Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Her lips brush my collarbone, lazy, warm. I groan. Not on purpose. She freezes, then looks up, eyes blinking wide open and perfectly brown, a little blurry with sleep.
“Morning,” she mumbles, voice rough and adorable and instantly the hottest sound I’ve ever heard.
Fuck me. My heart skips.
I tighten my arm around her, like I’m afraid she’ll slip away. “Morning, sweetheart.” My own voice is deeper than usual, softer, which is saying something. “Sleep okay?”
She burrows in, hiding her face against my chest. “Best sleep I’ve had in… maybe ever.” The words come out muffled, shy, but I catch every one. I grin into her wild hair. “I hate having to get up, but I have to work at eight.”
I groan, tightening my grip like I can physically keep her in bed. “Call in sick. You need another hour of sleep after last night. Maybe two.”
She laughs, muffled against my chest, and the sound vibrates straight to my cock. “Tessa will kill me if I let her face the entire Saturday rush alone.”
God help me, I’d burn down Worthington Hills just to keep her here another day. “She’ll survive.”
She tips her head up, eyes all sleep-hazed and mischievous, and slaps my chest with the back of her hand. “I see how you are. Trying to corrupt a hardworking businesswoman. For shame.”
I grin, running my fingers along her back, tracing the line of her spine. “I just have a selfish streak. Especially when it comes to you.” That’s the damn truth.
She makes a little pleased noise and stretches, arching her tits right against my side. Holy hell. I can’t stomach letting her out of my sight. I’m not letting her walk out of here alone. No damn way.
She starts to roll out of bed, all soft curves and sleepy sass, but I catch her around the waist and haul her right back against my chest. “You’re not going anywhere without me,” I growl, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll walk you down.” She giggles and swats at my hands, but she’s not fooling anybody. She melts right into me for a second before finally wriggling free.
While she gets dressed, I pull on sweats and grab my laptop. If she’s spending the day hustling at Gobble Me Up, then so am I. I’ll take meetings, bang out reports, whatever the hell it takes—as long as I get to watch her run the show.
The second we hit the bakery, I stake out a table in the corner. Best seat in the house. Every time she flashes a grin or laughs with a customer, I get a straight shot of adrenaline to the chest. I can’t focus on work for shit. All I want to do is watch her. Every toss of her hair, every sassy comeback, every time she slides her hands over a tray of pastries and flashes that megawatt smile at the next customer in line. If anyone even looks at her sideways, my inner caveman threatens to leap over the counter and stake my claim right there in the middle of the bakery.
It’s honestly a miracle I get anything done.
She catches me staring at least a dozen times before noon, and each time, she just grins that slow, dangerous grin like she knows exactly what effect she’s having. Spoiler alert: she totally does.
The Saturday rush is a total circus. Worthington Hills turns out in force for the carbs and caffeine. Mrs. Jenkins from the sixth floor comes down, then three high school football players annihilate an entire tray of muffins in two minutes flat, and the next customer in line orders two dozen pumpkin muffins. While Tessa waits on them, Cydney whizzes by and slides fresh ones into the case like she’s playing a rigged game of Whack-a-Mole.
She’s a baking machine. Laughing, hustling, hips swaying, every damn motion sexy as hell. I can’t look away. Not that I’m trying. I clock every guy who even glances at her a second too long. Motherfucker, I see you. Try that again, and I’ll break your jaw with a day-old scone.
There’s almost a brawl at the counter midmorning over the last pumpkin scone, and Cydney just turns up the charm, defusing the situation like a pro. She catches me staring and winks, sending all the blood in my body straight to my cock. My erection grows steadily harder, and I have to adjust my sweats so I don’t lose circulation down there.
9
cydney
I stumble my way down to Gobble Me Up at four-fifty a.m. on Monday morning, still riding high on the kind of weekend that left me half-drunk on hormones and one hundred percent ruined for regular life.
The harsh LED over the entrance sputters as I fumble with the lock, muttering a few choice words and praying the security camera doesn’t have a microphone. I almost chip a nail before the key finally turns, and the door swings open with a hiss of air conditioning and the ghost of cinnamon from yesterday’s madness.