Sweet Surprise

by Candis Terry

“You girls.” Jackson shook his head. “Always looking for the knight in shining armor.”

  “Naw.” Fiona thought of Sabrina’s comment. “All we’re really looking for is a good guy with a little bit in common and a few manageable flaws.”

  The elevator doors whooshed open on the maternity-ward floor and as they stepped out, Fiona could feel the exhilaration vibrate through the waiting room. Approximately two hours and thirteen minutes later, Annie delivered a very loud and very healthy Maxwell Jacob Morgan into the arms of those who loved him. And that included everyone in the room.

  When Fiona’s turn finally came around to hold the eight-pound, two-ounce bundle of joy, she looked down into his sweet little face, with his pink cupid lips, and gently stroked his full head of blond baby fuzz.

  A major dose of baby fever swept her away, and the truth came down like a wall of stone.

  All these years, she’d just been on a day-to-day journey of survival. But as she soaked in the abundance of love in the room, she finally had her aha moment.

  She wanted it all.

  A man to love who would love her in return. A wonderful, forever marriage to someone who would also be her best friend. Brothers and sisters for Izzy. The cute little house with the white picket fence. And a successful business.

  All this time, she’d never thought of herself as someone who wanted the whole crazy-in-love, big-family, American-apple-pie dream.

  But all these years, she’d been wrong.

  The sound of large pink gumballs clattering into a large apothecary jar didn’t help the no-sleep hangover poking Fiona in the head. Of course, welcoming a new baby into the world was worth the lack of Z’s. If she could have only explained that to Izzy this morning when she’d had to wake her up to go to day care. Three hours of sleep for an adult was bad enough. Three hours of sleep for a four-year-old created a total Cranky McCrankerson.

  Izzy’s grunted responses when asked if she preferred eggs or cereal for breakfast and her complete meltdown of whether to wear the pink or the purple tutu over her jeans made Fiona laugh. If only life were really that simple.

  Now, standing in the center of the shop, she grabbed her coffee mug and took a large slurp. Once the caffeine hit the spot, she opened the bag of green apple gumballs and dumped them into another large apothecary jar. She’d seen the clever idea somewhere on Pinterest. Though she didn’t sell gumballs, it was a sweet and happy design theme that added to the fun atmosphere she wanted to generate in her shop.

  There were only a few days left before she actually opened the doors for business. The nerves—and doubt—had started to collide. Her dream was finally coming together. But the results were still to be realized.

  What if she failed? What if she missed some important piece along the way and took a nosedive right into bankruptcy? Worst of all, what if her cupcakes sucked and nobody wanted them and she disappointed her Gma G?

  Maybe her grandmother wasn’t actually around to see things fail or succeed, but Fiona felt her there in her heart as strong as if she were standing in the same room. And though the woman had the heart of a saint, and Fiona knew she wouldn’t judge, the pressure was still on. More than anything, she wanted to know that her grandmother was aware she’d finally pulled her life together and was headed down the right set of tracks.

  Fiona hummed along to Kip Moore’s latest tune on the radio as she tore open the bag of white pearlescent gumballs and poured them into the largest apothecary jar. She wadded up the cellophane bag and pushed back a stray strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Then she stood back and looked at the displays on the cabinets Mike had built. The cabinets were gorgeous and huge, yet with the apothecary accents, they looked too crowded.

  Snagging her bottom lip between her teeth, she rearranged the jars and tried to figure out if the idea would work or if she should give up altogether.

  In that moment, awareness tickled the back of her neck, and every female cell in her body went on full alert. She turned, and her eyes got all happy when she discovered Mike with his backside leaning against her display case, one jeans-clad ankle cocked over the other, arms folded across a clean white T-shirt.

  “I thought you were selling cupcakes, not gumballs,” he said. A dark glare pulled his brows together, as if he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be standing there in her almost-ready-to-open cupcake shop.

  So why was he?

  She glanced at the glass jars filled with pink, white, and green gumballs, then back at him. “They’re representational.”

  “Of?”

  “Nonpareils.”

  “Which are?”

  “Confectionary balls.”

  The confusion on his face signaled he needed clarification.

  “You know,” she said, “those shiny little decorations you see on cupcakes and cakes?”

  “Clearly this isn’t a subject I’m all that familiar with,” he admitted.

  “Understandable. On the scale of importance, gumballs probably fall far below rescuing lives or putting out fires.” She tossed the cellophane bag in the trash, then folded her arms. “So what’s up?”

  “Up?”

  “As in, what are you doing here?” she asked, though in her mind it really didn’t matter. She was just enjoying having a nice long look at him. Because really, the man did something fabulous for a worn pair of Levi’s. “You already finished the cabinets.”

  “The place looks great,” he said in way of an answer that had nothing to do with the question.

  “Thanks. The shop opens in two days.”

  He pushed off the display case and came toward her. Each step he took sent a tingle through her heart and down into her girly parts. “Nervous?”

  Nervous? No.

  Extremely turned on? Yes.

  “I’m afraid I’ve bypassed nervous and gone straight to panic,” she said. “I’m trying to think only positive thoughts. But . . .”

  “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

  “I appreciate your confidence.” For an awkward moment they stood there looking at each other. Okay, admittedly, she was probably drooling and trying really hard not to let it show. Especially since he was definitely giving her an uncertain vibe.

  While his gaze wandered over her body, his brows pulled together and formed an intriguing assembly of crinkles between his eyes. Creases her fingers itched to smooth.

  Before she did exactly that, she uncrossed her arms and lifted her hands in submission. “Okay. You’ve got me. I surrender,” she clarified. “You’re paying me all these nice compliments. Saying all these nice things. And I still have no idea why you’re here. It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but I’m all out of projects for you to do. Although I can’t imagine with your talent you’ve run out of clients. So . . .”

  “Jana called me,” he said.

  Not for the first time did she realize the depth and sexiness of his voice. She wondered if he’d ever considered doing voice-overs for women’s fantasy DVDs. Voices like his must be worth their weight in gold. There was nothing worse in the world than seeing a really hot guy in some soft-porn movie and, when he opened his mouth, he took all the sexy away.

  Not that she frequently watched soft porn. But she’d seen it once or twice. Maybe three, or four, or ten times.

  Yep. Soft porn. A single girl’s Saturday-night sure thing.

  “I can’t imagine why she would call you,” Fiona said. “You’re off her payroll.”

  One masculine shoulder came up in a shrug. “She just wanted me to make sure you had everything you needed.”

  Obviously, no. Reference her last thought.

  “As far as I can tell.” She glanced around the shop. “Although the displays are a little crowded. I thought there would be plenty of space with extra room to exhibit some local artisans’ work. Like maybe Annie Morgan’s hand-dipped chocolates, or Sabrina’s handmade notecards.”

  “Sabrina has a crafty side?”

  She laughed. “You look surprised.”

/>   “She doesn’t look like the artsy type.”

  “Well, jump on the bandwagon why don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry. What bandwagon?”

  Fiona sighed. “Sabrina may look like a Victoria’s Secret angel, but she has a lot more going on than legs for days and shiny hair. And the bandwagon I’m referring to is how men perceive her. Which leaves her dateless most nights, with no prospects for the future.”

  “Really?” His arms crossed over that magnificent chest, and his frown was joined by a look of astonishment. “I think it’s nice that she’s more complex.”

  “She’s great. And talented. But unless I can come up with more space, I won’t have anywhere to put her work. And I’d really like to.”

  “I might have a solution for you.”

  As he unfolded that big, gorgeous, golden, muscular body, the frown disappeared from his face. Unfortunately, the tension in those broad shoulders didn’t seem to relax at all as he headed toward the back door.

  When he came back inside, the first words out of his mouth were, “I thought you were going to keep the back door locked when you were here alone.”

  A statement, not a question.

  “I’ll try to remember from now on.”

  The second statement out of his sexy mouth was, “Close your eyes.”

  In her imagination, the follow-up to that deep and seductively delivered statement was “And do as the nice man tells you to.”

  Whoo boy.

  She had to get a grip.

  Still . . .

  Always way too eager to walk barefoot into the fire, she slammed her lids shut.

  A few seconds later he surprised her by sliding his big hands over her upper arms. His palms were warm, and her body reacted like he had a direct hotline to all her tingling girl parts. As an added plus, his deliciously masculine scent enveloped her as he effortlessly lifted her off her feet and set her down a little farther to her right.

  “Keep them closed.”

  Far too soon, the heat of his hands on her arms vanished as he let go.

  Heavy bootheels shuffled against the wood-planked floor. Then the air shifted, and he was behind her again. His warm breath swept across the top of her shoulder as he leaned in. Anticipation danced a conga line down her spine, and the revelers were rewarded when his hands covered her own.

  Slowly, he peeled away her hands and the sound of his deep, silky smooth voice vibrated against her back. “You can open your eyes now.”

  She did. And gasped.

  In the center of her lobby sat a beautiful round table with exquisite scrollwork and claw feet. It had even been painted in the same scrumptious pink as her walls.

  “How did you know?”

  With luscious lips open in surprise and delight dancing through her blue eyes, Mike knew his surprise had pleased her. Still, he had to play it cool. He forced himself to remember this was all about paying off a debt and helping out a really nice lady who obviously cared about Fiona a great deal.

  “When Jana called and asked if you had everything you needed, I gave it some thought. And I figured you probably wouldn’t have enough space, even with those cabinets. I thought you might need some kind of centerpiece for special displays. If you didn’t, there wouldn’t be an issue. You could just toss the table.”

  “Toss it?” Her forehead crumpled. “Are you serious? It’s beautiful. And perfect and . . .” She looked up at him, and he completely got lost in the pleasure in her eyes. “I’m very touched that you’d even think of it.”

  “Thank Jana. She made the call.”

  “I’d rather thank you.”

  Everything inside him warmed. Even his stupid, locked-up heart did some kind of crazy flip thing. Initially, he’d fought the foolish notions Jana’s call had pushed into his head. He’d battled against the idea that if he made something for the shop, he might have a chance to see Fiona again. And then he had to remind himself that he didn’t want to see her again.

  He couldn’t see her again.

  Seeing her made him want her.

  Made him want her bad.

  The instant he’d pushed all intelligent thought from his head and began to plan the intricate table design, he had to admit he’d lost his mind.

  The week had been long and arduous, the work shifts extra busy, the rescues many. At first, he hadn’t been able to figure out why there seemed to be so much commotion out in the world until he’d looked up and seen the full moon hovering over Texas like a big beacon of crazy. No one really understood why the moon seemed to affect people the way it did and made them do stupid things. It was just fact. Maybe that was why he’d joined the masses of the walking lunatics and once again found himself standing in front of temptation.

  Earlier, when he’d walked through that back door and caught her unaware, humming along with the radio, looking like a complete dream in her Lucky jeans, My Little Pony “Flashprance” tank top, and her ponytail swaying against the backs of her bare shoulders, he should have left the table out in the back alley with a note and taken off.

  But noooo.

  He had to step right in the middle of exactly what he’d been trying to avoid–his serious attraction to this woman.

  “Will you help me move the jars over to the table?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Hell, he’d help her get anywhere she wanted to go. In the meantime, they moved the gumball-filled jars to the table.

  “Hmmm.” She stood back and with her chin cupped in her hand, made an observation. “I need to put things at different levels to make it more appealing.”

  “I . . . actually thought of that too.” Oh, God. Now he totally sounded like a girl when the issue really was that he was trying to please a girl. He went out to his truck and came back with the finishing pieces.

  “Pedestals!” Those blue eyes lit up again. “They look like cake plates, and they’re perfect for–”

  “Your cupcakes.” He watched as she stacked one of the two pink pieces on top of the other, creating a tower effect. Then she placed the apothecary jars in a perfect combination to set off the entire design.

  “And they’re perfect for boxes of Annie’s chocolates and packages of Sabrina’s notecards.” She clapped her hands together. “How can I ever thank you?” Unexpectedly, she launched herself into his arms.

  Surprise lit him up like a Fourth of July firecracker. God, she smelled so damn good–like sweet, warm woman, and the promise of something incredible.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  Really kiss her.

  He wanted to run his hands all over her soft, smooth skin. To give her pleasure and sink into her slick, hot body over and over until neither of them could remember their names.

  Blue eyes looked up into his face as though she was just as surprised as he to be in his arms. The passion in those eyes also suggested she might not mind diving off the erotic cliff with him.

  With her firm breasts pressed into his chest and the rest of her luscious body snug against the front of his jeans, desire–hot and gripping–ripped through him, and he completely lost his mind.

  Instead of dropping his hands or using them to set her away, he used them to pull her in tighter. Her sugar-sweet scent filled his senses as he lowered his head and claimed the mouth he’d been dreaming of for months. She returned the passion full force. Wrapping her arms around him. Running her fingers through his hair. Arching against him and feeding him hungry, wet kisses that destroyed his will and obliterated his common sense.

  Anyone could look through the window and see them.

  He didn’t care.

  Without a thought for reputation or backlash, he backed her against the counter and lifted her up on top, all without breaking the kiss. She wrapped her slender legs around his hips and drew his erection against the crux of her heat.

  One touch.

  That’s all it took, and he knew–instinctively–they’d be like fire and gasoline if he could just slide those Lucky jeans down her legs and slip into her e
ager body.

  The kisses grew hotter. Breaths mingled. Desperate to touch, he reached beneath the thin cotton tank top, and caressed her luscious, smooth curves. She moaned into his mouth as his fingers met her bare skin. His fingers searched higher until he filled his hand with her satin-covered breast. A deep, gratified groan rumbled from his throat.

  And then she was gone.

  “Stop.”

  He blinked.

  No other word in the English vocabulary could halt a man in his tracks like that particular four-letter word. Unless it was followed by a particular six-letter word.

  “Please.”

  Yep.

  That was the one.

  He stepped away. Battled for composure.

  Yet one look at her moist, tasty mouth made him want to pull her right back into his arms and finish what they’d started.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. But I can’t.” she said. Regret darkened those once brightly blue eyes. “I just . . . can’t.”

  Her visible distress drilled him into the lowest level of hell. He didn’t question why she’d backed off. He simply gave her a nod and did the manly thing by taking the blame. “My fault.”

  “Mike . . . you don’t understand.” She held out her hand, beckoning.

  But sanity had returned.

  There was no going back.

  Chapter 8

  Two hours and counting.

  The gorgeous hand-painted sign Reno Wilder created now hung on the front of the ancient building on Main Street.

  Sweet Surprise Bake Shop.

  Now open.

  Well, in a couple of hours anyway.

  The shop’s pink-and-green confectionary décor was light and charming. The aroma of banana toffee, salted caramel, maple bacon, peanut butter and jelly, and red velvet cupcakes scented the air. Everything looked as it had in the dream Fiona had shared with her Gma G so many years ago.

  At the prep table, while Fiona finished frosting two dozen spiced chai latte cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and topped them with a sprinkle of cinnamon and a chocolate straw, she wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming.

  Opening day for Sweet Surprise was the fruition of the dream she’d had since she’d been a teenager. Along with that dream came worry. She feared her cupcakes would be dry, or the frosting would either be too sweet or not sweet enough. She feared no one would show up. She feared the opening would fail, and she’d fall flat on her face. Just the idea had kept her pacing the floor for the past two nights.