Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking (11 page)

A small puddle of lust formed in my belly. I smiled back wonkily, silently chastising myself for being so silly. I had to draw heavily from my inner well of social skills, beaten in over the years by stern elderly relatives and private schools. Everyone smiled and returned the greeting.

“I heard you speaking before. Are you English?” he asked generally to the group.

“Yes, and an Australian too. Are you American?” someone answered.

“No, Norwegian. But thanks! I work in America, so I have had to try hard to get an authentic accent.”

“So, what do you do?” one of the men asked innocently.

“I’m an actor.”

“Oh.” This was not a profession encountered a lot in our circle of friends, and they struggled for something interesting to add. If you wanted someone to do your taxes or balance your share portfolio, then it would have been no problem. Thinking about it, though, none of us would be any good in a medical emergency either. If the world went into meltdown, our skill sets would have zero value and we would all be eaten. What the hell, I thought.

“I really enjoy
Bad Ways
. The character you play is very interesting.” Okay, not too bad. Not scintillating, but at least I hadn’t come across as a totally mad groupie!

“Thank you.” The man in between us started up a conversation with the person on the opposite side of Anders so he moved around him to stand nearer, though slightly behind me. I turned around to face him, distancing us slightly from the rest of the group.

“So, what do you do? I have to say you look familiar.” He smiled, dazzling me with his white teeth.
He must get that teeth whitening you see on the make-over shows
, I thought distractedly.
I didn’t know they could get teeth that white
. Wrenching my mind away from his teeth, I tried to answer his question.

“Hmm…well, I was on a few talk shows about a month ago.” I tended to mumble when embarrassed, but I mustn’t have done it too badly because he could actually make out what I was saying.

“Really!” He laughed, showing even more of his fabulously white teeth, and his throat moved sexily. How could he make even swallowing look erotic? He was even hotter in person than on television, which I hadn’t thought was possible. I thought the reason everyone looked so good was mostly lighting and makeup, but I was clearly mistaken. He looked down at me, his eyes sparkling.

“What were you on for?” he asked. Getting myself together, I smiled back. It wasn’t every day I was flirted with by the object of my fantasy, even if it was just him being naturally charming. It would make a great story to tell Bats when we got back, so I should make the most of it.

“I’ll give you a multiple choice answer. See if you can guess?” I grinned, the enjoyment of being able to retell this unlikely event overcoming my inhibitions faster than a shot of vodka. “A: I lost half my body weight, B: I survived a natural disaster, C: I wrote a book, or D:…I married my dog.”

“Wow, that’s quite a choice! Well, the body looks pretty fine.” He looked me up and down, his eyes admiring and not trying to hide it. It was flattering, and I had to fight to control how much he turned me on. It wouldn’t look good if I threw myself at him in a haze of lust, particularly in front of our friends. “So I don’t think weight loss, and you look too relaxed and happy to have been though a natural disaster. What were the next two again?”

“Wrote a book or married my dog.”

“Dog’s pretty kinky, which is kind of exciting, but I’ll have to say no and go with the book.”

“Very clever deduction! It is the book. I like my dog, but not that much. To be frank, Boris is kind of smelly.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought of our beloved but very large and hairy dog.

“My dog keeps turning me down. I think she’s hoping someone better comes along.” He pretended to look sad and rejected.

“Ah, that’s tough! Have you tried buying her the premium dog food?”

“No, but I’ll give it a go. So, what is your book called?”

“I have a couple:
Saint Kate of the Cupcake
and
The Gospel According to Saint Kate
. You probably don’t know it. I’m not sure it would be your thing,” I said, aiming for modesty.

“I have seen it!” he exclaimed. “I have to say, though, you’re not at all how I imagined the author would look.” He looked me directly in the eyes, his arctic blue eyes intent and seemingly genuinely interested. “I pictured some grandmotherly type—white-haired, bun, that sort of thing.”

“Well, give it enough time, and you’ll probably be right.” I shrugged and smiled.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?” I said, surprised. Looking around, I noticed that everyone else had moved further away, leaving us alone.

“You’re a beautiful woman, so I’d try to sleep with you.”

Well, I almost choked on my mouthful of wine, burning my throat at the same time as my body became a flaming pyre of lust. My, was I tempted to deny it! Captain Milton just propositioned me! I had a new understanding of why some people cheated. But could I do it? I truly did waver for a moment, just one moment.

“Wow, that was direct,” I mumbled. “Ah, unfortunately for both of us, then, I have to admit to being married. My husband is not feeling well and is back in our room.”

“Damn!” he swore softly, our gaze holding. I could imagine him closing the distance between us and could almost feel his lips on mine, overcoming my scruples like his womanizing character did on the show. Those thoughts must have shown on my face, as I saw an acknowledgment of it in his expression. He knew I was thinking about the possibilities.

“Are you happily married?” he said quietly. His fingers brushed my wrist, almost as if by accident, but my breath caught. I could feel the prickly tingles of excitement under the skin where his fingers had touched me. I felt like a puppy who had seen a ball that was just out of reach.
Nooo!
The possibility was there, but that was it. Everything about him screamed “player.” That should have turned me off, but for whatever reason, my psyche and body had decided to go in the opposite direction. If anything, it made him more attractive.

“Most of the time…” My voice squeaked unbecomingly. This was definitely not his first attempt at seduction, and I was out of practice. I had only met him five minutes ago, and I was already thinking of abandoning my marriage vows. He was very, very good, and I obviously wasn’t, so I would have to be very, very careful.

“Come back to my room, and we can talk in private.” His voice was gravelly and seductive, his gaze hot and intense, promising sexual delights I could only dream of.

Fortunately, dinner was announced then with a loud clang which made me jump and brought me out of the trance I seemed to have fallen into and back to my senses.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. It was—” I struggled to think of a word to describe our conversation “—interesting meeting you.” I said a quick goodbye and re-joined my friends as they were sitting down at the table we had claimed as ours when we arrived the night before. I was just starting to relax and breathe again when a polite voice asked to join us as we had a spare seat. I looked back over my right shoulder to see Anders standing there smiling innocently.

“May I join your table?” he asked.

To choruses of “yes” and hearty entreaties of “of course,” they bade him to feel welcome. He sat down in the empty seat beside me that was usually occupied by my husband, Jack.

“Don’t get too comfortable, though. Katie’s large and bad tempered husband will be back to health tomorrow night and reclaiming his seat,” Edward said jokingly. “Still, it’s good to have someone attractive to look at. Jack’s an ugly bastard.” Everyone laughed, except Anders who looked politely confused.

“Katie’s husband is very good looking,” Fiona explained, taking pity on Anders. “They’re just joking.”

“Have you got any films coming up?” Michael asked.

“We’re on a filming break from the show, and I’m taking a month off to visit family and relax for a bit before starting on other projects.”

“Oh! Kate here is a writer. They’re talking of making a TV show of her book. Maybe she can put in a good word for you.” Edward was completely tactless at the best of times, and Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Edward, you fool, he’s very successful and well known. I don’t think he needs any help.” I looked at Anders apologetically. His eyes had focused on me, and the intensity of his stare made it hard to breathe for a moment.

“That’s great. Who’s doing the show?”

“It’s not finalized yet, so I really shouldn’t be talking about it, and I definitely won’t be telling Edward anything more!” I looked at him with a mock glower. He held his hands up in surrender and laughingly pretended to hide under the table.

“Anders Larsen? Why do I know that name?” Michael blurted out. “Oh, that’s right! Katie nominated you as her ‘celebrity out’ last night. I believe you thought he was the man equivalent of
saucy
chocolate ice cream?”

“What’s a celebrity out?” Anders’ mystified expression was not entirely convincing. I, on the other hand, must have looked as mortified as I felt. Like watching a full glass of red wine fall toward a cream carpet and knowing I would never reach it in time, I could only wait for this conversation to happen and clean up afterward. Trying to intervene might only make it worse.

“It’s the famous person you nominate, and if you ever get to sleep with them, your partner has to forgive you,” Michael continued.

“Really?” he said and looked over at me laughing, eyebrows raised. I could feel myself going red.

“But it’s not real!” I threw a vexed look at Michael. “It’s just a conversation game. No one really gets to do it consequence-free.” With an effort, I smiled like it didn’t really bother me and quickly changed the subject. Anders continued to look amused for quite a while afterward.

The conversation flowed well through dinner. Anders didn’t renew his earlier suggestion, but occasionally our eyes would meet and that heat would flare. A couple of times our arms brushed, and I had to fight the urge to lean in and increase the contact. It was like he was a block of delicious chocolate and I had to sit there looking at it, not allowed to eat. What’s worse was the chocolate
wanted
me to eat it. The only thing stopping me was my own willpower, which was not one of my greatest strengths. I could never eat just one of anything—biscuits, chips, chocolate, cake. If they were there and open, they were eaten. My only defense against them was just not to have them at all and to give away anything I baked so it wasn’t there to nibble at.

Then our legs bumped under the table, and we left them touching for longer than was strictly polite. We were turned to talk to people on the other side to each other, but all I could think of for a moment was that only thin fabric separated our skin and that no one would know that we touched, except us. It was like a secret we shared, this contact. The whole situation was dangerous, and I couldn’t believe I was playing this game, but it was too exciting to stop just yet. I would stop in a little bit, I told myself, before it went too far. It was just a bit of innocent flirting, and I had no intention of taking it further, so there was nothing really wrong with doing it.

Liar,
said my conscience.

By the end of dinner, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. My nerves and libido were stretched to breaking point. After the main course but before dessert, I could stand no more and made my apologies, citing my sick husband as my excuse for leaving early. Dessert was my favorite part of the meal, but better to sacrifice the chocolate mousse than my marriage. Anders was a chocolate bar that would have to be left wrapped up and avoided for the rest of our holiday because I clearly couldn’t trust myself.

I got back to our room, slightly shaken. I hadn’t cheated on my husband, but boy, had I thought about it. I’m not sure where that stood on the moral compass, but if thoughts were actions, I’d be guilty as sin. Probably best not to mention it to Jack and try to forget the whole thing. Still, it was nice to be appreciated as a woman, simply and directly, without the complicating factors that even the best long-term relationships had. Sometimes it was hard to remember what attracted you to each other at first as the things that you loved most about each other now were not so easy to define. I loved Jack for being a good father and husband, more than I lusted after his body.

Not that it was a bad body. I watched him sleeping in the large bed, his long arms spread across the white sheets and his head turned into the pillow, mouth slightly ajar and snoring softly. He enjoyed playing sports, and his body was toned and muscled, not soft and potbellied like a lot of our male friends. His hair was still a thick and lush chestnut brown with a slight wave, and his nose was long and well-sculpted. His skin was olive, like he always had a tan, and his cheeks slightly ruddy. His lips were straight and thin above a strong jaw.

All in all, he was still a very handsome man, probably more so now than when we met. Looking at him sleeping, I felt slightly sad. I knew I should want to ravish him into wakefulness, but I wouldn’t initiate it anymore. I was too wary of the rejections that happened more and more frequently now. Society says that women have the right of refusal, so it is all the more devastating when no one understands the hurt of being a woman rejected. There are no women standing around at parties and pubs, bitching that their husbands no longer put out. My mouth twisted into a slightly bitter smile.