by LJ Garland
“Nope.” She sipped her champagne. “Typically, I consider myself pretty level-headed. Reasonable. But I have to admit, that video I got threatening Hugh? It totally rattled me. Now, I’m thinking there may be a link between the roses and the video.”
“A billionaire Prince Charming psycho.”
She arched her eyebrow. “Again, hearing you say it out loud makes it sound ridiculous.”
He chuckled.
“Seriously, though. I couldn’t stand it if Hugh got hurt because of me.”
He took a swig of champagne, the bubbly washing over his tongue a tad more bitter than before. She cares about Hugh?
Of course she does, you idiot. She’s a genuine person.
The question was, did she and this Hugh dude have a thing going? He hadn’t even met the guy, and he already didn’t like him. Sophie was unique. She deserved someone special.
She stared at him while she drummed her fingers on her thigh again. “Honestly? I have no idea why you’ve gone to the lengths you have to help me. You don’t even know me. I don’t know you. But if something happened to you—”
“Nothing will happen to me. Or you.”
She lifted her chin. “If you were smart, you’d get up right now and walk out that door. Get as far from me as possible.”
His need to protect her rose up, fierce. Angling toward her, he set his hand on top of hers, stilling her fingers. “I’m not going anywhere, Sophie.”
“No?” Heat danced in her eyes.
“Do you want me to?”
“God no.” Her breathy reply filled him with hope.
“Would Hugh have a problem with me hanging around?”
“Why would he…? Oh.” She shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning upward. “No, my co-worker doesn’t care who I—”
“And here we are.” The woman who’d greeted them at the door now approached with a silver tray which she set in front of them on the table. Over a dozen pieces of cake artfully decorated the platter. She glanced up at them and smiled. “I have to say, I’ve been in this business for quite a few years, and most of the couples who come in here are stressed out from wedding planning and whatnot. More than a few argue. Some don’t even speak to one another, just use me as some kind of intermediary.” She shook her head and straightened, smoothing her palms over the front of pristine white apron. “It’s a rare treat when I see a couple looking at one another like the two of you do. You”—she used her finger to draw a line from him to Sophie in the air—“are the genuine deal. The sparks are literally popping between you. I’ve never seen anyone more in love.”
Sophie jolted. “Um, we’re not—”
“Sure which flavor of cake we want,” he finished. Lifting her hand, Dawson laced his fingers with hers, brushed his lips over her knuckles then shifted his attention to the woman again. “Do you mind how many we try?”
“Oh Lord no. Try as many as you like.” She waved toward the tray and tittered. “Try them all.”
“This one looks good.” He picked up a fork from the tray, dug into the closest cake then held the bite out to Sophie. “Here, sweetheart. You should have the first bite.”
Tentatively, she parted her lips, and he slipped the cake into her mouth. A moment later, her eyes glazed over, and she moaned.
“Wow. That is good.” Mirroring his moves, she cut a bite of the cake nearest her and held it up to him. “You try this one, sweetie.”
Opening his mouth, he let her feed him. As he chewed, moist vanilla cake mixed with rich buttercream icing. And, somewhere between enjoying the decadent flavors while holding her hand and staring into her eyes, the moment became intimate. Sexy. Erotic. Who knew feeding each other cake was hot as hell?
The woman cleared her throat, and Dawson tore his gaze from Sophie.
“I, um…. Okay.” She picked up the empty bottle from the table. “Why don’t the two of you continue tasting the cakes and let me know which one you like. I’ll get you another bottle of champagne.” Turning on her heel, she rushed off, leaving them alone.
Sophie leaned toward him, burying her face in his shoulder. Her muffled giggles made him grin.
“Too much?” he murmured to her. “Too far? What?”
She straightened, merriment dancing across her features. “Perfect.”
“Good.” He squeezed her hand, and though the intimate moment had broken, his desire for her remained. He glanced at the tray. “I think you promised me cake for lunch.”
“I did.” She laughed again then scooped a bite from a different sample and offered it to him.
Chapter Nine
Later that afternoon, Sophie sat across from Dawson in a quaint bistro. After praising the owner of Creative Cakes for her delicious creations and explained they weren’t really engaged but there gathering information for a Deep Insights article, the woman had giggled.
“You two really had me going. I believed you were in love. Are you sure you’re not?”
Sophie assured her it was all an act so they would be treated like any other couple who came into her store. Then she’d taken several pictures and obtained the requisite release form to use her name in the story. The woman had been so thrilled about the promotion she’d packed up several more samples, given the box to Dawson, and sent Sophie and him out the door with her thanks.
Dawson leaned toward her, his forearms on the square, Formica-topped table. “So, which did you like best?”
She nibbled her bottom lip, remembering all the rich, decadent cakes they’d sampled. The way he’d stared at her, his eyes eating her up with each bite of cake she’d fed him. And the way he’d watched as she accepted the morsels he offered her. God. Just thinking about it made her skin heat and her nipples tighten. “Um, the one with the lemon filling, hands down.”
“Agreed. Hopefully, she stashed another piece of that in the box she gave us.” A sexy half-smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he set his hand out on the table, palm up.
Ohmigod. She stared at his inviting large palm and long fingers. He wants to hold my hand again. Not to calm or comfort me, but because…he wants to hold it. Did she dare accept? Without questioning herself further, she set her hand on his, delighted when his fingers clasped hers, enveloping her with his warmth.
“So, what else is left to do for your story?”
Lifting her gaze, she found his focus on her, intense, delving. Freaking hot. “Just to put my butt in the chair and write it.”
“And then what?” He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb.
“Turn it in.”
“To your boss at Deep Insights.”
“Jackson Jacobi, yes.” When was the last time any man had asked about her work beyond the cursory “What do you do for a living?” Um, never. “He didn’t give me an actual deadline on this one, but I know he’d like to get it into next month’s edition.”
“Because he already has you on a new story, right?” The muscle in his jaw worked. “Your stalker?”
She flinched. “You heard all that?”
“I didn’t hear everything while you talked to him on the phone this morning, but I heard enough to piece together that your boss is a dick.”
With her emotions having been wound tight for so long, his unexpected comment made her laugh. “Well, yeah. He is. But Deep Insights is a stepping stone for me.”
“To what?”
He still hadn’t removed his wonderfully warm hand from hers, and she did nothing to change the situation. “Hopefully, the Baltimore Sun.” Why had she admitted her dream job to him? “Crazy, right?”
“Absolutely not.” He shook his head, and, again, the combination of his blue eyes, dark hair, and killer smile struck her as sexy as hell. “Everyone should have a dream.”
“So, what’s yours?”
“It was Major League Baseball.” He rolled his right shoulder then shrugged. “But that didn’t pan out. I’m planning to open a pub with my brother.”
“That why you’re working at Pat’
s Irish Pub?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Busted.”
“You’re working here on the East Coast at Pat’s then you plan to…what? Head home to Cedar Valley, California, to open your pub?”
“That’s the plan.”
“But why Pat’s Irish Pub? Why not a pub on the West Coast?”
“Ah, yes. Andy’s devious plan.” He gave a short chuckle. “My brother is ready for me to come home. But you have to understand, Cedar Valley isn’t that big. Or it wasn’t when I was a kid.”
She nodded. “Baseball.”
“Yep. It not only got me out, but it got me a full ride at college. After that, I just kept going and applied for the MBA program. Andy came out for several visits, and every time he said, ‘After this, you’ll come home,’ or ‘When you graduate, you’ll come home.’”
“But you weren’t planning to.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. We were close growing up, and when Mom and Dad took up photography and were gone on assignments, we depended on each other even more.”
“But then you left, too.”
“Yeah.” Guilt swam across his face. “Andy’s resourceful, though. And smart. And devious on occasion.”
She squeezed his hand. “And this was one of those occasions.”
He chuckled. “He sprang his idea of us opening a pub in Cedar Valley when I went home for our cousins’ weddings. Then he tells me he found the perfect pub for us to learn the trade. ” He shook his head and smirked. “He knew I wouldn’t drop everything and head cross-country because of a wild idea he told me about while we were heavily intoxicated. Somewhere in there, I told him about my upcoming master’s project and that I needed a case study.”
“So, he came to you,” she concluded.
“Exactly. He found a pub we could apprentice at on the East Coast. Said I could use the data and whatever I learned as part of my project.”
“I’m liking your brother. Will he be at the pub when Hugh brings me my things?”
“Nope.” He took a drink of his soda. “The owner, Pat Collins agreed to hire us for two consecutive three-month terms. We got to learn the trade. He got reliable workers for six months. Win-win.”
“Aw. I’d like to meet your brother sometime.”
“Yeah, well, at this very moment, he’s hard at work in Cedar Valley getting permits and whatever else we need to open the pub.”
“He’s home working hard while you’re here, living the high life under the guise of a master’s project?” She nodded. “I see how this works. Nicely played.”
He chuckled again, a deep warm sound she was beginning to crave. “I don’t think he’s complaining. He did meet Maureen.”
“A woman? Intriguing.” She arched an eyebrow. “Tell me more.”
“Not much to tell.” He brushed his hand through the air. “Andy met her while doing his stint at the pub. I’ve heard a lot about her, seen them together in selfies, but I haven’t met her yet. He says she’s ‘the one.’” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she is. All I know is he’s happier than I’ve ever seen. So don’t feel too sorry for him.”
“Mmhmm.” She sipped her water, ideas turning in her brain. “Maybe I should talk to Jackson about doing a story on pubs. How they’ve changed over the years and how they’ve stayed the same.”
“I’m sure Pat’s Irish Pub would enjoy the publicity.”
“I’ll see what Jackson thinks. But first, I have to finish the wedding piece.”
He nodded. “I have a laptop you’re welcome to use.”
“Thank you.” His generous offer cast her unpleasant situation to the forefront. What are you doing, Sophie? Here’s this wonderful, amazing guy who’s interested in you. The proverbial knight in shining armor, coming to your rescue.
She tapped the nails of her free hand on the tabletop.
Yeah, but what do I have to offer? A ruined wedding gown? Some psycho fan sending me roses and threatening videos? Right. I’m sure that’s at the top of his “Must Have” list when it comes to a relationship.
Wait. She stopped tapping. Relationship?
He squeezed her fingers. “Hey, where’d you go?”
She shook her head to clear her train-wreck thoughts. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How to write this story.” When Sophie accepted this assignment, she’d done so with trepidation. “Pft. Like I would know anything about a perfect wedding. How can I possibly write something worthwhile when I have no intention of getting married…ever?”
“Never?” He lifted an eyebrow. “I know your mom did a number on you, but you do understand you’re under no obligation to follow in her footsteps.”
She frowned, desperately trying to decode the meaning behind his words. What makes you think there’s a hidden message at all? You have a promising career as a reporter. Mom pretty much hung on one man’s arm and then the next. Maybe Dawson’s just stating the obvious—you’re not your mother. “Well, yeah, but—”
“Here you go,” the waitress announced. She cocked her slim hip, flipped open a folding stand, and lowered the tray with their food onto it, doing so with such grace Sophie wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she was an aspiring model—she certainly had the height and figure for it. The woman set the plates in front of them, smiling big at Dawson, and then straightened, her focus solely on him. “I’m Marci. If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” he told her.
Sophie glanced at Dawson. To her surprise—and pleasure—she found his gaze locked on her.
“Okay, then. Enjoy.” Her voice held a wisp of disappointment—or maybe Sophie just wanted it to. After picking up her stand and tray, the waitress left.
Okay, wow. This guy is something else. How can he not be drooling over the sexy brunette giving him food? Seems like almost every other guy in this place is checking her out as she struts past.
Instead, Dawson dug into his club sandwich on rye and side of fries. And how he could eat like that, after all the cake they ate, she had no idea. Though a little hungry for solid food, Sophie just picked at her grilled chicken salad—dressing on the side, please. After the massive amount of sugar she’d already ingested, she needed to save calories somewhere.
“Here.” He held one of his last steak fries out to her.
“No, thanks.”
He brandished it at her. “You know you want it.”
“I really shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” He narrowed his eyes. “You can’t be one of those women who never eats in front of their date. It was you I shared all that cake with, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. And I think I may have exceeded my dessert limit by a wee bit.”
“This isn’t dessert. It’s a potato. Straight from God’s green earth.”
“And then tossed into a fryer,” she quipped.
“Which is what makes it so good.” He proffered the fry. “So, in the spirit of sharing….”
“Uh-huh.”
He grinned, challenge dancing in his eyes. “I dare you.”
“A dare?” She laughed. “Okay, then.”
Leaning forward, she stopped just short of the fry, lifted her gaze to his, and arched her eyebrow. You wanna dare me? She wet her bottom lip with her tongue then dipped her head, wrapping her lips around the fry as it slid into her mouth. He moaned, and she sat back, triumphant.
He cleared his throat. “Um, I think we need to leave.”
She stifled a giggle and glanced at her watch. “We do need to leave. It’s almost time to meet Hugh at Pat’s Irish Pub.”
“Not exactly what I had in mind, but if you insist.”
After paying the bill, he grabbed her hand and led her outside into the crisp Baltimore night. He dug into his pocket, pulled out his keys then tapped the fob for his MINI Cooper, unlocking her door. After settling her inside, he went around to the driver’s side and climbed in. Twenty minutes later, they eased into the pub
’s parking lot, stopping in a space under a light.
“There’s Hugh’s car.” She pointed at a Mercedes.
Dawson shut off the engine. “He’s early.”
“He’s a reporter. We always arrive at least fifteen minutes before showtime.” Over the years, it had become habit, giving her time to take pictures and make note of the surroundings so she could write a well-rounded story.
“Makes sense.”
He got out of the car and came around to open her door. He’s such a gentleman. As she exited the MINI, he left one hand on the doorframe and set the other on the roof. By the time she straightened, she stood so close to him there was nowhere else to look except into his eyes. His wonderful scent swirled around her, and, unable to stop herself, she inhaled.
He closed the door, locked it then tucked the fob in his pocket. She hoped he’d take her hand again, but he didn’t. Instead, he set his other hand on the car roof, too, caging her. Heat bloomed low in her belly, and her heartbeat kicked up a notch.
He stared down at her, his intense gaze leaving her weak with desire. Vulnerable. Wanting him more than she’d ever wanted any other man.
“Sophie.”
Her name on his lips made her tremble inside. “Dawson.”
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do.” His deep, gravelly voice held an edge.
“What?”
“This.”
Tilting his head, he leaned down and captured her lips with his. Every inch of her tingled, from the tips of her ears right down to her pinky toes. She slipped her arms over his broad shoulders, her hands settling at his nape where she drew circles with her fingertips in the hair. And when his tongue danced along the seam of her lips, she didn’t hesitate to part them for him.
He delved inside her mouth, caressing her tongue with long, languid strokes. Damn, the man can kiss! She pressed herself against him, the pressure of her taut nipples against his hard chest sending electric pulses straight to her core. Her panties grew damp.
She sucked his tongue, and, to her delight, he dug his fingers into her hair and moaned. The sound sent a delicious shiver along her skin.
Something was going on here. This was way more than a kiss. This was a promise of things to come.
