“I’ll take a dozen cupcakes.”
I swallowed hard. I think I’d only sold a dozen bakery items this entire day so far, and it was late in the afternoon—nearly closing time. Logan was about to singlehandedly double my daily sales, and it was all I could do not to let out a small whoop of relief. Maybe I’d actually break even today.
“Uh, sure. Of course,” I tried not to stammer and failed miserably. “Which, uh, ones would you like?”
He flashed me that bright white smile again, and I felt a strange, fluttering sensation in my stomach. This guy was hot. I was obliged to hate him because of who he was, but damn. I couldn’t keep my whole body from feeling like it was going up in flames when he grinned at me. Too bad he was an Evans and off limits. He would have been the perfect man for a quick summer fling. I’d been wishing for a handsome tourist to waltz in here, eat my cupcakes, sweep me off my feet, and take my V-card already. I was twenty-five years old, and I was starting to feel like it was never going to happen for me. Sure, there were plenty of local boys who would have been happy to help me out, but I didn’t want to sleep with a guy just because he was there. I wanted my first time to be special. Magical. Romantic. The local boys all felt entitled to me just because I was a local. None of them ever treated me like I was special. None of them had ever sparked desire in me like Logan had done in a matter of minutes. I could feel myself starting to go wet between my legs, and it was all I could do to focus on what he was saying. He might be handsome, and I was sure he knew all the tricks to making a woman feel special. But nothing he’d done had implied he had any interest in me beyond my cupcakes. Besides, he was the enemy.
Why was it so hard to keep reminding myself of that when I looked into those baby blues of his?
“Why don’t you choose for me?” The sound of his voice brought me out of my muddled thoughts.
“Choose what for you?” I asked like an idiot.
“The cupcakes. You know better than I do which ones are best. Pick a dozen for me.”
“Oh, right. The cupcakes. Of course.” I felt my face turning hot, and I was sure it was bright red. I ducked behind the pastry case to hide, and wondered why it was so hard to get a grip around him. I found myself feeling irrationally angry at him. Who did he think he was, coming into my shop and acting all nonchalant and friendly, like his resort hadn’t been the bane of my town’s existence my entire life? I decided then and there to choose the most expensive cupcakes possible. I had a few “premium” flavors that involved extra ingredients like fresh fruit fillings, crème centers, or liquor enhanced frosting. He was going to get the priciest cupcakes I had on offer. That’s what he got for being a billionaire asshole.
“Anything else?” I asked, as I popped back up from behind the pastry case, feeling much more in control of the situation than I had a minute ago. He wasn’t even watching me anymore, though. He had wandered over to the old-fashioned jukebox I had installed in one corner of the café, and was flipping through the songs with interest.
“I’ll take a large coffee, too,” he called back without turning away from the jukebox.
“Just a drip coffee? Or do you want a latte or something like that?”
“Just drip. I’m a simple guy.”
I rolled my eyes behind his back. Yeah, right. The billionaire was a simple guy. I thought for a moment about trying to upsell him to at least an Americano, but then decided not to bother. He hadn’t seemed to care about the cupcake flavors, but he obviously had strong opinions about his coffee, and I didn’t want to push him too far.
“Alright, it’ll be just a minute. I’ll need to make a fresh pot.” The coffee on the burner right now had been there for about three hours. As much as I disliked the Evans family and their resort, I wasn’t about to serve Logan hours old coffee. I did have some pride in my work, after all.
“No problem. Take your time.” He was pulling out his wallet to buy some song credits on the jukebox, and I found myself curious as to what his taste in music would be. My guess would be something a little angst-ridden or edgy. He probably liked to claim he was a bit of a bad boy, when really he was just a nerd hiding behind all his money.
To my surprise, a few moments later the room filled with the sounds of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” I couldn’t help turning to give him a confused look, which he didn’t notice because he was still peering at the jukebox’s screen.
“Um, did you hit the wrong button?” I asked. That could not possibly be the song he meant to play.
“Nope. I know it’s June, but I love Christmas music. I just bought three hours worth of it.”
My jaw dropped. “Three hours worth? You realize this café closes in an hour? If you were planning to sit here for three hours and eat all dozen of these cupcakes in one sitting, you probably should have come in a bit earlier.”
He turned around and flashed that irresistible smile again. “Oh, no. I’m not going to stay. I have to get over to the resort to take care of some business. But I thought I’d leave you with a little holiday cheer.”
He winked at me, and I felt my stomach fluttering once again. I was sure he could read my feelings on my face, and I coughed and turned around to try to cover up the fact that he was melting me from the inside out.
“Um, of course. Whatever you say. There’s nothing like a little holiday cheer in the middle of June.” I started pouring him a giant to-go cup of coffee. This guy was weird. And yet he made me feel funny, delightful things that I had never felt before. The sooner I got him out of my café, the better.
He walked back up to the counter, still holding the credit card he’d used to buy three hours worth of song credits on the jukebox. “Here. I’ll pay and get out of your hair so you can start closing up shop. My limo driver is probably wondering what happened to me by this point anyway.”
I took the card he handed me, and gawked at how heavy it was. It felt almost like it was made out of real metal. One glance down at it told me it was a black American Express. I tried not to look shocked, but I couldn’t help it. I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open wider than it ever had. Like a total klutz, I dropped the card, and it clanged loudly on the counter.
Horribly embarrassed, I rushed to grab it up again, but he was already reaching for the card to hand it back to me like a gentleman. His hand brushed against mine and I felt like electric sparks had suddenly filled the air. The fluttering in my stomach was now a full blown hurricane, and I found myself struggling to breathe normally. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was this man affecting me like this?
Hurriedly, I pulled my hand away, gripping the card firmly so that I wouldn’t drop it again. I swiped the card before I even bothered to tell him the total, then I winced when I realized how much he’d just spent on cupcakes. Each of the premium flavors I’d chosen for him cost five dollars or more, so the total for his dozen cupcakes, plus his extra large drip coffee, came to seventy-five dollars. I handed him the receipt to sign and braced myself, waiting for him to yell at me that I must have overcharged him, because why else would he be paying the better part of a hundred dollars for a box of cupcakes.
But he didn’t even glance at the total. He just scribbled his name across the bottom of the receipt, took his card back from me, and started fishing in his wallet for something else. A moment later, he pulled out a handful of cash and dropped it in the tip jar without even looking at how much it was. He slipped his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, grabbed his box of cupcakes and his coffee cup, and winked at me again before heading out the front door of the café just as the sounds of “Santa Baby” started filling the room.
For a good three minutes, at least, I don’t think I moved an inch. I just stared at the door where he had been moments before, and allowed myself to daydream about what it would be like to lose my virginity to a man as rich and handsome as Logan Evans.
When the song once again switched, this time to “Jingle Bells,” I forced myself to face reality. I turned to begin cleaning up
what little there was to clean behind the front counter. I was definitely ready to close up shop and go home. No way was I going to hang around here for three more hours, listening to Christmas music and thinking about the strange yet seductive man who had made such a ridiculous playlist on a hot, steamy June afternoon.
Especially when that man, for all his charms, was one of the biggest enemies of everyone I knew and loved.
Chapter Three
* JULIA *
The sound of the bell jingling above the door caught my attention, and I glanced up, half-expecting it to be Logan coming back once more. In my fantasy, he would rush in, demand that I join him in his limo, and then take me down to the beach where he would find a secluded spot to make love to me in the sand. It was, admittedly, a ridiculous fantasy, and one I would never allow to happen. I couldn’t imagine what everyone in town would say if they saw me with an Evans boy. But somehow I couldn’t keep the fantasy from playing over and over in my head. My panties were soaking wet, and I could feel my nipples, hard and erect, as they pressed against my bra underneath my “Conch Shell Café” t-shirt.
I looked up guiltily as the door opened, ready to tell whomever it was that I was closed for the day. I’d already closed down my cash register and cleaned everything up, and I wasn’t interested in redoing all of that work just to sell one more measly pastry. But when I looked up, I saw that it was my best friend Megan who had just walked in. She was excitedly waving a piece of paper above her head, but she froze and stared at the jukebox when she realized that it was playing Christmas music.
“What in the world, Jules,” she said, looking back at me like I’d lost my mind. “You realize it’s June, right?”
I sighed. “Yeah. The jukebox wasn’t me. I had a, um, very interesting customer today.”
She arched an eyebrow at me. “Do tell. And can I have one of the leftover cupcakes?”
I nodded. “Come pick out whatever you’d like. But first do me a favor and lock the front door.”
She grinned and latched the deadbolt on my front door before coming around the front counter and peering into the pastry case. She had just picked out a strawberry cupcake with champagne frosting when the soft padding of doggy footsteps could be heard coming from the back room.
I looked over to see my chocolate Lab shuffling his way through the door. He moved slowly and was obviously in pain, but he’d heard Megan out here, and nothing was going to keep him from coming out to say hello to her.
“Decaf!” Megan squealed.
My heart broke as Decaf began wagging his tail exuberantly, just like he was a young, healthy puppy once again. His name had originally been a joke. He’d had so much energy a few years ago that calling him Decaf was funny. As a puppy, he’d been more like a triple shot of espresso than a cup of decaf. I’d teasingly called him Decaf one day and the name had stuck. Now, sadly, the name fit. He was still fairly young, but due to horrible hip dysplasia, he could hardly walk. He needed surgery badly, but the cost was so far out of reach for me that some days it felt like it might as well have been a million dollars. How was I supposed to pay for Decaf’s surgery when I could barely pay to keep the lights on in the café? With a pang of jealousy, I thought of Logan and his black American Express. I imagined what it would feel like to be able to just swipe that card whenever you needed anything. Must be nice.
Thinking of Logan reminded me of the tip jar, and I reached over to pull it toward me, dumping its contents on the counter. There were a handful of ones crumpled at the bottom, but I set them aside and reached for the wad of cash that Logan had thrown in. With hands that were trembling for no good reason, I started unrolling the wad.
To my left, Megan was crooning at Decaf. “How’s my favorite wittle puppy? Hmm? Your hips hurt, I know baby. Here, this will help you feel better.” She broke off a chunk of her cupcake and handed it to him, which only made his tail wag even faster.
“Megan!” I yelped, exasperated. “You can’t feed him cupcakes. He’s going to be sick on top of having hip pain!”
Megan shrugged, not looking like she felt even the least big guilty. “He has to eat, poor thing.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to see what Logan had left me in tips. To my shock, there were several twenties and even a fifty. It all amounted up to one hundred and ten dollars. I stared dumbly down at the bills, feeling another pang of jealousy, and a vague sensation of anger. How come he got to prance around town throwing around a hundred dollars like it was nothing? Part of me wanted to march the money down to the resort, demand to see him, and throw it in his face—yelling at him that I didn’t need his money that he’d earned by exploiting our island’s local economy.
But a bigger part of me knew that I was, sadly, way too desperate for cash to throw away a hundred and ten dollars. With a weary sigh, I started gathering up the bills as I turned back toward Megan.
“What was with the paper you were waving around when you walked in?” I asked. “It looked like you were excited to tell me something.”
“Oh!” she yelped, as though just remembering. She reached to the top of the display case to grab the paper from where she’d set it down while she was getting a cupcake. But before she could show me the paper, her gaze fell on the tip money spread across the counter and her eyes bugged out.
“Damn, girl. That’s not your tip money, is it?”
I blushed. “Uh, yeah. This was also thanks to my interesting visitor.” I took a deep breath, and then told her the story of Logan’s visit from start to finish—conveniently leaving out the parts about how his good looks drove me wild despite myself. I shared almost everything with Megan, but I wasn’t quite ready to tell her that I had a crush on Driftwood Island’s public enemy number one. Or maybe public enemy number two. After all, Zach was the better known Evans boy around here. He probably took the number one spot. Somehow, though, I didn’t think that would matter if I was spotted with Logan. Everyone would still hate me, even if Logan wasn’t technically Zach.
“Wow,” Megan said, hopping up to sit on the counter behind me as she considered everything I’d just told her. Her brow furrowed into a worried crease. “I hope he wasn’t here to try to scope out your café and figure out a way to put it out of business.”
My heart sank. I’d been so caught up in the rush of talking to a billionaire and selling him a dozen overpriced cupcakes that I hadn’t thought much about why a man like him would randomly show up at my café. But Megan was right. Zach was known for sneaky tactics like trying to convince local businesses to fold and let him buy them out. Rumor had it that Zach would double the price he was willing to pay for a business if the business owner agreed to put in a favorable word with Driftwood Island’s city council, recommending that the Evans resort be allowed to expand. So far no one had taken Zach up on the offer, but that didn’t mean Zach had stopped trying. Why would Logan be any different?
My chest burned with anger, and I shoved the tip money back into the jar. “I don’t know why he was here, but he certainly knows how to be obnoxious. I mean, who puts three hours worth of Christmas music on a jukebox in the middle of June?”
Megan shook her head. “The Evans’ boys are weird. I’d heard that Zach had a twin, but I don’t think Logan has ever bothered to come out here before. Maybe Zach thought that sending someone different to do the resort’s dirty work might move things along faster.
“Maybe.” I scowled at the tip jar, wishing more than ever that I didn’t need that hundred-plus dollars so I could go throw it in Logan’s face. Not that it would matter, anyway. Logan would probably just laugh at me and tell me his resort was going to expand whether or not I wanted to keep his hundred dollars. The only satisfaction I could feel when I thought about the Evans brothers was the knowledge that thus far, at least, they had not been allowed to grow their resort. The city council had been adamant about protecting most of Driftwood Island’s beaches from being developed, and even a couple of billionaires hadn’t been able to change their minds.
“Here, this will cheer you up,” Megan said, handing me the paper she’d been carrying when she walked into the café. “It might be a way for you to get the money you need for Decaf’s surgery.”
Decaf’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, and I reached down to scratch his head. I wanted to reassure him that I’d find a way to pay for his surgery and help him feel better, no matter what, but the truth was I was beginning to lose hope. I glanced down at the paper, not daring to believe that it would actually be anything useful.
It was a flyer for the Driftwood Island Summer Fair that was held at the end of June every year. The event had grown in popularity over the years, and had become one of the few local events that actually drew a small tourist crowd. Every year, dozens of booths offering games, food, drinks, and artwork enticed hundreds of tourists to come spend their money on something other than the resort’s overpriced cocktails. Old-fashioned fun like potato sack races and a dunking booth seemed to entertain even the most skeptical of island visitors, and things tended to get pretty rowdy on the dance floor, where local bands played live music. The Summer Fair offered a huge boost to the local economy every year, and I had already been hoping that I might make enough there to somehow scrape up the funds for Decaf’s surgery. I knew it was a long shot, but I couldn’t keep myself from daydreaming about the possibility of making thousands of dollars in revenue if I sold enough cupcakes and coffee from my Conch Shell Café Booth.
“I already know about the fair,” I said, frowning as I scanned the flyer advertising “fun, sun, and food.” Jeez, could our city council have come up with a blander marketing slogan?
“I know you know about the fair itself, Silly,” Megan said. “But did you see the new contest event they’re advertising this year?”
I glanced to the bottom right corner of the page, where the city council had listed the contests that were held every year. First place prizes were one thousand dollars, second place prizes were five hundred dollars, and third place prizes were two-hundred and fifty dollars. I knew about the contests, but none of them had ever been anything I had any hope of winning in the past. There was typically a dance-off, an island costume contest, a hot dog eating contest, and a pig racing contest, which was sort of bizarre since not many people on Driftwood Island actually owned pigs. The same guy won the pig races every year, which made me think the city council held the event as some sort of inside favor for him, just so he could collect the prize money.
Craving Him: A Billionaire Beach Island Romance (Billionaires of Driftwood Island Book 1) Page 2
