The Sweetest Temptation (The Whisper Lake Series Book 2)

by Anna Argent

  She hadn't meant to insult him, but from the glower he wore, she clearly had. "I'm sure you're right. Maybe something else happened after the tree branch incident."

  He strode forward like he was on a mission, chin down, shoulders squared. When he reached her, he took her by the arms and bodily moved her another ten feet away from the danger zone.

  "Stay there," he said.

  He slipped through the swinging door into the kitchen, then came back out with a mop. He then moved the cake stands sitting on the counter, and shoved the glass display case several feet toward the front door.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Preventing a tragedy. Stand back."

  Gemma backed up a few more steps.

  With a move graceful enough to make any acrobat envious, he hopped up onto an undamaged portion of the counter and poked the outer edge of the bulge in the plaster with the mop handle.

  Like an overfull water balloon, that was all the pressure it took to pop the ceiling. Wet chunks of plaster exploded onto the floor in a sloppy mess.

  As soon as the crash died down, she was still reeling in shock, staring at what looked like a mountain of destruction.

  Now that the damage was lying on the floor, it looked worse. So much worse.

  A new wave of horror rippled through her.

  "What did you do?" Her tone was as bleak as the view.

  He hopped down from the counter and maneuvered his way around the mountain. "Better a controlled collapse than that happening with someone under it. You could have been hurt, or worse."

  She stared in horror at the giant pile of plaster and felt tears sting her eyes. "You call that controlled?"

  "I wasn't going to let you or anyone else get hurt. Don't worry. I'll clean up the mess."

  She couldn't even think right now. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and vent some of her overwhelmed frustration in tears.

  Her voice broke as she spoke. "I think you've done enough. Please just go and let me figure this out."

  He frowned at her like she had an alien growing out of her skull. "There's nothing to figure out, Gemma. I'll find out what's wrong and make it right."

  Gemma didn't have the kind of money it would take to pay a professional of his skill level. She'd seen some of the lakefront houses Grace Construction had built. They were stunning, elegant, and way out of her price range. And even if she could afford to pay Saxon to do the work, he was probably already booked out for months, and the bakery had to be open in three weeks. "Thank you, but no. I've got it covered."

  "How?"

  She had no answers, which only made things worse.

  Fear and frustration charged through her bloodstream, tying her in knots. Her emotions were running wild, and the only choice left to her was to either cry or get pissed.

  And she sure as hell wasn't going to let Saxon Grace see her cry.

  Gemma squared her shoulders and let her anger fuel her, burning away all traces of tears. "I know this is a small town and everyone thinks everything is their business, but I'm not from here. My business is my own. I will fix everything. Please just go."

  His jaw tightened and his mouth puckered in frustration. "Do you at least have some clue what you're doing here? It could be dangerous if you don't."

  "I know exactly what I'm doing." She was helping her aunt. Whatever it took. The how part was a little foggy at the moment, but she would figure it out soon enough without burdening one of the Graces.

  "If this is about the money—"

  Before he could finish, she cut him off. "It's not," she lied.

  "Does Aunt Beth have insurance?"

  Gemma hadn't thought about that. "Maybe. I'll have to check."

  "Do you still have my card?"

  "Yes."

  "Promise you'll call me if I can help." It wasn't a request, and she could tell by his posture that if she didn't agree, he wasn't going to budge.

  She crossed her fingers behind her back where he couldn't see, because she hated lying to anyone—even someone who was currently challenging her. "I promise."

  ***

  Gemma was lying about calling him. Saxon could tell that much without being a mind reader. His only hope was that she either knew what she was doing to fix the bakery, or was going to call in the help of someone who did.

  His morning was filled with a hundred small details at the office before he was even able to make it to the job site where his crew was working. Everything had taken twice as long as normal because he hadn't been able to get Gemma out of his mind.

  At least he'd knocked that deathtrap of a ceiling down before it crushed her flat.

  He was just wolfing down a cold sandwich he'd picked up at a convenience store when his phone rang.

  Mom's cheerful face lit up his screen, her pale blue eyes shining. Her dark brown hair was just starting to show a few strands of gray, but her face was smooth and as beautiful as it had always been. She was one of the few doctors still practicing in town, and in the photo, she wore her white doctor's coat and stethoscope. Behind her, Saxon could just see the tips of his little sister Flora's fingers making bunny ears behind Mom.

  That warm spot Saxon held in his heart for his mom froze over with dread. If Mom was calling in the middle of the day, either something was wrong, or something was about to be.

  "Hi, Mom. What's up?"

  "The weather is so nice, I walked to the clinic this morning. Guess what I saw?"

  Mom was always meddling in the affairs of others, so there was simply no telling what might have caught her attention this time. Hopefully it had nothing to do with him, and this was simply a gossip call.

  "No idea," he said around a mouthful of bland chicken salad sandwich.

  He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent lunch—probably not since his schedule got too busy to stop at his sister's diner.

  "Gemma Fortier is back in town, helping her aunt recover. Isn't that sweet?"

  The mention of Gemma's name brought back the memory of her lying to his face. "Yeah. Sweet."

  "There was some kind of accident at the bakery."

  Saxon sat up straight behind the wheel of his truck, his pulse skyrocketing with fear. "Is Gemma okay? Did she get hurt? Were you the one who treated her?"

  "Whoa, Saxon. Slow down. She's fine. That's not the kind of accident I mean. I was talking about some water damage that must have happened while the bakery was closed up."

  Relief left him sagging in his seat. "Thank God."

  "I feel bad that I walk by the place every week and didn't notice that the ceiling had caved in until the lights were on inside today."

  "Not your fault, Mom. The ceiling was still generally intact until I took it down this morning so no one would get hurt."

  "So, you know about the damage?"

  "Yes."

  "How long will it take you to repair it?"

  "I'm not."

  Mom went silent for too long—long enough to tell him that she was pissed. When she spoke again, her tone was frosty. "Beth Fortier has been a family friend since before you were born. She baked every one of your birthday cakes. I know you're busy, but I like to think that I raised a man who would never be too busy to help a sweet old lady in need."

  "It wasn't my decision."

  "What does that mean?" Mom asked.

  "It means that Gemma made it very clear that I'm to stay out of her business and her way. She told me she was handling it."

  "Well, she wasn't handling it very well. The poor girl was a wreck when I stopped by to chat with her. She needs help, stat."

  "What do you want me to do? Run and tattle to Aunt Beth that Gemma isn't playing nice?"

  "No. Gemma and I discussed it. It's best if Beth doesn't know about the damage. She's already been through too much. We don't want her spirits to sink, as that can negatively affect her recovery."

  "Then what would you like me to do?"

  "What do you want to do, son?" Mom asked.

 
"I want to fix the dam—darn bakery and not lay awake at night, worrying if it's getting done right. But it's not my call."

  "Since when have you ever let pride get in your way? You've always been my cheerful bulldozer, scooping away all obstacles in your path."

  The mental picture Mom's words painted was strange. Accurate, but strange. "It's not pride that's keeping me from helping, Mom."

  "Not your pride, honey. Hers. It didn't take me ten minutes talking with little Gemma Fortier to realize that she's the kind who can't easily accept help."

  "So, what…I should just sneak into the bakery when she's not looking and do a surprise repair?"

  "No, that would be trespassing, and while your cousin may be the Sheriff, Graces don't break the law."

  "So, I should force her to take my help."

  Mom sighed. "You men always go right for the big weapons, don't you? Why not try a little finesse? I know you've got it in you. I've seen you convince your dad to go fishing instead of to the office, and that man was born a workaholic."

  "That's different. Dad needs to relax more and spend time with Grandad. He's earned it."

  "And what would sweet little Gemma Fortier have to do to earn your help? What would Aunt Beth have to do?"

  "Nothing," he said honestly. "I'd fix up the bakery in a heartbeat if Gemma stepped out of my way."

  "Then put on a little of that Grace charm and give her a gentle nudge."

  "Gentle? From a cheerful bulldozer?"

  Mom's smile warmed her tone. "I'm sure you'll think of something you can do to convince such a pretty girl to bend her pride a bit and let you help."

  He remembered the incident with the rug and how no matter how much he'd talked, Gemma hadn't been willing to let him help her move the bulky load. It was only when he stopped asking and simply barged past her, doing what needed to be done, that he'd made any progress.

  Maybe that was his answer. Stop asking. Start doing. Be a cheerful bulldozer.

  If he didn't give Gemma a choice, she couldn't say no.

  Chapter Five

  All Gemma wanted was a long, hot bath where she could clean off the filth covering her body and soothe her aching muscles all at once. When she pulled into Aunt Beth's driveway that evening and saw Saxon on a ladder in front of the broken picture window, she knew she had one more battle to face before she found any comfort.

  Her muscles had locked up on the short drive from the bakery. She wasn't used to so much physical labor, and prying up wet floorboards and tearing apart heavy waterlogged cabinets was more work than she'd expected.

  Or hoped.

  She had no idea how she was going to get the bakery in shape to open in three weeks—twenty days now—much less order supplies, scrub the bakery clean, and fill the display shelves with treats in time for the first flood of tourists. It seemed like every task she'd accomplished today had led her to uncover two more problems she hadn't known were lurking.

  She didn't know if that broken pipe she'd found under the floorboards was bringing water into the bakery or draining it out, but either way, it was one more thing she had to learn how to fix.

  She'd research it tonight and try to determine just how bad it was, but she'd promised herself a long, hot bath first. As it was, her arms were so weak and wobbly from all of the backbreaking work, she didn't know if she could even lift her laptop.

  As she moved to get out of her car, her back muscles locked up in mutiny. She'd pushed too hard today, and now she was being punished.

  For a terrifying second, she didn't think she'd be able to move. She could feel Saxon's gaze on her, and the last thing she wanted was for him to see her weakness and come rushing to her aid, like she was some frail, old lady.

  Gemma steeled herself against the muscle cramp in her back and forced her body to move despite the pain. She plastered a smile on her face so that Saxon couldn't see her discomfort and got out of the car in one sudden, jerky movement.

  Once she was on her feet, the cramp eased and she was able to pull in a long, deep breath.

  He was already gliding down off his ladder, as nimble as a monkey. Muscles in his back and ass flexed, giving her a display intriguing enough that she almost forgot about her own protesting body.

  "What are you doing?" she asked him, her voice sharper than she intended.

  "Measuring for a new window. I'll have to put in a custom order as this isn't a standard size."

  The plywood covering the broken glass was ugly and blocked the light, but at least it kept out the bugs and weather.

  Gemma tried to walk like she wasn't beat up from her day's work, but her steps were slow and shuffling. Saxon's gaze tracked every one of them, and as he watched, his frown deepened.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Just a little stiff."

  He stepped into her path, and she didn't have the energy to veer around him. Whatever he wanted to say, she would stand here and take it in an effort to get to her bath faster.

  His gaze scrutinized her, those Grace green eyes moving from the top of her dirty head to the bottom of her grungy sneakers and back again. He picked a bit of splintered wood from her hair, then lifted one of her hands in his.

  She didn't have the strength to pull out of his grasp, but she couldn't hide the wince of pain his touch caused. Both of her hands were sore and blistered, but the right one had been victim to the worst of the damage. Even through the work gloves she'd purchased earlier today, her hands had taken quite a beating.

  As he saw the red, angry skin, his frown darkened to an outright scowl.

  "What the hell did you do to yourself?" he demanded.

  She jerked her hand away and clasped her sore fingers behind her back. "I'm fine. Have a nice evening, Saxon."

  Gemma summoned enough energy to take the first step around his big body, but he shifted faster than her wobbly legs could move and her path was once again completely blocked by wide shoulders and an angry scowl.

  "If you think you're just going to dismiss me like I don't see how far in over your head you are, then you're insane."

  "It's really none of your concern."

  "Well, let's go inside and see if Aunt Beth agrees with you."

  A surge of panic welled in Gemma's gut, but she did her best to hide it. If Aunt Beth knew just how bad the bakery was, it would break her heart. Her recovery was precarious enough without adding emotional distress on top of the physical healing she had left to do. "She's not my keeper any more than you are."

  "Then why do you look like a kid caught out past curfew?" He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm not trying to be an ass, Gemma. I'm just concerned. You're the one who's supposed to be taking care of Aunt Beth, but how can you if you're tearing yourself up doing a job you're clearly not equipped to do."

  "I'll manage. I just have some learning to do."

  "Learning?"

  "You know," she shrugged like it was no big deal. "Carpentry, electrical, plumbing. Just general handyman stuff."

  He ran his fingers through his dark hair in exasperation, making a mess of it.

  Gemma wanted to smooth the strands so badly she actually swayed toward him.

  "Whoa." He grabbed her arms to steady her. "Did you eat today?"

  His grip on her bare skin was intoxicating. It flooded her body with some kind of magical painkiller that numbed every ache and soothed every scrape. She had to stifle a groan of pleasure so he wouldn't know the potent effect he had on her.

  "I was just going in to make dinner when you stopped me." She meant for her tone to come out as a scold, but instead her words were breathless and husky.

  Saxon's hot thumbs stroked over her arms and sent a shiver of delight winging through her bloodstream.

  He stared at his grip as if trying—and failing—to convince himself to let go.

  His work boots shifted closer to her, closing the gap between them. A bubble formed around their bodies, blocking out the cooling evening breeze and the sounds of children pla
ying nearby. Everything in the world fell away, leaving her completely alone with a man whose touch had some kind of magical power to make her forget why she shouldn't be letting him touch her.

  His lips parted, and for a wild, crazy second, she thought he might bend his head and kiss her.

  Damn, how she wanted him to. As insane as the thought was, it was the only one in her mind, throbbing with relentless intensity.

  But rather than kiss her, he let go and took a long step backward.

  Now that his hands were off her, every ache and pain came rushing back. Along with her sanity.

  "I should go make dinner. Aunt Beth is probably hungry."

  "So am I."

  Gemma didn't know if he meant for food or something more, but she was teetering on the edge of giving him whatever he wanted if only he'd touch her again.

  Saxon ripped his gaze from her eyes and cleared his throat. "What I mean is that maybe we can reach an agreement."

  Her head was reeling from her wild thoughts and she couldn't figure out what he meant. "Agreement?"

  "A deal of sorts. I'll trade you repairs on the bakery for food. Lord knows I can't cook worth a damn. Word around town is you're some fancy chef—not that I need anything fancy. I'll settle for edible, which is way better than I can do for myself on all but the rarest occasions."

  Gemma stood mute for several seconds as she tried to make sense of his words. "You want me to cook for you? Like a personal chef?"

  "Yes, and in exchange, I'll get the bakery up and running again."

  She shook her head. "It's not a fair trade. Cooking is easy."

  "Then why is everything I make both raw and burned at the same time? Besides, repair work is easy, if you know what you're doing."

  "I was going to learn."

  "Please don't tell me you were planning on watching some YouTube videos for your education."

  The way he said it made it sound like she was an idiot for even thinking she could learn that way.

  The bruise to her pride made her straighten her spine and lift her chin. "What's wrong with that?"