A Sexy SEAL Novella Anthology (26 page)

“
Did you bring a suitcase?” she
asked.

It took him a second before he remembered that yeah,
he did have a suitcase. It was rare that Shane actually booked a
flight. One of the perks of traveling as an active duty SEAL was
flying free if he was willing to go standby.

“
We’ll grab it, then head back. I’m so excited
you’re here. It seems like forever, doesn’t it?” Sara babbled,
tucking her arm through his as they moved toward the baggage
carousel. “Was it a safe flight? Easy? No turbulence?”

He wanted to say that he’d flown through lightning
storms and dived out of a Seahawk into the raging ocean, so it was
stupid to think he couldn’t handle a few bumps on a commercial
airline.

But he knew hearing that would freak her out, so he
shrugged instead.

“
It was a quick flight.”

“
Oh, Shane. I’m so, so happy to see you.
You’ll be here through next weekend, right?”

“
I’m here for your birthday,” he said. There
was no point reminding her that his welcome was thin at best.
Pushing the length of his visit past its purpose was
pointless.

“
But my birthday party is in two days. And on
a Tuesday. Celebrating in the middle of the week is so lame. I want
another party. A big one with dancing, music, fun. That means the
weekend.” She leaned her head against his arm and slanted him a
look through her lashes. “You will be here to celebrate with me,
won’t you?”

Shane wanted to close his eyes against the
beseeching look in her eyes. He was a SEAL, he reminded himself.
SEALs didn’t show weakness.

Nor did they have to keep reminding themselves of
that. He scrubbed his hand over his hair. Damn, he wasn’t even
technically home yet and he was already acting like a dumbass.

“
What did mom have to say about my visiting?”
he asked instead of committing himself.

He didn’t need to hear her response. Her face said
it all. Downcast eyes, a pouty lip and flushed cheeks. Dammit.

“
Sara—”

“
Don’t be mad,” she said, her words spilling
out in a breathless rush. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got it all
planned. I’ve got a place for you to stay until my birthday, then
you’ll pop in like the best present of my life. Mom will be so
happy to see you that she won’t have time to get upset.”

He’d flown home. He’d met with his sister. He could
pull a fifty out of his wallet, tell Sara it was her birthday gift
and grab the next flight home. Technically, he’d followed orders.
He could get away with it.

And—he looked at Sara—he couldn’t do it. His family
ties were tenuous at best. He couldn’t break them with the only
person in the family who didn’t pretend he was a traveling
salesman.

* * *

“
Do you have anything that will inspire lust?
You know, like magical Viagra that can be slipped into a drink or
sprinkled on a plate of spaghetti.”

“
Have you considered a little lace chemise?
Maybe add in candlelight to go with the wine and
meatballs.”

“
Lark!” The tone danced somewhere between a
whine and a laugh as the woman on the other side of the counter
lifted a pink striped shopping bag to wave it back and forth.
“C’mon, you know I’ve already covered the basics. I need oomph,
though. A little guarantee.”

Lark wanted to point out that nothing in life came
with a guarantee, but she knew the pretty brunette wouldn’t listen.
The only thing Jenny wanted to hear was the magic phrase that would
get her into Dave White’s tighty whities. But Lark didn’t have
magic, nor did she feel right encouraging Jenny sneak into Dave’s
underwear.

“
Jenny—”

“
C’mon, Lark. Nobody’s here, to hear us.
Besides, everyone knows The Magic Beans sells special treats.
Heather says all those exotic ingredients she uses have a special
kick.” Her elbows on the cherrywood counter, Jenny leaned forward
and added in a persuasive tone, “Your mom would have something for
me.”

Lark clenched her teeth so tight, she thought she
heard cracking. Then, because she knew from experience that the
nagging wouldn’t stop, she angled her head toward the glossy
frosting of the brownies under the dessert dome.

“
Chocolate is reputed to be an aphrodisiac,”
she said, trying to make her voice sound mysterious. “From the time
of the ancient Aztecs, it’s been fueling passion-filled
nights.”

So had cheap beer in recent times.

But Lark kept that to herself, preferring to hurry
Jenny on her way with two huge brownies and a pound of freshly
ground dark roast.

The horny housewife hadn’t been gone ten minutes
before the source of Lark’s frustration came sweeping through the
front door, her lavender hair curling over her wide hips and a trio
of crystals dangling from her ears. In her plump arms was a large
purple bakery box and on her face was a loving smile.

Lark wanted to scream, but that smile stopped
her.

“
Darling, I had a baking epiphany after my
morning meditation and had to try a new recipe. Sesame mango
cupcakes with almond frosting. What do you think? Will your
afternoon crowd like them?”

“
Heather, you have to stop—”

“
Stop?” Heather interrupted, setting the box
on the counter and lifting the lid. The scent of fruit and almonds
filled the air. “Would you ask Mozart to stop composing? Van Gogh
to stop painting? I’m an artist, darling. I must
create.”

“
Fine, then create edible art instead of
rumors.”

“
Rumors?” Heather’s brows, as black as Lark’s
own, rose to meet her pastel hair.

“
Aphrodisiacs.”

“
Well, darling, many of my ingredients have
been reputed to have desire-invoking results. Just look it up on
the internet.”

Lark closed her eyes, wishing for the millionth time
that she had her mother’s patience. But, nada. Fortunately, she did
have her sense of humor.

“
Did you know the internet claims that Elvis
is alive, living on Neptune partying with Freud?”

“
Well, that’d be a trick, wouldn’t it?
Especially as I heard that Elvis was in Brooklyn imprinting his
profile on toast.”

Lark burst into laughter. She couldn’t help it.
Heather was too sweet, too fun and too much like her sister for
Lark to stay mad at her.

“
Please stop,” she asked, pulling a glossy red
ceramic tray off the highest shelf. “It’s bringing in the crazies.
Last week, Mrs. Bell from the post office asked if I could sell her
cookies for the nursing home. Apparently the residents are
bored.”

“
Are they? Well, I’ll have to make a batch and
drop off a few dozen.”

“
No,” Lark exclaimed, throwing up one hand. “I
mean it. The last thing I need are more customers with a sweet
tooth looking for the easy way to get lucky.”

“
Magic isn’t a cure-all,” Heather agreed,
bustling around the counter to unbox the cupcakes, arranging them
neatly on the tray. “It’s more a boost, a little extra help. You
know that.”

“
No.” While Heather arranged cupcakes, Lark
began putting freshly washed mugs back on the shelf. “I know that
things can happen, sometimes, because of the power of suggestion,
subliminal messaging and luck. Not magic.”

“
Your mom believed in magic,” Heather
insisted, jutting out her chin as she refilled the coffeemaker in
preparation for the busy afternoon crowd.

Her own jaw tight, Lark kept her eyes on the
mug-lined shelves, carefully inspecting them for chips or dings.
Her mom had believed a lot of things. She’d thought dancing in the
rain brought good luck, she’d believed in magic and she’d been sure
that positive energy and clean living could keep her healthy, that
a shaman with his herbal tea or the healer with her glowing
crystals could beat cancer.

Lark had believed all of that, too.

Turns out, they’d both been wrong.

“
If you’d just believe, just have faith, you’d
be happier, Lark.”

“
I’m happy enough.”

“
You could be happier.”

“
Sure,” Lark agreed, refilling the whipped
cream dispenser. Most of the afternoon crowd considered their
drinks as a segue to dessert. “Maybe if I was planning for a
weekend of naked games and wild sex, I’d be happier. But I’m
not.”

“
You could be,” Heather said. “If that’s what
you want, you could eat a cupcake, open your mind to that power of
suggestion and make it happen.”

With who?

Lark had spent over a year in this little town and
had yet to see a man who gave her the tingles, let alone one who
made her think of all-night-sexcapades. No amount of positive
energy or suggestive powers were going to change that.

“
I’d be happier if you’d quit trying to
convince my customers that your desserts will get them great sex.
I’m starting to feel like I should be wearing a purple pimp fedora
to sell cookies.”

“
A lot of them are asking for special treats,
are they?”

“
Way too many.” Lark rolled her
eyes.

“
New customers?” Heather asked, her voice
muffled because her head was in the supply cupboard.

“
Absolute strangers, people who’ve never come
in before. Last week a busload from the ski resort stopped in. It’s
crazy.” Lark took the stack of paper to-go cups from her aunt,
waiting for the other woman to get to her feet before adding, “It’s
like you took out an ad or something.”

She stopped talking when she saw the triumphant look
flash across Heather’s face.

“
What?”

“
So my fun with baking is helping your
business. Even better than an ad, I’ll bet.”

Sara dropped the cups on the counter so her hands
were free to slap on her hips.

“
You did that on purpose? Why?” She waved her
hands in the air. “No, no. Don’t tell me why. Just tell me why you
didn’t tell me in the first place.”

Heather frowned, blinked, then shook her head.

“
What?”

Lark rubbed her hand over her hair as if the move
would soothe her frazzled brain.

“
You apparently put the word out that your
baked goods were laced with an extra dose of come-do-me. You
obviously did that to bring more business into the coffeehouse.
Which I appreciate.” Didn’t she? Lark scrunched up her nose, then
decided to mentally debate the merits of higher sales versus the
irritation of having a slew of people asking if caffeine would dull
the sexual buzz. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me what
you were doing, though.”

“
You’d have told me to stop,” Heather said
matter-of-factly as she took over putting the to-go cups in their
place.

“
Of course I’d have told you to stop.” Unable
to stand still, Lark turned to pace, then realized that there was
no room behind the counter. “We sell coffee. Not happy
hard-ons.”

“
Here, refill the straws,” Heather suggested,
handing over a box.

Lark dumped them in the glass jar by the self-serve
station, then, box in hand, started pacing. It wasn’t until her
second turn that she realized her aunt had sent her out here so she
could walk through her thoughts.

“
Why?” she asked, stopping midstride to turn
to face Heather.

“
You’re not happy here,” her aunt said
quietly. “As much as I want to keep you here with me, I know it’s
not your place.”

Lips trembling, eyes burning, Lark stared at the
wall of mugs until she was sure she wouldn’t break down.

“
It was Mom’s place,” she finally
said.

“
Yes, for as long as it would have lasted.”
Heather waved her hand to indicate time flying by. “Raine was a
butterfly. She’d landed here and might have stayed for a while. But
before here she was in Seattle. Before that in San Francisco.
Before that...well, you know all of those befores because you were
still living with her.”

“
Itchy feet,” Lark murmured. Because her own
feet were feeling a little shaky, she dropped into a chair. “I went
to fourteen different schools before applying to the Academy of
Arts.”

“
Proudest day of Raine’s life was when you
graduated with those degrees in Fine Art and Ceramics. She used to
say she was glad to see all those years of making mud pies to serve
with your porcelain tea set were put to good use,” Heather said,
her tone making it clear that she’d been just as proud. Then her
features shifted from fond to stern. “So you know that your mother
would want you to still be putting it to good use.”

Lark had to swallow twice to get the words past the
lump in her throat. But finally, she said, “And selling baked goods
with sexual properties is going to do that?”

“
Well, it can’t hurt,” Heather said, tapping
the display case. “And if that doesn’t do it, I’ll step it up. I
found some lovely silicone bakeware in the shapes of busty breasts
and well-endowed penises.”

“
Oh God.” Lark dropped her head into her
hands. “I’m going to need a fur-lined trench coat to go with the
pimp hat.”

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