by Melody Grace
“Ah, so you’re trying to seduce me?” Grayson took another step towards her. His blood was running hot, and he wanted another taste of that chocolate.
And this time, he didn’t want the spoon.
“Maybe . . .” Summer tilted her head and gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “Unless you want me to stop.”
Stop?
Grayson paused. “Why would you think that?”
She shrugged, glancing away. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re kind of hard to read.”
Grayson should have been relieved. She was giving him an out: a moment to hit the brakes and explain why they should be taking this slow. Calm, rational. Level-headed.
But instead, he felt a flare of possession so wild, there was no holding back. He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms where she belonged. “Is this hard to read?” he murmured, sliding his hands over her body. “How about this?” He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder, moving along her collarbone as Summer shivered beneath his touch. She let out a sigh, and melted closer, and Grayson was lost to her again.
God, he loved how she responded, her body rising, her skin flushed and gorgeous. He slid his hands over her ass and nipped at her lower lip, easing her mouth open wider and sliding his tongue deep inside. She tasted like chocolate. Like desire and pure temptation, and Grayson couldn’t hold back anymore. He gripped her hips and easily lifted her onto the counter, setting her down beside the mixing bowl and gently pushing her back until she was laid there, splayed on the island like the most magnificent feast he could imagine.
“Grayson—” she murmured, reaching for him, but he pressed her hands down by her sides. His heart was pounding out of his chest with desire. Dammit, he needed her. Needed to hear her beg for him, come undone for him. Drive her to the madness that already consumed him, so she could understand just what he felt when she was in his arms.
Then maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to contain this again. Find his head and that calm logic that seemed to fly out the window whenever she walked in the room.
Yes, he could take control again. Of her, and this, and the chaos threatening to pull him under all over again.
He took a ragged breath, and touched her cheek.
“You promised me a taste,” he said, bending over her. He skimmed her body, the thin silk of her camisole no match for the heat radiating from her skin—or his prying tongue. He shed her clothes easily, then paused, scooping a fingerful of the chocolate frosting from the bowl.
He smeared it slowly across her bare breast, then bent his head to lick it off.
Summer gasped, shivering beneath him. He took another dose of the chocolate and carefully mirrored his mark, circling her nipple with his fingers and tongue until she was taut, pebbled with desire and writhing to his touch. Then he took the spoon, gently drizzling a trail down her stomach that he followed with his mouth and tongue.
Lower, lower . . .
Summer’s skin trembled, her body tightening in anticipation, but Grayson forced himself to go slow. He needed to savor this, every last taste, and he was almost able to keep it together, but then his kisses reached the apex of her thighs, and self-control became a distant dream.
He licked against her and heard her call his name, and then there was nothing but taste and heat and the rise of her body, and the desperate wonder in her moans.
He feasted on her until they were both lost to the madness. And when she broke apart beneath him, he realized he was no closer to finding that balance he’d craved.
If anything, he’d just fallen off the edge completely.
They took the feast to the bedroom, tangling in Summer’s sheets until she felt drunk on pleasure, that sleepy, 2 a.m. satisfaction that loosened her tongue and made her feel like they were the only two people in the world, curled there together, as she learned his body by heart.
“What about this one?” she asked, slowly tracing the faint outline of a scar on the edge of Grayson’s knee.
He lifted his head, propped in the pillows. “That was when I was eight years old. Tennis camp. One of the older boys shoved me over in the gravel.”
“Poor baby.” She leaned in and kissed it.
“Poor him, more like.” Grayson smiled, dark-eyed in the dim light. “I mastered a killer backhand. Walloped him in the head every chance I got.”
She laughed. “Deadly. I like it.”
Summer lazily traced onwards, over his hip and the taut ridges of his stomach. Grayson tensed beneath her fingertips and caught her hand to his mouth, pressing kisses on her palm. She snuggled deeper in the covers, luxuriating in the feel of him; the closeness, whispering in the dark.
“Did you ever read Nietzsche?” he asked, trailing his fingertips across her bare stomach.
Summer shook her head. “I took Pastry 101, not Philosophy.”
“He has this quote.” Grayson rolled to face her. “ ‘You must have chaos within you to birth a dancing star.’ ”
Summer blinked.
“He was saying that creativity, passion, it comes from someplace unpredictable.” Grayson stroked her cheek softly. “That’s you,” he whispered, tracing over her lips. “Chaos.”
He kissed her, a slow, melting kiss that seemed to slip into every limb. Sweet as honey. Summer sank into it, into him, until she lost track of where she ended and he began.
“You were right,” he said, when they finally came up for air. “When we first met, you said if I tasted your chocolate torte, I’d have you naked on the kitchen floor.”
She laughed. “Maybe I should keep it off the menu,” she teased. “Don’t want to get shut down for the commotion as soon as I’m open for business.”
“It’s coming up now.” Grayson traced idle circles on her bare shoulders. “Are you excited?”
Summer wanted to smile and quip, like she had this down, but here in the dark, she felt more honest.
“Yes, and no,” she admitted. “I’m getting nervous. What if they don’t like me?” she whispered. “What if nobody comes?”
“Of course they’ll like you.” Grayson kissed her forehead. “One taste of your crost-flutis, and they’ll fall head over heels in love.”
She giggled.
“Did I say that wrong?” Grayson grinned. “Claf-adas?”
Summer shook her head, grinning.
“Either way, you’re going to knock them out.”
“I don’t know why I’m so worried,” Summer confessed. She rolled over, lying in his arms and staring at the ceiling. It was a warm night, and Grayson’s body was hot enough for the both of them, so she kicked the covers aside. “I’ve been part of half a dozen openings. And it’s not like I’ve got critics ready to cut me down, like they would back in the city.”
“But this is yours.” Grayson squeezed her.
“Yes,” Summer said, feeling that tremor of pride and anxiety. “This is mine.”
She swallowed, turning her head to look at him. “The other day, when I was making bread—”
“Pummeling the bread into submission.”
“Right. My mom, she said that everything I had, it was because of her. She’d pulled strings to get me my jobs, and I never even knew.” Summer felt the rejection slice through her, fresh and raw. “All that time, I thought it was because I was good enough.”
Grayson frowned. “What are you talking about? You are good. You’re great.” He propped up on one elbow, looking down at her. “What you do in the kitchen, that’s art right there.”
“Really?” Summer couldn’t resist giving him a teasing smile.
He chuckled. “That too. But seriously, you have an incredible talent,” he added, his voice turning sincere. “Don’t let things with your mom make you doubt that. She’s not the one making magic here, winning everyone over. And when the bakery opens, you’ll see that for yourself.”
He leaned in and kissed her again, and Summer felt her heart swell with his support. He was right, this was her chance to prove hersel
f all on her own—which was why it filled her with such an anxious mix of excitement and nerves.
But the bakery could wait. Tonight, she had Grayson, and for these few, sweet hours, she didn’t need anything else but his tender mouth and miraculous touch, and the dark-eyed intensity that took them over and made her feel like the only thing that mattered in the world.
16
Summer woke the next morning on her bedroom floor, which was one step up from the vegetable garden, at least. She rolled over and found herself pressed against six feet of lean British muscle.
Now this was a great start to the day.
She lifted her head and looked around the room. Her sheets and pillows were scattered on the floor, and their clothing was nowhere to be seen—probably because they’d stripped it off downstairs, long before they made it up to bed.
Wow.
There were no other words for it. Just . . . wow.
She yawned and snuggled closer to Grayson, enjoying the warmth of their bodies tucked together and the gentle sound of birdsong outside, until finally he stirred and slowly blinked to life.
“Hey there, sleepyhead.” Summer kissed his cheek. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. Although, if anyone earned a lay-in, it’s you.” She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face, just remembering the night before.
She wouldn’t be able to look at chocolate frosting the same again.
Grayson yawned and looked around. “What time is it?” he said, still sounding sleepy.
“Way too early to be getting up,” Summer reassured him. “Although, I wouldn’t mind moving someplace softer. What do you think, can we make it to the bed?”
But Grayson was already getting to his feet. “I’m late for my run.”
She laughed. “I think you’re covered for your workout. I’m surprised you can even move. I know I can’t . . .” She stretched, feeling that delicious ache in her limbs; the imprint of his body still branded on her in the best way.
“I wish I could stay, but it’s my routine,” Grayson explained. “A run, then coffee, before I go open the bookshop.”
Summer’s vision of a lazy morning disappeared. But she could compromise. A little exercise never killed anyone—even if she had just already had the workout of her life.
“How about I come with you?” she suggested, sitting up. “We could stop by that pond again, take a morning dip after. Then I’ll make us some breakfast,” she said, brightening at the thought. “I’ve got all those zucchini and tomatoes, they’d make an amazing frittata.”
“Sounds great, but not today. On the weekend, maybe.” Grayson dropped a kiss on her lips, then went downstairs in search of his clothes. The sight of him naked in the morning was almost enough to distract Summer from the fact he’d just blown off her idea of spending the morning together.
Almost.
She found a robe and padded downstairs, finding him retrieving the shirt that had somehow wound up hanging off the sink. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with breakfast?” she asked, feeling strangely off balance. It was one thing when he’d ushered her out of the door because of poker night, but it was barely 6:30 a.m., and any sane man would be happy to snuggle in bed for another hour. “I make great coffee, if that’s what you need.”
“Thanks.” Grayson gave her an absent smile. “But I better get back to it.”
“Oh.”
He came closer and kissed her again, softer this time, echoing the slow-burn fever that had consumed them both right here in this kitchen. Summer relaxed into him. “I’ll see you later?” he asked, drawing back. “Come over tonight, and I’ll try to cook you dinner.”
“Try?”
“I can’t make any promises.” Grayson smiled. “Fifty-fifty we’ll be eating the finest takeout Sweetbriar has to offer.”
“Sounds good to me.” Summer smiled. “Say, sixish?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll give you a call when I’m finished with everything.” Grayson fished a sock from the cutlery drawer. “Including laundry.”
He kissed her again, then headed out the back door, across the orchard to his place. Summer lingered in the doorway, watching him leave. Despite his kisses and the plans for tonight, she still couldn’t shake the feeling he’d just ditched her. Again.
Was she reading too much into his disappearing acts? One minute, he was right there with her, caught up in the moment, and the next . . . those walls seemed to come up all over again, leaving her on the outside.
It was fine, she reassured herself, turning back to the kitchen—and all the mess they’d left behind. He was a busy man, he had a whole life going here, but so did she. That journalist Poppy had mentioned would be dropping by for their interview, plus she had to have her part-time staff come by for training before the Memorial Day weekend opening. She should be glad she had the space to focus on the bakery. With a little time, Grayson would open up and make some more room for them in his precious routine. It was an adjustment, that’s all, and Summer was nothing if not flexible.
She’d proven that last night for sure.
But despite her hopes that Grayson would relax and let their new relationship unfold at its own pace, he seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length instead. Sure, they spent every night together, each one more mind-blowing than the last, but almost as soon as her pulse had returned to normal, and they lay there, sweaty and panting in the tangled sheets, she could feel Grayson retreat back into himself, that switch flipping from tender and passionate to cool and calm all over again.
It was maddening. He wouldn’t break his routine, no matter what. He was out the door at 6.30 a.m. every day for his run, back at his place for coffee and the morning newspaper before work, even if she was still dozing in his bed. She could have understood it if he had some high-powered corporate job, or people waiting for him, but who walked out on a naked woman to go sit alone in an empty bookstore instead?
It didn’t make any sense.
“It’s an adjustment period,” she said, as much to herself as Poppy, as they strolled the Sweetbriar town square on Friday. The soft opening of the bakery was the next day: she should have been focused on whether the blackberries were ripe enough for a sticky glaze or if she should stick to cherry, but instead, she was still poring over Grayson’s baffling signals. “He’s used to being alone, so it’s only natural he isn’t exactly Mr. Amiable when it comes to couple stuff. It comes with the territory, right?”
“Mmhmm . . .” Poppy made a vague sound.
“You could at least try to sound like you agree with me,” Summer sighed, and Poppy gave her a quick hug.
“I’m sorry! I’m sure you’re right. It makes sense he’s not used to being with someone, but . . .”
“But what?”
“What do you want?” Poppy asked pointedly. “It sounds like you’re bending over backwards to accommodate his whole Lone Ranger routine, but you like all the couple stuff, don’t you? Being together, opening up, when you can’t get enough of each other and you just want to share everything with them. It’s the best part,” she said, with a private smile that made it clear she was thinking about her own relationship.
“I know . . .” Summer tried not to feel that tremor of insecurity that kept bubbling in her chest. “He’s not treating me like some kind of hook-up,” she added quickly, wanting to defend him. “He took me to dinner last night, at this little place in Provincetown, right on the water. It was really romantic, we talked for hours.”
“That sounds lovely,” Poppy said. “So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, he up and went back to his place at two in the morning, because he said he just slept better in his own bed,” Summer admitted. She’d tossed and turned all night after that, the space beside her in the bed taunting with his absence.
“Ouch.”
That was an understatement. She still felt the echo of rejection, cutting through her morning-after glow, but he probably hadn’t given it a second thought.
/> Could anything shake Grayson’s inscrutable calm? How did he do it—stay so steady and self-controlled? She came undone in his arms. The minute she walked out the door, she craved one more kiss, and he stayed there, lodged in the back of her mind all day no matter what she was doing. God, even the thought of him made her stomach flip over, her heart racing in anticipation to see him again. She counted the moments until their next date, but when she showed up to meet him, he almost seemed reluctant, like he’d forgotten they even had plans.
Did he even care about her at all?
“I hate being this girl,” she groaned. “Poring over every little word, trying to get a hint how he feels. I’m never this girl!”
“Because you’ve never cared about a guy like this,” Poppy pointed out. “You should say something. Maybe he doesn’t realize you want him to stay.”
“I know, but maybe I’m the one moving too fast. I mean, what do I know about relationships?” Summer despaired. “The last guy I dated was in a ten-foot radius of me in the kitchen all day long, and it still didn’t work out.”
“That was different. He was a cheating asswipe,” Poppy said fiercely. “Grayson isn’t like that. I mean, you don’t think he’s seeing someone else, do you?”
Summer laughed. “Are you kidding? There’s barely room for one woman in his precious schedule, let alone more of us.”
Poppy grinned. “Well, that’s something.”
Summer sighed. “But what am I supposed to do?” she asked helplessly. “I’m crazy about him. When we’re together, it’s so good, but it’s like he’s keeping me at arm’s length still. I don’t want to be the only one falling here.”
Or the one to hit the ground.
Poppy gave her a supportive squeeze. “Talk about it. Seriously, he’s not a mind-reader.”
Summer shook her head. “I don’t want to seem clingy. It’s still early.”
“It’s never too early to tell someone what you need,” Poppy countered. “Maybe he doesn’t realize he’s pushing you away. Don’t be surprised if you have to spell it out,” she added with a wry grin. “He’s probably so dazzled by all the amazing sex you’re having that he’s walking around in a daze.”
