Sweet Cheeks (Sweet Enough To Eat)

Chapter One

Hailey

“Watch out you dumb fuck!” a man screams as he flies by me with his hand on the horn.

I swerve my bike toward the sidewalk and huff out a breath as he sticks his middle finger out the car window.

Not exactly the words I was hoping to hear on Valentine’s Day.

Whatever. It’s not like a few swear words are going to make this day any worse.

I’m biking through Manhattan in February with two dozen roses in my basket. My hands are freezing, my legs are soaked, and I’m counting the seconds until my least favorite holiday is over.

I hate Valentine’s Day.

I know that sounds cliché. What millions of single women say to get through the tough day with a little dignity, but they don’t really hate it. They hate that they’re single. They don’t hate the actual day.

Well, I do.

I hate it, hate it, fucking wish it would die a slow painful death hate it.

I hate it the way turkeys hate Thanksgiving, the way Santa’s elves hate Christmas, the way bartenders hate Saint Patrick’s Day.

You see, my family owns a flower shop. So, Valentine’s Day has always been hell.

It’s thorns in fingers and endless bouquets and dealing with my dad’s stress. It starts in mid-January and is a long month of hell.

“Just a few more hours,” I whisper to myself as I pedal and pedal and pedal some more. Where is this damn building?

This Valentine’s Day is extra crappy because sales have been plummeting. Everyone orders from massive online companies who can offer rock bottom prices and we just can’t compete. Add to that our rent going up and Carson Flowers is on its last leg.

We needed a big day to sustain us throughout the year, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to get it.

The orders were only two-thirds of what they were last year and the number of walk-ins has been the worst year yet.

I hate watching the effect this is having on my dad. He looks like he’s aged ten years in one.

He wants out. I can tell.

But no one is going to buy a failing flower shop and besides, he doesn’t know how to do anything else.

This shop has been the Carson curse. My mother got fed up with spending every day in the store and bounced about six years ago. She’s currently married with some shiny new step kids living somewhere in New Mexico.

My sister Kara and I stayed with dad. He needed us to work in the shop and that’s what we did. When our friends went off to college, we pruned daisies. When they started getting fancy jobs, we pruned tulips. And when they get married and have kids, we’ll be pruning roses.

I told ya. The Carson curse.

I’m out of breath and my legs are aching when I finally arrive at the building. It’s massive and seems to reach into the sky with its imposing concrete body.

I wipe a bit of slush off the wax paper that’s protecting the flowers, lock my bike up on the rack, and head inside.

“Who are you?” the big security guard asks as he walks up to me with a grumpy face.

“Pizza delivery,” I tell him.

He frowns.

“That was a little flower humor,” I mutter. “I have flowers for a Mrs. Graham on the forty-second floor.”

He crosses his big arms as he glares down at me, not saying a word.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” I say with a shrug. Geez, someone is in desperate need of a Valentine’s day treat. I pull one rose out of the huge bouquet—my dad always gives an extra few flowers because it’s not like they’re going to sell anyway—and slide it into the pocket of his jacket.

His face softens a smidgen and then he steps to the side. “Elevators are over there,” he grunts. “Make it quick.”

“Thanks, Duncan,” I say with a smile after glancing down at his name tag. “And Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He just grunts again as I head over.

I catch my reflection in the stainless steel doors and sigh. No wonder I’m single. I’m not going to find a man if I go out looking like this all the time.

I take off my bike helmet, fluff up my brown hair, and put some lip gloss on. It’s not perfect, but at least I don’t look like I crawled out of the sewers anymore.

On my way up to the top floor, I’m thinking about my sore feet, the dozens of packages at the shop that I still have to deliver, and then my mind starts going somewhere else. A place where I can feel the hot sun on my face and the soft sand between my toes.

I’ve never been anywhere.

Actually, that’s not true. I went to New Jersey for the weekend. And it wasn’t even to go to the beach, it was to visit my aunt in Trenton. It was horrible.

The doors open with a bing and I step out into a gorgeous busy office. I already feel out of place, underdressed, and not worthy.

London Investments is written in gold on the brick wall over the main reception, which I find weird since we’re in New York.

The girl behind the desk is eying the flowers in my hand while holding her breath.

“Who are those for?” she asks as her ass slowly lifts off the chair.

I look at the tag again. “Mrs. Graham,” I tell her, hoping it’s her.

It’s not.

Her ass drops back down on the chair as she huffs out an annoyed breath. I feel ya, sister. I’ve delivered thousands of flowers, but never received any.

Although, Samuel Winston did present me with a dandelion in the third grade. But then, as my cheeks were blushing, he wiped it down my arm and then told the whole class that the yellow stain along my forearm was pee.

For obvious reasons, I’m not counting that one.

“She’s down the hall that way,” she says as she turns back to her computer. “It’s Mr. London’s secretary.”

Oh, so London Investments is named after the man, not the city. I wonder if he’s cute.

I’ve always had a thing for hot rich guys who can steal me away and give me a

new life. Shocker right? I mean who’s into that?!

Everyone is dressed so nicely and I can smell the money in here as I walk over to the desk.

Mrs. Graham’s eyes light up when I present her with the flowers. She lets out a little squeal of delight.

That’s the only thing I like about this job—seeing the excited girl’s faces when they realize I’m here for them. It’s full of hope and the joy of knowing the guy they’re into is into them as well.

“Two dozen red roses,” I say with a grin as I hand them over. “Looks like someone was especially good. Or especially naughty is more like it.”

She’s all giggles as she opens the wax paper and smells the flowers. “Be a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets,” she whispers. “Words to live by.”

Coming from a woman in her fifties, it helps me think that there’s hope for me yet. I still have time. I’m only twenty-three.

Twenty-three and I’ve never been in love. I’ve never even had a kiss before let alone anything that warrants sending a dozen red roses over.

I watch with a smile as she pulls them out and tries to stuff them into a too-small vase. I help her fix them up because we value good service at Carson Flowers, but mostly because my thighs are still burning from the bike ride over here and I’m dreading getting back on that thing.

“Thank you,” she says as she sits back in her chair and admires them. “They’re beautiful.”

I swallow a sigh as I turn toward the office beside her and catch a glimpse of the man behind the big desk. “Yup,” I say with a gulp as I stare at him. “Beautiful…”

My breath starts to quicken as my eyes run over his large frame, trying to drink up as much of the view as I can.

He’s wearing a fitted blue suit with no tie on. His white shirt is open and it’s showing off his thick masculine neck. I just want to run my tongue along his Adam’s apple. Is that weird? It’s weird, but I don’t care. It looks that delectable.

He’s leaning back in his chair while talking on the phone, just oozing out a bold confidence. It makes my heart speed up.

I wonder what he smells like. Probably like alpha power, money, and sex.

My mouth waters when I watch him bring the tip of his pen to his lips. His white teeth clamp down on it as he listens. I’m mesmerized by his mouth. I’m ready to write it love letters. I’m going to start a website and write fan fiction about Mr. London’s mouth.

His dark eyes are alert and focused as he pulls the pen out of his mouth (lucky fucking pen) and then starts talking. I wonder what his voice sounds like. Probably like melted chocolate and sleeping in on a rainy day.

“Helllllooooo??”

My eyes dart back to Mrs. Graham and she looks at me like I’m a complete dolt, which to be fair to her, I totally am right now.

“Are you okay, dear?”

I try to talk but there’s a frog in my throat.

“Is there anything else?” she asks. “Are you waiting for a tip?”

My eyes dart back to Mr. London. The only tip I want is from him…

“No, no,” I quickly say. “Mr. Graham already took care of that.”

“Well then,” she says with a smile as she watches me glance at her boss over and over again. “Then, I guess I’ll be seeing you next Valentine’s Day.”

“Right,” I say as I slowly back away from her desk. “Next Valentine’s Day.”

If we’re still in business by then…

I take one last look at the window but all I can see is Mr. London’s elbow. Still… that’s one sexy elbow and I enjoy gawking at it for as long as I can.

I’m waiting for the elevator and playing with my hair, wishing I could find a man like that. Wishing that fairy tales happened in real life. Wishing that Valentine’s Day was good to me for just one year. Is that too much to ask? Just one freaking year?

The doors open and I keep my eyes on the floor as I walk into the empty elevator. I just stare at the ground and sigh as I wait for the doors to close.

Who am I kidding?

Fairy tales never happen in real life.

And Valentine’s Day and me will always be mortal enemies.

Just a few more hours left…

Chapter Two

Joseph

I open the door to give my secretary a file when my heart seizes in my chest. Standing inside the elevator is a delivery girl who grabs my attention and refuses to let go.

She’s standing there looking all innocent and unassuming. Jeans with an old winter jacket on. Hands fidgeting together as her pale blue eyes stare at the floor. Her light brown hair is a bit wild, but there’s something about her that makes my body start tingling.

The doors start to close and I wince as she looks up and I’m treated to the stunning view of her breathtaking face.

She’s perfection and she’s in my building.

I can feel the innocence beaming off her in waves. It lights my nerve endings on fire as it reaches my stunned body.

The elevator doors close, taking her away, and a vicious growl rips out of my throat.

Annie my secretary looks up at me in shock. “Are you okay, sir?”

“Who was that?” I bark back.

I hate that she’s not in my view anymore. I’m getting all twitchy and antsy. My hands are squeezing in and out of fists. I can’t breathe.

Annie looks around the busy office and I suck in a frustrated breath.

“The elevator,” I practically snarl. “The girl in the elevator.”

“Oh, her,” she says with a nod. “She delivered me these flowers. Aren’t they beautiful? Walter had them—”

I sprint toward the elevators before she can finish.

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins like a broken firehose. I need to see her again. I have to touch her. Smell her. Take care of her.

I’m forty-seven and never cared about getting any girl before—and believe me, enough have thrown themselves at me over the years—but after one glance at that girl, I know there’s nothing I won’t do to make her mine.

There are three elevators on this floor and I smash the button of each one. I can see where each elevator is above their door and they’re all on the lower floors of the building. I nearly scream out in anger and frustration. I feel like an out of control animal. I can’t contain the intense energy surging through me.

The elevator she got into is heading down and is already on the seventh floor and descending quickly. There’s no time to wait.

By the time another elevator arrives and I get down to the lobby, she’ll be gone. I’m already wasting precious seconds standing here sweating.

“So, do you have a date for Valentine’s Day?” Katie our receptionist asks. “Because I was thinking—”

I dart to the stairs and start taking four at a time as I race down to catch her.

Having an office forty-two floors up seemed like a great idea when I signed the lease, but now I’m cursing that stupid decision. I would have taken the ground floor if I knew that one day those forty-two floors would be separating me from the girl of my dreams.

It takes way too long to get to the bottom. I burst out of the doors, exhausted, sweaty, and breathing heavily as I frantically look around for my girl.

Panic fills every inch of me when I don’t see her. Where is she?!?

I run right into a young guy in a suit and he falls to the ground as I head for the front doors. I don’t even turn around to offer him a hand or an apology. I can’t. My insides are grinding up and twisting around so tightly that I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

My heart is pounding violently against my ribs as I burst through the doors and run into the cool February air. It feels cold all over my sweaty skin and I get a shiver—it’s not from the cold. It’s from looking up and down the street and not seeing her.

She’s gone. My girl is… gone.

I close my eyes, raise my chin, and take a deep breath.

This can’t be happening. I finally find a

girl I want and she’s vanished.

She’s gone but I know how to find her.

I’ll follow the rose petals.

I run my hand through my hair and grab a fistful as I try to calm myself down. I’ll find her. I won’t stop until I do.

I’m the kind of alpha man who gets everything he wants and all I want is her.

It will happen.

I hurry back into the lobby when something on the security guard’s lapel catches my eye. There’s a fresh red rose sticking out of his pocket.

“Hello, Mr. London,” he says as I charge up to him. The man is massive. At least a foot taller than me, but there’s no doubt who the true alpha between us is. His body turns submissive as he watches me carefully.

My body is jacked and ready to go. I don’t know what I’m going to do if that flower came from her.

“What can I do for you?” His voice is shaky. There’s a tremble in it.

I can’t blame him for being nervous. My knuckles are squeezed so tightly they’re white and my jaw is grinding angrily as I glare up at him with hard eyes.

“Where did you get that flower?” I hiss through clenched teeth.

He gulps as he takes it out of his pocket. “A delivery girl gave it to me,” he says as he rolls the stem between his thick fingers. “Sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have put it in my pocket. It’s unprofessional.”

I grab it out of his hand and close my eyes, trying to stop the intense urge to snap his neck that’s quickly taking over. He took a rose from my girl.

“She’s mine,” I hiss as I stick a warning finger in his face. “You stay away from her.”