Make It Sweet

by Kristen Callihan

The day I’d arrived back at Rosemont, beaten and defeated, she’d all but shoved me into the kitchen and told me to get to work. I’d been cooking for her and Sal ever since.

I grabbed another lemon, sliced it open, and crushed it over the sieve with my bare hand. Bright, fresh citrus invaded my senses. She liked the scent of lemons. Said they reminded her of happiness.

“Mamie.” I set the lemon down and turned her way. “You need to quit with the matchmaking.” “Matchmaking?” I gave her a long look. “I mean it. I’m not ready for a relationship.”

The thought of opening myself up to anyone, much less someone who might own my heart and therefore crush it, turned my stomach.

“Mamie . . .” I rubbed my face with a tired hand. “I haven’t lost my way a bit. I’m . . .” Broken. My throat closed up, and I grabbed a carton of eggs and a bowl. “I’m not the man I used to be. He’s just . . . gone. And what’s in his place isn’t anything a woman with a lick of sense would want.”

“Headaches, frustration, rage, apathy. I try to control these things, but they’re there all the same. Don’t push her in my direction. She deserves better than anything I could ever offer, Mamie.”

I didn’t see my grandmother move, but suddenly her frail arms wrapped around my waist, and she hugged me from behind, resting her head on my back. “Titou. Mon ange.”

I closed my eyes, feeling horrifyingly close to crying. I did not cry. I hadn’t even when they told me that was it for hockey. But I had to make her see. “I ...

I woke from a surprisingly restful sleep, given that it was haunted by images of a certain naked man swimming endless laps, to find the sun shining and my spirits high.

“Girl, do not, under any circumstances, say no to the house kitchen.” He wagged his brows. “Trust me; you will be missing out.”

A mobile mouth, Tate would have called it. The kind of lips that were expressive, kissable. Except when they pressed flat. With a jolt I realized I’d been staring. “You done?”

“Yes, I am done.” “No request for a tour?” Oh, now that was cute. “No, thank you. I’ve seen enough.” Oddly, he didn’t move.

Was he going to get out of my way or what? He didn’t. He stared, hard, uncompromising. But then his gaze lowered, just a fraction of a second, down my body. I felt it in my toes.

Then he spoke in a deep, honey-laden drawl. “What’s the acceptable time limit? How long did you stare last night?” Oh, no, no, no. The blood rushed from my face in hot prickles of horror. A strangled sound escaped my lips.

Rub my palms over the firm planes of his chest . . . then I registered what he’d said. The disdain, the snark.

He didn’t flinch. “Yeah, I knew.” I didn’t want to find that titillating or hot. But I did. Damn it.

“Well, then I guess I have to ask, Did you really expect me to turn away from a show so freely offered?” When he blinked in surprise, I tutted in reproach. “Who would suspect you were an exhibitionist. Tell me—did it get you off knowing I was watching? Or would anyone looking on do the trick?” Lucian huffed out a laugh, as though he couldn’t believe my audacity but kind of liked it.

“Do you really want me to answer that, Em? Knowing you might not like my reply?” Oh, the arrogance. I sucked in a breath, ready to tell him off. His eyes glinted with hot sparks, as though he wanted me to lay into him, like it would be the excuse he needed to do the same.

Looking like a dark-haired, witchy Endora, Amalie stood in the open doorway with a small curl of a smile on her thin hot-pink lips. “Do stop panting all over our guest, Titou.” When he growled low in his throat, she smiled wider. “My, but you are stirred up. Perhaps you both could use a little cooling off in the pool.”

The man was too potent. And Amalie was right; I definitely needed a long swim to cool off.

But what was I supposed to do when I walked into my temporary home and found a fairy princess gazing around with wide blue eyes? I had to get her out of my space. I thought she’d scare easily and run.

Instead she’d called my bluff and left me hard and aching for her. She’d wanted to know if it mattered who saw me naked. As if there was any doubt.

When I’d looked up to find her gone, I’d been weirdly disappointed. Foolish. Despite our heated exchange, I wasn’t about to try anything with Emma. I just wanted to be alone. Yeah, a regular Greta Garbo I was. I was also a liar.

It was a relief to realize I didn’t miss her. Not even the idea of her.

“Thought you might like to know how breakfast went this morning.” The breakfast Sal had with Emma. Against my will, my heart rate kicked up.

I suddenly resented Sal for being the one who got to see that. It was my own damn fault; I’d sent him off with the breakfast basket instead of delivering it myself.

“So no raisins.” What then? Croissant? Pain aux chocolat? Chaussons aux pommes?

every moan of pleasure she’d made, had been because of me. And fuck, that turned me on so badly my hands shook.

“Plotting your next form of culinary seduction, are we?”

“Temper, temper, big guy.” Sal grabbed a pear this time. “We both know you’re snarly because you’re horny.” “It’s like you don’t even value your life.”

“Give it up. You’re all marshmallow on the inside, Oz. No one who bakes the way you do could possess anything other than a sweet heart.”

Then what’s the problem?” So many things. “That woman is the type you keep.” Forever. “I’m not in the market for that. And trust me; she’s not in the market for what I have to offer either.”

“So you’re just going to stay in here the whole time, beating your dough?”

I was twenty-eight years old, and I had run to my grandmother to lick my wounds.

“You didn’t have to come.” I gave him a long speaking look. Which he ignored. “And miss all this?”

“We left lunch behind? Now I feel bad. Everything I’ve eaten at Rosemont is so delicious I hate to think of any of it going to waste.” And wasn’t that insanely gratifying. I had the urge to toss our burgers into the trash and haul her back home so I could feed her.

Emma appeared slightly mollified. But the small furrow between her delicate brows remained. “I heard the chef was temperamental.” Sal choked on his burger. I wasn’t taking bets on who told Emma that little bit of information. I shot him a side-eye before answering. “He can be.”

“What’s he like?” Definitely building castles in her head. “Temperamental.” Her mouth snapped shut before she glared—yes, I felt that glare through her owlish sunglasses. “You’re annoying.”

I started to chuckle again but then caught sight of Sal, who had his phone up and pointed our way. “What the hell are you doing?” I’d forgotten all about him. Which, admittedly, was easy to do around Emma. “Filming this for Amalie. She’ll be so pleased.” “Sal!” Emma hissed, horrified.

“You’ve got him grunting again, Sal,” Emma said, misinterpreting my sudden change of mood. It elevated slightly, along with my heart rate, when she reached over and patted my forearm. “Don’t worry, honey pie; you’ll be all right.” “Honey pie?” My voice sounded far too rough.

God, I wanted to return that smile. I wanted a lot of things. It was one thing to like the way she looked. It was something else to like her. And I did. I liked her a lot.

“You two are so cute,” Sal said. Emma’s smile dropped. “And you are a horrible tease. Stop tormenting Lucian.” “He needs more tormenting of that type, if you ask me.”

Her gaze went to Sal standing in line. “You get the feeling that Sal and Amalie are trying to throw us together?” “Caught on to that, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of your way.” And then it hit me. She was looking out for my comfort. She would end up leaving if she thought I wanted it. The truth was right there on her expressive face.

“Don’t.” The word tripped free without my permission. What the hell, Oz?

A frown of confusion formed between her brows. “What?” You can still fix this. Backtrack, moron. Backtrack. “Don’t stay out of my way.” Idiot.

I knew he even enjoyed Sal needling him; theirs was a strange friendship, in that neither one seemed to want to admit to it.

I braced myself as a few young men walked toward the table. Funny thing was Lucian did, too, even though they were in his periphery. His awareness of the situation surprised me, but then again, maybe who I was never left his mind.

But fame also had a funny way of making you a fool. Something that became glaringly obvious when the trio of young men walked past me without a glance and beelined straight to . . . Lucian.

And he knew. His entire body was tensed, as if expecting an impact. I could only sit there and gape as he was surrounded by what were clearly adoring fans.