Must Love Frosting (Must Love Diamonds 1) - Page 47
“That bad?” he asked with a wince in his voice.
“Eight cancellations so far, and no new cake bookings or proposal consults.”
“Ouch. Sorry.”
She sighed. “At least the cupcakes are selling. Two dozen today, and she asked me to bring three dozen for tomorrow.”
“What kind did you make?”
“Chocolate, and orange dreamsicle.”
He gave an appreciative hmm. “That’s what I want for ransom. Two chocolate ones.”
“You know it’s customary, and polite, to return a dish with a reciprocal offering, not demand more, right?” She wanted to be indignant, but once more she was smiling.
“Two chocolate cupcakes or the plate gets it.”
And now she was laughing.
“Did you think of me when you made them?” he asked.
Her laugh faded under the force of her racing pulse. When she’d taste-tested the batter earlier, she’d relived the erotic feel of his finger in her mouth. And she’d leaned against the counter, eyes closed as she recalled how he’d cupped her face in his hands before he kissed her. The feel of his mouth on hers, the taste of him on her tongue, the strength of his body pressing hers into the counter…until the shrill beep of the timer jolted her back to reality.
“Honor?”
Her name in his husky voice was so much better than the timer.
Don’t admit you were thinking of him.
Do. Not. Admit. It.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
“That’s a yes.” A satisfied smile tinged his voice. “On that note, I will say goodnight, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Really? That’s goodnight?”
“Sweet dreams.”
And just like that, he was gone.
She huffed out a breath of frustration as she dropped her phone on the nightstand. The man had a habit of winding her up and then leaving her wanting so much more. Pretty much guaranteed her dreams were more likely to be sexy than sweet.
She scooped up her sketch pad from the other side of the bed, and opened to a blank page to brainstorm ideas. An hour later, instead of a new cake design, she had an image of her newest recurring fantasy.
Asher in bed. Shirtless. Covers riding low.
CHAPTER 17
A sher checked the time and cursed the multitude of mishaps that had kept him from arriving home by noon. Hell, even five or six would’ve been better than nine at night. He was tired, bruised and sore, and his stomach grumbled at the mouth-watering aroma of pizza from the pie he’d grabbed at D’Angelo’s after exiting the highway.
But the moment he turned onto Hopewell Lane and saw Honor’s lights blazing, every ache and pain faded to the background. Eager anticipation raced through his veins and made it easy to give in to the urge to turn into her driveway instead of his. After being gone half the week, seeing her tonight was simply too tempting to resist.
He caught a glimpse of her through the window, working at the kitchen island like the other night. Her long, red hair was in a ponytail, and she wore a plain white T-shirt underneath a dark apron dusted with white powder. He hoped the counter hid bare feet and leggings again.
With the pizza box warming his palm, and a six pack of cold beer in the other hand, he stepped onto her front porch. His stomach pitched like when he’d lost his grip on the mountain face earlier in the day. Before he could knock, the door swung open and Honor’s beautiful smile took his breath away.
“I knew it,” she said, a note of excited awe in her voice.
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