Icing On His Mate (A Move Over Fate Novel)

by Michelle Ziegler

  Icing On His Mate

  A Move Over Fate Novel

  Michelle Ziegler

  Hearth Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Coming Soon from Michelle

  Also by Michelle Ziegler

  He has a voracious appetite…she’s dessert~

  Olivia had a plan, but like all good plans, it went to hell in a hand-basket. Finally single, she's got a mess to clean up only her useless excuse for magic won't cooperate. She's come to terms with being alone, a disappointment, and having no natural talent for cake decorating.

  Ethan hasn’t always been careful in life. Rash thinking made him a single father and the alpha of his pack. Now the wolf inside him demands a mate just as the pack demands stability, but his daughter will always come first. His luck might be changing with the appearance of a sexy woman delivering what he thinks is supposed to be a cake.

  Olivia and Ethan let a single moment of lust drive them to a choice that both might regret. Can Olivia accept that someone loves her as she is, and does Ethan have the ability to forget a past that doesn’t want to be forgotten?

  To my tribe who support me and refuse to let me quit.

  Copyright © 2018 by Michelle Ziegler

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical method, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial users permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher addressed “Attention: Permission coordinator,” at the address below.

  michelle@michellezieglerauthor.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living, or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental

  Chapter 1

  Screw the plan. Olivia scowled. All she had to do was make this cake look edible. Finish off what her ex, Harold, had left behind. The plan was foolproof. That was the plan, before you know, life.

  Not only had she been invisible to that jerk for too many years, she apparently hadn’t learned anything about cake decorating from him.

  Magic—her useless magic anyway—couldn’t help get her out of this. Harold, the ex-fiancé jerk, could manipulate matter, defy physics. His cakes were art, and because of him their bakery was well known in the witch community. Of course, he’d manipulated himself right into someone else’s bed too. Deep breaths. She could just make an animal, a baby bird, from the fondant. Olivia's hand hovered over the small shapeless mound. Too bad a bird wasn't exactly correct for a baby shower.

  Could a cake laugh at her? The cake had a moat now. Great. How did she keep the icing from running?

  Listing off the ingredients in her head, and remembering each step she'd made, Olivia couldn't figure out where she'd gone wrong. Maybe she’d added too much water? Or maybe it just wasn’t enough sugar?

  Tapping her sticky fingers against the counter, she contemplated life. This was the new plan. Finish the cake, the last cake she’d ever make and then she'd close the door on her lackluster past.

  Her lips pressed together. She blew the hair out of her face and braced herself, palms to the metal counter. The industrial kitchen was no longer pristine. A war zone of mixing bowls proof that her ex really had been the master baker. He’d also been the master of deceit. Maybe that wasn't exactly accurate. He didn’t hide the affair. Not well anyway.

  One more failure her mother could wrap up and save in a bottle. That woman could never have too much salt to rub into open wounds.

  A wrinkle of the nose and she let her hands slide across the cool metal until she faced the symbol of her past failure. If the cake had eyes, they'd be staring each other down right now.

  Olivia could practically hear her mother judging her from across town. A few months ago, the plan had been to marry a warlock her mom liked and have little witches and warlocks running around within the next two years. After they ran a thriving business together. There was that little word. Together.

  She’d always had a plan, and they never seemed to work out. Could witches have anti-magic? If so, maybe that was her unidentified magic. Perhaps the academy was wrong. She wasn’t an underachiever. She could counterbalance everyone else.

  She paused. Going forward the new plan should be to stop having a plan. Insanity might be defined by this very moment. The moment she contemplated murder of a cake.

  No. She could do this. She could beat this. She didn't need a man. She didn’t need her ex. She didn’t even need her mother.

  “Shit. You're a stupid cake anyway.”

  Olivia flicked her finger, and the icing stopped running like Niagara Falls, but there was no other hope for the cake. That was the extent of her power. Freeze the frosting for the moment. As in freeze it cold and add a few birds and butterfly decorations for good measure. This cake was her breaking point.

  Waving her finger, the blue pile of icing morphed into a tiny set of wings, a plump little body, and a beak. Too bad the party host hadn't ordered some kind of nature cake. Her magic was seriously useless right now.

  The galley door rocked open and closed as her assistant walked in.

  “Bridgette? Remind me to rename this place. I'm not a cake person.”

  She rolled her head on her shoulders. “How did Harold do this anyway?”

  Footsteps echoed on the tile.

  "Were you calling me? Sorry, that customer took a little longer." Bridgette said.

  "I don't even know anymore. Did I? Maybe you heard my tears of desperation. How did that stupid ex of mine do this?" Olivia pointed to the disaster. “It’s for a baby shower and – well, it’s just sad. Isn’t it?”

  “Livi, that doesn’t look like the sketch. Maybe you just need a break?”

  “No. It’s not what they wanted, that’s the issue. I can’t get it right. A break isn't going to help.”

  Bridgette, her assistant, pointed at a baby booty. “That sort of looks like a clog. Maybe we can put tulips on it and a windmill and pass it off as some kind of Holland spring theme.”

  Olivia rubbed a hand over her eyes. “You know what. I’m going to just figure something else out. I need to call them. If I’m lucky they will accept cupcakes instead. Perhaps I can donate this thing to the firehouse. Sort of a thank you for keeping the city safe.”

  “I'm game for looking at some firemen, but they might think you're trying to poison them. Is it even edible?” asked Bridgette.

  “Bridg, I love you, but I'm not afraid to fire you. Of course, it's edible. I can make icing. It's just meant for cupcakes.”

  “Point taken. Why don't you ask Harold to come finish his orders?”

  Olivia shuddered. “Nope. Can't. I already deleted his number. And he's already playing house. I don't want to ruin that, and I don't want him back. She can keep him. I seriously can't sit through one more boring conversation."

  “That is
the dumbest excuse. Throw some toothpicks under those peepers and just deal. We obviously need him Livi.” Bridgette crossed her arms.

  Flashback of the last six months streamed before her eyes, in about two seconds. It was like déjà vu every day. Nothing ever changed. Ever. Her mother fawning over the good-looking Harold who was doing something reputable with his life. Olivia, the disappointment. The witch community might have been thousands, but sometimes the world pressed down on her like she was a tin can about to be crushed.

  She'd make this bakery as human as possible because at this point she'd been all but shoved out of the community. The world awaited her. Shifters, vampires, dark and light Fae and whatever else she'd read about. Maybe, for once she'd see the world as something other than a witch. Something other than a dutiful daughter and a submissive fiancée.

  “No! He should have left the business when we broke up and then we wouldn't even have this mess.” Olivia chewed on her bottom lip. “He accepted this order knowing he was leaving, but one cake doesn't define me. I can’t look at this thing anymore. The firehouse wins today. Maybe it will help me clear my head and figure out what to do next.”

  A quick dust off of her hands against the apron and a deep exhale had her ready to give up. She needed this stupid thing gone. Olivia wasn’t a cake person. That was her ex. And this three-tiered thing was reminding her of him.

  Bracing the cake against her forearms, she headed for the door and pushed with her butt. The metal hinges creaked open as she stepped into the back alley.

  “Bridgette, from this day forth we are a cupcakery, and that is final."

  The heavy door slammed before Bridgette could argue.

  Two buildings to go and she'd be done with this thing. A quick whisper to the wind and the load of the cake lightened. Nature liked her. It was merely her mother and the rest of the witching world that didn't. A smile crossed her lips. Maybe she could go live in the forest with the Fairies and shifters. At least, she thought that’s who lived out there. She didn't know much really, because witches stuck with witches. That's how it worked.

  The heat of the afternoon burned Olivia’s cheeks as she took steps toward a new start. Even as she told herself she was strong and independent, the cake screamed something different.

  She could do this. She could. The bakery had been her dream, not Harold's. How two years of being with him had stripped her of confidence was beyond her.

  "Nope. No, you don't cake. No cake can define me."

  The red brick of the firehouse towered over the back alley. Her skin instantly cooled as she entered the shade.

  The alley grew quiet as the tapping of her shoes stopped. Olivia knocked against the door. She waited, and as if to crush her soul one last time, a plop of icing fell at her feet.

  "What a year," she said to no one.

  She knocked again. With her luck, they’d be out on a call or something.

  This cake needs to go. The dumpster next to the building caught her eye as a puff of cold air met her.

  “Can I help you?” asked a male voice.

  She took in the shirtless male in front of her. God liked him way more than he liked her, that was for damn sure. Her mouth grew dry as her eyes studied his bulging shoulders, glistening abs, and pecs that screamed 'lick me.'

  Heat pooled between her thighs. “Oh, God.” She squeaked.

  That had been out loud. Her eyes grew wide, and Olivia tried to find a spot on the white wall behind him. Anything to avoid his reaction. “Excuse me?” the guy asked.

  “I. Er. Uhm. Cake?”

  His brow furrowed. “Are you asking if we eat cake or if we ordered a cake?”

  He looked around at the tiers. “I’m pretty sure we didn’t order a baby-shower cake though. That’s not really our thing.”

  Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

  “I. No. I mean. I have this cake. I messed it up, and I can’t bear to throw it out. Do you guys want the cake?”

  His face lit up. “Oh. Yeah. Here, can I help?”

  She pulled it back. “No. No. Let me. Where can I set it down?”

  His mouth pulled aside. “Well, who am I to tell a lady she can’t have her way? This way.” He paused. “You sure though? I don’t mind.”

  On autopilot, she started to walk. What had he said?

  “Uh. Yes. I’m good?” Hopefully, that was the right answer.

  The sidelong glance as he turned away made her second guess. Good Lord, what was wrong with her?

  She peeked around the cake as he took her up two flights of stairs. His butt had her full attention, two perfect orbs that she really wanted to grab.

  “So, this is the kitchen,” said the man. “You can set it down anywhere. Hold on while I announce it to the guys.”

  Looking up she stiffened. He was talking to her, but all she could image was licking frosting off his pecs. God, this man needed a shirt.

  She nodded. “Sure. Okay." The second he walked out of the room her sense came back, and she used the table right in front of her for the cake.

  The place was simple. Four refrigerators took up an entire wall. Judging by that man’s body, she figured he could probably pack away the food. One by one, loud roars of laughter filtered in, followed by more massive men. She knew firefighters had to be fit and everything but holy crap. They might need to hose her off, or she’d combust. Thinking back on her knowledge, most of this fire station was made up of shifters. The few that had come to the shop were huge. They always seemed huge. Demon blood agreed with this species that's for sure. Why didn't she get that lot in life? She'd never felt at home in her own life.

  She needed to stick her body in one of those refrigerators.

  There was no looking away as one guy grabbed a stack of paper plates, and another forks. For the first time in her life, she felt small and petite. There was something else too. Her skin tingled. Flexing her fingers and gently twisting her wrists she tried to shake off a magic that wasn't hers or wasn't one she understood. Trying to peek around without staring, her eyes caught the dark-haired guy from earlier. Was she breathing? Good Lord her chest hurt. Her magic danced on her fingertips, and she rubbed the itch of it against her pants.

  Who was he and how could she get him?

  The sound of male voices caught her attention before she lost all of her senses.

  One after another the guys stood, all looking at her. She counted five, and although each was good looking in his own way she still couldn’t pull her attention away from the first guy.

  One looked away to talk to the guy that seemed to suck all the air out of the room. “Ethan, good call on letting her in. This is a drop off we can use.” The guy sniffed the air.

  Ethan. His name is Ethan. Olivia made a note that the guy she’d have wet dreams about was named Ethan.

  “Does the little witch have a name then?” asked a tall blond.

  She folded her arms over her stomach. There was nowhere to hide. Steadying her nerves, and finding her confidence in front of these men she spoke. “You’re shifters, I’m guessing?”

  They nodded. “Yeah. And you’re a witch, I can smell the scent of magic on you,” added another.

  She squirmed.

  “So.”

  Looking up, her blood pulsed at the deep, smooth voice surprising her. He'd come out of nowhere. Ethan stood next to her, closer than she thought was proper for a stranger.

  “Do you have a name?” asked Ethan.

  She held her breath. Had he just talked to her?

  Licking her lips, she attempted to swallow down the crazy idea that life depended on getting her hands on him. If he’d just put a shirt on, maybe she could think.

  “Yes.”

  His lips stretched into a small grin. “Can I know it? Or is it a secret?” he asked.

  “Oh. Right. Sure. It’s Olivia.” The words rushed out on a need for air. Embarrassed, she added, “but everyone calls me Livi.”

  He took a single step closer, and her magic seemed to grow a mind of it
s own. It reached out from her skin like a tiny child tempting fate, looking to see if anyone noticed it before touching the shiny new object.

  His eyes bored into her. “Alright, Livi. So what do we owe you for this delicious gift?”

  She could smell the scent of mint on his breath and the sweat on his skin.

  “Nothing. I figured a firehouse would have enough people to get rid of a small cake. I can’t sell it.” She broke away, taking in the cake again. A few slices remained She waited for the pang of anger or hurt from her ex to surface again, yet felt nothing. It's as if she buried the last of her feelings for him in the cake.

  Sparks of magic danced at her fingers as her thoughts ran full circle back to the beast of a man radiating masculinity in front of her. She bit her lower lip. What would it feel like to run her hands over those muscles?

  What ex?

  “So can you?”

  For the first time, she pushed through her insecurity and looked at him, meeting his eyes. A flash of gold behind the green had her unnerved. She’d never been this close to a shifter before. She’d been told to stick with humans and warlocks. Settling for anywhere she could hide and blend in was fine, until now. The feeling hit her that with him she wouldn't be seen as a half-talent witch or a failure to her well known magic family. The fact she had curves and hips that didn't check off a lot of boxes for most men seemed to evaporate into the air around them.

  “Can I what?”

  The sound of his voice was like whipped frosting as it melted against her tongue, smooth and decadent. Olivia couldn’t turn away from the intensity. Her nerves sparked, a fire raging along each vein as if it were a fuse heading straight to her heart.