Sinfully Delicious: Six Scintillating Stories of Sweets, Treats, and Happily Ever Afters

by Gauthier, Crystal L.

  But her father had never said anything about situations like this.

  No, that wasn’t quite true, he’d said: Follow Erasto. He will be your safety .

  Well Erasto wasn’t here, and what did a baker know of swords and knives?

  But he’d pushed her to safety and used himself as a shield to her welfare.

  He was a good man, this Rollu Secul.

  This foreigner who owed her nothing and was, she admitted freely, the perfect patsy for Bajin to blame for her death and demise.

  Nothing cemented leadership more than a successful military campaign.

  Bajin wouldn’t hesitate to turn his swords against the humans.

  Trolls versus man.

  The battles had never gone in her peoples’ favor in the past. She doubted it would this time. She wasn’t naïve enough to think it would.

  Bajin was, and she suspected that her baker was wise enough to know that her death by “his” hands had greater implications than a thick knot and a sudden drop.

  “There.”

  She crouched low behind an elderflower bush, stared over the open space cleared before the tiny cabin deep within the woods, all lines of sight from the house maintained for the benefit of those sheltered within its walls.

  No lights.

  No candle flames that she could glean from out of the darkness suggesting anyone waited inside. No hint of a fire in the evidence of smoke rising from the chimney into the starlit sky overhead.

  “It may be a trap.”

  The entire forest was a trap.

  She didn’t say the same out loud, knowing he’d likely already guessed at the same with or without her words.

  “Don’t move until I tell you to come.”

  “Like hell. We go together.”

  He turned to argue with her.

  She caught his eye.

  The moment his death would buy her to flee through the woods would amount to little more than a few heartbeats before she was ridden down and summarily dispatched.

  Better to go together.

  What was worse, she wanted to go with him, and she didn’t quite understand why she was so drawn to him.

  Chapter Twelve

  She remained o n the front porch while he cracked open the door and stepped inside the vacant house.

  It was small, far smaller than he expected a hunting cabin to be, but what did he know of it?

  There was a fire pit and a small kitchen. A room blocked off the back of the cabin, likely where the master slept when in residence. Two chairs for any guests who might stumble their way onto the shed.

  And that was all.

  He could not see up into the attic space, and perhaps there was room up there for someone to sleep, but he could barely tell.

  At least it was clean. No dust that he could see, nothing to leave tracks upon should they walk across the wooden plats in their mud stained…

  He slipped out the door and to her side, felt her jerk when he touched her shoulder though she remained resolutely silent to his touch, drawing no attention to their movements.

  She shivered as he leaned close to her.

  Wisps of her hair brushed against his lip, tickled his chin when he whispered in her ear. “We need to carry our shoes. We’ll climb into the attic and hide above stairs lest they come this way.”

  “Then why disrobe?”

  “Mud.”

  He suspected that her eyes had widened at his response, her mind as quick as any, likely would have realized the same as he, had she been the one to explore the cabin first.

  If they left muddy tracks, the Fox would be sure to find them.

  She nodded, the gesture brushed her cheek against his nose and it was he who caught his breath at the action.

  “Sorry.”

  She said it at the same time as him.

  Rol backed away to remove his boots.

  He led th e way inside the home, closed the door carefully behind them.

  The lack of biting breeze at their backs was heaven.

  She sighed and closed her eyes, tipped her head back in the darkness of the space, only faint light from the stars outside through the slatted windows illuminating anything of the floorplan.

  He watched her gaze roam about the room, linger over the fireplace, the hint of white teeth breaking the darkness as she smiled at the thought of warmth.

  “We cannot.”

  Had there been light, he thought she would have been frowning at him, the same frown he remembered withering under in the basement of Unsted’s bakery when he told her of the plot against her.

  It was no easier to bear unseen than it had been then.

  “The smoke and the light will draw the hunters to us. I am sorry, my lady. We cannot risk it.”

  “We are soaked through with rain, have been traipsing through the wood for untold hours in the cold. If we are not warmed, we will catch our deaths. We cannot remain as we are.”

  “We cannot risk the fire.”

  She growled, an honest to Gods growl that made him smile rather than flinch at the threat. “Then what do you propose?”

  His footsteps, silenced in part by the removal of his boots, loud in the quiet of the room, boomed around him as he stepped to the solitary ladder to the upper floor and held out his hand for her to follow him. “What heat there is will rise. The attic will be the warmest place for us, and the safest.”

  “We will be trapped up there if they come.”

  “Then we best pray they do not.”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, but Rol held his position, no choice, really, for either of them.

  The huff of air she released was nearly visible in the cool room.

  He waited.

  “Fine.”

  He nodded, “Let me hold your shoes while you climb.”

  She handed off the dainty slippers and then stared at the ladder like it was some snake come to bite her.

  Rol supposed that a princess would likely not have had cause to ever climb the same before. It wasn’t like it was hard, but if she had any issues with height or slipped, he could understand a modicum of fear in the ascent. “If you go slowly, you’ll be—”

  She glared over her shoulder at him.

  He bit his lip from saying more.

  With more precision than he thought necessary, she bent at her waist and reached between her legs, the gesture so abruptly uncharacteristic that he sucked in his breath, unsure of what he should do, if he should look away, not knowing if he could when the cut of her dress revealed the swell of her breasts to his gaze in her position.

  She grabbed up the hem of her skirt from behind, pulled it forward and up, crinolines and flounces and whatever else ladies wore beneath their gowns bundled together so that she could tuck the hem into the waistband of her skirt and fashion make-shift breeches where pleated lengths of silk had been.

  He turned his head to the rafters when she straightened.

  He didn’t dare look at her in the aftermath.

  She started climbing while he fought to swallow back the image of her burned into his brain.

  Her grip faltered, slipped, just a little, and he dropped his boots and her slippers to wrap his hands at her waist, steady her on the wooden steps.

  She didn’t seem worried when she turned on the thin step, gripping the sides of the ladder to meet his gaze, his hands unwilling to fall from her side, purely in her support, or so he tried to tell himself. The added height of the step between them allowed her eyes to meet his, no need to bend and stoop or lean back to accomplish the feat.

  She’d kissed him by the river.

  She’d kissed him twice by the river, the first in gratitude, but the second kiss…

  The second kiss had been something else entirely.

  He pulled away, clenched his fingers behind his back, tried to ignore the heat pulsing at their tips at having touched her so forcefully. “I will wait for you to reach the top, then see if I can find any dry clothes in the bedroom, anything t
o keep warm with.”

  “Yes, fine. That will be fine. Thank you.”

  She didn’t turn around.

  He stepped closer.

  A shutter banged against the window and he jumped while she slipped, her arms moving to wrap around his neck as he caught her up, safe and sound in his arms.

  Her heart pounded as heavy as his, pressed together, chest to chest.

  “It will be warmer upstairs.”

  He swallowed, mouth so dry his tongue was stuck to the roof, stopping him from making a fool of himself by responding too quickly.

  Rol replaced her against the ladder.

  She scurried up the rungs without looking back down.

  Tasiya could hea r him rummaging around in the darkness and wondered what he would find.

  Sitting huddled against the corner of the small attic space had not warmed her enough, and she prayed for a fleece nightgown, maybe some stockings or a hearty shawl at the very least.

  His head was dark as he crested the platform on the ladder.

  She crouched to move towards him, help him haul up his findings so he could finish his ascent.

  Two shirts, far too large for her slim frame, but dry and warm.

  A blanket that smelled of moth balls.

  That was all he carried, but it was far more than they’d had.

  “You should change into the dry clothes.”

  She could not see his expression in the dark, but his words were likely deeper than he intended, and the timbre sent butterflies roiling deep in her stomach, far below where hunger pains were making themselves known to a place where desire lived.

  She’d wanted him from the first.

  He was a handsome man, and his foreignness was appealing in ways she didn’t understand but wanted for herself.

  She shifted on her knees until her back was to him, looked over her shoulder at the line of pearl buttons she couldn’t see but also truly couldn’t unpin without his aid. “I’ll need help with my gown.”

  She would never admit to smiling at the harsh whimper that escaped him.

  Nor to the blush that suffused her body with the sound.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  A chill chased down her spine, the precursor to the feel of his hand, his warmth, bracketing her from behind.

  His fingers were neat and nimble tracing down her dress’ buttons. He hesitated in slipping the soft fabric from her shoulders, and a wicked spiral of heat spread through her body when she reached and pulled down the sleeves herself.

  “The corset is just simple ties. You’ll have to loosen it for me, please.”

  Bless him, his hands, big hands, the calluses hidden from her flesh by the span of fabric between them, traced down the row of laces, plucked at the tie hidden beneath the waistband of her skirt.

  Her knees threatened to give out at the way he wrapped a hand around her stomach, supporting her as he leaned closer trying to see in the dimness of the attic space.

  “Apologies. It seems to be knotted.”

  “Can you not get it loose?”

  He stiffened against her, his hand upon her abdomen pressing harder for a moment. “It would be,” he paused searching for words, the intent of which she could guess at without him finishing the thought. “Apologies, but I am not sure it would be appropriate for a baker’s apprentice to be so intimately appointed to the task of undressing a princess.”

  How very formal and polite.

  She spun upon her knees, one hand braced upon the sloped ceiling above them, the other reaching to clutch at his shoulder for balance when she faced him. “Do you think propriety is the truest threat right now?”

  “Oh. No,” even without the light, she could read that response in his face only inches before hers.

  Tasiya slipped her fingers from his shoulder to his collar, traced the damp line of his shirt to the tightly laced ties at his throat. He was as caught in his clothing as she, but he’d made no mention of his own discomfort, only a fear for hers.

  Her Pastry Knight.

  No.

  Her Pastry Prince…

  “We need to get dry. It will do us no good to sleep in wet clothing.” She raised her gaze, the faint arcs of light barely illuminating his in the darkened recesses of the attic. “I won’t tell anyone so long as you promise not to either.”

  He chuffed a laugh and she grinned. “Only because I do not want you catching your death of cold. I’ve worked too hard to ferret you to safety to lose you to my own incompetence.”

  “You are so very not incompetent, Mr. Secul.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply, afraid of what her hand, mindless, tracing patterns across his chest, would do if she failed to turn away and stare back into the darkness without the temptation of him to her senses.

  She braced both hands against the ceiling.

  His breath was warm where he leaned in close to use his teeth at pulling against her laces, hooting a cheer when the string came loose, and he made quick work of her corset after that.

  She breathed easier when the boning released its harsh embrace against her.

  When she pulled the blasted material away, he smoothed his hands down her sides, hissed when his fingers found the divots dug into her skin beneath her chemise from the harsh lacing.

  “It’s a torture device.”

  She snorted. “Yes.”

  Tasiya looked over her shoulder, leaned into his embrace, allowed him the freedom to pet over her stomach and waist, soothe the harsh wear of the corset from her body.

  It wasn’t a sexual embrace, not as she’d experienced with her past lovers.

  Oh, she played the part of dutiful maid for her father, but no one expected a princess to be pure, not anymore, not in this day and age. She was a beautiful and desired woman.

  But no one had ever touched her like this before, with the intent to calm, to comfort.

  “Your chemise seems dry enough.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps the shirt, just for added warmth then.”

  She shook her head, closed her eyes on a breath meant to give her some semblance of balance. “Quite. That would be well done. Gratitude for the assistance.”

  “My pleasure, Your Highness.”

  Hers too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She moved awa y before she could do anything else to compromise his honor.

  What a thought…trying to spare the man because he was honorable, in everything, towards her.

  He’d risked his life to get her away from Bajin.

  He’d likely lost everything in his leaving; and if he was right and would have been named the culprit regardless, he was always destined to lose because of her.

  She didn’t want him to regret his decision to help her though.

  The shirt he’d brought for her was warmer than her chemise. Though the light under-gown wasn’t damp, it held the chill still too close to memory, and she was glad for the added warmth, would be even gladder when he joined her beneath the small blanket he’d found.

  She curled with her back against the far wall of the attic, pressed against what felt like the leg of some old piece of furniture removed for disuse but not discarded.

  The rafters around her were filled with like objects, hidden by the darkness.

  No need to explore, not now with exhaustion finally weighing over her shoulders, the promise of safety in the embrace of his arms enough to make her eyelids heavy, that and being free of her wet over things.

  Her jaw cracked when she yawned.

  He heaved, and she forced her eyes open to watch as he pulled the ladder they’d used to ascend into the rafters up with them, rung over rung, the heavy wood coming nearer her than expected as he took away their escape.

  “What are you doing?”

  Her hoarse whisper was loud in the silence of the hunter’s cabin.

  He ignored her question, muscles straining the fine lawn of his shirt, the wet clinging to his skin as he worked to maneuver the ladder into posi
tion against the railing, blocking any chance that they might slip from the moorings of the attic easily, or that any would gain its platform the same.

  His breathing was harsh with exertion when he finished, sat with his back against the wood where she knew there to be an opening to the floor below had the rungs not obstructed his path.

  “What if they—”

  She should have asked sooner, or stopped him, or whatever, but asking about time that had run out saved no one.

  Boots stomped on the wooden floors of the porch outside.

  Rollu glanced over his shoulder at the door below before shifting to his belly and crawling over the timber to her side.

  She flipped the blanket she’d draped over herself over him as well.

  “Apologies.”

  She didn’t complain when he drew closer and pulled the blanket up as high as it could go and covered them both in the far back of the space.

  Without a moment to spare…

  The door opened, and heavy tread marched into the cabin, likely traced tracks around the room she’d not had a chance to explore and now prayed no one decided to explore further in turn.

  “Sir, the fire is not lit. We’ve seen no torches or hint of light all evening. If they remained in the woods, they would have found their way to this safehouse, but it is empty of them. They must have returned to the city while we searched the trees.”

  “I have had men posted at all entrances to the same! There is no way that little brat and her baker could have gotten past them.”

  “There is no one here though!”

  “Then they remain in the trees!”

  Something shattered, she couldn’t say what, too busy burying her face in Rollu’s chest, biting her tongue to keep from making a sound.

  “Clean that mess up. And get the fire going.”

  Bajin issued the commands and she listened to the creak and shush of the springs in the chair settling around his weight while he rested, and his men went about their duties.

  The heavy lug of a kettle being drawn to the hearth to warm for tea made her whimper in want.

  Rollu touched her chin with his fingers, turned her face up to his, stroked his thumb over her cheek. She thought to move closer, her way barred by the wet shirt sticking to his skin.