Authors: Jeannie Watt
LAYLA SPENT SEVERAL HOURS Thursday morning helping Sam unpack a giant order, then watched the store while her sister went on a chai tea latte run. One last Fed Ex delivery came while Sam was gone, and Layla sliced open the first box, then started checking the contents against the invoices. Body jewelry. Amusing cards. Colored condoms.
Oh, this is interesting.
She pulled out a smaller container with a picture of the device inside, something that looked very much like a space-age cat toy. Only it wasn’t. The Rocket Launcher. Apparently it must be a bestseller, since Sam had ordered ten of them.
Layla started lining the boxes up on the table in front of her and found she was one short.
She was digging deeper in the container, pulling out the packing material, when the bells on the front door jangled. Sam with the tea. And not a moment too soon, because Layla was running on empty caffeine-wise.
“We’re missing a Rocket Launcher,” she called as the footsteps stopped on the other side of the counter.
“How many do you need?” a masculine voice inquired.
Layla gave a small shriek and looked up to meet Justin’s laughing eyes.
“You scared me!” she said, pressing her hand to her chest to try and slow her racing heart.
“I’m sorry. There was no one out front.”
“I know, but most customers don’t wander into the back room.” Layla’s heart was still racing, and it was because of those damned Rocket Launchers. She and Justin and sex toys…
He picked up the box and read the back. “Guaranteed, huh?”
Layla cleared her throat. “Sam likes top-of-the-line gizmos.”
“Gizmos?” he asked, lifting one brow.
“Devices?”
He smiled, and she cocked her head with a slight frown, feeling the need to change the subject. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a cake delivery down the street at the lodge hall, saw your car and thought I’d stop by and see if there were any repercussions from our visit to the school.”
“None,” she said as she started putting the Rocket Launchers back in the larger container, practically yanking the last one out of Justin’s grasp. “But I did spend the past two days expecting a cop to show up at my door.”
Justin laughed. “Would you believe I’m very familiar with that feeling? Welcome to the dark side.” He leaned his forearms on the counter, clasped his really nice hands together. “Committed any other crimes lately?”
“I drove too fast coming over here,” she said with a tiny smile. The bells jingled again and Sam came in, carrying the tea.
“Oh, Justin. Hi.” She looked from Layla to him and back again, a huge question in her eyes, then put on her customer smile. “Are you shopping?”
“Stopped by to see Layla, but I should be going.”
“Actually, me, too,” Layla said, taking one of the cups of tea. She had chores to catch up on at home and was still working on her résumé, just in case a job appeared on the horizon. She might be searching for a new path, but she was also going to be prepared for every eventuality.
“And by the way,” she said in an aside, “you’re missing a Rocket Launcher. Only nine in the shipment.”
“I’ll call the company,” Sam replied, coming around the counter to take Layla’s place. She did not seem happy.
“What?”
Layla mouthed silently, as Justin pushed the curtains aside.
Sam made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “See you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Nine o’clock,” Layla responded.
Be prepared to give answers.
Layla and Justin headed out of the back room and toward the exit, telling herself that if she had the guts to arrive at his door unannounced and kiss him, then there was no reason she couldn’t just ask him out again. This time without unlawful entry being involved.
Just ask.
Except that it was harder than she thought. Too many years of conditioning. They were almost to the door when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and groaned when he saw the number.
“This can’t be good,” he muttered before he said hello. Then he tipped his head back and closed his eyes as if in pain. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
Layla could clearly hear a “no,” then a bunch of garbled words.
“All right, I’ll come back. Yes. Right now. Yes.” He shut the phone off and muttered. “I’m also charging you.”
“What happened?”
Justin held the door open and Layla walked out into the sunny parking lot. “They dropped something on the cake. Smashed the flowers on one side. Now I have to go do damage control.”
Layla walked with him as far as the Tremont van, doing some quick calculations in her head as to times and places, and then said, “Can I come and watch?”
He turned to her with one hand on the door handle and gave her an odd look.
Was she coming off as a pastry groupie or something? “I’ve never seen a cake rescue before,” she said coolly.
“And you want to watch the master at work?”
“Actually,” Layla said seriously, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder, “that has always been a dream of mine.”
Justin smiled briefly. “Then you’re in luck, because I like to have an audience whenever possible.” He opened the van door and jerked his head toward the interior. “Come on. Let’s go rescue a cake.”
Less than five minutes later they parked behind a lodge hall four blocks away, then went into the kitchen through the back door, Justin carrying the box of supplies he’d used an hour before to set up the cake.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here.” A plump woman in a pink dress rushed up to them, gesturing dramatically across the room. There, sitting on the counter near the refrigerator, was a multilayer cake, the flowers on one side smashed into a mess of red and pink.
“Can you save it?” Layla whispered. She was amazed that Justin had created the cake in the first place. It was three tiers high, with flowers cascading down the side and spun sugar butterflies nestled between the blossoms.
Justin’s mouth tightened as he surveyed the damage. “It’s not going to be one hundred percent.”
The woman’s hand fluttered up to her chest. “Will it be close?”
“It won’t be ugly,” he said.
With a great deal of tact and reassurance, he managed to get the woman to leave the kitchen, along with the other three people who’d popped in to see if he could work a miracle.
“You’re honestly going to fix this,” Layla said doubtfully.
“Have some faith, woman.” Then he set to work, removing the damaged flowers, resurfacing the cake with cream-colored icing, filling in the dips and dents. When he was done, he mixed red and pink frosting on a plate, loaded his piping bag with a scoop of each and started making roses with masterful precision.
Layla leaned on the counter, completely absorbed. She’d once watched him replace bearings in skateboard wheels, and he used to tinker with Eric’s old Chevy for hours, fixing things that neither twin could. But frosting? How on earth had he gotten into this line of work? And become so good at it?
“Do you ever get crap about making cakes and frosting flowers?”
“Of course,” Justin said, putting the final petals on a rose, then immediately starting another.
“Does it bother you?”
He gave a small, dismissive snort. “I’m comfortable with who I am. I like making cakes, and if you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty good at it. I don’t care what people think.”
Layla studied her clasped hands for a moment. “I guess I should try to become more like you in that regard.”
Justin’s focus remained on the cake as he said, “Perhaps so.”
Layla’s mouth flattened slightly. “If you had told me even a year ago that I would be using you as my role model, I would have laughed.”
“No…you would have laughed, but deep down you might have suspected that I wasn’t that bad of a role model.” He finished the rose and stood back to view the effect.
“Why do you say that?”
He stopped piping. “Because when we had a chance to get the hell out of that school the other night, you insisted on carrying hundred-pound boxes and risking capture.”
“They didn’t weigh a hundred pounds.”
Carrying his piping bag, he walked over to where she stood next to his equipment box. “I think you are more like me than you want to admit. There are parts of you that have been tamped down for so long they seem foreign to you.” When she didn’t answer, Justin picked up another bag, loaded it with green icing and began making leaves.
“Can you teach me to do that?”
“Only if you’re more talented than Eden. She’s the worst.”
Layla laughed and Justin smiled over at her, their gazes connecting in an intimate way that startled her. It was quite apparent to her that he had noticed.
“This is still a little strange to me,” she said, feeling the need to confess. “I never expected us to ever be…I don’t know.
Friends
doesn’t seem like the right word.”
“No,” he agreed matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t.” The way he looked at her made something stir inside her.
She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, suddenly wondering if she should have kept her mouth shut. “So what do you call the guy who keeps me from thinking about my cheating ex-boyfriend and getting fired and—” She broke off abruptly when he lifted the pastry bag and put a tiny dot of frosting on her lower lip.
“Gets you thinking about…other stuff?”
Somehow she found her breath. “Maybe a little.”
He leaned in to lick off the dot with the tip of his tongue, and her body went liquid. “I don’t know what you call that guy.”
His smile faded away as he touched her frosting-free top lip with his tongue. A tingling chill shot through her as her eyes drifted closed. She kept them shut, waiting for whatever came next.
She felt his breath on her mouth before she felt his lips. “I thought you didn’t mix business and—”
His mouth closed over hers in a hard kiss that drew a response from her toes on up. Dear heavens. He backed her against the counter as he deepened the kiss.
When he finally raised his head, Layla’s chest rose and fell heavily as she drew in a deep breath and exhaled. Heaving bosom. Compliments of Justin Tremont.
“Oh, you’re done!” The pink lady bustled into the room, followed by two other ladies, one dressed in green, one in blue. They looked a bit like the three fairies in the
Sleeping Beauty
movie.
“Not quite,” Justin said, his eyes on Layla.
She focused on the women, wondering how much they’d seen, and telling herself it really didn’t matter. So she was making out with their pastry chef. Big deal.
But parts of her body were saying it was a very big deal. Justin was one hot chef.
AS LAYLA STEPPED AWAY from him, Justin knew he had to be careful—and not because he’d just shocked the hell out of his clients, who were pretending they hadn’t just witnessed the end of a major lip-lock as they
oohed
and
ahhed
over the cake.
Frankly, he was glad they’d come in when they did.
The plan had been to treat Layla like any other woman he was attracted to. Ask her out a few times, give himself something to think about, and more than that, to give Eden something else to think about. And so far, so good. No—so far,
too
good.
He shifted slightly in an effort to adjust himself.
The ladies stayed in the kitchen, either to guard the cake or to make certain there was no more hanky-panky, as Justin rinsed and then packed his tools. Layla stood to the side, waiting for him to finish, but she was close enough that he could still smell her perfume. It made him want to lean closer to her. Close his eyes. Bury his nose in the hollow of her neck and simply inhale.
That worried him.
But why? After all, she’d made it clear that she was only looking for fun, that serious wasn’t in the game plan. Exactly his kind of woman. Except that kissing Layla felt different than kissing other women. Also, because he knew for a fact that he’d eventually walk away, it also felt a hell of a lot as though he was using her to stop himself from fixating on his child.
He didn’t like that feeling one bit.
LAYLA HAD NO IDEA what to expect when they left the lodge hall fifteen minutes later, but it wasn’t Justin saying, “I’ll drop you at your car. I have to get back to the kitchen.”
“Sure.” She sounded wonderfully unconcerned, but her body was still dealing with the aftermath of the frosting kiss. The heat of his mouth on hers…the promise of how much more he had to offer. Talk about an excellent distraction. Why waste time worrying about the future when she had the promise of hot sex?
And a little hot sex would take the sting out of Robert’s assessment of her tight-assed abilities.