Earning Her Love (Sweet Somethings Book 2)

by Rory Reynolds

  Earning Her Love

  Sweet Somethings Book Two

  Rory Reynolds

  Earning Her Love

  (Sweet Somethings Book 2)

  Rory Reynolds © 2020

  Cover by Popkitty Designs

  Created with Vellum

  to everyone who struggles… you’re seen

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Rory Reynolds

  Prologue

  Margo

  Where the heck is Lani? She was supposed to be here an hour ago to help me get ready. For the hundredth time, I’m questioning the wisdom of having an actual booth at the Apple Festival. Yeah, it’ll be great for our small town of Sugarhill to bring in business from our neighboring town of Clearwater, but this is so not my thing. I’d rather be at my bakery serving up treats than here where there are dozens upon dozens of tourists who come to the festival every year.

  I’m setting up the last of my mini apple pies when disaster strikes. The cheap table that the festival coordinator assigned me wobbles, and in the next second, two of the legs buckle. My first thought is ‘oh, crap’ my next is lord, this is going to be a disaster. I rush to grab the end of the table before all is lost, and I end up with a pile of apple desserts on the ground.

  Of course, that means that instead of hitting the ground, they slide off the table and onto me. Soon enough, I’m covered in apple pie filling and sticky apple-honey from my apple-honey cinnamon rolls.

  I do my best to hold up the end of the table while not letting anything else slide, but the table is freakin’ heavy and awkward on the soft grass of the field the festival is held in. Despite the fact that I’m clearly struggling, not a single person comes to my rescue. No, the other people selling their sweets and baked goods either completely ignore my situation or snicker at my predicament.

  Crap.

  Tears swim in my eyes, and I consider just dropping the darn table and letting it fall so I can get out of here and back to Sprinkled With Sugar. The baker in me can’t let so many of the desserts I slaved over for the last two days to be ruined. I nearly release my grip on the table when two big, strong arms encircle me from behind, and large hands grip the table on either side of my much smaller ones.

  “I’ve got it, sweetness.” My eyes fall closed at the comforting rumble of Amos’ voice in my ear. “You can let go.”

  I nod and duck under his arm. “Thank you,” I say with a shy smile.

  I move quickly, pulling all of my desserts from the broken table and set them back on the cart I wheeled them over on. Once it’s empty, Amos puts the table's broken end on the ground and wipes his hands on his jeans to try and get the sticky pie filling from his hands. It’s then that I remember my own run-in with the desserts and look down at myself. I groan because I’m covered in apple pie filling and crumbs from the crusts. Not only on my clothes, but I somehow have apple-honey glaze in my hair.

  “You okay?” Amos asks, obviously concerned. Probably because I’m once again staring at him like an idiot—something I do way too often in his presence. I can’t help it. He’s the sexiest man alive. If I could build the perfect man, he wouldn’t be half as gorgeous as Amos Webster.

  No, my imagination isn’t good enough to come up with those fathomless hazel eyes and the sharp cut of his scruffy jaw. I’ve never considered myself the kind of woman who would swoon over such a big, gruff man, but here we are. I can’t get the image of his muscular chest and that sexy V that trails down to the promised lands out of my mind.

  I’ve only seen him shirtless one time, and it’s burned into my memory. He was out jogging with only a pair of loose shorts that hung low on his hips. A hot and sweaty Amos is nothing to turn your nose at. Nope, all I could imagine is what it would be like to be underneath someone so big and powerful with his corded muscles and overall bulk.

  My imagination runs wild anytime I think about that day. I can’t even tell you how many times my hands have snuck into my panties to the image of him stalking towards me in those gray running shorts with fire in his hazel eyes—those green and gold flecks burning bright just for me. My friends think I have a crush on Amos, but it’s so much more than that. I lust after the man in a major way. Not to mention despite his gruff, almost rude behavior towards just about everyone, I’m half in love with him. Him coming to my rescue today is just another moment in a long line of little things he’s done over the last year that have made my heart flip.

  “I’m fine… a little sticky, but not hurt. Well, maybe my pride.”

  Amos chuckles. “Sticky is a good look on you.”

  My core clenches at the double meaning. That’s another thing about Amos… he is a terrible flirt but in this covert kind of way. Everything is an innuendo. He never straight up says anything that could be considered inappropriate, but there’s always this underlying sexual implication to his words that has my panties self-combusting every time he’s near.

  “Thanks… I think?”

  He licks his lips. “Oh, it’s definitely a compliment, sweetness.”

  My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I might have a million dirty thoughts about Amos Webster, but I’m definitely not the type of girl to flirt ostentatiously like he does. I’m not sure what changed… maybe seeing our friends Lani and Torin finally figure out their own relationship has pushed him toward more openly showing his intentions, but I’m not complaining.

  It turns out my friends were right. They’ve been telling me for months that Amos is as attracted to me as I am him, but I never saw it. Yes, he bought desserts from my bakery even though his diner is famous for their own desserts. Yes, he personally picked them up every morning when he could have easily sent one of his employees, but the man was a real jerk about it. Every morning he opened the boxes of treats and counted them and looked them over like some quality control Nazi. Then he would grunt and leave with his box of desserts.

  Frankly, it pissed me off and made me feel like an idiot for wanting him so dang bad. Now, I think he was so gruff and standoffish because he’s as affected by me as I am him. The tension has been building for months now, and it’s only a matter of time before it explodes.

  “Well, thank you then. And thanks for saving my hard work. None of these other jerks made a move to help me, just gawked like it’d be one more competitor down. I knew this was a bad idea.”

  Amos shakes his head. “It’s a great idea. It’s not your fault that they gave you a shitty table. It’s definitely not your fault that these assholes,” he turns and levels a nasty glare at several of the surrounding business owners, “would lift a selfish finger to help a woman in distress, regardless of how beautiful she is.”

  My cheeks flush pink at the compliment. That’s another thing that’s changed. He’s continuously complimenting me. Not my baked goods—me. It’s a heady thing having a man like Amos compliment me. I’ve never had low self-esteem, but I’m a realist. I’m not nearly as thin as the ideal woman. My hair is a curly black tornado. No matter how much I try to straighten it, the curl bounces right back, and then it frizzes as if I offended it in attempting to tame my curls. I’m pretty, I guess, but definitely not in his league. He deserves some kind of supermodel hanging off his arm, not a curvy small-town baker who eats way too many of her own creations.

  “I really appreciate it,” I
say, trying to unsuccessfully clean myself up with the paper-thin napkins I brought for customers. The only thing I’ve managed to do is spread the stickiness and get bits of napkin stuck in the mess.

  Amos closes the few feet that separate us, my heart pounds in my chest at his nearness. That’s one line he hasn’t crossed. He’s never gotten into my space. Flirted, yes. Touched no. He lifts his hand toward my face, and my breath arrests in my chest as the anticipation grows. Oh, God, he’s going to touch me.

  His thumb glides across my cheek and comes away with a bit of pie filling. I could die of embarrassment… that is, until he lifts his thumb to his mouth and sucks it off his finger.

  Holy crap, that’s hot. My core heats, and my panties grow wet at the sight. He lets out a little growl of approval as if that little taste of pie filling is the best thing he’s ever tasted. He stares down at me with heated eyes, his lips slowly lowering to mine. My eyes fall closed, and I tip my head back ever so slightly, telling him I’m on board for his kiss.

  “Sorry, I’m late!” Lani calls out as she comes rushing up.

  Amos takes a frustrated step away from me. I instantly miss the heat that radiated off of him. I definitely miss the almost-kiss. With a sigh, I greet my best friend. She’s positively glowing. I’ve heard that pregnancy can do that to a girl, but I think it’s more about the man walking a couple steps behind his whirlwind of a wife. Yeah, Torin and Lani are the perfect couple who radiate love and happiness.

  “What happened?” Lani asks with wide eyes.

  I shake my head. “It’s a long story…”

  1

  Margo

  My alarm goes off, and I slap it with a groan. Three A.M. comes early. Especially the day after book club… which at this point has devolved into drinking wine and eating the leftover desserts from my bakery. We might as well call it sugar-coma night instead, but Lani insists on keeping up pretenses. I slowly drag myself from my bed and make my way to the shower. I strip off my sleep shirt and flick on the cold water before stepping inside. The burst of freezing cold does its job and jolts my system awake. I adjust the temperature and relax into the steady stream of hot water. Minutes later, I’m dressed and have my hair twisted up into a tight bun.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m letting myself into the back door of the bakery and flicking on the coffee machine. I do my normal prep for the day while my coffee percolates. I’ve got the ovens preheating and the ingredients ready for my first recipe of the morning. I take my first sip of liquid goodness with a little sigh.

  Before I know it, two hours have passed, and it’s time to put together the first special orders of the day. I leave packaging Burnt Sugar’s order until last. As always, I make sure every dessert in the box is perfect. Every double chocolate chip cookie is perfectly round. The mini pies are golden brown perfection. Even the cinnamon rolls are completely even in size and have the exact amount of sticky apple-honey glaze.

  Thirty minutes after I open the doors, all the special orders have been picked up but for one. Amos always waits to pick up Burnt Sugar’s order until after the morning rush trickles out. Like clockwork, the bell above the door dings and in strides the object of my infatuation. He’s wearing a Burnt Sugar Diner t-shirt which is stretched taut over his muscular chest and a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips. I can’t help but wonder how much of his tanned, tattooed skin would show if he lifted his arms.

  I lick my lips at the fantasy, cursing the fact that I don’t need a lightbulb changed. He’d do it too, then I could spend the time gawking at his hotness without the risk of getting caught.

  “Morning, sweetness.”

  “Good morning, Amos. I’ve got your order ready.” I run to the back to grab the order and then promptly trip on my own feet a scant foot before I reach him with the cumbersome box. Like magic, Amos not only catches the box but manages to prevent me from taking a header too. He quickly sets the box on the counter then wraps both arms around me.

  “Careful,” he says in that sexy growl of his that does naughty things to my body. It never fails to turn me on.

  “Thank you,” I say, completely breathless and a little more than turned on like panty-melting levels of turned on. Ever since our interrupted moment at the Apple Festival a month ago, every moment I spend with him is fraught with sexual tension. I’m wound so tight it’s a miracle that I haven’t blown into a million pieces.

  “You’re welcome, sweetness.”

  Those hazel eyes of his are burning for me, maybe even with more need than last time he looked at me as if to warn me of his impending kiss. I don’t need a warning though. I just need the dang kiss. I need it like I need my next breath. I’m so hungry for it that I’m tempted to close the distance myself, but I can’t do that for some reason. I want Amos to make the first move.

  His arms tighten around me, and my hands grip his shirt in tight fists. Slowly his mouth descends, and I know this is it. This, right here, is the moment that I kiss Amos Webster for the first time. And then like a cruel twist of fate, the bell above the door rings, announcing a customer.

  I move away from Amos like I’ve been scalded—and I practically was from the heat between us. I have a feeling that a kiss from him will leave scars all over my heart. One of my best friends, Prue, stands just a foot inside the door gaping at us. She raises an eyebrow in question, and I give a minute shake of my head, telling her to leave it.

  “Hey Margo, just stopping in to get a coffee and muffin. I had an early emergency call, and I’m dying for some caffeine and sugar.”

  I expected Amos to grab his order and leave, but instead, he stands there like a silent sentry daring anyone to ask him to leave. Not that Prue would, she wants us to get together as much as any of my friends, even if she is anti-relationship. Which is why after I give her the muffin and coffee, she hightails it out of here with barely a goodbye instead of hanging around and chatting like usual.

  As soon as the door closes behind her, Amos strides toward me with purpose. Before I can protest—not that I would—he’s got me by the hand and is dragging me to the kitchen. The doors swing shut behind us, and he smashes his lips to mine in a searing kiss.

  2

  Amos

  It’s my favorite part of the day—time to pick up my order from Sprinkled With Sugar. Time to see Margo. The woman that I’m completely gone for and desperate to have a taste of.

  “Going to pick up my order from Margo’s,” I shout back through the pass-thru to Daisy.

  “You finally gonna make your move on that pretty little baker?” she hollers back.

  I ignore her little dig. She’s been at me for over a year to make my move. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to; it’s that the timing never seems right. Plus, until recently, Margo has been standoffish. Now I’m seeing that it isn’t because she doesn’t want me, it’s because she wants me and is worried that I don’t want her. It’s time to erase that doubt because I definitely want her, and not just to slake my lust. I want so much more.

  It’s a quick walk across the street to the bakery. Thankfully, the rush is over—totally planned on my part—and if it goes my way, we will have several uninterrupted minutes together. Today’s the day I taste her sweet lips.

  The bells ding as I enter, and Margo shouts from the kitchen that she’ll be right out. She pushes through the doors and comes to a dramatic halt as she realizes it’s me. I don’t think it’s a surprise though. I always come as soon as the rush is over. When she looks me up and down licking her lips, I know it’s not because she’s surprised.

  As she takes her time looking me over, I shamelessly do the same. My little baker is curvy in all the right places. Her hips are perfect for gripping as I fuck her. That ass of hers is a wet dream. Her tits are full and round, begging to be worshiped. I would worship at their altar for hours if I had half a chance. I end my perusal on her cupid’s bow mouth. Her lips are pillowy, and I can’t help imagining what they would look like spread around my cock.

  Fuck
.

  My cock is achingly hard behind my zipper. Margo’s eyes land on my bulge and become hooded. I guarantee she’s wet for me. I lick my lips, imagining her taste on my tongue. She’d be sweeter than those treats she sells me every day.

  “Morning, sweetness,” I say, breaking the spell cast around us.

  “Good morning, Amos. I’ve got your order ready.” She practically jumps to attention as she turns and runs back into the kitchen to collect my order. Hop away, little rabbit… I’ll catch you soon enough.

  I see disaster coming before it strikes as Margo rushes out of the swinging doors. I rush to her and catch the box of desserts seconds before it comes crashing to the floor. I set it on the counter and catch her up in my arms before she can hit the floor herself. Her breath rushes out as I pull her against my chest, wrapping both arms around her.

  “Careful,” I murmur lowly.

  “Thank you…” she says breathlessly.

  “You’re welcome, sweetness.”

  Just as I’m about to crush my mouth to hers, the bell on the door dings, and Margo jumps away from me like she’s been burned. Fuck me. It’s her friend Prue. I swear those friends of hers are the biggest cockblockers in the world. First Lani and now Prue. Thankfully, Prue seems to catch the tension and gets her coffee and muffin and leaves quickly.

  I don’t hesitate a moment longer. I grab Margo’s hand and drag her willing body to the kitchen. Before the door swings shut, I have her in my arms, and I’m kissing her like the starving man I am. I’ve craved her lips for longer than I’d like to admit, and my imagination didn’t do her flavor justice. She tastes better than her sweetest dessert.