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But he doesn’t know that you’re obsessed with him, I remind myself for the hundredth time. He won’t know that you’re slipping into cardiac arrest just because he’s close.
All because he made an offhand comment about how only his work acquaintances call him Mike and that his close friends and family call him Michael. So, in my fantasies, that’s what I call him. Michael.
Even though I won’t meet the love of my life on Second fucking Bite.
Holy holiday heaven. Standing before me is a lush-as-fuck angel with evergreen eyes, berry-red lips, and a body I’d write to Santa for.
Her whispered voice is all the confirmation I need. This woman is mine, and I’m gonna find a way to keep her.
Michael Kesso is touching me. Holding my hand. And it feels as sensual as if his hand was down my panties.
I want this woman. Correction, need this woman. And if the flush in her cheeks and sparkle in her eye is any indication, she wants me too. I just need to make her need me. Make her burn from the inside out, incinerating whatever walls she might have, and allow me access to every part of her being.
Her wide green eyes meet mine, and, for a long second, I wonder if throwing her over my shoulder and walking out of here would really be that big of a deal.
If Joey thinks he can give her pet names and win her affections with his fake-ass charm, he’s gonna be thinking differently when I shove a whisk down his smarmy throat.
He’s about to do it. Michael Kesso is about to taste me. My eyes widen. Cake! He’s about to taste my cake!
And I’m glad because it gives me something to do with my hands. Stack dirty pans? Sure! Anything to keep myself from happy crying over an arguably underwhelming compliment. Or worse yet, tearing my dress off and climbing the unsuspecting Michael like a cat on a Christmas tree—all claws and no finesse.
If there was another man, he’s done now. He let her out, let her cross my path, and that’s his own fault. Because if she was mine, I’d keep her tied to my side. Literally, if necessary.
How I’m managing to keep myself from dropping to one knee, and demanding for her hand in marriage, is beyond me.
What’re you gonna do? Just walk over there and ask if she’d like to sit in your lap? Ask to hear what’s on her wish list?
Every muscle in Alice’s lush body tenses, and I know she’s realized her mistake. I want to tell her it’s okay. That she can call me Michael, hell she can call me anything if she’ll just lift her head and let me see her sparkling green eyes.
Balling my hands into fists, I resist the urge to use my discarded fork to pry my own heart out of my chest as an apology. But of course, I can’t do that. I can’t even tell her I’m sorry. I can only step back with the rest of the crew and pretend that walking away isn’t tearing me apart inside.
“Don’t cry.” Michael’s deep voice brushes against my ear. “It’s just dessert.” Emotion swamps me, and instead of stopping my tears, his words send them flowing down my cheeks. Michael is here. Touching me. Comforting me. Telling me it’s just dessert. My chest hitches. Dessert is his whole life.
“Please don’t cry, Baby Cakes.” The pressure of his hand on my back increases. “I can’t take you crying.”
I’m sorry for making you cry. I know you don’t know a thing about me, but I’m pretty sure I’m half in love with you and I’d rather die than make you cry again.
Holy Mrs. Claus, my Christmas wish just came true.
Sweet snowballs, her tits are amazing.
I was just coming up to apologize, but if I make it out of here without sucking one of those nipples into my mouth, it’ll be a damn miracle.
“Fuck it,” he growls, a brief moment before his mouth closes on mine.
“I’m so sorry, Baby Cakes,” he whispers, brushing his lips over mine again. “Forgive me.”
Before I can answer, he’s crushing his mouth back to mine. And I feel like I can taste his apology. It’s bourbon and ginger mixed with sincerity.
“Say it.” My breath catches. “Say it, Alice. Say my name.” “Michael.”
The sensation of having Michael so close is vibrant. Decadent. Precious. It’s like a string of lights has been wrapped around me and plugged in, with no regard for safety. Like Christmas morning served up as a kiss in a man-sized package.
“Taste my—?” “Please,” he begs against my throat. “Let me taste them. Say yes.”
“Take more,” she sobs. “Take whatever you want.” Images of our life together flash through my mind. Diamond rings. A white dress. Sunny beaches. Tiny babies.
“I didn’t get enough to eat earlier.” I feel the side of my mouth pull up in a smirk. “Why go hungry when there’s a snack right here?”
But I’m choosing courage. I’m going to work as hard as I can today to put something together that’s both beautiful and delicious in front of the judges. In front of Michael. And when I’m finally forced to look at him, rather than avoid his gaze—as I’ve been doing up until now—I’m going to meet his eyes with a calm smile on my face.
But after tonight, she won’t need that seed money to build a bakery. I’ll give her whatever she needs. Whatever she fucking wants, her wildest dreams, it’s hers. Alice Hatter will want for nothing.
But I don’t pay my manager to be my morality police. I pay him to make me money. And I’d bet that ratings are gonna skyrocket when people find out that I found my wife on Second Bite. So, if anything, he should be thanking me for my behavior.
I ask her what she’s planning, and she looks at my dick. Fuck me. I’m planning that too, Sweetness.
My mood darkens. “What—” I stop myself before I get the rest of the question out. Growling what guy on air might be a step too far.
Michael Kesso just took a second bite of my cake. A Second. Fucking. Bite!
My heart squeezes. “Fucking delicious.” One of the camera techs chokes on a laugh,
“We’re not done.” “We’re not?” My voice trembles. He takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us.
“Baby Cakes, we’re never gonna be done.”
“Never run from me,” I growl between kisses. “Don’t ever run away from me again.”
“You’re the star on top of my tree.” I kiss her again. “I’m incomplete without you.”
“You deserve gentle. You deserve tender. But that’s not what you’re getting tonight.” I rock my length against her. “You scared me today. When I couldn’t find you—” I cut myself off and slide my mouth over to her ear.
“Good girls get sweet things. Naughty girls get it rough. And you’ve been very naughty.”
“Yeah, Alice. Even.” I line my dick up with her entrance. “Because it means you’re just as obsessed with me as I am with you.” Thrusting my hips forward, I sink myself into her heat.
“We gotta be quiet, Baby.” His cock throbs inside me. “Those sounds are for my ears only.”
Michael looks into my eyes from inches away, and a physical roll of emotion sweeps through my soul. A tremendous feeling of rightness rests over my heart. And I know this is it. This is the man I’m going to spend my life with.
“Did you say I had mistletoe eyes?” “Uh-huh.” I stroke my hand down her back. “They’re green, like mistletoe.” I palm her ass. “And I want to kiss everything below them.”
“I’m yours. And that wetness leaking out of you, soaking my cock, that marks you as mine. There’s no one else. For either of us.”
“So yeah, we’re dating for the next few days, or however long it takes me to find you the perfect ring. And after that, you’ll be my fiancée. Then, if I have my say, I’ll be calling you wife by the time the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve.”
“You’re mine now, Michael Kesso. I’ll always worry about you.”
