The Sweet Addiction Series Collection: Sweet Addiction, Sweet Possession & Sweet Obsession (80 page)

Two resources I’d be a damn fool to pass up. It’s all about survival in these elements.

I bite my lip through a groan when the man places his hands on the back of his head and gazes up at the yoga sign on the building.

My God, he’s the owner, he has to be. With that body? He’s practically a walking advertisement for Abercrombie and multiple orgasms.

My eyes sweep over the length of him, slowly, before settling on the ass to beat all asses. Even from this distance, that thing would stop traffic in Times Square.

“I, for one, am suddenly very interested in hot yoga,” Joey remarks under his breath.

I whip my head to my right. “You’re married, and I’m calling dibs.”

“Dibs? What are you, ten?”

“What are you two looking at?” Dylan asks from somewhere behind us. “Can one of you lazy asses finish filling the display case, or am I the only person working today?”

What am I looking at?

Sex. That’s what I’m looking at.

I look down, giving a quick once-over of my outfit before I make my move.

Black v-neck tee, skinny jeans, and . . .
fuck!

Sneakers? Why am I wearing sneakers today? There is nothing sexy about the Nike swoosh. And my thoughtless choice of footwear definitely isn’t doing anything for my legs.

I spin around and march past Dylan toward the kitchen. “I need to borrow some shoes.”

“What?” she asks.

“What?” Joey echoes in the distance, but I’m already halfway up the stairs, too focused on my mission to answer either one of them.

Pumps. I need pumps. Something with a heel.

Shoes are flying everywhere as I rummage through Dylan’s small closet. How she manages to fit her and Reese’s clothes in this thing, along with her gorgeous selection of handbags and other accessories is beyond me. They are in serious need of a bigger space, but I get it. She likes living above her bakery, and Reese will do anything to make her happy.

With this third baby coming though, one of them might have to start sleeping in the bathtub. No way is another crib fitting in this loft.

“Oh, hello pink.” My hands close around a delicious pair of Steve Maddens. I toe off my sneakers and remove my socks.

Maneuvering carefully down the stairs, I re-enter the bakery, now three inches taller. Dylan and Joey take notice immediately.

“Help yourself to my wardrobe, Brooke.”

Her sarcasm isn’t lost on me.

“Will do.”

I grab an empty bakery box and slide the display case open, reaching inside.

Joey nudges against me. “Do you really think he’s going to be staring at your feet, Miss Cleavage?” His words are muffled by the mouthful of danish he’s devouring.

“I always feel more confident in heels.”

“And the cupcakes?”

“It’s a gesture. Welcome to the neighborhood, now let’s go get naked and eat these off each other.”

Dylan laughs quietly. “I think it’s sweet. What’s that saying? The fastest way to a man’s cock is through his stomach?”

“Mm, I don’t think that’s right,” Joey says, laughing. “Although, how many apple turnovers did Reese consume when you two were dating, but not dating, but totally dating?”

“Shut up.”

I straighten and close the box, rounding the counter and heading for the door. “Right. I’d say wish me luck, but we all know I don’t need it.”

Their remarks, if they have any, are lost amongst the traffic from the street as I step outside. I wait not so patiently for a break to cross, shifting on my feet, taking quick bursts of air into my lungs.

Why am I suddenly nervous?

Because you’re about to suggest a night of scandalous indecency to a man who looks like the definition of the word ‘orgasm.’

Ridiculous. He can’t be
that
hot. I’m sure some of his attractiveness will soften the closer I get.

Like a mirage. He’ll vanish before I can touch him.

Steadying the box in my hands, I quickly pad across the street.

Determined.

Mildly apprehensive.

One hundred percent turned-on.

MASON

I did it.

Holy fuck, I actually did it.

Linking my hands behind my head, I gaze up at the sign I had installed yesterday. The morning sun strikes against the sharp edge of the letters, deepening the richness of the color.

My chest swells with pride. My stomach flips wildly, reminding me of my nerves and the giant risk I’m taking doing this.

Contradicting reactions battling for dominance. Equal in strength, I’m the perfect blend of fearless and frozen.

This is official, scary as hell, and quite possibly the biggest thing I’ll ever do. I’ve dreamed of owning my own studio for years, since I first started instructing. The passion I have for this, the drive, it’s there, but bloody hell, so is the worry I’m in way over my head. Never did I imagine I’d actually get this opportunity. And here I am, starting this new venture in a city completely foreign to me.

I pinch my eyes shut through a slow inhale.

This has the potential to be amazing, my greatest accomplishment, maybe the only fucking thing I’ll ever do that’ll mean something.

I have the potential to completely fuck it all up.

Right, mate. Way to stay positive.

“Admiring the view?”

My arms fall heavy to my sides. My eyes fly open.

“I gotta say,” the low, velvety voice behind me continues. “I really don’t blame you. I’ve been doing my own fair share of staring this morning.”

I turn my head, intrigued.

A woman, obviously, I knew before I turned around I’d be coming face-to-face with a woman. Only not
this
woman. Never in my wildest imagination could I conjure up this vision as she steps up to join me on the footpath, then stumbles forward the second our eyes lock.

“Oomph!”

I reach out, gripping her elbows and taking her weight. Her skin feels electric. “All right there, sweetheart?”

Steadying herself, she slowly lifts her head, her lips parting as she stares at my mouth with the strangest look. A mixture of intrigue and disbelief.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

I exhale a laugh. “I never quite understood that expression. What exactly does ‘shitting me’ mean? Seems like a bad thing, yeah?”

“Bad?” She smiles, just the slightest, dangerously slow pull of her lips, as if she’s already planned out this interaction and is ten steps ahead, waiting for me to catch up. “No, not bad, just didn’t think it was possible you could get any hotter. Then, boom, you have to go and open your hot Australian mouth and completely blow my mind. ‘Shitting me,’ in this case, is a very, very good thing.”

“But, it could also be used negatively.”

“Of course. If you dropped your shorts and I discovered you were in the process of going through gender reassignment surgery. In that unfortunate scenario, my ‘you’ve got to be shitting me’ would carry a whole new connotation.”

“Ah, well, I assure you,” I begin, leaning closer. “That wouldn’t be the case.”

Her eyebrow arches. “Prove it.”

“You’re serious.”

She tips her chin up, waiting.

Jesus Christ. This little thing could destroy me.

Drop my shorts, right here? No, obviously I wouldn’t, but fuck if I don’t want to maybe pull her inside and shock her a little. Show off my cock to a woman who looks like she’s ready to eat me alive.

A soft laugh erupts from her. She’s amused. I feel like I’m watching a wolf circle an innocent flock of sheep.

Eyeing up one very tempted sheep in particular.

Dimples, possibly the only cute thing about her, draw my attention from one side of her face to the other, and then my eyes can’t seem to stop roaming over her features, drinking her in. Dark, soft curls. Large hazel eyes. Her skin, olive and pink in the cheeks.

Now I’m the one doing my own fair share of staring. I clear my head and look down, realizing then I still have my hold on her.

“Sorry.” I let my hands fall away. “I’m Mason, by the way.”

“Brooke. And no need to apologize. I’d never complain if your hands were on me.”

I almost step back, if only to keep myself from pulling her into my arms and testing that theory. Groping a woman I just met in broad daylight isn’t normally a desire I find myself battling against.

But it’s never been
this
woman challenging me.

“Is that so?” I ask, smiling. “You’d never complain? No matter what I was doing?”

“Mm. Only one way to find out.”

I grip the base of my neck. “Christ. I fear I’ve just met the devil. Figures she’s a woman.”

“Ah, but does the devil come bearing gifts of delicious treats?” Brooke flips back the lid on the box in her hands. She holds them away from her. “I made them myself.”

The pride in her voice is unmistakable. A sweet warmth coating her words, giving me a glimpse of the woman behind the shameless exterior. Possibly the real, true version of herself.

I see you, Brooke.

I look down at the four cupcakes, sliding my hand over hers so we’re both now holding the box.

Maybe she needs help holding it.

Maybe I just want to feel her skin against mine again.

I stare into her eyes. “If they’re laced with poison, then sure. I imagine not many men being able to resist a beautiful woman with baked goods. The devil is notoriously both dangerous and alluring, is she not?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“From previous victims?”

“Victims?” She laughs, throwing her head back and revealing the graceful line of her neck. “You make me sound like a man-eater. I’m not
that
bad. Here.” Her finger dips into the frosting, then slides into her mouth.

Her eyes close through a moan.

Jesus fuck.

I press a hand to the front of my shorts.

When was the last time I got hard in a matter of seconds? When I was eleven and I saw my first pair of tits? I’m normally way more disciplined than this juvenile display I’m exhibiting, but shit if that isn’t the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard in my life.

She pulls her finger from her mouth. Our eyes lock. Saliva pools on my tongue, and I force a swallow before I actually start to drool.

“See? Can’t be poisoned now, can it?”

I smile, and her eyes quickly dart to my mouth. “I suppose not.”

She allows me to take the box. I close the lid and study the logo.

“Thank you. I’ll enjoy these later.”

“I’d like to enjoy you now.”

My eyes widen. I nod in the direction behind her. “Don’t you need to be getting back to work?”

She shrugs. “I can spare a few minutes.”

“A few minutes? You wound me, Brooke. Give a guy a little credit, yeah?”

A grin twists across her mouth.
Christ, that mouth is wicked.

“Okay. How long do you need?”

“With you?” I slowly move my eyes over her body.

This is the first time I’m really appreciating every gorgeous inch of her. The swell of her breasts, the black material of her top stretching, barely confining, and in the end, making me ache with a need I’m not sure I’ve ever felt. The gentle curve of her hips I want to splay my hands across, then move over, grip, and dig my fingers into. She’s shapely and soft. Delicate and dangerous.

How long do I need? I could look at her for a lifetime.

“Mason.”

My eyes re-focus on her face, the amusement in her eyes. “Mm?”

Shit, how long was I staring? Who’s the wolf now?

“Hey, Brooke!”

A voice cutting across the street jolts my attention off her. Brooke turns her head. I lift mine to see a man holding the bakery door open, leaning his head out. He doesn’t look too pleased.

“Hurry up already. You’ve got that birthday cake to work on today, remember? It’s getting picked up at ten and Dylan is swamped.”

“Shit,” Brooke mutters. She spins back around. “Sorry. My few minutes are up.”

Damn. She needs to get back. I have a ton of shit to do myself, but I’m not done with this one. Not by a long shot.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask.

“Why?”

“I have my first class at seven. I’d love to see you.”

Her arms cross over her chest. She tilts her head with a smirk. “Private class?”

I frown, then glance back at the sign. “Honestly, I hope not. If this is going to work out for me, I’m going to need a good amount of interest. I handed out a bunch of fliers this weekend.” I turn back to her. “Do you think it’s too much to expect at least a handful of bodies on my first go?”

Not that I wouldn’t mind having a one-on-one session with Brooke, but I do have a lot riding on this. There is no back-up plan.

“You personally handed out these fliers to women in Chicago?”

I nod. “And men.”

I spent my entire Saturday going in and out of shops at the mall, standing outside of the local market like a bum seeking a hand-out. The women I talked to seemed at least partially intrigued. The men, not so much.

I had several papers crumpled up and tossed into the rubbish bin directly beside me, while I watched.

She runs her gaze down my body, then slowly back up. Her eyes, dark and mischievous. “I don’t think you’re going to have much of a problem packing the house.”