Tasty (16 page)

“Tell
me when you knew.”

“What?”
he says, confusion in those gorgeous eyes. The truth is, I’ve
already had my suspicions. The moment when everything changed for me
and cupcakecasanova. The moment when it became more than an online
flirtation and instead it all turned deliciously, seductively
real
.

He
gives me the answer, the one I was waiting for. Just one simple word:

“Alchemy.”

My
heart thumps hard in my chest. I find myself hugging myself. I guess
I should be relieved, but my feelings are much more complicated than
that. Cal sees this.

“How
are you feeling?” he asks gently.

“Exposed,”
I reply.

He
lets out a gentle chuckle. It’s not a cruel laugh, not at all.
“Funny.
It’s been a relief to me. You didn’t care that I was a
famous TV chef, with Hollywood starlets on my arm at my premieres.”
Little does he know about all the times I’ve Googled him, and
all the beautiful women whose sight filled me with envy and petty
revenge fantasies. “You just wanted to talk about cake and food
and fucking.”

“You
could have told me sooner. I don’t care about any of that
celebrity bullshit. You know that.”

“Yes,
what did you call me?” Cal asks pointedly. “The Cake
Nazi?”

“C’mon,”
I say, more sheepish than offended. “I can’t be the first
person who made that joke.”

“No,
you’re right. I’m practically a dictator.”

I
wrinkle my nose. “That’s beside the point. You could have
told
me, Cal. I would have understood.”

“I
know,” he says. Cal’s expression isn’t the look of
a liar, not at all. He means what he says when he gently adds, “I
know, and I’m sorry. It never seemed like the right time. You
were always so angry. Sexy as hell, but damn. I could tell you didn’t
trust me. What would have happened if you found out sooner?”

I
consider it. When I was fuming and hating his every move, hating the
fact that I couldn’t resist him, would Cal telling me he knew
all of my most intimate secrets made me feel better?

Not
a chance.

Cal
shrugs. “Maybe I was a coward. Do you forgive me, Juliette?”

“Jules,
damn it, Cal,” I say, with a soft, sniffled laugh. He laughs,
too.

“But
I like Juliette better.”

The
truth is? I do, too. I could listen to that tongue wrapping itself
around the syllables of my name all damned day long. So I rise from
the wrought iron chair and walk over to him. Cal stands, too. And as
he does, he sweeps me into his arms again. This time, I don’t
resist, or pull away. Instead, I let myself melt into him. He kisses
me with those beautiful, hungry lips, and I kiss him back.

Soon,
he presses my back into the cushions, still kissing my throat and my
collarbone. I put my legs up around his waist. All this time, I’ve
been fantasizing about cupcakecasanova being Cal, and it turns out to
be
true
.
I’m electric at the realization. So
this
is what it feels like to kiss my fantasy in the flesh. I think of
everything that we’ve done together. Sure, it was only words on
a screen. But it was so much more than that. He reaches his hand down
and fondles my breasts through the soft cotton of my T-shirt. I moan.
My nipples are hard. He squeezes them through the lace of my bra.

“You
have to admit,” he says, breath heavy against my neck. “There
are some advantages about the way we met. I knew what you liked
before we ever even kissed.”

“Oh?”
I ask, my question eliding into a long, low moan. He rumbles out a
laugh.

Then
he whispers one word into my ear.

“Buttercream.”

I
close my eyes, warm with pleasure at the memory. He rocks against me,
pressing his hips into me and I go with the movement. My body is open
to him, and at last, my mind is too. I’m ready to fall in love
with Cal McKenzie, ready to fuck him, to hold him, to hear about his
fears and joys.

He
leans into me, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Then speaks to
me in a soft, sexy growl, his Scottish accent making his words even
hotter.

“I
don’t want to do it like this,” he says. I lace my
fingers around his neck, letting my nails scrape the surface of his
skin.

“I
do,” I say. Cal laughs. “This is the rain check. I’m
calling it in.”

“I
could fuck you so hard . . .” he begins, but then he gives his
head a firm shake, like he’s trying to rattle that thought
away. “But I want to take you on a proper date first.”

“Mmmm,”
I say, biting down on my lip. I don’t want to stop. I
definitely don’t want to wait. But Cal seems determined. He
lets out one last, muffled moan, and pulls away from me. My body
feels surprisingly cool where he just was, but that’s probably
because I’m wetter than any hurricane right now. He offers me
his hand. I take it and pull myself to my feet. But I don’t
miss an opportunity to reach down, and give his long, hard cock a
squeeze through his jeans. Now it’s his turn to bite his lip.
When I let go, he leans down to kiss me one last time.

“Tonight.
Eight o’clock. I’ll email you with the address,” he
says.

“Cupcakecasanova?”
I ask. He tucks a strand of hair over my ear, smiling tenderly.

“This
one will come from my personal email,” he promises.

#

An
hour later, I’m standing in front of my closet. It looks like a
storm just blew through there. There are dresses and shimmering tops
everywhere
,
shapeware tried on and discarded, shoe boxes lining the bed. I’m
pretty nervous about tonight. And why shouldn’t I be? I’ve
just learned that my dream guy, my cupcake honey, is actually an
extremely real, extremely hot, and extremely famous celebrity chef.
The stakes are higher than they’ve ever been.

I
finally find what I was looking for at the back of my closet. It’s
a bright red satin dress that’s all loose and shimmery in
front. The slit goes way, way high. I grin at the sight of it. It’s
what my friend Evie calls “your fuckable dress.” As in,
wear that, and you’re guaranteed to get laid. That’s why
it’s been five years since I put it on.

I’m
not sure it’ll fit, but I pull it over my head anyway. It hugs
my curves in all the right places, leading the eye from my tits to my
belly to my hips, and lower. I feel a little naked in it, but maybe
that’s okay.

Because
in a way, Cal and I have been seeing each other naked for months. As
cupcakecasanova, he knew me better than anyone. That hasn’t
changed, not just because his emails now come from
[email protected]. At least, that’s what I
tell myself as I throw a black shrug over my shoulders, step into my
shoes, and glance at my phone.

Quarter
till eight. Just about time. I let out a nervous sigh and head for my
car. It’s time to see if our emotional connection is as deep as
I think it is. Time to see if Cal is everything he’s
promised—or more.

I
draw my shrug closer around me as I walk through the docks at night.
It’s a beautiful evening, quiet after the storm, and I watch
the little boats all bob in the moonlight. I have no idea what Cal
has in mind tonight. A picnic on the docks, maybe, or a meal at one
of the little food carts. But they’re mostly closed at this
hour of night, and on a Sunday, too. The sounds of the waves lapping
up against the dock are easy and soothing, but I feel bright with
excitement. This is the start of something big, something real. It’s
been so long since a man made me feel this way, soft and gooey and
melted in the middle. I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve
worn my solitude like armor. I’m glad to finally shed it, to
become myself again. I’m walking briskly now, my head held
high.

And
then I see Cal, and I stop in my tracks.

For
once, he’s not wearing a white undershirt and jeans. He is, in
fact, wearing a suit—an expensive one from the looks of it. His
black jacket has a satin sheen. It’s fitted closely to him, the
color and weight of the fabric in stark contrast with the crisp white
shirt beneath. His tie is black and skinny. His hair is just a little
disheveled, though, for the first time, he’s freshly shaved. He
looks polished, like the celebrity he is. I clutch my shrug a little
tighter around me, suddenly self-conscious. I’m no starlet. My
tits are real, my purse is fake, and my dress came from TJ Maxx.

But
Cal strides forward and sweeps me in his arms, crushing me in a kiss,
his mouth open, his desire urgent. If there was any doubt before
whether I was worthy of him, that kiss has swept it all away. He
touches the back of his hand to my collarbone, and his touch raises
goosebumps everywhere.

“You
look sexy as hell, Juliette,” he says, then he takes me by the
arm to lead me along the dock. I feel breathless, and a little dizzy,
too. I’m not used to this kind of treatment. Hell, usually I’d
make fun of something like this. But a girl could get used to this.

“Where
are we headed?” I ask him at last, when the silence has
stretched out too long between us. He doesn’t answer right
away. “I’m not sleeping with the fishes tonight, am I?”

“No,”
he says. “Tonight you’re sleeping with me.”

His
boldness makes me blush, just a little. But more than that, I feel
full and warm with desire. Before I can respond, Cal stops in his
tracks. There, before us, is a massive yacht, gleaming white.
The
Casanova
,
it says along its side in curling script.

“This
is yours?” I ask in surprise. For some reason, I hadn’t
imagined Cal to be the type of guy who owns a boat. A motorcycle,
maybe, or a vintage car, but not a yacht. He just presses his hand to
the small of my back, leading me forward.

“It
is. After I left Scotland, I got a job chopping vegetables on a
cruise ship. I fell in love with the song of the ocean at night. The
only better way to drift off is in a good woman’s arms.”

He
helps me to board, then we climb together up to the top deck. There
in the moonlight are a table and chairs. There’s a white linen
tablecloth and a single white rose in a vase in the center. The table
service is simple, but elegant. Bone china. Gleaming silver lids over
either plate. And two glasses of blood red wine. He pulls out a seat
for me.

“Hello,
Cal,” the Captain calls from the pilot’s house. “Should
be smooth sailing tonight!”

“That’s
great news, James,” Cal says. Then he waves the man forward.
“Before we push off, come meet my date.”

I
sit, politely waiting, with my hands in my lap. When the captain—all
decked out, in his button-up jacket and hat—comes out, I’m
surprised by his familiar appearance. Dark skin, a warm smile. We
went to high school together.

“Jules!”
he exclaims, leaning over to press a kiss to my cheek.

“Hey,
Jimmy,” I say, a little flustered. He was two grades above me.
I always thought he was cute, but nothing ever came of it. He was a
senior, and I was just a dorky sophomore.

“You
two know each other?” Cal asks. He arches an eyebrow.

“Aye
aye,” I joke. “But no worries, Cal. We were just
friends.”

Jimmy
and I take a few minutes to catch up before he hustles back inside
the boat and fires up the engine. The wind whistles through our hair.
The night air is fragrant as the yacht glides out into the water.
Cal’s watching me carefully.

“Does
this kind of thing happen often to you?”

I
shrug my shoulders lightly. “Often enough. I grew up here. You
get used to it.”

“I
never get used to being recognized,” Cal says grimly. “That’s
one of the reasons I like to travel so much. New faces, new crowd,
new hope that the next waitress or flight attendant doesn’t
watch television.”

“It
can’t be that bad,” I insist. The corner of Cal’s
mouth twitches.

“I’m
lucky,” he agrees. “I know I am. But sometimes I wish I’d
never agreed to do the TV show. It was all to drum up business. But
how would you like to be known as—”

“The
Cake Nazi,” I finish for him. I reach out, setting my hands on
his. “I’m sorry about that. I thought I was being funny.”

“You
were. I just get so wrapped up in myself, and my work. I take myself
too seriously sometimes.”

“It’s
not always a bad thing,” I say, “to be serious.”

Cal
watches me for a long moment. Then, he leans across the table and
presses his lips against mine. It’s a sweet, sensuous kiss, and
he lingers for a long time on my lips. Then, drawing away, he lifts
his glass. I pick mine up by the stem, too.

“To
the start of something serious,” Cal says.

“Cheers.”

#

Dinner
is orange roughy, delicate and sweet, gourmet roast vegetables, and
garlicky mashed potatoes, too. It’s delicious and rich, and
even though I only have a few sips of wine here and there, there’s
something intoxicating about the night. Cal hardly drinks, either,
and I don’t entirely blame him after he tells me the story of
his father, buried in a bottle for most of Cal’s life. I admire
him for how he’s pulled himself together and excelled, despite
those early difficulties. It would be so easy to fall into a glass,
too. Instead, he’s dusted himself off and built something with
his life.

“You’ve
created an entire empire,” I tell him as the ocean swirls
around us.

“I
care about my business. I have a calling. I can bring joy with food.
Why not bring it well?” He catches my expression, and adds, “I
know to some it’s just cupcakes.”

“It’s
not just cupcakes,” I reassure him. “It matters. What
people eat, how people feel. Cal, your recipes are incredible.”

“Yours
aren’t so bad yourself.”

I
arch an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t seem all that
impressed the day I gave you a freebie.”