Have Your Cake

by Roi, D. S.

  She met his stare. Her heart melted. His scent tugged at her core.

  “Cyana, I’ve missed you.”

  A mew passed her chest. She’d wanted him to hold her. He started to move in. Her lips parted while she followed the sight of his tempting mouth inching closer. A sliver of heat coiled her spine with memory of his taste and the power of his demand. The warmth teased around her thighs before crawling upwards. Those lips, compelling and sensual. Just one more time.

  “Asher.” Cyana wrenched herself from the kitchen island with the offer in her hand, “I can’t do this.” Her words passed breathy even though she wanted them to be strong.

  Asher pushed away from the counter. “Cyana, darlin’. Give me something.” He raked his hand over his hair. “I’m dying to know how things are between us.”

  “I’m sorry, Asher, but we have to stop.” She blurted the words. The pain of her statement made her clamp a hand over her mouth. She stood there a moment before she stole a shaking breath between splayed fingers. “We’re too different. The Huffing family business operates on love, fun and caring. We aren’t good pretenders. Not like you and your mother. It seems she already has someone lined up for you, someone who fits the bill of what the Wilmingtons are used to.”

  He let out a curse, pacing away from the island towards the back window.

  “I’m not trying to offend you. Really.” She spoke to his back. “It’s just, I’ve been trying to ignore the things I know and I can’t.” She clenched a fist to her chest. “We can’t be this.”

  “Well, hell, Cyana.” He twirled back to her with hands on hips. “I have yet to wrap my head around just what you think we are.”

  “Asher, it’s a thing we have for each other. It’s just…feelings and physical. It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing!” Hurt flashed in his eyes.

  She swallowed at the thick knot forming in her throat.

  “Nothing?” He shifted his weight on his feet. “You call us nothing right after sayin’ we’ve got feelings?”

  “I didn’t mean…” She sucked in a breath to fight the betrayal of tears. She couldn’t do this. Weakness got her stuck with Jamal. She had to walk away from Asher before either of them ended up regretting their fling. “I—”

  “At least you have feelings, Cyana.” His tone cut through her chest.

  Anger sparked in her gut and stole her tears. “Mr. Wilmington.”

  The words caused him to suck in a breath, spin away and settle his palms on the small dining table. “Don’t call me that.”

  “It’s your name. You know? The part you neglected to tell me when we first met.”

  “Shit, Cyana.” He pivoted back to her. “Would you have finished talking to me if you knew? Would you have stayed here?”

  “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t have accepted anything from you except a job.”

  He waved one hand, palm up, as if to gesture she’d proven some point he was trying to make.

  “I would have looked you up as soon as possible, Mr. Wilmington.”

  He groaned, shifting his sight towards the ceiling.

  “I would have learned about you before accepting anything. Before sl—sleeping with you.” She choked on the words. She wrapped her arms across her middle. Vulnerability seeped in.

  He raked a hand over his face. “Are you regretting our moments together?”

  She unfolded one arm to hold up her palm. “It was unprofessional.” The words passed in a wobble. “It.” She huffed in a needed breath and fisted her hand to her chest. “It wasn’t smart.” She blinked, reluctant to look at him; unwilling to show how hard she fought her tears. “Under any other circumstances, I would have gotten to know you first, to know your family; your history.”

  “Hold on, Cyana.” He took a step forward. “You would’ve researched me?”

  The heat of his irritation washed over her, making her feel small and fragile. She took a sharp breath, trained her vision on a button in his shirt. If she met his glare, she was certain she’d cower.

  “What’s this about? What did you find?” He stepped closer.

  She put on her best poker face, locked into his stare and took a step back. “You’re a hitter. And I don’t mean like Joshua, either.”

  “God damned, son of a bitch,” he grumbled. “Cyana, it was over a decade ago. Fifteen years to be exact.”

  She shook her head more vigorously to resist her pending tears. Not here. Not in front of him. “Do it once and you’ll do it again.”

  “That’s not fair, Cyana.” His hands went back to his hips. “I was provoked. Bridget and I argued. She kneed me in the balls so damn hard I was in the hospital overnight. I slapped her. I was in so much pain, with my balls floating around in my mouth, I didn’t have control of how hard I hit her. She hurt me a hellava lot worse. The assholes down at the paper don’t tell you any of that shit, now, do they? The whole truth don’t make the goddamn paper sell. All they care about is one of the brats from the richest family in the area got himself in trouble again.”

  His voice had risen. She shuddered. “And th-the drugs?”

  “We were kids.” His brow knit. His tone softened. “Teenagers. Rich and spoiled and without a damned clue we were hurting ourselves or anyone around us. We got busted. I went to rehab. I admit I fucked up. Okay?” He paused, seeming to fight for the right thing to say next. “As a matter of fact, this conversation is fucked up, Cyana.” He took a few steps away from her. She sighed with relief. He cursed, raked his hands through his hair before twirling back to her. “You seem to have learned a hellava lot about my demons. Funny how I don’t throw yours all out there.”

  “It was in the paper.” She made eye contact with heat in her tone. “It’s public record.”

  “It’s half-assed public record. Shouldn’t you be damned smart enough to see that, Ms. Good?”

  She gawked at his insult.

  “What’s the matter, sweet pie? Got nothing to say for yourself snooping around in my past?”

  “You want to know my demons, Mr. Wilmington?” She narrowed her gaze on him. “I’m a widow.” He sat back on his heels. She drew no satisfaction knowing her truth knocked him off his high horse. Her stomach knotted with the admittance. “I’ve been married before to a man who regularly sought me out as a punching bag. Four years.” She tugged at her composure while her voice crackled with sorrow. “Four years of hospital visits, hell, drugs and indecency before he got locked up and met his end by the hands of a cell mate. I was so in love with him.” She gasped. “So blinded by it, I didn’t want him to go to jail. I didn’t understand how terribly he was hurting me.”

  The blood drained from Asher’s face. His brow softened and stare filled of sympathy. “Cyana, I’m nothing like the kid I was. I’m a changed man.”

  “I’ve heard it all before.” She spoke softly and took a step forward. “But how long have you had a relationship to prove it. How long?” She insisted.

  “My dating record is clean.”

  “And probably void of any stable relationship. Am I right?” He didn’t have to answer. His expression said enough. “I thought so. I’m sorry, Asher. I just can’t.”

  “Don’t do this, Cyana. I’ve been good to you.”

  His words squeezed at her heart. “I know. That’s how all relationships start out, and then…” she shook her head.

  “Dammit, don’t punish me for what some punk did to you.” He took a step forward.

  She moved away. “No. Don’t.” If he touched her now, she’d melt into him, seeking his comfort. Make another mistake. She’d done it so many times before. “I have to—to go. I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much for me.” She scurried for the door.

  23

  Asher stomped around the foyer, madder than a wet hornet.

  “Fuck.” It came out strong and every bit like how he felt. Only then did he notice the heavy silence his outburst brought over the activities inside the house. Chasing Cyana wasn’t the answer. It’d prove n
othing. She’d said her peace and shot out of there, leaving him hollow. He couldn’t beat holes in the wall. “Dammit.” He couldn’t smash the glass. “Shit.” He couldn’t break all the dishes in the kitchen. “Ah hell.” He did the best thing he could after dismissing every bonehead action he wanted to take, but wouldn’t. He stomped a pattern in the tiles with his boots, hands on hips.

  Pops sat in the foyer chair. Patient. Waiting.

  The pressure from steaming anger subsided enough for Asher to trot through the crowd of designers.

  “Asher?” Sally dismounted the last step of the stair case, rushing towards him with a concerned expression.

  “You. Don’t talk to me,” he growled and headed for the back door.

  “I have him, Darling,” Asher heard Herman calming Sally.

  He settled himself into one of the porch chairs and crossed his booted feet on the white tabletop.

  The scent of rain clung to the air. The clouds lurked with a dark ominous ceiling that wouldn’t yield a drop to the grass. It soothed him to know he wasn’t the only one of nature’s creatures pining for something strictly denied; needing life and only glimpsing its passing.

  Pops came from the house with two glasses in his hands. The scotch swirled around and glistened in the light peeking through the clouds. He handed one over before taking a seat.

  “Thanks Pops,” Asher muttered and took a sip.

  They both sat a while in silence, enjoying the distant thunder rolling; the rumble reminded him of first loving Cyana. His original taste of her passion. Her ability to seize his heart and make it pump at her speed.

  Pops took a long breath. “Never seen you so upset over a woman before, Son.”

  Asher consumed a deep swallow of scotch. “Never wanted any before,” he muttered the truth before clenching his jaw and heaving a breath. “They had a purpose. Fun. Keeping Sally off my back.”

  Pops made a “hum” of acknowledgment.

  “I thought I was being smart. I played this one a bit to get my hands on her; just to see if she was a gold digger.” Asher shook his head. “Pops, you know, Cyana didn’t even have a clue who I was.” He shot a glance over at Pops but Herman just stared out into the plush lawn and over the skyline in the distance. It was his way. Calm. Nonjudgmental. Everything a troubled teenage boy struggling to find a voice in the world, in his home, needed. The father Asher had found for himself.

  He stared at his half-full glass before he took another swig. “She was so different; didn’t seem to know about the money. She trusted me, thinking I was,” he chuckled, “some project manager for the family who owned the place. She believed everything I told her.” Asher lowered his glass with a soft thud to the table. “Damn, I was such an ass.”

  “You didn’t stray too far from the truth, Son. You are the family’s only project manager. Can’t help that money grubbing makes you wary. It’s the life you know. Sounds to me like you’ve never had a Georgia peach before.” Pops took another sip of his scotch, savored it.

  “A peach?”

  “The kind of woman who’s full figured, full flavored and sweet down to the pit. She has just enough fuzz to tickle your lips and her sweet juice runs down your arm when you attempt to bite.” Herman chuckled.

  Asher rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s some metaphor.”

  “Only for the nice girls. They’re hard to find. So many get burned in the process of learning how to love.”

  “Cyana would certainly be a peach.” Asher sighed. “The first night she stayed, I lay in the other room while she slept in my bed. I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t sleep ‘cause I kept thinking about the others. I felt guilty about them, you know. Like, somehow I’d wasted my time on them. Threw away my money on ‘em. How they just weren’t worth it. I started feeling guilty.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Don’t know why in hell, but I did. Like, I’d wronged her somehow. Shit, I hadn’t even gotten my hands on her yet. Something in me knew. I just knew she was what I really needed. What I shoulda always had, or always been lookin’ for.” He shook his head. “I saw her business plan and her work. Watching her create is…it’s magic. And, I’d given money to women without a stitch of her passion, knowledge or skill. Cyana deserved more than I ever gave them.” He clenched his hand. “I coulda given her everything she wanted.”

  Asher stared out towards the work shed. Memory of throwing his arm around her and walking the path tugged at his chest. They’d been raw and innocent in their behavior. “She figures what we got going on is some kinda “thing”. I don’t know. Maybe it is. Hell, now since she’s learned a bit about the Wilmingtons, I’m not certain I blame her for just cutting me off.” He took a long breath through the ache; then focused on Pops. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

  Pops was lowering his glass from his lips. “Only if it’s love, Son. Only if it’s love.”

  “Well, Damn.” Asher lifted his glass and gulped the last of the scotch. “Funny, I always thought I’d be afraid of love if I ever found it. Now, I’m just scared to death she’ll leave me here.” He squinted at how true his words were. Loving Cyana didn’t bother him at all. Losing her twisted a mad screw into his heart. “Did you and Sally get to this point?”

  Pops nodded. “You’re mother’s a tough one. We never got past it. Maybe your story will be a bit different.”

  Asher huffed a breath. “No offense, Pops, but I hope so. I certainly hope so.”

  Cyana placed the spirit level on the last of the four cake rounds and put her weight on the top. With a sigh, she sat back from her work.

  “It looks like a wrap for today sweetie,” Mama said from the island where she prepped her marvelous sauce.

  Cyana nodded. “It is. I’ll let it sit and level overnight. I can decorate it tomorrow.”

  “The postman brought your edible gold in this morning.”

  “Mama, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Child, there will be plenty of time to paint those chocolate sea monsters you made tomorrow. Now, your sister and I can help you with whatever you need. You don’t have to go this alone like you always do, Cyana.”

  She shifted in her seat understanding Mama’s hints. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now go’on put the cake in the big fridge by itself. Make sure it’s the one on the left. I don’t want any of those smells from the other food getting in your cake. Then take some time to pretty yourself up. Eric arrives tomorrow to take you to Chef Marshall’s Place. You can’t be lookin’ worked.” Mama ended her sentence with a bit of dramatic pizzazz.

  Chef Marshall’s was the only fine dining establishment near town. It was all but a miracle they didn’t get the catering job over Huffing’s Kitchen. Then again, Iona had said this wedding party wanted “real” food, which to them meant comforting soul food and barbeque. Chef Marshall’s specialized in fine French cuisines. The best soul food in all of Weynor County came from Huffing’s Kitchen.

  “How did my boy, whose meals I’m paying for, afford to take his Ma out to Marshall’s?” Cyana asked while rolling the cake into the industrial fridge.

  “Now, don’t get mad at the boy. Your sister and I may have helped. I know how much you don’t want assistance, but he asked us to make this real special. Now, you know I won’t deny my grandson.”

  Cyana rolled her eyes. “I know, Mama. You spoil them ‘til they stink; then spoil them to the smell of themselves.”

  Mama chuckled. “Well, I only got two and they’re seventeen years apart. You girls made it possible for me to spoil them plenty. Now go’on and get your hair and nails right. You can probably wear one of Iona’s dresses as small as you are.”

  She kissed Mama’s cheek. “Thanks, Mama.”

  Friday. Asher stretched in his bed and rubbed his heavy eyelids. He glanced at the clock and groaned. Two hours rest wasn’t a good way to start, but the Milway fought against him. Nearly every room of the house held a memory of Cyana, a glimpse of quiet peace he wanted to capture in the midst of chaos.

&nbs
p; He rolled to the edge of the bed, put his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. A deep yawn ripped out and shook his upper half. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this wiped out. A soft tap came to the door, reminding him why he woke up. Probably Sally.

  “Yeah?” It grumbled out of him loud and ornery.

  “Hey Dad, you getting up any time soon?”

  A new pulse of energy jolted through his sleepiness. He hopped up from the bed. “Yeah, Josh, give me a minute.” He peered down at the fierce throbbing between his thighs with a soft curse. Dreaming of Cyana left him aching as if he’d pop out of his skin. The feeling like he would screw up if he just let her walk away had settled in the mattress with him. It seemed to nag him awake and shift his thoughts to her every time he nodded off. He tossed on a pair of jean shorts, tucked down and secured his morning wood and unlocked the door to his nephew. They embraced.

  “You’ve been drinking? You look like shit,” Josh said.

  He chuckled. “And you look great for a guy just getting back from a bachelor party. Let me splash some water in my face and scrub up a bit.” He headed for the in-suite bath. The water was refreshing. He used the soft hand towel to dry up before readying a toothbrush.

  Josh entered the room. “Grandma told me Pops was in town, but she’s hogging him.”

  Asher chuckled between scrubs.

  “Did you ask him to come early?” Josh asked.

  “Yeah. Sally’s a bit tight. She could use some loosening before the wedding, don’t you think?”

  “Or you’re just keepin’ her outta your hair,” Josh accused.

  “No comment,” he said as best he could with the brush in his mouth.

  “Speaking of loosening, where’s your girl?”

  The question stung a bit. Asher spit in the sink and rinsed his brush out to buy him some time to think. He placed his hands on opposite sides of the basin and looked himself over. Josh didn’t have to know Cyana had left him. “We’re adults, kid. We each have work. Right now our job is givin’ you the biggest wedding in the south. If you want your cake, then you best be glad she’s working.” He could see Josh smiling at him from his peripheral.