Icing on the Cake (Wild Wedding Series Book 2)

by Ann Marie Walker

  “So why the change from calculators to rolling pins?” he asked, keeping the conversation and his attention focused on her.

  Cassie stared out across the lake. “I guess what it really boils down to is I didn’t feel like I was living my life.”

  “Then why go into accounting in the first place? I mean this in the nicest way possible, but your personality seems far from that of a number cruncher.”

  She shrugged. “I was good at math so everyone said ‘you should be an accountant’ and I guess I just went along. But it wasn’t my life, not really, just some cookie-cutter path that seemed to make sense to everyone else. It’s like from the moment we’re born our whole life is planned out. Go to preschool to learn not to eat the paste, then kindergarten to learn how to play nice, then grade school to study hard so you get placed in all the top classes in high school, so you can get into the right college, so you can get a job at a high-profile firm.” She sighed. “There’s so many external factors. It’s like no one ever stops to ask themselves what it is they actually want. We just ride along on the conveyor belt.”

  Hank was quiet for several long beats. In her own chatterbox way, Cassie had just described his life in a nutshell. The circumstances might have been different, but the result was the same: a pre-determined destiny.

  She turned to look at him. “You must think that sounds sort of crazy, huh? I mean, I should be grateful for the opportunities I had, not complaining that they weren’t the ones I wanted.”

  “On the contrary, I think what you’ve said is very insightful. And I find it quite remarkable that you found the fortitude to change your path. Most would simply stay the course. Far easier that way.”

  “Too bad fortitude doesn’t pay the bills,” she said with a laugh. “I’d be seriously having to consider moving back to Wisconsin if my best friend hadn’t offered to back me in a cupcake shop.”

  “Sounds like quite a friend.”

  “Olivia’s one in a million. I’m not sure Cole ever saw himself adding a bakery to his portfolio,” she added with a knowing grin. “But my guess is he didn’t stand a chance in the negotiations.”

  “Cole?”

  “Olivia’s husband, Coleman Grant.”

  “Of Grant Industries?”

  Cassie nodded. “Do you know him?”

  “Only by reputation.”

  “Dr. Douchebag,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Hank chuckled. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard before.”

  “It was the name Olivia gave him on the flight to Vegas. Of course, that was before fate, or alcohol, turned their hate into lust.”

  “I see. I’m guessing theirs were the nuptials that took place that weekend?”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Matthew told me one of the lads bit the dust in Sin City.” He laughed. “Said I should consider myself lucky to have been on another continent.”

  “You make it sound like the angel of death swooped down the Strip.”

  “Depends on your perspective.” Hank laughed at her shocked expression. “I’m taking the piss.”

  Cassie’s eyes grew the size of a tea plate.

  “It means I’m teasing you,” he explained.

  “Well, whatever angel was at work, my best friend came back from Vegas married to a billionaire and now I’m the co-owner of a new cupcake shop.”

  “And what is the name of this fine establishment?”

  “Sugar Rush.

  “Catchy.”

  “Why, thank you. Came up with it all on my own.” Her face glowed with a childlike enthusiasm. “We open in about ten weeks in this great location in the heart of Millennium Park, right next to The Bean. No telling what strings Cole had to pull to make that happen.”

  “The Bean?”

  “This enormous metal sculpture by Anish Kapoor. It’s actually called Cloud Gate, but it looks more like a giant—”

  “Bean?”

  “Exactly.” Cassie smiled. “The whole park is like tourist central. In the winter there is an ice-skating rink, so we’ll probably add hot chocolate to the menu then, but when the weather is nice the rink is an enormous patio where we can have tables for outside seating. We even ordered these cute pink-and-white-striped umbrellas. Oh, and you should see the adorable little cardboard boxes that just came in for to-go orders. They’re hot pink with a little cupcake logo printed in the corner. They will look so cute tied up with a neon green bow. All recyclable,” she added. “Olivia insisted on it, right down to the compostable forks made from plant starch.”

  “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  “Me either, but apparently being able to compost your plates and utensils right along with your food is the latest Earth-saving innovation.” She kicked off her shoes and curled her toes in the soft grass. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Olivia suggested he invest in that company too.”

  “These cupcakes must be a bit larger than the ones you were making last night then?”

  “Oh yes, definitely a size for sharing. Then again, they sort of had to be to justify the five-dollar price tag.”

  “Five quid?”

  “Yeah, at first I balked at the price, but Cole assured me the location would support it. I wasn’t sold but I can sort of justify it with all the extras I have planned.” She tucked her feet under her, and Hank could have sworn she actually did a little bounce. “I’m going to make each one have either a special topping or filling. Like raspberry inside white chocolate or cookie crumbles on top of mint chocolate chip.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious and even though Hank didn’t know the first thing about cupcakes, aside from eating them, he couldn’t help but get caught up in her excitement. “It all sounds smashing.”

  Cassie’s smile faded a bit as she grew more serious. “It’s a dream come true but it’s . . .” She seemed to search for the right word but in the end, she merely sighed and said, “It’s just a lot.”

  “Rather ironic wouldn’t you say?”

  “What is?”

  “That your stress release is now your stress.”

  “It’s different though. This is ‘good stress,’ if there can be such a thing.”

  A gentle breeze blew an auburn curl across her face. Hank reached up to tuck it behind her ear then let his fingers linger on her cheek. “Are you happy?” he asked in a quiet voice. The question surprised even him. Since when did happiness factor into life decisions? It certainly never had for him. Hank’s life was a story written long before his birth. From the moment of conception his fate was cast. His responsibilities were predetermined and non-negotiable. Aside from the pursuit of immediate gratification, happiness was irrelevant, an inconsequential emotion that he never gave much thought, not for himself and certainly not for others. But for some reason, Hank found himself hoping that the wide-eyed girl seated next to him was happy and that her new life would bring her joy.

  Cassie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. A soft crease formed between her brows, but when she spoke it relaxed and a genuine smile curved her lips. “I am, actually. I didn’t even realize just how happy I was until you asked, but for the first time in my life I’m doing exactly what I want.”

  Exactly what she wants. Hank couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. The realization alone wasn’t so shocking. After all, his entire weekend persona was a revolt, however temporary, against the lack of control he felt in his own life. But the jealousy Hank felt went deeper than a fleeting envy of a self-controlled destiny and at the moment that wasn’t the thought that gave him pause. To his surprise, it was the image of Cassie, sharing her happy life with another man that caused a sharp pain to twist somewhere deep inside his gut.

  “I just don’t want to let my friends down,” she said.

  “From what I know of Coleman Grant, he doesn’t make risky investments. And he doesn’t strike me as the type of man who would part with his money as a favor either.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she la
ughed. “Depends on what Olivia offered in the bedroom.”

  “Sexual incentive aside, the venture is sound. He and Olivia believe in you.” He paused then added a quiet, “And so do I.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  That was partly true, but he knew enough. “You’re the perfect combination,” he said. “You have the business experience to manage the ledger, and the taste of your sweets are enough to bring a man to his knees.”

  “Are we still talking about baked goods?” Her voice had gone all breathy and seductive and he knew without a doubt that she was thinking about their time in the confessional. But as he looked at her, sitting on the banks of a small-town pond, with her bare feet and her quick smile and her eyes shining in the moonlight putting all the stars to shame, thoughts of their time in the confessional were the farthest thing from his mind.

  Because while that experience had been undeniably erotic, he found himself in the mood for something more. He knew his vixen still lay in wait for him to draw her out, and while he relished the thought and fully intended to take that journey with her, in that moment he simply wanted Cassie, all soft and sweet and wide-eyed innocence. He didn’t want a quick roll in the hay or anywhere else for that matter. He wanted to take his time, to enjoy every moment. He wanted to learn her body, to discover what made her shiver and what made her moan, and when he’d traced every contour and curve, come back for seconds and thirds until she was a quivering mess beneath his fingers, lips, and tongue.

  Hank dipped his head, but instead of kissing her he hovered a breath away, studying her and memorizing every detail, because in all his life he didn’t think he’d seen anyone more beautiful. When he finally brushed his lips against hers he did it slowly, gently, taking just a taste before coming back for more. This was different than the night before. They’d barely known each other then, and even though on so many levels that was still true, there was an undeniable connection building between them that was so much more than a fling.

  She reached up, cupping the back of his neck to draw him closer, but it wasn’t enough. He needed her skin touching his. Lowering them to the grass he rolled her beneath him, his erection pressing hard against her soft flesh and making her gasp.

  “I thought you were going to be impotent for weeks?” she teased.

  He smiled against her lips. “Seems I’ve found the inspiration to heal what ails me.” As he said the words, he knew in his heart that they were true, in more ways than one.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hank reached across the soft cotton sheets in search of something softer. But instead of finding warm curves, his hand found nothing but empty space.

  What the . . .

  He bolted upright, a sense of dread filling his gut. Surely, she hadn’t vanished again? He blinked as he took in his surroundings. The door to the loo stood open, with no sounds of running water coming from inside. In fact, the room was completely silent except for the distant chirping of a few birds. Clothing was strewn across the room just as they’d left it the night before, but as the sleep cleared from his eyes Hank realized that the only items he saw belonged to him. Everything Cassie had been wearing was gone.

  Fucking hell.

  He flung the duvet back, sending a piece of paper fluttering into the air. He waited for it to float to the ground, then bent to pick it up.

  COULDN’T SLEEP.

  WENT TO THE BAKERY TO FINISH UP.

  She hadn’t run off, at least not yet. Hank sat back down on the bed, exhaling on a heavy breath as a sense of relief washed over him. Deep down he knew it was only temporary. All bets would be off once Cassie knew the truth, something that would likely result in a resounding slap to the face; and, if Matthew was right, potential damage to the family jewels— and not the ones locked away in the palace. Then again, perhaps if she got to know him a bit better she’d understand why he’d been so keen to have a weekend away from his daily life. Perhaps she’d forgive his deception and allow him to reintroduce himself with no pretense. Of course, there was always the chance that his real identity would be a negative. While it was true that most women would sell their soul for a chance to wear a diamond tiara, there were the rare exceptions who were not only unimpressed, but uninterested. The more he got to know Cassie, the more she seemed like the latter. Was it possible she’d see past the gilded baggage to the man beneath the crown? Was it too much to hope that she’d realize he was more Hank than Henry?

  He didn’t have long to convince her. With each passing hour his day of reckoning grew closer. Hank glanced at the antique alarm clock on the bedside table. Six fifteen. Christ, that was early. For the life of him he couldn’t remember the last time he was up at that hour. Unless of course you counted nights he’d yet to be to bed, but that was a different story.

  He pushed his hands through his hair. Time might have been running out, but for today at least, he was still Hank Green. And he intended to make the most of it.

  Hank grabbed a pair of jeans and a plaid button-down shirt out of his bag. A shower would have to wait until he’d sorted things out with Cassie, which meant the University of Georgia baseball cap would be making another appearance. Once dressed, he hurried down the wooden stairs that hugged the back of the bed and breakfast, stopping short when he spotted Cassie in the kitchen of the bakery. The sight of her, leaning over the counter with her hair twisted into a cascade of curls and a smudge of flour on the tip of her nose, calmed and centered him, like her very presence meant all was right with the world. It was ridiculous really. She’d hardly been gone any time at all. And she’d left a note telling him exactly where she was. So why was he so damn relieved to find her?

  As anxious as he was to go to her, he paused, taking a moment to let his mind catalog every detail of a scene he knew he would recall countless times in the days and weeks to come. She was wearing blue jeans again—this time paired with a white tank beneath the red eyelet- trimmed apron—and the same ridiculous shoes with the tiny hearts. But without a doubt, she looked even more beautiful than she had the first time he’d watched her through the shop’s windows. Because now he knew the woman behind the quick smile and sparkling eyes, intimately as a matter of fact. But instead of lessening the desire he’d felt that first night, his time with Cassie had only caused his need to grow, which was why he couldn’t spend even one more second on the opposite side of the door.

  “Good morning,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen.

  She looked up and smiled, and just like that he was gone.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I take it you found my note?”

  “Yes, although I’m beginning to wonder what it will take to properly wear you out. I’d have thought three orgasms would have ensured the sleep of the dead, but apparently nothing stands between a beautiful pastry chef and her rolling pin.” Hank glanced around the room where literally every inch of available counter space was covered with confections. “I thought you were just going to ‘finish up’?” he asked, quoting her note back to her.

  “I did.” She smiled a sheepish grin. “But then I started a bit more.”

  “You are the master of understatement, luv.”

  “Nervous energy I guess. I get anxious before events.”

  “Kitchen stage fright?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Hmm, that would explain the inventory,” he said.

  “I’m afraid I got a bit carried away.

  “Well, there is a definite upside to waking to an empty bed.”

  “There is?

  “Thanks to your manic moonlight baking, you’re free to explore Georgia with me today.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you’ve spent far too much time with mixers and ovens, and from the sounds of it, not just this weekend. Today, Cassandra Miller, you will have a proper adventure courtesy of yours truly.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date?” It seemed a rather ridiculous question from a woman he’d been intimate with in a variety of locations,
not to mention positions, over the last thirty-six hours. But now that she mentioned it, the time they’d spent together had been spontaneous, not planned, and certainly not requested in any sort of formal manner. Come to think of it, Hank couldn’t actually recall the last time he’d asked any woman out on a date. Most of his encounters were either official events prearranged through his social secretary or casual encounters stemming from one too many at a club. But to actually ask a woman out on a date, that he planned and executed on his own? Now there was a novelty. The prospect was thrilling, but more than that, it was exactly the type of thing a normal man—say, someone like Hank Green—would do.

  Hank straightened. All at once the reality of a normal man hit him. What if she said no? She seemed to be enjoying their impromptu rolls in the proverbial hay, but maybe that’s all he was to her, a few laughs and an orgasm. Okay several orgasms, but still. Then again, the previous night had been more than just a romp. They’d talked, longer than Hank had ever spoken to a woman who wasn’t employed by him or related to him. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but things were different with Cassie. He was different. He wasn’t Prince Henry, the self- centered prick who strolled about as though reality had been put on a permanent hold. He was Hank Green, a man who not only wanted to make this feisty vixen come like a freight train in the middle of a church, but who at the moment wanted nothing more than to spend the day making her smile. But Hank Green was, per his own design, just a normal bloke, and normal blokes were rejected on the regular, or so he’d been told. “It’s not you, it’s me.” “I think we should just be friends.” “I’m not looking for anything more right now.” These were all the excuses his friends heard time and time again. Hell, he’d been known to use a few of them himself. And now, as ordinary Hank, there was a chance one of those overused, insincere expressions would be his fate as well. The realization set off another round of the fizzies that seemed to appear whenever this woman was around. Still, he might not have been wearing a sash laden with medals, let alone a crown, but he still had a few moves. He cleared his throat. “Miss Miller,” he said, locking his gaze with hers and smiling just enough to release the dimple that drove women mad, “would you do me the honor of spending the day with me?”