Mica (3 page)

It still…didn’t sit right with Mica. There was the joy imagining Sophie in his arms, part of his life, followed by crushing guilt weighing across his shoulders on bringing such a sweet, innocent soul into their world. Even without Jacobson, his world was harsh and demanding.

But then after the guilt came the hollow ache at the mere thought of a life without Sophie, and with that came a yearning to walk over to the shop if for nothing else than to see her sweet face, to assure himself once again of her existence.

The mix of feelings was maddening, and exhausting, and he was tired of it. But he did know one thing…

Tonight, he was going to see Sophie, because no matter their future was, she was never going to doubt her own desirability ever again.

Chapter Three

The usual night time clean-up atmosphere was jovial, with Sophie and Jo laughing as they washed down tables, swept up the floor, and got supplies ready for the next day’s baking.

Tonight was not usual.

Sophie ignored the pointed looks Jo had been throwing her way all day, but now, with no customers around and the shop closed, Jo was no longer keeping silent. “Are you going to tell me what happened that’s had you in a funk since sexy lumberjack left?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“
Dammit, Sophie!
” With a burst of unexpected aggression, Jo tossed the mop down to the floor, the crash of the handle meeting wood making Sophie jump. “I saw Reynolds by you. Did she say something? You
know
that bitch lives to make everyone as miserable as her. Why would you let anything she says affect you?”

“Jo, back off-”

Now Jo was building up, her face getting red as she built up steam. “I just don’t know-”

“No, you
don’t
know.” And it was enough. She loved Jo, and Jo loved her, but Jo
wasn’t
her. “What do you know? Do you know what living in a body that doesn’t
exist
in media or pop culture is like, except, of course, if it’s used as either a joke or to prove how disgusting that person is? Do you know what it’s like to have friends not invite you out if they are going somewhere that’s meant only for ‘beautiful’ people? Do you know what it’s like when someone might, just
might
, look like they’re going to come up and talk to you, and then their friends start mooing, or oinking, and then the guy laughs it off, maybe even joins in?”

Jo’s eyes were wide, her mouth parted as she half-shook her head, shock easily read in the stiff lines of her body.

And Jo loved her. And Jo never treated her like that. Jo would punch a guy without a second thought if he did that to Sophie in front of her.

But Jo was here, now, and Sophie was tired of always acting the bigger person, to nod when people said it didn’t matter, to pretend she wasn’t affected by every magazine and movie and photos of women who maybe,
maybe
, had ten pounds extra on them, and the media descending on them like harpies over their weight, while men could have guts and jowls and still deserve sex symbol status. “And if I dare let any of it get to me,
I’m
the one who’s in the wrong.
I’m
oversensitive.
I’m
being petty. Or best yet,
I’m
trying to make myself a victim.”

Sophie hadn’t heard the bell on the door jingle, but the sharp scrape of a chair across the floor had her turning her head.

Her lumberjack was there, and
God
, had he heard all that? Mortification ripped through her, that her ugliest, deepest insecurities were now open and spread out for this man’s perusal.

If asked this afternoon, Sophie would have said nothing could have been more humiliating than what happened this afternoon, but him here put lie to that thought.

She rushed out the back without finishing up anything at the café. Jo could do what needed done, because she was done with today. She was going home, and putting on an old Cary Grant movie, and wasn’t going to move from the couch until tomorrow morning.

Sophie had barely cleared the door when someone grabbed her upper arm, and she whirled, scream in her throat, until she registered
him
. She pulled away, but she might as well have been trying to move a brick wall.

“Look,” she started, but he leaned down, and his lips covered hers, stopping the breath in her chest and making all thoughts leave her head.

Warmth. Soft. Firm. Decadent.

Rich and decadent, like a sinful dark hot chocolate with a full-bodied whipped cream. That was how she would describe his mouth on hers. He dwarfed her, his body surrounding her, making her feel almost dainty for the first time in a very, very long time.

He pulled away a fraction, his breath still puffing against her lips. “Mica.”

“What?”

The word pulled her from the haze his kisses had engendered, and he smiled, similar to those lovely smiles he gave her during their daylight interactions. “My name. It’s Mica.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t a usual name, but she liked how it rolled through her mind. “Sophie.”

“I know. I’ve known from the first day.” He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, a light, gentle caress, and she would never have guessed hands that large and scarred could be that delicate. “I came in the shop because I saw you through the window, and I couldn’t stay away.”

With his words, a fine trembling came over her body, an immediate negation, because that wasn’t how the narrative went. Men didn’t look at her and want to get closer. “You don’t need to make me feel better. I’m a little emotional tonight, but I promise I’m really fine.”

“Why are you assuming I’m lying?” Mica pulled back to sweep his hand in front of him, from head to thigh, and once again Sophie was overwhelmed by how
much
he was. He wasn’t wearing his usual flannel overshirt, which though he was wearing a shirt and jeans, gave her the strange impression of almost nakedness. His t-shirt was skin-tight, and ripples of muscle were nicely shown by the fabric. He had tattoos that covered both arms down to the wrists, medieval battle scenes with knights and horses and dragons, gorgeous drawings that looked photorealistic. His beard shouted untamed and wild, but not so out there that it suggested dangerous hermit. “Do I look like the type of man who goes into a tea shop as part of my usual routine?”

Her laughter was more like a snort, and her hand flew to cover her mouth, though the smile remained. No, he never had. Never, ever, ever. It was a running question between her and Jo, why such a man – so ill-at-ease amongst lace and doilies and all things pastel and frilly – doggedly entered her little shop every day.

Mica kept his distance, but there was an air of ferocity about him, as if he was
daring
her to disbelieve his words. “I was walking down the street,
minding my business
, and I glanced into a shop window to see the most fuckable woman to ever exist. I stopped, frozen in shock, so sudden the guy behind me ran into me.”

“That’s a lie.” The words were little more than a breath of air, but even though he glowered at her, his eyes burning hot with displeasure, she couldn’t make herself take in those words. “You’re not serious. Someone like you would never…”

“Never what? Never look at you and imagine about a thousand different ways I could make you scream my name? Never have filthy fucking thoughts about what you taste like, or how I could spend hours worshiping that ass? Believe me,” and he stepped closer, and she was caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze. “I have. Over and over and over. I’ve never been twisted up over a woman like I am with you. And it’s not just because you are built about perfect for me. It’s how you are so nice to every person who enters your shop. And it’s genuine, not only so you can make a sale. You
want
to take care of everyone who crosses your path, with no thought what it gets you. Between that, your gorgeous smile and those perfect breasts which fill out those blouses you wear, I’m amazed I’m not a stuttering puddle of drool around you.”

This was now the craziest conversation she’d ever been part of, and she didn’t know how to respond. A sex god lumberjack, one whom she’d only formally introduced herself to about five minutes ago, was sexually propositioning her
and
making her blush over her virtues.

As if he realized the same thing, his hand flew to rub the back of his neck, and the sudden bashful cast of his face was adorable – though she’d never tell him that. “Um, I shouldn’t have…I mean, I meant it. I just never was going to tell you like that. I was going to ask you to dinner and do things slower. Proper.”

Definitely adorable, and definitely never tell him.

And then his head fell forward and he drew a deep breath before straightening up. “Did I fuck up any chance with you with all that? I just couldn’t stand you believing all that crap. And I about punched an old woman in your shop this morning. Only the thought that it would upset you stopped me.”

“Most people in the shop would have applauded.” With the overload of emotional whiplash, Sophie could honestly say she had no idea how she was feeling right now, but she didn’t want Mica to regret saying what he had. It was brave, and kind, the way he had worried about her, had sought to reassure her in his own unique way. “Thank you, for everything tonight. I believe you, and it’s flattering. I don’t know quite how to feel about it at the moment,” and that was said with a small laugh, the ridiculousness flowing through her once again, “but I do appreciate it.”

He nodded, accepting her words with good humor. “I’ll leave you to your night, then.”

“Good night.”

He didn’t step closer, but he was currently standing close enough that, with his long arms, he could reach out and stroke her cheek. “Goodnight, and sweet dreams.”

Chapter Four

“Climb him like a tree. He’s a lumberjack. He’ll like it.”

“Jo!”

Twenty-four hours was too short a time to process a sea change. How the hell could she be the object of lust to a man like Mica? If she was complimented about her looks, it was always how she had a
pretty smile
or how she’d be attractive if she lost a few pounds.

Nothing like what Mica had said to her. Not the pure, unadulterated desire, the single-minded focus on her as a sexual creature.

It messed with her head. In a good way, sure, but it was still a way of thinking totally foreign to her.

“The man flat out said you were the most fuckable woman he’d ever seen. If I guy that looked like that said that to me, do you know what I would do?”

Sophie held up her hand. “I know you well enough you don’t need to complete that sentence.”

Jo shrugged and went back to packing up the display case. It had been a busy day at the shop, in all ways successful except for the one that had taken precedence in the last month – Mica hadn’t shown up today.

Of course, that led to even more overthinking on Sophie’s part, wondering about his motives. Was he giving her space? Was he regretting speaking to her like he had yesterday?

“You need to stop worrying.” It was scary how well Jo could read her, but they had been friends since college. It was why Jo worked beside her for way too many hours as they started this business, something that Sophie had dreamed of doing for most of her life, since maybe her first tea party. “He’ll be back. A man doesn’t say something like that and disappear.”

“I never said I was worried. I’m just not sure how to react next time I see him.”

“And we go back to you following my aforementioned advice.”

The conversation halted at the jingling bell signaling a customer walking in. “We’re closed,” Sophie called out.

“I’m not here for tea.”

“Oh.” Mica’s large body always seemed to expand to fill her shop, making it seem so tiny whenever he was inside. She’d always loved that feeling, though. It wasn’t oppressive, or dominating. Instead, it wrapped around her and shouted
safe
. “Hello.”

“Hi.” And that smile was there, as he walked to stand in front of her. He was in his usual flannel and jeans combo, and a sizzle of disappointment hit that his tattoos weren’t on display right now. “I came to ask if you’d like to go on a date with me. Try to do things proper.”

“And if I’d rather you did things improper?”

The words popped out before she could consider them, the flirting tone of her voice unpracticed and unrehearsed. Warmth suffused her entire her body, and she fought to keep her hands to her side and not cover her face. Her response wasn’t planned in any way, but she’d meant it, and now that the words were out, she’d stand by them.

His smile remained, but it took on a feral edge, his eyes seeming to brighten with her words. “I’m yours to command. Tell me to kneel, and I’ll be before you.”

It was evil of him to put that image in her head, because how could her breathing not speed up, her skin not heat up, when in her mind he was kneeling before her, those big hands wrapped around her thighs, that beard brushing against the folds of her pussy…

“And the sexual tension in here just went nuclear.” Jo’s voice brought her back from imaginings that were too vivid and were not fit for the public, and Sophie dropped her eyes and head in embarrassment. “You two kids need to get out of here, because I am not letting you do things that would defile our shop and get our food license yanked.”

Jo shoved Sophie towards Mica, who wrapped an arm around her, and the gesture soothed something inside Sophie. It was if there was an audible
click
in her head when they fit together.
This is right. This fits.
Still, things weren’t done like this. “Jo-”

Jo wasn’t hearing any of it, because she then proceeded to push them both towards the door. To be fair, Mica was already walking that way, but Jo still was strong. “She likes Italian. Anthony’s on Fourth would be perfect, and make sure she gets the tiramisu.”

She and Mica were outside. The shop door slammed and the curtains were drawn, and Sophie was left on the sidewalk with the man who, last night, called her
fuckable
.

Mica tilted his head. “Shall we get lasagna or stuffed shells?”

He ordered wine for her as soon as they were seated. It wasn’t that he wanted her drunk – hell no, he wanted her completely aware, because if he had his way, little Miss Sophie was going to be panting under him tonight, and since he wouldn’t touch her if she was incapacitated, she
needed
to be sober.

So no, not drunk, but he did want to take the edge from her. He wanted the woman she was when she wasn’t letting those demons in her head tell her how she should feel. He wanted the woman who was standing in front of him earlier, the one who was unaware of the pure sensuality she radiated as she challenged him.

And if I’d rather you did things improper?

If the other woman hadn’t been in the store, he would have done as he’d said, been on his knees to worship her. Right now, she could be coming because of his lips, the pure taste of his mate alive on his tongue as she wriggled and pushed her pussy into his mouth, chasing her pleasure and using him as was her right.

The plan seemed to be working. She was relaxed and happy, smiles and low-key flirtations. She was perfect, biting into her ravioli, her tongue slipping out every so often to swipe along her lower lip. Elegant and sensual.

“My grandma was the baker in our family,” she was saying, in response to his question about why she opened a tea shop. “Many of my recipes are from her, though I’ve done plenty of experimenting myself.”

She spoke a lot about her grandmother, but no mention was made of any other family, and their deliberate absence spoke of a rift. He didn’t want to probe at that wound, not tonight. “The ones I like, are they yours or hers? And don’t tell me you don’t know what I like. I noticed how you’ve switched away from anything sweet.”

Sophie ducked her head, a pleased little expression on her face. “About half and half, I’d say. More of the sweet ones are hers.”

“You’ve got a gift.”

Another sip of her wine, and he followed the line of her throat as she swallowed, the movement mesmerizing him. “It’s a joy. I get to do something I love and share it with people. Most people who come into my shop either are already happy, or want to become happy. I get to share in that, and contribute to it. And I get to drink my tea.”

He raised his own glass in salute. “Which is important.”

“Absolutely,” she said, placing her hand over heart in mock seriousness. “You do not want to get between me and my daily cup of tea.”

“And just how many types of tea are there?”

“I don’t know how many there are, but I know I carry one-hundred and twenty-five varieties.”

Mica snorted, putting down his pint of beer. “I think that’s enough to satisfy all the little old ladies.”

“Not quite. I don’t have a liquor license, so I have to look away quick anytime I see a hint of a flask being passed around.”

She was adorable, all lit up and smiling as she told stories about her customers. He knew for a fact it wasn’t tea, or even an unspoken agreement, that kept people returning to her shop. It was the unadorned adoration that shone from her face. It was obvious she loved her business. “So a tea shop is really what you want to do?”

“It’s been my dream since I was a little girl. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

The waitress appeared beside, a conventionally pretty blonde. Sophie had tensed a little at the beginning of the night, but when the waitress was nothing except friendly professional, she’d relaxed in the girl’s presence. “Can I get anything else for you?”

“Tiramisu,” Mica said, before Sophie could answer in the negative like she was about to. “Two forks since we’ll be sharing, and two cups of coffee, cream and sugar.”

The waitress jotted down the order and went straight away, and Sophie eyed him with indulgent exasperation. “Do you always order for others?”

“Not always. Only sometime. And in this case, I was following orders.”

“The coffee?”

He shrugged. “Who eats tiramisu without coffee?”

“What about the caffeine this late at night?” Her cheeks pinked at the question, those green eyes looking up at him through her thick lashes.

“Who knows? Maybe there will be something worth staying up for.”