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I made you think that. I should’ve explained in the text. God, I’m so stupid.”
“Stop.” I lean away and cup her cheek. The corner of her mouth twitches. “You’re upset. Tell me why so I can fix it and get back to my class.”
Her eyes widen. “You left your class?”
“Yeah. They’re taking a water break. It’s fine.”
“Mason.”
She shakes her head at me, fighting hard against a smile, with puffy eyes and tears still beading on her lashes. Her skin flushed red and blotchy.
Damn. I can’t stop looking at her.
How can someone look so sad and so beautiful at the same time? I don’t understand it.
“You’re crazy,” she tells me with a soft voice.
I shrug, straightening and dropping my hand to her waist. “It’s possible. I’m a twenty-nine year old who has a stuffed koala in his bedroom. An animal I bloody hate, I might add. I keep copious amounts of baked goods in my refrigerator that I never plan on consuming. And I abandon my class when my girl needs me. I don’t know. Does that make me barking mad? I’m fine if it does.”
“You love that koala. Don’t lie,” she chuckles, sniffing and rubbing at her eyes. Smiling up at me.
I feel my blood warm. God, I love hearing her laugh. And that timid smile . . . fuck.
Progress. This is progress.
Brooke seems better. Marginally, at least. She’s no longer crying, and she doesn’t look as troubled as she did when I stepped in here. However, I still need to find out what brought this on. I don’t like seeing her upset about anything, and something definitely upset her.
I run my hand along her spine, bending to get closer. “Really, what’s going on, sweetheart? I do need to get back.”
With a heavy sigh, she turns to face the counter. “It’s nothing you can fix. Though, given how amazing you seem to be at everything, foreign languages included, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a hidden talent for baking. Care to try your hand at it?”
We exchange looks. Mine, puzzled and struggling to follow her meaning.
Baking? She wants me to bake her something?
She waves off my confusion. “Never mind. Dylan’s been put on bedrest for the next two weeks until she delivers, which isn’t a huge deal, except for the fact that we have this freaking wedding next weekend and now I’m in charge of making the cake.” She lifts a piece of paper off the counter and holds it between us. “And it’s covered in flowers. Covered, Mason, like all over the damn thing. Look. She doesn’t even want a cake topper. I have to put flowers up there too. Like this.” Setting the paper down, she flips through the binder on the counter and stops on a picture of a cake, jabbing her finger at it. “See? Look at these little fuckers. This is what I have to make.”
I lean over the binder to examine the picture.
Looks pretty standard for a wedding cake. I think my sister had one similar at hers a few years back.
“All right. And this particular design gets you upset?”
“I can’t do it.” Brooke slams the binder closed. Her head lowers. “I can’t make flowers look like that. And there’s so many of them. The bride wants them to be the focus of her cake, and I’m worried I’m going to screw it up and ruin everything.”
She looks away and bites at her lip. Her fingers knot together on the counter.
Hmm. This is new. Brooke’s normally so proud of her work. She practically glows when she’s handing off her treats to me or discussing her day and what all she created. It’s one of the things I love most about her. Her passion. I’m not accustomed to seeing any lack of confidence in this woman. Not with her career or anything else.
She’s really worried she’ll fail at this.
I reach for her, tugging at her hand and pulling her close. I want Brooke in my arms so bad but my shirt is soaked with sweat and she looks so damn pretty right now. I’d hate to ruin her clothes.
“I’m sure you’ll do fantastic, Brooke,” I say, tipping her chin up, our bodies barely touching.
She blinks up at me. Her eyes reddened from her tears. Her cheeks blooming with color again.
“I’m so stressed out about this. Making a cake like that on my own is going to be nerve wracking enough. I told you, I don’t do those. That’s all Dylan.”
“But you can do them. You don’t but you can. I believe you can.” I run my finger along her jaw. “Don’t doubt yourself. You might be better at this than Dylan. Who knows?”
“It has to be perfect, Mason. I’ll see the look on the bride’s face when I deliver it, and if she hates it I’ll never forgive myself.”
“So, make it perfect.”
Her shoulders drop. Her brows pull together.
Damn, she’s adorable in her confusion. That cute little wrinkle in her nose kills me.
Smiling, I bend to kiss her forehead. “You can practice on those little fuckers, yeah?” I ask quietly. “The flowers, I mean.”
A laugh bubbles in her throat and bursts from her lips. She flattens her hand to my chest. “Yes. I can practice on them. I’m assembling the whole cake this weekend to see if I can do it. I just wish those little fuckers weren’t on it.”
She seems to relax a bit more, giving me an easy smile, touching the hem of my shirt and exploring my skin underneath with tentative fingers.
“Well, there you go. Work at it until you’re happy. What you deliver next weekend will be exactly what this woman is asking for. You’ll impress her, I bet.”
“You seem so sure.”
“I am sure.”
My confidence in Brooke is unwavering. There’s no doubt in my mind she will create something beyond what she thinks she is capable of. I’ve seen her work. I know how dedicated she is to this job. How driven. She will perfect this cake until she can make it in her sleep, but right now, she’s crippled by her own insecurity. Blinded by it. Always letting that little voice inside her head speak louder than it ever should.
“You can do this.”
She stares up at me, looking at my eyes, my mouth, and finally lowering her gaze to my neck. She wets her lips and swallows hard.
“I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
She looks so sad. So small.
Fuck, I want to hold her. Why did I have to make it so goddamn hot in that studio?
I squeeze her hips, hoping this small touch will give her some comfort.
“I know you don’t. You care, Brooke. And that’s why you’re going to do something amazing. Just breathe a little, yeah? Try not to worry so much.”
Her mouth tics—the hint of a smile. Letting her eyes slip closed, she takes in a deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity before releasing it slowly through her nose. She seems to slide closer.
“Better?” I ask, moving my thumb over her jeans.
She nods, her hands moving around my waist as she stares at my chest. “You know this means I’ll be tied up all weekend except for the dinner. We won’t really see each other.”
I dismiss her underlying apology. “No worries. I have a few classes to teach. I’ll just be across the street for distractions and words of encouragement, if needed.”
“Yeah.” Her voice comes out quiet and swift. She tugs at my shorts, her nails scrapping across my skin. “Mason?”
“Mm?”
She looks up. I recognize the shift in her eyes. Desire.
With her small, very capable hands, she glides up my arms, slowly, squeezing my muscles and wrapping her grip around my neck. Our bodies press together.
She doesn’t mind my appearance?
“You’re all sweaty and sweet. Just like last night,” she whispers, standing on her toes to kiss me, crushing her perfect tits to my chest.
Jesus.
“Do you really think I can do this?”
I moan when she rubs her hip against my slowly hardening length. My hands rest on her waist. “Are we still talking about cakes?”
“Yes.” She smiles against my mouth. “What else would we be talking about?”
“You’re touching my cock. I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore.”
Laughing, she twists and brushes against me again.
“Baby,” I moan. “I need to go.”
“And I need to come.”
Ah, fuck.
I groan and suck on her tongue a little, touching her arse, feeling my reserve and all responsibility for the business I own fading to nothing.
Maybe I can make this quick? Maybe my attendees will understand my weakness for this woman and wait me out?
Maybe I don’t need to make this quick?
With a soft moan, Brooke pulls away so it’s only her hands on my hips and nothing else. She looks up, a softness pooling in her eyes.
“Thank you for coming over and talking to me. I’m sorry I worried you with my text. I wasn’t thinking.”
Christ, that text. I nearly got run over by a delivery truck sprinting over here like I did.
I frown. “It’s fine.”
“I’m with you.” She touches my face.
My breath catches in my chest. Brooke. I lean into her hand, my throat tightening as I try to swallow. “Yeah.”
“I’m with you, Mason,” she slowly repeats, her lip trembling, tears brimming her eyes again, but her voice so fucking sure it shatters any wall or shield she ever put up between us. Obliterating every hesitation and uncertainty. Every whispering doubt in my ear.
Gone. She’s mine, and I am so fucking hers I don’t remember the person I was before this.
“Baby.” I crush her against me, kissing her, giving her my racing heart and my urgent touch and every breath I will ever take. “With you,” I tell her.
She nods and breaks away to kiss my jaw and my cheek, pressing her lips all over my face.
We embrace each other, just holding, until our bodies steady and the pressing urge to touch and kiss and fuck lessens to a sufferable longing.
“Okay,” Brooke whispers against my mouth. “Go, before you lose half your class.”
“I don’t care.”
“Mason,” she laughs, kissing me hard and then with a firm hand, pushing against my shoulder, shoving me in the direction of the door. She gives me an incredulous look.
I don’t care . . . fuck, that’s a bit mad. A truth, nonetheless.
This is Brooke. My Brooke. She’s finally mine and she’s with me.
She’s with me.
I stop at the door. “Say it again.”
Lifting her head from the attention she’s giving the paper on the counter, a contented look shadows her face. Her hazel eyes appearing brighter now. Bigger, as she looks me straight on, standing taller, holding my gaze with that swelling confidence I’m used to seeing on her.
“I’m with you.”
Her sweet voice lifts in the air, her words soaking into me, saturating my heart, my bones, and somehow going deeper than that. I feel them absorbing into my blood and taking on the life of my pulse, beating . . .
I’m with you.
Beating . . .
I’m with you.
BROOKE
I’m excited for tonight. More than excited, actually. And not a bit nervous.
Wait . . . I’m not nervous at all?
I hold my hands out in front of me, turning them over in the air, watching for any signs of panic.
They’re steady. No tremble to my fingers. Not even a slight twitch.
Huh. Look at that.
I press two fingers to the inside of my wrist. My pulse is stable, and my stomach doesn’t feel like I just stepped off the world’s scariest rollercoaster.
I’m not sweating.
I’m not pacing my bedroom or annihilating every sweet in this condo.
I’m not trying to talk my way out of tonight, or making up an excuse as to why I can’t make it.
This is a big deal. A huge deal, and the only reason why I’m anxious is because I’m ready for it to happen.
I’m ready. So fucking ready.
Bringing Mason with me to dinner at Juls and Ian’s house, officially stepping out with him as a couple, introducing him as my boyfriend. Any one of these would usually send me into a fit where I’d be locking myself in my room and blowing everyone off, refusing to answer my phone or faking an illness. I normally don’t do stuff like this. I never do stuff like this.
But something is different. I’m different.
Maybe it’s seeing the look on Mason’s face when I tell him he’s not alone in his feelings. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s become more than just a man I’m interested in. He’s a man I want to be with all the time, doing everything with, including breakfast dates and dinners at my sister’s house. Camping and late night drives through the city.
Or maybe it’s just him. No one else could’ve gotten me here. I’m sure of it.
Mason went from being a guy I wanted to fuck, to a man I wanted to know, to the only person I care to be around.
The only person . . .
I sure as hell didn’t see this coming, but I want it, and I’m not nervous.
I’m ready.
As I’m tying my navy cinch dress and securing the loose bow at my hip, my phone rings from on top of my dresser. I run my fingers through my loose curls before hitting the speaker phone button.
“Hey. I’m just finishing up getting ready. Mason should be here any minute.”
Picking up my gloss, I apply a thin coat of the shimmery peach shade and press my lips together as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
“Change of plans. I think Jake has chicken pox,” Juls says.
“What?” I look down at the phone. “Are you sure? How did he get it?”
She sighs. “I don’t know. Playground, I guess. Ian was giving him a bath and saw the blisters on his stomach. My poor guy.”
Poor Jake is right.
“Well, shit. That sucks.” I toss the tube of gloss into my makeup case and carry the phone over to the bed. I plop down on the mattress. “You know Izzy will probably get it now.”
“I know. I’m almost hoping she does, that way I can just get them both out of the way at the same time. God, does that make me a horrible mother? Wishing a miserable infection on my child? Ian thinks I’m crazy.”
Juls, a horrible mother? Please. She kills it. She’s that mom other mom’s hate because she’s so fucking good at life.
She’s organized. Her kids are perfectly behaved and always look like they hopped out of a Children’s Place catalog. She still looks like a pin-up girl after two babies, and she rocks heels every day.
Every day. Even at the playground.
I stare at my feet. “Makes sense to me. I wish mom would’ve done that with us, that way I could still come over with Mason, assuming he’s had chicken pox before.” I feel a smile lifting my mouth. “I wonder if they call that something different in Australia. Like koala pox or spots down under.”
“That second one sounds like an STD.”
We both laugh. I pull my knees up and brace my heels on the wooden frame.
“I am bummed though. I was really looking forward to tonight. All of us hanging out.” I pick at the hem of my dress.
How long does chicken pox last? A week? Several? Is there a period where it isn’t contagious?
I bring up Google and do a search while keeping Juls on the line.
“Aw, me too. You know how excited I was. And the kids. Especially since you were bringing Mason. I really wanted to see you two together.” She pauses as I skim the page on WebMD. “Can I . . . okay, I want to ask you something, but you can’t get all Brooke on me.”
I huff. “What does that mean?”
All Brooke . . .
All awesome and sexy as hell? Because that’s unavoidable.
“You know exactly what it means. You can’t bite my head off or hang up on me because I’m bringing up mushy shit you don’t usually like to talk about. It’s not nice. I want your word that you’ll at least give me an honest response.”
I exit out of the search on my phone and stare at the screen.
I have a feeling I know where this conversation is going. Mason. Juls wants details, which isn’t surprising. I really haven’t given her any. In fact, the last time we spoke about this I’m pretty sure I bit her head off and hung up.
I definitely hung up.
I sink back onto the bed, resting my phone beside my ear. “I promise.”
“Really?” Juls whispers in complete disbelief. I smile and stare at the ceiling.
“Yes. Hurry up before I change my mind.”
She clears her throat. “Wow. Okay. Well . . .” a soft, shuffling noise comes through the phone.
“Oh, my God, Juls. Do you have notes?”
Little Miss Wedding Planner. I can totally see her having a list of topic points for this discussion.
“What?” she asks, sounding startled. “No, no I’m just reading a magazine. Glamour or something.”
Thud.
A notepad getting tossed, perhaps?
“Right,” I laugh.
“Anyway, I was just wondering how serious this is with you and him. I mean, obviously you’re willing to admit you’re dating, since you planned on bringing him with you tonight.”
“Mm mmm.”
“And that in itself is a miracle,” she chuckles softly. “Headline news. But, I didn’t know if this is just something you are doing for fun, or if it’s more than that. If you even know what it is.”
“I love him.”
She gasps. My stomach does a strange little flip.
“What? You do? Really?”
“Yeah.” Grinning, I grab the phone and set it on my chest. I lift my hair up and let the cool comforter chill the back of my neck. “I really, really love him. I think I just got butterflies from saying it. So apparently those are real.”
“Brooke, that’s wonderful.” Her voice grows exceedingly quiet.
I listen to her soft sniffles. My sister, ever the emotional wreck when it comes to anything even slightly romantic.
“Oh, my God. I was not expecting you to say that. Does he know?”
“I told him last night, right after I figured it out.” I pinch my thighs together. “Then we had wild, shameless sex into the wee hours.”
Juls shrieks. “I’m so happy for you! On both counts, obviously. And I know he loves you too. God, I saw it that night at The Tavern. The way he spoke about you while you were in the bathroom. He was so in love then.”
“What?” I scoff. “No, he wasn’t. That was before we even knew each other at all.”
Is she insane? How he could he have loved me then? I met him two minutes before that night.
“So? I went out with Ian one time and I knew I was going to marry him. One date and that was it. Boom. Why should it take longer? Your soul is recognizing who it belongs to. Knowing should be immediate. It’s like seeing a familiar face in a crowd.”
I press my lips together, holding in my programmed skeptical remark.
Hmm. Maybe Juls is right? Maybe it isn’t entirely strange for it to happen in an instant for some people. I remember what she was like after meeting Ian. Lord, she never shut up about the guy.
And now I never shut up about the guy.
“Maybe,” I quietly reply, thinking back to that night at the bar.
Mason’s face when he walked over. His engaging stare. The way he cared more about hearing me than staying and having a few drinks.
Did he love me then? God, that seems completely senseless.
“Is this like, it for you? Is he the one?”
“Jesus, Juls.” I sit up and hold my phone out. “Would you get out of wedding planner mode please? I told you I loved him. I didn’t ask your opinion on venues or centerpieces.”
Now I know she’s taking notes. I’m sure she has her planner open and is looking at potential dates. So typical.
“Did I ask about venues and centerpieces? No, I asked if you thought Mason was the one. A completely logical question considering your feelings for him.”
“Crazy about Dylan being on bed rest, huh? Can you believe it?”
“Brooke,” Juls snaps. “Don’t change the subject.”
I exhale a slow breath, leaning on my knees and running my thumb over my toenail polish. “The one,” I repeat quietly, contemplating this foreign idea of forever with the same person. A concept I’ve never considered.
But I also never gave a second thought to loving someone. I never imagined any of this happening.
Mason is my wild card. He’s that unexpected storm that hits when you’re outside on a beautiful day, and at first you don’t want it. You were enjoying the sun and the heat on your skin. That’s what makes you happy. Then the sky darkens and the temperature drops a little, and you think ‘okay, this breeze is nice’. You wait it out, thinking it’ll pass, but the rain starts to fall. The first drop hits your shoulder. Another soaks into your hair. It startles you, but it feels good. You were too hot anyway. Then before you know it, it’s pouring, saturating your clothes and pooling on the earth. A giggle bubbles in your throat. Where is this coming from? It’s so sudden and surprising, and in a matter of seconds, you’re drenched from head to toe. Your beautiful day is ruined, and you can’t stop laughing.
You can’t stop laughing.
The sun is overrated anyway. Give me a sweet storm when I least expect it.
Juls hums impatiently in my ear as I smile against my fingers.
“I . . .”
A knock on the door interrupts me. My heart thumps against my ribs.
Mason.
I leap off the bed and breeze through the condo. “Juls, hey, I gotta go. Mason is here.”
“What? No! Yes or no. Yes or no. Give me something.”
“I have to go,” I laugh, stepping up to the door and peering through the peep-hole, grinning at the gorgeous sight of the man on the other side.
Mason looks so damn good in a gray dress shirt, the button undone at the collar, revealing his tanned neck and the thick protuberance of his Adam’s apple.
Fuck, I want to lick him there.
He stares straight ahead, straight at me, as if he knows I’m looking at him. Admiring. A smirk playing on his lips and his blue eyes bright.
“Brooke,” Juls says in my ear, her voice insistent.
I feel a surge of heat blossom in my chest. My toes curl on the carpet.
“Yes.” I disconnect the call, cutting off her exuberant reply. I wrench the door open and hurl myself into Mason’s arms.
I cling to him, kissing his jaw and inhaling his warm skin.
Jesus. Do all Australians smell this good? Like sunshine and impending orgasms. Mercy.
“Hey.” He squeezes me back, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me off the ground. The pressure of his hold is paramount.
Did he hear me through the door? Does he know I just chose him as my forever?
I press my face against his neck, concealing my burning cheeks. “Hi,” I whisper.
He laughs quietly, then leans back to kiss my temple. “Little devil. Ready to go?”
“Change of plans.” I wiggle out of his arms and grab his hand, tugging him inside. I kick the door closed. “My nephew has the chicken pox. Juls just called. I’ve never had them so I can’t go over there. God, can you imagine if I got them now? With Dylan laid up? Joey would be in charge of the bakery.” I make a face. “Everything would be cream filled.”
Mason smirks, then lowers his eyes to my attire, focusing on the crisscross of fabric over my breasts. His chest moves with a deep inhale. “Yeah? No dinner?”
I shrug. “Well, no meal with my family. We can eat something here. Or go out.”
“Mm.” He reaches for the door and turns the lock. His eyes darken.
