Only for You (Sugar Lake Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  She snagged it from his hands, her eyes darkening as she licked her lips.

  Lust seared through him, coiling hot and tight in the pit of his stomach. He needed to look away, to break their connection, but he was having a hell of a time finding his “Off” button when she was repeatedly pushing on, on, on.

  He needed to get ahold of himself. It’d been a long time since a woman had affected him like this.

  “Can Bodhi and Dahlia eat dinner with us?” Louie asked.

  Bridgette’s lips parted on a sexy sigh, and her eyes—damn, those angelic green eyes—turned to liquid heat.

  Combustible. That’s what this was between them.

  Unstoppable.

  He couldn’t afford unstoppable.

  She snapped her mouth shut, and he imagined prying her sweet lips open with his tongue. Fuck.

  That could not happen.

  “No,” came out fast and hard—from both of them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHILE LOUIE SET up a command station with his action figures in the playroom, Bridgette put away what was left of her groceries, hoping to distract herself from thoughts of Bodhi. When that didn’t work, she searched the pantry for peanut butter to make Louie’s dinner. Her phone vibrated with a text, and she snagged it from the counter. Her sister Piper’s name flashed on the screen, and she read the text. I booked a table at Dutch’s for Willow and Zane’s engagement party Friday night. Can you get a sitter so Mom and Dad can come?

  Dutch’s was a local pub, and it would be packed Friday night. Perfect. She needed a night out to de-stress, although her sisters would probably use it as another chance to push her to get back in the dating game. That’s what margaritas are for.

  She typed a response and sent it off. Yup. I’ll line up a sleepover with one of his friends. What can I do to help?

  She grabbed the toiletries she’d bought, embarrassed anew at the thought of Bodhi’s big hand holding the box of panty liners. Disappearing into thin air would have been ideal right then.

  “Louie, I’m going to run a few things upstairs,” she called out on her way up.

  She put everything away and sat on the edge of her bed, pondering the man whose eyes went dark as midnight nearly every time he looked at her. A thrill tickled up her spine, and thoughts of Jerry brought a thread of guilt. They’d had a great relationship and a hot and exhilarating sex life. Touring with his band had added extra excitement to their lives, as they were always looking for a place to slip away and be alone. But they’d never gotten past the wild-crazy-sex stage to the sensual, lovingly intense experiences Willow talked about having with Zane. Sometimes Bridgette wondered if she and Jerry would have ever slowed down enough to get there. Their lives had seemed jet-propelled from the moment they’d met. They’d toured and attended after-parties even while she was pregnant, although Bridgette had steered clear of alcohol. She’d stopped attending the parties late in her pregnancy and had never resumed after Louie was born, but she and the baby had continued traveling with Jerry. While she longed for the same deep connection she and Jerry had shared, she wasn’t sure she was capable of ever truly falling in love again.

  Her phone vibrated with another text from Piper. She read it as she headed downstairs. I’ve got it all taken care of. Wear something sexy and leave your mom panties at home. >snort<

  Bridgette laughed but didn’t bother responding, because Piper loved having the last word. Piper was two and a half years older than Bridgette was, and was her toughest, though most petite, sister. She packed a lot of mouthiness and bravado into her five-two, hundred-and-ten-pound body. When Bridgette had quit college at nineteen to marry Jerry, Piper told him that if he hurt her, she would hunt him down like his worst nightmare and he’d never be able to play the drums again.

  That was Piper to a T.

  Unfortunately, even Piper’s best intentions couldn’t stop Jerry’s car from running the red light and putting him in the path of the truck that ended his life.

  A knock at the door startled her. Through the screen she saw Mike Gladnor, a local teen who worked as a delivery boy for several restaurants.

  She pushed open the door. “Hi, Mike.”

  He held up a bag from Chopstix. “Dinner.”

  “I didn’t order dinner.” She looked at the receipt, which had Bodhi’s name on it. Guess our ruined dinner made you hungry. “I think you want the house next door.”

  “Nope. He ordered it for you.”

  Maybe he’s not so gruff after all.

  “He even asked that we throw in a few extra fortune cookies,” Mike added. “He said you’d had some bad luck earlier today.”

  “Bad luck” was one way of putting it. Although it had given her a chance to look at Bodhi up close and personal again, filling her fantasy bank for later.

  Louie came out of the playroom and ran to the door. “Hi, Mike! Did you bring us dinner? Mom was going to make peanut butter and jelly.”

  “Hey, buddy.” Mike gave Louie a high five while Bridgette grabbed her purse.

  She gave Mike a tip and carried the bags to the kitchen table, wishing she had Bodhi’s phone number so she could text him to say thank you. Louie ran back into the playroom.

  “Louie?” She followed him into the playroom, where his action figures were set up all around his play castle. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Can I play for a few more minutes first?”

  “Sure. Bodhi sent us dinner. I’m going to run over and thank him. Would you like to come and then play?”

  “Can I stay here?”

  “How about if you play on the porch where I can watch you?”

  He gathered an armful of action figures and carried them out to the porch.

  She thanked her lucky stars that Louie was so amiable. Like any typical little boy, he had his stubborn and tired moments, but they seemed few and far between these days.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Butterflies took flight in her stomach as she crossed the yard toward Bodhi’s house. She could do this without weak knees. It was just a quick thank-you. Or maybe she should invite him to eat with them. That was the neighborly thing to do, wasn’t it? Surely she could stop lusting after him for one measly hour.

  She climbed the front steps and peeked over at Louie, who was engrossed in his toys. She lifted her hand to knock, taking a moment to go over what she would say. Hi. Thank you for sending dinner over. That was so nice of you. Would you like to eat with us? Pleased with the casual tone of her invitation, she knocked at the door. Dahlia barked and heavy footsteps approached, sending her nerves into a tizzy.

  The door swung open, and her jaw dropped. Oh no. No, no, no. Bodhi’s dark hair was soaked, his skin glistening wet. There was no saving her. Her gaze slid south, following a drip of water from the hard ridge of his pecs down his bumpy roller-coaster abs, to the dark-blue towel around his waist. And—oh Lord, no—her gaze traveled lower still, to the prominent outline of that other body part she’d been wondering about.

  Um. Yeah. Big. Mighty big.

  “Hey,” he said in a clipped tone, snapping her from her trance. He made a signal with his hand, and Dahlia plopped down beside him.

  “I . . . um . . .” She couldn’t think past all the hotness in front of her.

  He chuckled and reached out, lifting her chin with one finger, so she had no choice but to soak in his wolfish grin and panty-melting eyes.

  “Sorry.” She shook her head, but like metal to magnet, her gaze locked on his body again. It took all her concentration to force her eyes up and push her voice out. “Thank you for dinner. Would you like to eat me?”

  He scrubbed a hand down his face, and she realized what she’d said.

  “Oh shit! Dinner. Would you like to have dinner? With us. Me and Louie. Oh God. I’m sorry.” She turned to leave, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her back. Heat radiated from his body, filling the space between them.

  “Bridgette,” he said calmly, his gaze serious. “Take a breath.”


  She breathed deeply, feeling her cheeks burn.

  “That’s a girl,” he said without a hint of patronizing. “Better?”

  “A little.” His hand was searing fingerprints into her skin. “You shouldn’t answer the door like that.”

  “You were pounding on my door. I thought it was important.”

  “I wasn’t pounding.” Was I? She had no idea, but she was pretty proud of herself for looking him in the eyes instead of . . . “You can let go of my arm now.”

  “Are you going to run away?”

  “I wasn’t running away. I was escaping mortification. There’s a difference.”

  He cocked a brow, and she laughed, earning a slight almost smile from Bodhi.

  “Thank you for dinner. It was very nice of you, and unnecessary. Would you like to join us?” She glanced at Louie, glad he hadn’t come with her and witnessed her spiral into Lustville.

  “Thanks, but I have plans tonight.”

  “Oh. Of course. Sorry.”

  A red Jeep pulled into the driveway, and he released her arm, the muscles in his jaw working overtime.

  “Well, thanks again.” Bridgette headed back to her house, trying to ignore the green-eyed monster perched on her shoulder as a beautiful blonde stepped from the Jeep and walked directly into Bodhi’s arms.

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, Bodhi lifted a forkful of egg-white omelet and stopped midair, remembering Dahlia had ruined more than just Bridgette and Louie’s dinner.

  “Problem?” Shira looked up from the documents she was studying.

  “Yeah.” He set the fork down. “I have to go to the grocery store.” He should have gone last night, but he’d had to take a cold shower after the run-in with Bridgette in her hot little skirt. And then Shira had shown up, and they’d spent hours going over minutes from the most recent board meeting for the charity he’d started for grieving military families, Hearts for Heroes. They’d worked so late, he’d insisted she stay over rather than drive two hours back to the city when she was exhausted.

  “That does sound like a problem.” She rolled her eyes and pushed the document across the table. “You missed a signature on this last night.”

  Shira was a brilliant accountant, a badass martial artist, and a loyal friend since childhood, who had been there for him when his father had been killed while on a tour of duty. She was also the president of the Hearts for Heroes foundation.

  She pointed at him, moving her finger in a circle. “What’s going on in that bullheaded brain of yours? You’ve been sidetracked since I caught you banging the hot chick next door.”

  He gave her a deadpan stare. “Bridgette,” he said flatly. “And you know I wasn’t banging her. She’s got a kid, for God’s sake, and for all I know she’s married. Not to mention that she’s going to be my mother’s neighbor.” He signed the document and shoveled his food into his mouth. “You know me better than that.”

  She crossed her arms and sat back, watching him intently. “You’re right. I do, which is why I’m asking. She’s the one you’ve been all distracted by, and probably fantasizing about, since you settled on the house, isn’t she?”

  He never should have told Shira about his inability to get the sweet, sexy woman from the bakery out of his mind. He continued eating, ignoring her question.

  “Look,” Shira said sternly. “This is me you’re talking to. I know you never hook up with women anywhere near home, and honestly, I don’t think you hook up at all anymore. You’re wound so tight I’m waiting for you to blow.”

  Grinding his teeth against how well Shira knew him, he got up to clean his dishes. “Your point?”

  She joined him by the sink and grabbed a dish towel to dry the plate he’d washed. “Maybe it’s time to loosen up and find a girlfriend.”

  “We’re not discussing this.” For the millionth time. They finished the dishes in silence. He patted his thigh, and Dahlia popped off her dog bed and followed them into the living room, which was littered with tarps, ladders, cans of paint, and a plethora of tools.

  “This place looks like a war zone.”

  “What do you know about war zones?” He cocked a smile. This was a much safer topic than where she’d been heading.

  “You’re not sidetracking me.” Narrowing her hazel eyes, she said, “I wasn’t saying you need to get married. But you live in this fucked-up world in your head. You think no woman deserves to be stuck at home waiting for you.”

  There wasn’t another person on earth he’d allow to speak to him that way, but he respected the hell out of Shira and knew she was saying it out of love.

  “You’ve got ten seconds to make your point, Shira, and then I’ve got shit to do.”

  “I have to leave in eight seconds, so calm down. People get killed every day driving to work, walking across the street, slipping in the shower. Give. Yourself. A break. You leave me behind and you don’t see me crying about it.”

  They’d had this conversation so many times he could recite it in his sleep. He loved Shira like a sister, and he knew she worried about him when he went on missions. But there was a difference between their relationship and a relationship with a lover. Maybe that wasn’t a fair way to think about things, but friends chose each other, and while losing them was difficult, losing a lover, someone with whom you were so connected that you carried the other with you at all times, was different. Lovers—real lovers, two people whose lives had become one—might make that initial choice to have a relationship, but they only had so much control over their emotions. He knew from watching his mother’s devastation after they’d lost his father that when people fell in love, their hearts guided them and made the bigger commitment. He could protect himself from that and, in doing so, protect any woman from being hurt because of his career.

  “You done?” he asked sternly.

  Her gaze slid down his bare chest, and she nodded. “Yeah. But don’t torture the woman. Put a shirt on before you walk outside. She’s only human.”

  He laughed as he grabbed her bag and walked her out to her Jeep. “Maybe I like torturing her.” The fact that he’d never felt a thing when Shira looked at his body and he’d nearly combusted when Bridgette did was not lost on him.

  “I wish I could believe that. The trouble is, I know you too well. The look in your eyes as she walked away last night was not the look of a guy who had no interest. The more you flaunt those magazine-worthy muscles, the more she’ll want you. The more she wants you, the further withdrawn you’ll become. You believe you’re protecting yourself. Or her. Or both. But you’re really torturing yourself, Bodhi.”

  “You think you know me.” He played it off as a tease, but she was spot-on, as always, and it bugged him that he was so transparent.

  “Like a pain-in-the-ass brother from another mother.” She hugged him and touched his cheek. “You need a shave—oh, and sugar. I used the last of yours in my coffee. Sorry.” She flashed her you-love-me-anyway smile. “Do yourself a favor. Find out if your hottie next door is married, and if not . . .” She shrugged and climbed into her Jeep. “You deserve to be happy in more than just your line of work.”

  He watched Shira drive away and turned to go inside, catching sight of Bridgette standing beside her car watching him. Her cheeks flamed. He lifted his chin in a silent greeting, but it was too late. She’d already turned away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I HAVE A sleepover tomorrow night!” Louie announced Thursday morning when they arrived at the bakery. The Secret Garden adjoined Willow’s bakery, Sweetie Pie. Most mornings Bridgette and at least a few of her siblings met at the bakery before work, and Roxie picked up Louie there each morning.

  Piper sat on a counter eating what was probably her third doughnut. It was a wonder she still fit into her size 2 jeans, the way she scarfed down goodies. Willow was wrist deep kneading dough, her blonde hair tied back in a thick braid that hung nearly to her waist.

  “A sleepover?” Roxie said. “How fun.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lou
ie agreed. “Mom said I can have a blueberry scone today, Auntie Willow.”

  Willow flashed a curious smile at Bridgette. “Mommy did, did she? A scone. Interesting.” For as long as Willow had been baking, she’d connected people with baked goods. She’d even created a special dessert named after Zane, before he’d become her fiancé. Loverboys. The perfect mix of pleasurable, memorable, and guilt inducing.

  Today Bridgette understood why her sister made those connections. Bodhi was a definite scone. Hard on the outside and probably scrumptious on the inside.

  “Scone.” Piper shook her head. “I haven’t needed a scone in forever. But coupling a scone and a child-free Friday night? That might be interesting.”

  “Hold your tongue until little ears leave, please.” Bridgette put a scone and a handful of napkins in a bag, handed them to Louie, and gave him a hug and kiss. “I won’t be late tonight. Promise.”

  Piper slid off the counter in front of Louie and pointed to her cheek. “Plant one on Auntie Piper.”

  Louie giggled as he kissed her.

  “Thanks, cutie-pop.” Piper hoisted herself back up on the counter.

  “Come on, little man,” Roxie said. “We’ll eat that in the car, and if you’re good, after our deliveries we’ll go to the park.” Her mother loved taking Louie with her to deliver her products to the local retailers who sold them. They’d fawned over him from the time he was a baby. On the way out the door, Roxie looked over her shoulder and said, “Scone? I was sure my oils would at least make this a cinnamon bun morning! I’ll have to try harder.”

  Bridgette groaned and grabbed a hard-crusted pastry, chomping into it as the door closed behind them.

  Willow set the dough she was kneading in a pan and washed her hands, drying them on a towel she pulled from the back pocket of her cutoffs. “What did I miss?”