Sweetest Temptations (3 page)

“Ah.” He nodded, his eyes dancing with mirth. “You’re not one of those women, who thinks you’re too overweight to enjoy sweets, are you?”

“I may be packing a little extra in the hip department, but, no, I couldn’t stay away from sweets if I tried.”

“Good, because you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.” It grew quiet as we looked out over the sleepy neighborhood, until Ken turned back to me. “I loved the muffin.”

Trapped in his eyes, my mind went blank, so his comment caught me off guard and I scrambled to catch up.

“The blueberry muffin,” he clarified. “I bought it the day you opened.”

Snapping my fingers, I nodded. “Right, I remember. You were my first customer.” How could I ever forget?

His eyes widened a fraction. “Ever?”

“Yep.”

The smile he set on me sent a tingle of awareness rushing through my body. I found myself focusing on his lips as he spoke. “That’s awesome. It’s not often you get to be someone’s first.”

My thoughts exactly.
The way his mouth quirked up at the edges, the way his eyes flashed with humor…I realized that he was flirting with me. Maybe he did like me after all. “So, what did you think of the set-up?” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder at the house.

“Set-up?” Ken’s brows knit together.

“Yeah, my sister is always trying to set me up. Every Sunday, it’s a new guy. I guess she doesn’t want me to turn into a spinster.” I laughed, but I could tell right away that Ken didn’t find what I said amusing.

“Amy didn’t invite me. Doug did.”

I sliced the air with my hand. “Potato, po-
tah
-to. Doug is her minion. He does Amy’s bidding. Believe me, it was a set-up.”

Ken looked away, deep in thought. When he spoke again, his voice had grown rumbly and so intimate that it made my insides tremble with want. “So, you’re my date?”

I shook my head. “More like you were my test subject.” He looked at me, a question in his eyes. “Basically, Amy picks a guy, asks him to dinner, or in this case Doug asks, and then I am tasked with deciding if he’s a match.”

Watching me, Ken lifted his hand and rubbed two fingers over his bottom lip, contemplating my words. “How has that worked out for you?”

I released a short, humorless laugh and looked away. “Well, there’s no ring on this finger,” I said, flexing the fingers on my left hand. “No buns in the oven, either. At least not until tomorrow morning.” I barked out a laugh at my own attempt at a joke, but Ken only presented me with a half-smile.

“Not your type?”

“That’s an understatement.” My thoughts clicked into rewind mode, reliving the most noteworthy subjects to date. The Bob Ross look-alike. The one who aspired to become part of a biker gang. The one with a comb over who performed as a clown at kid’s birthday parties and somehow managed to set my sleeve on fire over a candlelight dinner. They were all very much not my type, but I had to say, Amy hit the nail on the head with Ken.

“What about me. Am I your type?”

It was as if he had read my mind. I looked over, catching and holding his gaze again. “Why do you want to know?”

His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Curious.”

I watched him for another drawn-out moment, and then forced myself to look away. I didn’t lie, so that option was off the table. God, I hated this feeling. Ken’s question made me feel exposed, vulnerable. Raising my gaze to the darkened clouds drifting overhead, I blew out a low breath through pursed lips. “You’re exactly my type.”

4

“Thank you for letting me use your restroom.”

I looked up from the container I was filling with the last of the peanut butter brownies and smiled at the older woman. “Not a problem.” She was my last customer of the night. I’d seen her in before, perusing the selections, but never committing to a purchase. With graying hair tucked beneath one of those plastic bonnets, a lavender sweater complete with floral applique, and tan polyester pants that were about two inches too short, she reminded me of my own grandmother, God rest her soul. So, despite the store policy of having no public restroom, when she gave me that grandmotherly smile and asked to use it, I couldn’t say no.

“I’ll walk you out.” Wiping my hands on a towel, I hurried to her side. Tonight, I was in a rush, and her slow and measured steps pushed the boundaries of my patience.

“I knew the original owner of this building,” she informed me as we made our way slowly past the register.

“Did you?”

“Oh, yes. He was one of the first merchants on this block. A handsome devil too, that one. Very popular with the women.”

“What did he sell?”

“Shoes.” She laughed softly to herself. “I’m sure he was responsible for a lot of empty wallets.”

I bet. I feigned interest as best I could as we reached the exit. “How did you two know each other?”

Clear gray-blue eyes peered up at me from beneath heavy eyelids, and I realized that, despite how many days she had marked off on the calendar or the age showing through the wrinkles in her face, this woman was anything but frail or elderly. “A story for another time, hmm? Thank you again for allowing me to use the restroom.”

I nodded, smiling as I watched her go, and then closed up behind her, flipping the sign on the door to
closed
.

Hurrying back to the kitchen, I rushed through the last of the cookie batter that still needed to make it into the oven, scooping tablespoon-sized mounds from the mixing bowl and dropping them onto a cookie sheet. They were double the size I normally made them, but to hell with it. According to the clock, I had exactly twenty-two minutes and ten seconds to wrap it up and shut it down, and the cookies would take up about half of that.

I was doomed.
Doomed!

Dinner at Amy’s had resulted in an unexpected event: Ken asked me out on a date. That was five nights ago. My first real date in months—okay, years—and I was running behind.

Since Ken’s shift at the station ended at eight, we agreed that he would meet me at the bakery. For the sake of desperate women everywhere, I was closing early, but that didn’t save me from having to prepare some of the goods I would need upon opening Saturday morning. During today’s morning and afternoon lulls, I had whipped up batter for marbled cupcakes, cheesecake brownie bites, scones, banana nut muffins, and was now finishing up the chocolate chip cookies. It had been a busy week, and if this pattern of business continued, I didn’t want to risk falling behind.

Ken said to dress warm and comfortable. Having brought a change of clothes with me, I quickly stripped down in the attached half bath located in the back and stepped into a fresh pair of jeans and my favorite
Got Chocolate?
hoodie, all the while wondering where the heck he was taking me.

It was precisely three minutes until eight when I heard the knock at the front door. Tapping the center of one of the cookies to test its firmness, I yanked the oven mitt back on and pulled the two trays out. Tossing them on the counter, I sprinted from the kitchen. “Coming!” I called.

Ken stood under the short awning surrounded by a blanket of night and illuminated only by the incandescent yellow street lights, waiting patiently with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. I slowed as I approached, trying not to appear too harried. Hot damn, he looked good. Dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans that hugged a pair of powerful-looking thighs, and a leather coat unzipped to reveal a thick black hoodie underneath with the word
Walleye
across the chest, he was too cute for words.

When he saw me coming, his face lit up and I felt a little twinge of excitement as he canvassed me with his eyes. I was on full display as I reached out to unlock the door. “Shit! One sec.” I cursed myself when my mitted hand fumbled with the locks. Tucking one hand under my arm, I tore the mitt off and smiled ruefully as I opened the door to let him in. “Sorry, mitten hands.”

“Casualty of the job,” Ken replied with a smirk. He caught me off guard when he leaned in, slipped an arm around my waist, and bent to kiss me on the cheek. “You look beautiful, and smell sweet, like sugar,” he commented, dipping his head to sniff my neck. Scenting Ken’s own unique blend of spice, musk, and smoky undertones, I nearly fainted. The man was delicious in every way. “Ready to head out?”

His quick transition allowed me to dodge the compliment. Turning away, I led him back toward the kitchen. “I just pulled some cookies out of the oven. Let me just get them put away and clean up a bit, then we can head out.”

Ken posted himself in the doorway and watched as I took a spatula to the trays, clearing the cookies and placing them into a container to be stored overnight. “Those look fantastic. They smell even better.”

I smiled. “Are you asking to sample my goods?”

I caught Ken’s moment of surprise.
Yes, Kenny boy, I am naughty. What are you going to do about it?
He straightened. “Are you offering?”

Assuming I wasn’t crazy or in need of glasses, the look Kennedy was giving me was jam-packed with sin. Even in the glaring overhead lights and standing five feet away, I could see that darkness in his blue eyes had intensified, like M&Ms melting in my mouth—smooth, rich, creamy, and decadent. Oh, hell, if I didn’t look away now, I was going to send myself straight into an orgasm.

I cleared my throat, searching for my voice. “Come on over and get some.” Right hand to God, I didn’t mean that to sound like another come on. Kennedy was smiling as he moved up behind me and reached around my shoulder to select one.

With his first bite, he moaned, and the deep, husky sound made my knees knock together. I could just imagine him in my bed, drawing the same noises from him as we got all sweaty and out of breath.
Oh my.
“I was right, these are fantastic.” Kennedy held out the half-eaten cookie. “Here, you have to try this. The chocolate chips are still melty.”

“I baked them, remember? I already know what they taste like.” Closing the container on the remaining cookies, I slid them into the pantry for tomorrow. When I turned back, Kennedy was watching me with a look on his face that I couldn’t describe. He took two slow steps, planting himself in front of me.

“I thought chefs are supposed to sample their food?”

“They are. Why do you think my thighs are so thick?” I patted them for proof. I wasn’t fat. I wasn’t even technically overweight, but it hadn’t always been the case, and I still had a little extra meat in places I would rather have none. I blamed sampling.

Touching the cookie to my lips, Kennedy said gruffly, “I like a little extra cushion on a woman.”

Holy Jesus on a pogo stick, my mind shot straight into the gutter. Kennedy’s crooked smile told me that he knew that I knew that he knew what he was doing, and he liked it. He liked setting me off-kilter. Unfortunately for him, I could give as well as get.

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I held his eyes and watched them heat up as I parted my lips and took the cookie into my mouth, inch by inch, letting the melted chocolate coat my taste buds. My teeth sank into the tender dough and I moaned softly, letting my eyes slip closed as I tilted my head back and chewed. Eating, no matter what it was, could be made sexual, and since I enjoyed food in all its forms, I was a queen when it came to seduction.

Apparently, Kennedy thought so, too. “You, um…” He looked pain stricken as he watched my mouth move. “You have…” His finger inched up, and then stopped short, hesitating.

“Yes, Kennedy?” I asked huskily.

“You have chocolate on your lip.” His voice was rough, but quiet, like he was having a tough time getting the words out. I could tell he wanted to do something about it, but I beat him to the punch.

Sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I ran my tongue over it, removing all traces of chocolate. “All gone?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled and he nodded.

“You were right, Ken, that cookie was fantastic.” I winked and stepped away.
Mission accomplished.
“Ready to go?”

Seeming to snap back to reality, Kennedy blinked hard and stepped back to allow me to pass. “Ladies first.”

As we stepped outside, Kennedy waited for me while I took a moment to lock up. Flipping the locks, I caught his reflection in the glass and realized that he was staring at me, watching my every move. It made me feel sexy, desired. I decided that it was my favorite feeling in the world. Clipping my keys to my belt loop, I turned and smiled as I stepped up beside him. “So, where are we headed? Dinner? Movie?”

Twining his fingers together with mine, Kennedy led me toward a sparkly clean white SUV with a monster crash bar mounted on the front. It was a beast, and the perfect complement to this brawny firefighter. The lights flashed and Kennedy opened the passenger door. “I had something a little more exciting in mind.”

I climbed in before looking at him. “Exciting? I hope you don’t mean the backseat of your car,” I said, hitching my thumb over my shoulder, “because I’m more of a back row of a theater type of girl.”

A wide grin erupted on his face and Kennedy shook his head. “I have a feeling you’re gonna be trouble,” he muttered, then shut the door. As he walked around the front, I caught the subtle movement as he reached down and adjusted himself. Well, it seemed I was getting to him. Score one for me!

***

When Kennedy said that he had something more exiting planned, I never would have guessed it would be this.

I flinched as a puck smashed into the partition, right in front of my face. Had it not been there, I would be dead. I was certain of it. Scarier still was the giant on razor blades streaking toward me, his face brutal in a way that would give me nightmares for weeks to come. And he wasn’t alone. Just as soon as he hooked the fallen puck, a man from the opposite team slammed into him from behind. Their bodies crashed into the partition, rattling it. I watched in abject horror as his face was plastered to the plastic, blood smearing everywhere. I think I just witnessed my first broken nose.

“So, you’re a hockey fan?” I asked Kennedy, although by the elated look he wore and the way he roared aggressively in response to the fight that was currently breaking out on the ice below, it was a question that pretty much answered itself.

Dropping back into his seat, his face flushed from the adrenalin, Kennedy looked at me. “You’re not?” He asked this as if everyone was and if I said no, I would be the crazy person. Maybe I was. Sitting in a roomful of people screaming for blood and mayhem like it was their religion seemed a little on the crazy side if you asked me.

Reaching across his lap, I picked out a soggy nacho cheese covered tortilla chip. “I’m not really into sports.” Kennedy’s expression was one for the scrapbook. If I had one.

So many emotions passed over him—shock, disbelief, realization, and then determination. “It’s okay, we’ll work on it.” Picking up a chip that covered his fingers in cheese, he popped it into his mouth and winked at me. I realized two things in that moment. One: Dating Kennedy seemed to indicate that I was in for more of this—sports, blood, sweat, hot guys in spandex. Two: I just might be willing to make the sacrifice.

Reaching up, I skimmed my finger over the corner of his mouth in the same manner he had mine at Amy’s house, catching the bit of cheese smudged there. With a sweet—and what I hoped to was alluring—smile, I stuck my finger in my mouth and sucked it clean.

Kennedy’s eyes stayed glued to the side of my face after that, so he didn’t see the guy with the stick race down the ice like his ass was on fire and make the goal, but I did. Throwing my hands into the air, I cheered along with everyone else. “Goal!”

This was turning out to be fun after all.

An hour later I was stuffed full of chips and cheese, cheap pretzels, and diet pop. I’d had enough carbs to drop kick me into a coma, but I felt good. Kennedy was taking the time to explain what was happening out there, like what a right and left wing was, and that the center was like a quarterback? The only thing I understood was that the goalie kept the puck out of the net. That job seemed pretty obvious, so I focused on him.

“This is like a man’s game, isn’t it?” I questioned Kennedy at one point when almost the whole of both teams threw down their sticks and started brawling.

“Yeah, but there are a lot of women here, too,” he pointed out, and he was right. A very large portion of the crowd was female, but I suspected that about half were the groupie type and the other half were like me—along for the ride.