The Wicked Bad (Crimson Romance) (2 page)

“I was on a stakeout. I told you,” Tyler grumbled. “Now you sound like a wife.”

“You know Mom is heartbroken. Last time we spoke she asked if you were seeing anyone serious. She’s dying for beautiful, blond grandchildren, Ty.”

“So, go ahead. Give her some,” Tyler snapped.

“I touched a nerve. Sorry, Ty. Come on, let’s go in and do an assessment. You can help me finalize my list of what products I’ll be selling. I’ll be starting with a just a few things, french bread, parker house rolls — ”

“Cinnamon buns?” Tyler’s face brightened. “Damn, you make the best cinnamon buns!”

Veronica laughed. She’d missed Tyler. Gone from Rockland, how many years? Wow, almost ten years except for a few visits and the funeral.

She missed her father deeply. How she would’ve loved to have him here helping, giving advice and hugs. Teagan Barnes had been a strapping, handsome man who hadn’t been sick a day in his life until a heart attack took him away. His sudden death devastated them all, especially her mother. Veronica lifted her chin in determination. A new beginning, she was due.

Veronica sat back in her chair tapping her pen nervously against her cheek. The grand opening was tomorrow and she still hadn’t found anyone to hire. After interviewing eight people, she had found none suitable. She didn’t want some gum snapping, surly teen, or the older woman who did nothing but complain about her creaking and aching hips. She had one more interview. If they had a pulse they were hired, at least temporarily. She thought people were looking for work with the downturn in the economy. Maybe she was crazy for trying to start a business in this unstable environment. She’d just finished forming that thought when a young woman walked through the door. She stood before Veronica and smiled broadly.

“I’m your eleven
A.M.
”

“You’re hired.”

The woman laughed. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Veronica looked down at the application. Julie Denison. She glanced back at the woman, must be about her own age.

“Sorry, no. I haven’t lived here for ten years, I’m afraid I’m terrible with faces and even worse with names.”

“You once came to my rescue. In high school, Penny Winters was teasing me mercilessly. You stood up to her when no one else would,” Julie said quietly.

Of course, Julie had weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds in high school, no wonder she didn’t recognize her. The curvy woman standing in front of her now was a far cry from the morose, overweight teen of their high school years.

“I know I look different. It took a couple of years of hard work, dieting, exercise, and it’s a daily damned struggle to keep it off, but I’m doing it.”

“Ah, then why work in a bakery? Won’t the temptation — you know, cookies and cakes. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Julie, you look great. I admire the fortitude it took to achieve your goal.” Veronica smiled sheepishly.

“Working here will keep me on the straight and narrow, much like an ex-alcoholic working at a bar. Plus, I figured you could use some help. I ran into Tyler downtown two days ago. I’m in between jobs. I need the work, Ronnie.”

“As I said, you’re hired. I’ll be using you to help the customers, watch the inventory, and let me know what’s getting low. I’ll be doing the baking. Can you start right away, like tomorrow?”

Julie slammed down her purse on the counter. “I can start now.”

Veronica nodded. Things were looking up.

• • •

Grand opening day arrived, and her idea of distributing flyers seemed to have worked as they had a steady stream of customers. Julie handled the customers well,
‘Four years working at the Food Lion!’
Already they worked like a well-oiled machine. The cookies were selling like hotcakes,
‘little bakery joke’
Veronica laughed to Julie, especially the chocolate chip oatmeal with pecans. Veronica stayed in the back furiously mixing up another six dozen when she glanced at the clock, almost lunchtime. She had to cover Julie’s hour break. Glancing in the mirror, the reflection showed a sweaty mess. Her long, wavy hair was tucked haphazardly under a plastic cap with a few loose strands hanging in her face.

Stepping into the bathroom, she washed up, removed the cap, and straightened her hair. Taking off her industrial apron, she strode into the shop.
Five customers, excellent.
Julie reached under the counter for her purse.

“I’m going to Jake Spooner’s diner for a chicken salad plate. Can I bring you anything back? I know you won’t take a break.”

“Actually, a chicken salad plate sounds wonderful. And an iced tea extra-large, no sugar.” She pressed a twenty into Julie’s hand. “Lunch is on me today. You sit and enjoy your break.”

“Thanks, boss. Oh, down to two dozen cloverleaf rolls, they’re a big seller.”

Veronica nodded. “I’ll be sure to make more tomorrow. Go to lunch.”

Julie waved as she walked out the door. Veronica exhaled and then glanced around the store.

Her own business. Her own bakery. How long had she dreamed of this? Since her teens when she found she could whip up bread and rolls better than her Granny Jennie. There was nothing like running your hands through the dough, kneading and creating. She received more satisfaction in one day with her own bakery than she did all eight years at Byant Consulting. Yes, it would be hard work, but she reveled in it.

After ringing up an order, Veronica heard the door bang open. She glanced quickly and observed a man wearing motorcycle boots marking up her newly varnished and polished wood floors. What was that knuckle dragger doing in her bakery? She had to wait on someone else and never got a chance to look much beyond the scuffed boots, but she could hear the big ape lurching about her bakery. He clomped about the place. Her face flushed in annoyance. The man couldn’t stand still. He walked from one end of the bakery to the other. She had the feeling he stole glances at her, but every time she looked up all she could see was his broad shouldered back.

Veronica hoped the biker would make his selection quick and get the hell out of her place. Not the type of customer she wished to have.

• • •

Nick’s restless gaze moved toward Ronnie Barnes. Damn, she appeared more beautiful than his heated, lascivious dreams had conjured. He felt like a smitten teenaged fool, which he chalked up to lingering hormones, but now he wondered. However, his heart was firmly folded in a lockbox under his bed and that’s where it would damn well stay.

His thoughts wandered as he stared at the bread display. Nick loved all things classic whether it was fine wines, imported beers, or classic rock from the Sixties and Seventies. He also loved the classic figure on a woman. Curves — something to hold on to. He couldn’t abide those skinny twigs with their collar bones sticking out. He hated holding a woman close, his hand trailing down her back and all he could feel was her spine. Nick liked a little meat on the bone, and loved to hold a handful of plump, succulent breast. Even in high school, Ronnie filled his ideal of the perfect figure. Standing at five feet six, she was tall enough to wrap those shapely legs around his waist as he slid his hands over that fantastic ass and pumped into her against the bakery wall. Great, he stood in a bakery with a raging hard-on. His obvious bulge would be enough to scare the old women. He should’ve worn his jacket, but it was too hot out. His cock ached and throbbed. The leather pants hid nothing. He was determined he’d talk to her today even if it killed him, and at this rate it would.

He glanced down at a display of whole wheat rolls.
What do I know or care about fresh, friggin’ bread?
He breathed deeply. He had to admit it smelled good. All of it.

“Can I help you?” The soft, feminine voice asked.

The voice had an edge, like his presence annoyed her. He held his breath and turned to face her.

• • •

Veronica gasped. This man was the furthest thing from a knuckle dragging Neanderthal. She glanced up, he was so — tall. He had to be four or five inches over six feet. His skin had a dusky, golden color. His amber eyes glittered with a shade of gold that couldn’t be real. His hair was dark golden-brown with highlights of different subtle shades of auburn. Not too long, but not too short, layered, thick and glorious and it curled at the nape of his neck.

A tiger. He reminded her of a tiger with the eyes and his coloring. He had the sleekness and the power.

He sported a close-cropped goatee, a darker brown than his hair with flecks of gold mixed in. The man was handsome with a breathtaking ruggedness mixed in. Even William Titus hadn’t been this blatantly male. This guy oozed virility and sensual confidence.

Her gaze could not stop from moving downward. He wore a tight, black, sleeveless T-shirt which hugged every muscled, ripped plane. Black leather pants caressed his muscular thighs and — her head snapped back up — he had a package that could win a first place blue ribbon on one of those bulge websites, not that she ever visited them. Veronica shook her head to clear such thoughts and forced herself to look at his face again. Why did he look so familiar?

A trace of heat traveled though her as she stared at him. Veronica observed his eyes darken, with interest? Surely, she was mistaken. She licked her lips as they had gone dry, but not her thighs; they were a raging river in the early spring thaw. She placed her hands behind her and clasped them tightly for they’d started to shake.

“Hi,” he murmured huskily.

Oh, god. Of course he would have the deep, let’s-go-to-bed, crushed velvet voice to go with the killer, sinful body and face. Dressed as a biker of all things.

“I knew you in high school, well, knew
of
you — ” he said.

Her eyes widened in recognition. Veronica was lousy with names and faces, but not his.
Nick Crocetti.
She remembered Nick stood around the hallways at Rockland High, muscular arms crossed with a surly look on his face. He’d never spoke to anyone that she could recall. They didn’t have any classes together as he was in the program for the gear heads. Oh, yikes, how terrible, but it was what the people in the vocational courses were referred to. Back then she’d noticed him, how could you not? He’d been big and imposing with a presence you could hardly ignore. He still did. He filled her store with his obvious masculinity. This man was a walking sex bomb.

“Nick Crocetti?” she questioned softly.

He seemed genuinely surprised she remembered him.

“Yeah, and you’re Veronica Barnes. Hi.”

Her throat closed over. Never in her life did she have such an immediate reaction to a man like this. All she wanted to do was throw him to the floor and crawl all over his tall, muscled frame. Taste his golden skin. Kiss those full lips. Grind her very core into his huge bulge. Oh, wow! She felt her face flame hot.

“Are — are you here to buy some of my baked goods?”

Nick reached out and gently brushed something off her cheek with his thumb. She gasped. The slight touch seemed to affect him as it did her, for his hand trembled briefly.

“Flour,” he said so quietly she could barely hear him.

“Married?” he mumbled in a louder voice.

“Divorced,” she replied. “Some quickie, Vegas mistake.”

“This Saturday night … ” he began, his voice sounded a little stronger now.

“Yes?”

Veronica gazed up at him, a wave of hopeful anticipation rolled through her. Surprising.

“Well, I thought maybe — you and I — go out. Saturday night. Or not.”

“Go out where?”

Damn, it was like they were back in high school.

“We could go out to dinner. Or a movie. You call it.” Nick smiled.

God, his smile could light up the eastern seaboard there was so much wattage behind it. She glanced outside, spying his bike.

“Okay, dinner it is, and how about a nice, long ride on your motorcycle? I’ve never been on one.”

“Cool. I’ll pick you here at seven o’clock.”

He turned quickly and walked toward the door. Nick glared at Jake Spooner, who was on his way in carrying a foil take-out plate and a drink. Nick didn’t hold the door for him, just barreled out toward his bike. Perhaps she imagined it, but the look he gave Jake seemed territorial, as if he dared the man to make a move on her. A low, animal snarl escaped his lips as he strode outside. His growl sent a wave of heat straight between Veronica’s legs. She watched attentively as Nick climbed on his bike. He turned and looked back at them standing by the window and his eyes narrowed as he gave Jake one last dangerous stare. Nick turned the ignition, hit the kick start, and roared off.

Her hands were shaking. A date with Nick Crocetti. Back in school the girls all used to giggle, sigh, and admire his form from a distance. They even took bets on who’d walk up and speak to him, but ultimately they’d all chickened out. Nick had been that imposing and dangerous looking, which would appeal to teenage girls in spades. Hell, it appealed now. After the upright, uptight, Armani-suit-wearing William Titus, this would certainly be going the opposite end of the spectrum. Why did she agree to go out with him? Though, thinking back, William Titus turned out to be a tiger in bed. Why did she get the feeling Nick Crocetti could out-tiger William Titus in all ways? Sexy beast in bed and out of it, she imagined.

She snapped back to attention when she heard Jake Spooner clearing his throat. He smiled and held up a foil covered plate and a drink.

“Your lunch, free delivery!”

Veronica took the food from him and placed it on the counter.

“Thanks, Jake. You didn’t have to deliver it. Julie could’ve brought it back.”

Jake had been in every day since she’d started renovating. He wasn’t bad looking as such, but she really wasn’t interested in him in any way — not even as a friend.

Jake inclined his head toward the now empty parking lot. Her store was quiet for the first time all day. Figures, Jake would never leave now.

“Was that Nick Crocetti?”

Veronica took a long, satisfying slurp of iced tea.

“Yes, we went to the same high school.”