He bit her earlobe, and she made an enticing sound of appreciation. “Then I’ll kick out these customers and take you into the back room, strip you bare, and make you come so many times you won’t remember your name.”
Her breath rushed from her lungs. “You’re so bad,” she whispered, tightening her hands on his waist. “I like it a lot, but seriously, you need to show the screenplay to Sam Shearson or you’re never getting any again.”
He drew back, gazing into her amused eyes. “Who the heck is Sam Shearson, and why does he own the rights to our bedroom activity?”
“He won an Academy Award in 1962 for a screenplay, and if you’re afraid it’s not good enough to show anyone in the industry,” she explained, “he can tell you if it is or not. He’s a retired fisherman, not even remotely in your business, and he comes in every morning at eight o’clock sharp.”
“Wait, we have an Academy Award–winning writer in Sweetwater?” He raked a hand through his hair. “How could I not know that?”
She began wiping down the counter again. “Because he’s eighty-five years old and you were busy being a kid when you lived here. I didn’t meet him until I opened the bakery.” A dreamy look came over her. “He’s a total banana nut muffin.”
“Um . . . ?”
“Oh.” She laughed softly. “You know how people say that if you have a dog, at some point you start to resemble them?”
“I guess . . .”
“Well, you’d be surprised how much people resemble the foods they order. Every morning Sam orders a banana nut muffin, and let me tell you, he is exactly that. He’s been around forever, he’s stable—banana nut muffin recipes rarely vary by much—and he’s substantial. You know, smart and interesting to talk to, as opposed to, say, a date roll. If you see someone order a date roll, run like hell.”
She cocked her head like she’d just made perfect sense, and he couldn’t help but think she had it all figured out and he was the one grasping at straws.
“Sam’s here every morning like clockwork, so make sure you’re here tomorrow at eight a.m. sharp or no nookie for you.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “You’re a pushy woman. Do you know how much I adore you?”
“We’ll see how much tomorrow morning. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I think I picked up a new wedding cake order. I have a tasting scheduled next week, and I got the menus from Payton. Gluten free, sugar free, nut free. No citrus, no red dye, no white flour. Not my favorite, but I’ll make it happen. I’m going to send her a box of my pastries so she knows what I’m capable of when not hamstrung by dietary issues. Thank you for arranging the catering. I really do appreciate it.”
The bell above the door sounded, and a young woman with two adorable blond-haired little girls walked in. Excitement rose in Willow’s voice. “How are my favorite marble and chocolate chip cookie girls?”
“Willow!” The girls ran toward the counter as Willow came around and crouched with open arms. Both girls slammed into her, hugging her tightly as she laughed.
“I have gone a whole eight days without seeing you.” Willow’s eyes shimmered with delight. “Where have you been hiding?”
“We went to see Uncle Buck in Washington,” the taller of the two girls said. “He’s getting married.”
“Is he, now?”
The girls nodded vehemently as Willow rose to her feet and hugged the girls’ mother.
“And I hear congratulations are in order for you, too,” the woman said.
Willow flashed a look of surprise at Zane. Get used to it, baby, because this is really happening.
“Thank you,” Willow said. “I’m still not used to the idea that everyone knows about it. We only got engaged this past weekend. But I guess that goes with the territory of being engaged to Zane.” She stole another glance at him, inciting the heat of a laser beam.
Oh yeah, he’d be meeting Sam Shearson tomorrow. He’d do anything she wanted him to.
The girls reached for Willow’s hands, and she knelt again, putting her arms around them. Zane’s heart thudded a little harder. He hadn’t spent much time thinking beyond winning Willow over, but he needed to. Willow’s life was here, with the business she’d built and the people who loved her. If he wanted Willow, he had to do more than earn her trust. He had to be willing to come back to Sweetwater for good.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WILLOW HAD BEEN waking up at four thirty in the morning for years without issue, but now, as she absently slapped the nightstand in search of her phone to turn off her alarm, a deliciously tempting man shifted on top of her and began kissing her neck.
“I’m coming with you,” Zane said between shivery kisses.
“You always come with me. You’re the double-rainbow king. The mutual-orgasm master. The postman who always rings twice . . .”
He laughed against her neck and nipped at her skin. “I meant to the bakery, but I’m totally up for a game of Willow-go-round.”
She wrapped her arms around him, surprised at how quickly she’d gotten used to sharing her bed—and her apartment. “I thought having you around all the time would be annoying since, well, you know, you kind of bullied your way into my life. But there are benefits to having a hot guy at my disposal.”
He grinned down at her. “Bullied?”
“Tricked? Coerced?”
“I think reentered is better.” He nudged her legs open, teasing her with the head of the world’s most talented pleasure wand.
“Like you’re trying to reenter my body?” She gave his ass a smack.
“Now that you mention it, that does sound like a good idea.” He kissed her cheeks, forehead, chin, the corners of her lips . . .
Everywhere except her panting mouth. If he didn’t kiss her mouth soon, she might combust. She mentally debated if she could be late to work without screwing up her entire morning. He dragged his tongue along the ridge of her jaw. Oh yeah, the muffins can wait.
She leaned up to trap his mouth, and he pulled back with a devilish grin. “You think I’m hot.”
She laughed. “This bed is too small for you, me, and your ego.”
He grabbed her hips with both hands and held them down. His eyes turned fierce and demanding, and her entire body ignited.
“You love my big ego.”
She reached for a condom from the box they’d torn open last night and tossed a handful on the bed. “I have five minutes.”
He grabbed a condom and reared up to sheath himself.
“What if I want to play for ten minutes?” he asked with a smirk.
“We played for hours last night.” She pointed to the area beneath her eyes. “See these bags? They’re called Z-bags, and don’t you dare make any tea bagging jokes.”
He laughed as he settled over her. “You want it fast and dirty or sweet and sensual?” He slicked his tongue along her lower lip.
“Z—” she pleaded. “Five minutes.”
He pushed the head of his cock inside her and stilled, dipping his head to tease her nipple. “Five minutes is not nearly enough.”