by Beth Ciotta
Rocky had never been promiscuous, but she wasn’t celibate either. She had a healthy sexual drive and had indulged in a few noncommitted liaisons. Relationships had never been her forte. She had a dominant personality and a mind of her own, a turnoff to most of the men who’d shown interest in her. Plus, she was fiercely dedicated to the Red Clover. Building and maintaining her business took up most of her time. She was, after all, a one-woman show—hostess, cook, housekeeper, and recreational advisor. She was also devoted to her family and to Cupcake Lovers and their charitable efforts. She didn’t have the energy or the desire to cultivate and nurture a serious monogamous relationship. That’s why her arrangement with Adam Brody had been so perfect. Great sex with no strings. Then Adam had gone all screwy on her after Jayce had boarded at the Red Clover for a week. Or maybe Rocky had been the one to go screwy on Adam. Bottom line, Adam had developed genuine feelings for Rocky and Rocky was still hung up on Jayce.
She hoped to extinguish that ancient fire by letting it burn wild for one weekend. A fantasy weekend far from Sugar Creek where no one would be the wiser. What happens in Manhattan stays in Manhattan. She mentally chanted that mantra on the two-block walk from the Empire State Building to the Hotel Chandler. She didn’t want to think beyond her “scratch-the-itch-and-it-will-go-away” decision. If she did, another kind of logic might intrude. She didn’t want to be cautious or sensible. She wanted to seize the moment. The sexual pull was too dynamic, too tempting, to ignore. Who wanted to ignore the possibility of erotic utopia?
They walked in silence, and with every step Rocky’s stomach coiled tighter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this insanely hot for a man. Wait. Yes, she could. The night she’d crawled through Jayce’s bedroom window with the express intention of having sex. She’d been young, naïve, cocky, out-of-her-gourd horny, and hopelessly in love. Now she was older, wiser, cocky, out-of-her-gourd horny, and … curious.
She’d only made love with Jayce that one time. She’d been inexperienced. Now she wasn’t. Maybe she’d find his lovemaking skills less than spectacular. Maybe he’d be selfish and deprive her of an orgasm. Or maybe she’d go frigid under his touch. Either one of those things would shed new light on an old infatuation. Great sex wasn’t everything, of course. But the physical attraction was what had held Rocky prisoner all these years. Lust, pure and simple. Okay. Maybe not so simple. But at least she recognized its power. If she couldn’t move past this, if she couldn’t break the spell, conquer the addiction, she’d never find complete happiness.
Take control, she thought as Jayce slid the key card home and opened the door to her hotel room. Control your destiny.
Then the door shut and he was all over her. An aggressive kiss that shut out rational thought.
Holy hell.
His hands—in her hair, shoving off her coat, stroking her curves.
His mouth—taking possession, working magic on her lips, her tongue.
For a moment she thought she’d been blinded by passion, but then she realized neither one of them had turned on the lights. “Want to see you,” she managed while shoving his coat from his broad shoulders.
“Feel me.” He spun her around, placed her hands on the wall. “Don’t move.”
She could scarcely breathe. She heard Jayce disrobing, imagined what she was missing, and groaned. Then she felt him unzipping her boots. She stepped out without him asking. Shivered as he smoothed warm palms over her calves, up her dress, and over her quivering thighs. When his fingers snagged her panties, she panicked. She needed to take an active part. She needed to be the aggressor. Control was her weapon of defense. Otherwise she was … vulnerable.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, planting his hands over hers and pinning them to the wall, “and I’ll go. Otherwise, don’t fucking move.”
The crude order shot through her like an erotic stimulant. As much as Rocky ached to squirm with desire, she stood stock-still. She didn’t want him to go. She sure as hell didn’t want him to stop. Starving for his touch, Rocky let Jayce have his way.
He untied her sash, slowly opened the wraparound dress, and peeled it from her trembling body. The fabric slid over her skin; the cool air stimulated. Jayce rained soft kisses over her shoulders and down her back while stroking her curves with a featherlight touch.
Sweet, god-awful torment.
Bra and panties gone. Sane thought obliterated.
When Jayce ordered Rocky to part her legs, she complied. When he pressed his naked body against her and slid his fingers over her feminine folds, she whimpered with desperate need. Take control, Rocky. “Take me, Jayce.”
“Not yet.”
He continued to stroke, igniting a fierce orgasm that started at her toes, working its way up, working Rocky over. She quaked and shivered and screamed graphic exclamations as her body exploded with a mind-numbing climax. Her lungs seized and her knees buckled.
Jayce swooped her up, yanked back the bedcovers, and laid her in the middle of the pillow-soft mattress. Dazed, Rocky fought to catch her breath as he switched on the bathroom light, illuminating the bedroom with a muted glow. Standing next to the bed in all his naked splendor—good God, is that muscled body for real?—Jayce skimmed her bare flesh with his hot gaze, an intimate inspection that affected Rocky as strongly as a skilled lover’s touch.
He raised one brow in appreciation. “The body that taunts my dreams.”
He’d dreamed about her? Naked? She’d always thought the longtime physical fascination had been one-sided. Knowing Jayce had dreamed about her made Rocky ache for the man even more. As if that were possible!
Vibrating with desire, she stared up at her seducer—breathless, speechless. So handsome. So sexy. His body was ripped and his shaft hard. For me, she thought. She nearly climaxed a second time just contemplating what they were about to do. Her barely functioning mind gave one last feeble cry. Take charge. Own the moment. Own your life. But then Jayce straddled her and pushed her hands over her head. He held her wrists with one hand, using his free hand to caress her breasts. He kissed her, a deep and wild kiss that stirred raw lust.
Rocky writhed beneath him, delirious and aching for more.
Jayce stroked, kneaded, licked, and nipped.
She wanted to touch him back, but he held her captive. It was … exhilarating.
He shifted and she felt the tip of his erection graze her slick folds. “Tell me what you want,” he said close to her ear.
Was he dense? “I want you to take me.” Her voice sounded hoarse and foreign to her ears.
He pulled away, then teased her by barely breaching her. “Try again.” He suckled her earlobe. “What do you want, Rocky?”
What the hell? She was dying of want. “Your cock.”
He released her hands, caressed her face. “Try again.”
Rocky met his intoxicating gaze. A lifetime of longing knocked her breathless. “You.”
Jayce plunged deep and Rocky saw stars. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and lost her mind as he rocked against her with astounding intensity and skill. She came and came, a seemingly endless wave of gratification. She rode the wave, body trembling, mind reeling, and realized suddenly that Jayce had eased away. She frowned. “But you didn’t—”
“That’s because I’m not through with you yet.”
The taunt sensitized her pliant body. As sated as she was, every nerve ending pulsed with excitement.
Jayce nipped her lower lip and rolled her onto her stomach. “Told you you were playing with fire.”
CHAPTER TEN
Sugar Creek, Vermont
Saturday morning. D-day. Do or die. Flourish or flop. Chloe Madison stared at the dopey-eyed moose standing proud for her inspection. If she weren’t so nervous about the grand opening of her first business, she’d laugh.
“So?” the furry beast asked. “How do I look?”
“Your antlers are crooked.”
“Give them a tweak, will you, kitten? Hard to do anything wi
th these hooves.”
“Actually, they’re more like paws, but I see what you mean.” Chloe reached up and twisted the molded yellow fabric until the cartoonish antlers were even. The full-body moose costume was a little big on the woman inside. Daisy Monroe, a seventy-five-year-old half-pint with the free spirit of a teen. Chloe’s former employer and new business partner. And, for one day only, the mascot for their café: Moose-a-lotta. “I can’t believe you volunteered to do this, Daisy.”
“A shot at showbiz? Are you kidding?”
Chloe smothered a smile. As someone who’d dabbled in several creative careers, including theater, she didn’t consider a few hours as a costumed mascot much of an acting gig. Several years ago, in an effort to earn extra money, Chloe had appeared as a tutu-wearing gorilla passing out flyers for a novelty shop in Times Square. The cheap costume had been hot, itchy, and stunk like BO doused with Febreze. She’d been ignored, ridiculed, and snagged for several photo ops—most of them embarrassing. Nothing glamorous about it. Daisy, however, was giddy with anticipation.
“Yes, well, still thirty minutes until we open the doors,” Chloe pointed out.
“I’m getting into character.”
“Can you get into character without the head? Seriously, Daisy. Aside from the grid eyes and nostrils, there’s zilch ventilation. If you pass out, Devlin will kill me.”
“He’d have to get past me first.”
“Easy to do if you’re in a dead faint.”
“Point taken.”
Chloe helped Daisy remove the moose head and set it gently aside. The woman’s normally springy curls had wilted, and her blingy cat-eye glasses had steamed over. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“I’d prefer a cocktail.”
Of course she would. Daisy had a fondness for wine and exotic drinks. But after Chloe had discovered the woman was on various prescriptions for anxiety and a heart problem, Devlin had convinced Daisy to curb her drinking. Special occasions only and not mixed with meds.
“I could use a drink myself,” Chloe said, noting the eclectic décor and wondering what their customers would think. From Victorian to contemporary to folksy, everything was intentionally mismatched—chairs and tables, lighting fixtures, plates, and utensils. The only constant was the image of a moose—on pillows, clocks, lampshades, paintings, and knickknacks. What if the locals thought Moose-a-lotta was too kitschy? What if tourists preferred the simple Georgian charm of the Pine and Periwinkle Inn? “Maybe we can indulge after,” Chloe said. “Especially if there’s cause to celebrate.”
“Of course we’ll be celebrating,” Daisy said as she eased into the velvet Queen Anne wingback they’d scored at Maple Molly’s Antique Barn. “A themed café that specializes in flavored coffees, gourmet snacks, and scrumptious desserts. A setting that offers a small collection of used books for trade and free Wi-Fi. Moose-a-lotta is unique to Sugar Creek, kitten. Our combined vision. Don’t second-guess yourself. I’m not.”
You haven’t failed at a dozen other careers, Chloe wanted to say but didn’t. Voicing her insecurities might dampen Daisy’s enthusiasm. Chloe refused to rain on her partner’s parade. Daisy had reminded her of the importance of taking chances and living life to the fullest. She’d given Chloe, who’d just graduated from culinary school, her first job as a personal chef. Treated her like family. Introduced her to the Cupcake Lovers and rekindled her love of desserts. Daisy had encouraged and supported Chloe’s infatuation with her grandson and, knowing Chloe was strapped for cash, had offered to foot the entire start-up cost of Moose-a-lotta. Not that Chloe had agreed to the latter. Making her own way financially was a huge issue. Maintaining control over her career decisions was also personally vital to Chloe. Something she’d had to impress upon Devlin, a born and schooled genius when it came to business and finance. As much as she loved the man, he was an opinionated control freak. Overprotective, too.
“Earth to Chloe: Here comes our temporary staff. I’d let them in, but between my ankle cast and this bulky costume—”
“On it!” Chloe’s heart and heels kicked at the sight of her best friend, Monica, and one of Daisy’s oldest friends, Ethel, peering in through the storefront window, grinning and waving like idiots. Chloe waved back while scrambling to unlock the door. “Right on time!”
The two women, one in her thirties, one in her seventies, burst over the threshold.
“Reporting for duty,” Ethel said.
“Smells great in here,” Monica said. “Oh … my … God. Daisy! Your costume! What a hoot!”
“Wait’ll I put my head on.”
“Not yet,” Chloe cautioned.
“How do you breathe in that thing?” Ethel asked, pointing at the moose head.
“Through the nose,” Daisy said. “Ready for a mob? Because I plan on bringing in a herd!”
“Are you really going to stand outside and wave down customers?” Monica asked.
“She’s going to sit outside and entice interest,” Chloe said to her friend. “We’ll drag one of these comfy chairs onto the sidewalk a couple of minutes before we open. Daisy promised she’d do her acting from a throne.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Daisy groused.
“No, but you do have a cast on your ankle,” Ethel put in. “What if you aggravate that injury? The sooner you’re in tip-top form, the greater help you’ll be to Chloe and the café. Right, Chloe?”
Chloe smiled at the older woman, thankful for her subtlety. “Absolutely, Ethel.”
“The Cupcake Lovers’ display looks wonderful,” the older woman went on. “It was really sweet of you both to set aside space for our charity efforts.”
“Chloe’s idea,” Daisy said.
“Our pleasure,” Chloe said. “And it’s not like Moose-a-lotta won’t benefit. Anyone who buys a cupcake will probably purchase a beverage as well. Besides, I love sharing the scrumptious cupcakes of our members.”
Everyone had jumped at the chance to share a batch of cupcakes on different days of the week. A chance to show off new recipes and edible decorating ideas. All proceeds, as was dictated in the club’s mission statement, would go to someone or some place in need. In this case, for the next four weeks proceeds from Cupcake Lover sales via Moose-a-lotta would go to Sugar Tots. Surely they could at least kick-start the new playground fund.
“When our recipe book comes out,” Daisy said, “we’ll sell those, too.”
“How’s the publishing deal going anyway?” Monica asked. “Any more news from Rocky?”
Chloe blushed with a half-truth. “Not today.”
“Only what we relayed to the club yesterday,” Daisy said. “Don’t know what’s on the agenda today.”
Just then Chloe’s and Daisy’s cell phones chimed in tandem with a text message.
Daisy pointed to the counter. “Ethel, would you grab my phone out of my purse?”
“Sure does blip loud,” the woman said.
“That’s so I can hear it,” Daisy said.
“It’s from Rocky,” Chloe said, reading her own screen. “Thinking of you. Viva Moose-a-lotta!”
Daisy squinted at her own phone. “Mine says the same. I’ll text back and ask what’s happening with the publisher.”
“Why don’t you just call Rocky?” Ethel asked while Daisy diligently typed in her question.
“Really, Ethel. Get with the times.”
Monica laughed and Chloe made a beeline for the kitchen. “I forgot your Moose-a-lotta aprons. Be right back.” While she was at it she’d text Rocky in private. Using abbreviations, something Daisy had yet to master, Chloe quickly thumbed that Devlin had mentioned Jayce took Rocky under his wing. “How’s that going, girlfriend?”
“How’s what going?”
Chloe gasped. “Jeez, Monica. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Who’s sneaking?” She followed Chloe into the compact kitchen, gestured to the phone. “Spill.”
“All right,” Chloe said in a hushed voice. “But only because
I’m dying to talk to someone about this and, given the circumstances, only you and Luke qualify. You’re here. You win.”
Monica’s eyes widened. “Must be about Jayce.”
Chloe filled her friend in about the mugging and how Jayce had assured Devlin he’d look after Rocky for the rest of her visit in New York. “He took her sightseeing.”
“Get … out! Jayce and Rocky spent the day together? How did that work exactly, what with them being at odds?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping … Well, I hope Rocky took the opportunity to make peace with Jayce. Especially since…”
“Since what?”
Since he’s moving back to Sugar Creek. Chloe had promised Devlin she wouldn’t say anything to anyone. “I’m sick to death of secrets.” Bad enough she was keeping things from Devlin. Equally bad, or worse, he was keeping things from her. Something about his dad. Or mom. Or both. Something that caused Devlin great angst. Something that caused him to work more hours than he should. Frustrated, Chloe whirled away and nabbed two new moose aprons from the linen closet. “I hate that I know about Rocky and Jayce’s … fling and that Devlin doesn’t. And I hate that Devlin…”
“What?”
Cheeks hot, Chloe thrust a custom-made apron at her oldest friend. “Never mind. Just suit up. We open in…” She glanced up at the moose clock (one of three in the café). “Oh, God, ten minutes.”
Monica looped the yellow-and-green polka-dot apron over her neck. “I’m not leaving this kitchen until you finish that train of thought. What about Dev?”
Chloe tightened her ponytail, then smoothed her hand over the embroidered logo of her matching apron. “There’s something going on between him and his dad.”
“Yeah. The ongoing feud about renovations on the family’s department store.”
“No. Something else. Something he won’t talk about.”
Monica raised a brow. “A secret?”
“Not that Devlin’s obligated to tell me whatever it is. We’re not even engaged.”
“Yet.”
“Don’t jinx it—us,” Chloe snapped, hot faced and flustered. Even though she’d known Devlin less than two months, she knew they were both thinking in terms of forever. They’d weathered a rocky start, and their love intensified with every day. Even so, they were still adjusting … and managing family secrets and dynamics. “I just … Devlin seems really tense and I wish I could help.”
