Don't Go Baking My Heart

Reba: to show you my food cuz I know you love JB’s. the hand is irrelevant. You know how I do ?? I gotta go. Tell your sexy man I said heyyy

The sultry crooningvoice that greeted Reba on Saturday morning would have given her ideas if it was anyone but Devon. She couldn’t name the singer, but she was definitely bringing the sexy with that voice. The jazz song echoing around his living room was giving her seduction vibes, but of course, that wouldn’t be Devon’s intent. What a waste of a perfectly sexy song.

Although, if she had her way, it would be the perfect backdrop for her plans. Trina was counting on her to fail at getting under Devon’s skin. She loved being underestimated—it gave her so much satisfaction when she proved people wrong.

Ms. Sexy kept on singing, and Reba couldn’t stop her brain from going down a fun path, wondering how he usually went about seducing someone.

Did he even employ such tactics? Devon was good-looking and had his shit together; it wouldn’t take much to draw someone to him. What he did after that was anyone’s guess. He probably just used that sexy deep voice of his to captivate. Panties would be dropping in no time if he truly turned on the charm of that voice.

The actual truth was probably far less interesting. He was so strait-laced and hyper-organised about his life, Reba could picture him making notes on how he would approach such a thing. She laughed to herself, thinking about it as he closed the door behind her.

“Well, good morning,” she sang as she took in the fit of his t-shirt, which emphasised his broad chest. Reba slipped off her sunglasses to get a better look. “How do you find time to work out?”

“If it’s important to me, I make time. I like keeping fit. Good stress reliever, too.”

“There are more fun ways to relieve stress, you know,” she said because who would she be if she didn’t run with the perfect segue he’d so kindly dropped for her?

His face gave nothing away. He stood there watching her as she didn’t do a thing to hide the fact that she was allowing her gaze to linger down his shorts to his calves and back up his chest until he rolled his eyes and walked over to his laptop. “I’m not touching that one. Give me a minute. I was replying to an email.”

Smart man. He realised if he gave her even an inch, she was taking that mile and taking a trip down to Tease Town. Reba sat across from him. “Do you ever just relax at all?”

“You and Cherisse work on a weekend. Why is this any different?” he asked as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

He had her there, but Reba and Cherisse also made time for fun outside of work. She couldn’t say the same for Devon. The man’s life seemed to only revolve around work. Reba wasn’t trying to live that life.

Working with Cherisse was great and opened opportunities for her, too—although she was quite content where she was at the moment—but even she had to remind Cherisse that rest was important. Boss lady hadn’t even wanted to go on that trip with her sexy mixer king, too worried about work. As if everyone would forget Sweethand existed with her gone for a few weeks. Not on Reba’s watch. She was still promoting them on social media and replying to email requests. But Devon’s workaholic ways were on another level.

She checked her phone while Devon continued checking his emails. Cherisse had messaged after Reba tried to brush off her questions about the mysterious hand in the photo. She hadn’t even noticed a portion of Devon was visible when she’d sent it. There was no way she was telling Cherisse who the hand belonged to—only because Devon wouldn’t want her to. Reba didn’t care either way, but the man was hung up on keeping their work relationship private.

She ignored Cherisse’s string of emojis and focused on Devon, who was frowning at his screen. “I don’t plan to watch you work all day, so are we doing this or what?”

Her own schedule was light while Cherisse was away, which was why she could easily fit in these sessions with Devon. She would gladly watch his fingers in motion like this, but there were far better uses for them.

“Right, yes, sorry. One sec.” He responded to whoever was causing that sour look on his face, then got to his feet, raising his arms in a full stretch above his head, giving her a nice peek at his stomach and a very obvious dick print. Oh, hello there.

She remembered their last time in the kitchen when she had pushed her hand under his t-shirt and copped a feel of his warm skin.

Bad, bad Reba. No time for lusting right now.

Was it her fault he was wearing those soft-looking shorts that weren’t hiding shit? No, it sure wasn’t. That print looked like it would fit just right in so many places.

“Reba?”

“Hmm?” The elastic waistband she had caught a glimpse of was perfect for easy hand access. She loved those pants. Buttons made things a bit difficult at times. Elastic for the win.

“Reba,” he said, a bit louder this time and a hell of a lot closer. He had moved towards her while she had been fully fantasising about dipping her hand into his shorts. Oops.

She dragged her eyes up to his face. “Yeah?”

He rotated his neck, looking tired as hell, perma-frown more pronounced than usual. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“Wait, hold up.” She placed her hand on his arm to stop him. She reached up and pressed her thumb between his brows. “Wipe that frown away first. No negative energy allowed in my kitchen.”

His hand reached up, circling around her wrist in an attempt to stop her thumb from rubbing at the spot. “Your kitchen?”

“While I’m in it teaching you, it’s as good as mine, yeah.”

He tugged her hand away from his face. “I’m tired. I don’t need you touching me.”