Recipe for Love (Jupiter Tides #1)

by Anne Malcom

“You see, the worst thing about fucking men is they want to do the bare minimum and for us to treat them like gods,” she said when she was done. “They pretend to be clueless when you tell them you didn’t actually come in the one minute and fifty seconds of sex—no foreplay, by the way—then they act hurt and humiliated when you discuss it with them because they’re manipulative little fucks.” Her dark brows knitted together in fury as she swiped more frosting. I knew better to interrupt her when she was on a roll. “When really, they’re smart enough to know, of course, you’re not getting off without foreplay and one minute and fifty seconds of penetration.” She rolled her eyes before narrowing them at me. “Your piece of shit ex was not angry about that; he was angry about you pointing it out. Because you fractured his bullshit fantasy that a woman should not have real, visceral needs and desire. All of your fucking American sitcoms with the dopey, overweight, below average, misogynistic husband with the hot wife who they treat like shit tells them that women don’t have needs. We, in their eyes, exist for them. And if we dare to communicate our needs, we’re bitches, our expectations are too high, we’re reading too many romance novels… whatever the fuck.” She waved her hand, not at all perturbed that two customers had just walked in. Two male customers that were now within earshot and looking at Fiona with equal parts awe and fear… as they should’ve. Fiona’s eyes flickered to th...

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a Kacey vibe?” I blurted. He didn’t answer, just blinked once very slowly, likely wondering if I was having a break from reality. “From Yellowstone,” I added quickly. Another blank look. “The TV show,” I continued lamely. “It’s about cowboys.” I drummed my fingers on the counter, wishing I could hide beneath it. “Well, not just about cowboys. It shines a spotlight on the commercialization of family ranches, the theft of land from Native Americans, and yes, it’s got a sufficient amount of badass scenes and great romantic subplots. It’s the best show on television. Multifaceted.” Oh my god, what are you talking about? My ears flamed in embarrassment as I waved my hands manically. “Anyway, it’s great. You’ve got a Kacey vibe. He’s a former Marine.” Why I couldn’t just shut the fuck up and ask for his order was beyond me, but I was in too deep now. His brows were furrowed a tad, and the corner of his mouth turned upward in what looked like amusement. I couldn’t tell for sure, though. I was spiraling now. “A Kacey vibe mixed generously with a Rip aesthetic,” I continued to blather. “Rip is the best and most complex character on the show in my opinion. He has a tragic backstory and can be ruthless and violent, yet he’s gentle, kind and patient with Beth.” Oh my god, I want to die. I seriously considered cutting my losses, turning and running from the counter, going through the kitchen, through the back door, getting into my car, and drivin...

“I’m Rip, so that makes you Beth?” His voice was low, throaty, but with a warmth threaded through it. A warmth that sparked fire in my belly and places much lower than that. Holy. Fucking. Fuck. Did he just say that? He just said that. I let out a burst of laughter that sounded like it came from a hysterical teenager. “I own a few sundresses and a couple of pairs of cowboy boots because I am a Midwestern girl, but that’s as close to Beth as I’m ever going to get,” I said, going for a casual, joking tone yet failing abysmally. I wanted greatly for the earth to swallow me up. He kept looking at me with a warmth in his mesmerizing eyes, with a slight upturn to his plump lips. “Would like to see those sundresses and cowboy boots,” he murmured, crystalline eyes staying on mine.

The kitchen was my safe space. And here he was in it. All large, imposing and furious. “Take off your sweater,” he said quietly. He may as well have roared it for the impact it had. Although his tone was velvet smooth, it was threaded with pure fury. The fury that shone in his eyes, that made the cords of his neck stand out, made his hands fist at his sides. It was the fury that should’ve had me shrinking into a tiny, terrified ball. Not just because of last night but because of who I was as a person in general. Skittish. Afraid of most things. Anxious to submit to most situations. But inexplicably, I folded my arms across my chest, jutted my chin upward and narrowed my eyes at him. “No,” I snapped. He blinked slowly, once, regarding me. The fury did not dissipate, not in the slightest. The air seemed to vibrate with it. “Nora.” My name came out through clenched teeth. “Take off the fucking sweater.” It was the first time he’d said my name. And although he was doing the whole intimidating, alpha male thing, the thing that should’ve turned off the staunch feminist in me, it made my fingertips tingle. And not entirely unpleasantly. “Rowan,” I seethed right back. “Do not order me to take off pieces of clothing like you have the right to.” His body jerked. “Oh, I have the fucking right,” he said, voice low. My knees trembled of their own volition. “You have a black eye.” He motioned to my face. “I’m aware,” I told him. “A black eye,” he repeated as if I hadn’t spoken. “And bec...

“If I take off my sweater, you’re not allowed to call the police,” I informed him for reasons unknown. Rowan’s jaw stiffened, and there was a long pause before he finally nodded. I slowly took off my sweater, bunching it in my hands, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable and small under his gaze. What I was expecting when he saw the bruises, I didn’t know. Maybe some kind of outburst. Swearing. More of the glowering, the glittering fury. But none of that came. Instead, an impossibly gentle, barely there touch ghosted over the skin of my upper arms. My body electrified under that touch. I was frozen as he delicately trailed the spots where Nathan had grabbed me. One of those fingers found their way to my chin, tilting it upward so I was no longer staring at the sweater bunched in my hands. My eyes got lost in his. “Tell me what happened, cupcake,” he murmured softly. Not that furious soft like before. Just plain soft. He called me cupcake. His fingers were still brushing my upper arms. His eyes were melty, warm… safe. There was no other option but to tell him everything that had happened.

“You’re gonna stay here,” he said once I was done. “Gonna finish out your day. Not gonna do that alone.” He jerked his head to where the counter was. “Your spitfire Australian friend is gonna stay. Probably Tina too. I’m gonna come back, either here or your house.”

“Rowan,” I said in not much more than a whisper. “Yeah, cupcake?” “What is this?” His mouth turned upward ever so slightly before he leaned in and kissed me gently on the forehead. When he pulled back, our faces were inches apart. My heart thrummed. “This,” he murmured, eyes glued to mine, “is the beginning of us.” Then he just turned and walked away.

“Where we goin’?” he asked. I looked to my best friend. “We’re going to fuck up the piece of shit who laid hands on my woman.”

“I have worked up an appetite,” he replied. “But I’m happy just to order pizza. Don’t want you runnin’ around after me. Not after you’ve been working all day.” It made me feel warm, that line. No man I’d been with had ever considered what I’d done with my day prior to their arrival. They certainly didn’t think whatever I’d done—be it opening a bakery or remodeling a house or working a double shift—meant that I wasn’t able to fulfill my duty of serving them. I had terrible taste in men, I realized. “You are not ordering pizza,” I gasped. The smirk returned. I decided I loved the smirk. I decided that I wanted to have an oil painting commissioned in order to immortalize the smirk. “I said order a pizza, not decide to cook Maggie,” he scoffed. I looked at the dog who was now snoring peacefully on the rug, horrified. “That is a gross visual.” “Well, the look on your face when I said I was going to order pizza was as bad as sayin’ we were eating the dog,” he said blandly.

“I’m in your life because I want to be in your life,” Rowan answered, still not breaking his devastating eye contact. He took a step forward. A small one. But any closing of the distance between us caused my throat to constrict and the boob sweat to intensify. “You tell me that you want me to leave, that you really want me to leave, and I will,” he offered in a low, throaty voice.

Maggie would not be having another sleepover here. Because her master would not be having another sleepover here.

“I could whip her up some scrambled eggs,” I offered, forcing away those thoughts. “Or I’ve got tuna in the pantry. I’m sure that will be good for her. Choline and omega three.” “She’s got food,” Rowan said quietly, an indescribable look on his face. His features had softened, but his eyes flared with something I couldn’t decipher. “It’s in the truck. Came prepared.” I tugged on my lip. He’d come prepared. Ready to stay the night here. After he ran Nathan out of town. I didn’t think about the Nathan part. I couldn’t. It was too huge and confusing. “Why didn’t you bring it in?” I asked him. He tilted his head. The gesture was overwhelming in and of itself. That coupled with his nearness and general presence in my home was more than I could take. “Didn’t want to seem presumptuous,” he said with a straight face. I stared at him then let out a giggle. Then another. He watched me with that same tilt to his head. “You didn’t want to seem presumptuous,” I repeated amongst my giggles. He nodded. “But walking into my house and announcing you were staying here was… subtle?” I asked, putting a hand on my hip. Rowan was smiling now. I didn’t like it. Or actually, I did. Which was the problem.

“Nora,” he ground out my name as if he were grappling for control. “You need to get out of this room right now.” My knees shook. I stayed rooted in place. “Why?” I asked in a low whisper. He swallowed. Visibly swallowed. I watched his Adam’s apple bob with the motion. “Because I’m in a room with you. Where there’s a bed.” He nodded to the bed in question. “Because your cheeks are flushed, because I’ve been dreaming of what your lips taste like. Because I can barely fuckin’ control my need to claim them. Taste you.”

“You can taste me,” I invited, licking my lips. A vein in Rowan’s neck pulsated. His brows were bunched together, and I could see him gritting his teeth from my very close vantage point. “Fuck,” he ground out. “You’re makin’ it really fuckin’ hard for me to do the honorable thing.” I grinned, going up on my tiptoes so our lips were almost touching. “What if I want you to do the dishonorable thing?” My voice was almost unrecognizable. Sultry even. And it was working. I could see it in the way Rowan’s expression went from hard, controlled to something else entirely.

It was bad enough to try to seduce a man and fail, but to have him see you cry after that failure was something else entirely. Rowan raised one of his hands in order to wipe a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “This is possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life,” I croaked. “Beating out the time that I ran into a screen door at Jasmine Floyd’s party in tenth grade and everyone, including the boy I liked, laughed at me.” “That can stay at the top. This is not embarassin’.” “I tried to be sexy yet failed.” I was sobbing now, blubbering like a fool with snot running from my nose and everything. “And now I’m crying. Trust me, it’s embarrassing.” “You did not fail at bein’ sexy,” Rowan grumbled. “You’re sexy by fuckin’ breathing. And I should be getting some kind of medal for resisting you right now.” The way he looked at me stopped the tears. “I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock right now, Nora. I’m gonna go to sleep tonight thinking ’bout what it would be like if I was a slightly worse man. If I was the man who took advantage of the woman he’s been wanting for years when she’s had too much wine, when she’s wearing a bruise another man put there.” I opened my mouth to argue about that minor detail since Nathan didn’t technically put the bruise there. But Rowan’s finger drifted to my mouth to silence me. “Not gonna let you defend him, cupcake,” he said softly. “And he’s not gonna be in this moment.” He tucked some hair behind my ear. “This isn’t rejection, Nora. This is me being ...

“You’re twins?” he asked, surprise evident in his tone. That amused me for some reason. “You seem shocked. Do I not seem like a twin?” I teased. He rubbed his hand over his jaw, brushing at the thick stubble. “No,” he replied instantly. “You seem like one of a kind.” Holy crap. What did someone say to that?

He approached me before I registered what was happening. And when I realized what was really going on, I backed away on instinct, not because I was scared… exactly. “Nora,” he murmured, caging me against the back of my car, his warm, muscled, impressive body pressing up against mine. He still smelled like him but with a hint of the soap I kept in the guest shower. The same soap I used. Lavender. Imported from France, where they didn’t pump their personal care products full of chemicals like we did here. I liked his smell. Loved his smell. But the mixture of his scent and my own? It was much too dangerous. It made me think of… other things mixing together. That and the fact that his hand was now on my hip, his lips were inches from mine, and he was murmuring my name in what could only be described as a sultry tone. “What?” I wheezed, my eyelids fluttering rapidly at the vision of him that close up. Unfortunately, there were no gross imperfections, nothing at all to put me off. “You’re not drunk anymore.” He slowly ran the back of his knuckles along my jaw. I shivered at the intimate gesture. “I was never drunk,” I argued, or at least tried to. My voice was thin and weak, barely above a whisper. “Tipsy at the most.” “Fine.” His eyes searched mine. “You’re not tipsy anymore. So…” “So?” I asked, barely audible. “So, me kissing you wouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you.”

Yeah, it was the best morning I’d had in a while. A long fucking while. Yet I needed more. Hence me walking into the bakery before work, just after seven. Because I needed more. Of her. I hadn’t been up this early in a long time. Six thirty was closer to when I got up for work. Sometimes seven. I considered that to be early enough. Nora, though, got up at fucking five in the morning and looked absolutely fucking stunning. It was hard to believe, before this morning, I’d been sleeping in my bed while this beautiful fucking creature was awake. I vowed to be up with her as often as I could. Even though it would be a fucking effort.

“She’s not soft,” Fiona informed me, folding her arms as she lectured me. “She looks it. She looks kind and good and soft. She’s all of those things. But she’s a lot more. A fuck of a lot more. She’s special.” I bristled at the hostility in her tone. “I know.” She shook her head violently. “You don’t know. Because you’re a man. Because you think she’s special because she’s beautiful. Because she has nice tits. And she looks delicate, perfect for big, hulking men like you to protect.” Her eyes grazed over me… not in appreciation, but in judgment. A fuck of a lot of it. “Which I know all men want to do,” she hissed. “Even the ones who proclaim to be feminists. Especially the ones who proclaim to be feminists. But then they find that the soft, small, beautiful, shy, dorky girl who owns the bakery can take care of herself. Can tear down and put up drywall. Can change her own tires. Can do about a hundred things that I would have to pay someone to do. She’s impressive as fuck. To women, of course. To men, when she renders them useless or inferior, it fucks with them. And that’s when they decide it’s time to start taking things from her. Small pieces but enough to shrink her down. She’s strong in so many ways, but she’s also fragile. She’s apt to think the worst possible things about herself, if people encourage that. And he encouraged that.” My blood boiled. It had been boiling. Since the second I saw that fuck with his hands on her in the bakery. Then when I saw his ring on he...

“I’m takin’ you to dinner,” he declared. His hands were no longer on my upper arms, they were on my hips. It was hard to concentrate with them there, but for the life of me, I wasn’t capable of stepping out of his grasp. “W-What?” I stuttered. “Dinner,” he repeated. “Tonight. Carlisle’s. Seven.” Carlisle’s was the fanciest place in town. For good reason. The chef, and the restaurant’s namesake, Carlisle, had owned some fancy restaurant in New York, was rich and famous, and a huge star of the culinary world. Then he stepped out of all that, for reasons the town’s busybodies loved to speculate on—but had never got to the bottom of—and came here to Jupiter to open his restaurant. The food was out of this world. They didn’t take reservations; it was first come, first serve. It was always packed. No matter what. “You want to go on a… date?” I asked him. “Want to fuck you,” he replied bluntly. My body jerked with a shock that was not even a little bit unpleasant. “Want to fuck you,” he repeated, his grip tightening on my hips as his eyes dropped to my lips. “Had to stop myself from doing it last night. And this morning.” His eyes lifted, looking behind me to where the sounds of the bakery were filtering through. “And right now,” he added. Sex in public has never been a fantasy of mine. I was a shy, private person who didn’t much like being the center of attention. But right now, I was ready for Rowan to fuck me in my kitchen with an entire bakery of people a few feet away. “But,...

“Need to hear you say you want to be mine,” he requested gently. I tilted my head, eyes roving over him. His angular jaw covered in stubble. Those lips that were perfectly full and masculine. The dark brows framing his smoldering gaze. Inky hair that brushed his forehead. Broad shoulders. Muscular arms. Sinewy forearms exposed from the way he’d pushed up the sleeves of his flannel. Large hands covered in calluses, proof of the work he did every day. I’d cataloged all of this before, of course. But from a distance. Or with fleeting glances when I was brave enough to actually engage with him. “Do you want to be mine?” I asked him instead of heeding his command. I was forcing the staunch feminist in me to the forefront. Because I was embarrassed at how much I wanted to be his. Even though, two nights ago, I’d been cursing another man for thinking I was something to own. But Rowan was saying it was like I’d be something to worship. Still, I was pushing back. Because how was I to know that he truly wanted to be mine? It was one thing to have a woman, but it was quite another to be had by a woman, belong to her in the same way you expected her to belong to you. A lot of men didn’t think like that. Thought the rules were different. “Cupcake, I was yours the second my steel-toed boot set foot in this pink fuckin’ bakery,” he said without hesitation. My lungs seized as he stole all the oxygen from them.

“Ronnie Cockran is a piece of shit. And a moron,” Rowan seethed. “And I would usually describe him as a harmless piece of shit. Except when you get in his face and show him what a moron he really is.” When his eyes slid down my body then back up, I was surprised my clothes didn’t catch fire. And not in that sultry way he’d stared at me this morning. No, in a way that was full of fury. “Especially when you’re five foot nothing, and you’re a fuckin’ woman.” Though I was shaken, I was nowhere near shaken enough to let him get away with that. “What the heck does me being a woman have to do with anything?” I demanded, hands on my hips. His fury did not dissipate, but his brow twitched, with either more amusement or anger, I couldn’t tell. And I didn’t really care at that point. “Not sayin’ that because I think women are somehow less than men.” His words were clipped. “In fact, I am of the firm opinion that women are better than men in every way, and that had I not stepped in, you could’ve taken him.” He folded his arms so we were both in battle stances. “Which is why he’s even more dangerous. He was standin’ there, trying to act like a man by threatening a woman. His woman.” His eyes were stormy. “Then he threatened my fuckin’ woman. And he’s been layin’ hands on an innocent girl. So now he has to die.”

“Why do you like me?” I blurted. He inclined his head, face impassive. “Excuse me?” I sighed, knowing it wouldn’t be as easy as just asking the question and getting a straight answer. I’d have to go through the whole song and dance, humiliating myself. But I’d opened up this can of worms, and the tightness in his jaw told me he wasn’t going to let this go. “You like me,” I said. “Like is one word to describe how I feel about you,” he murmured. The murmur was a boom inside my head. My stomach fluttered, my thighs clenched, and I tried really hard not to let out an embarrassing girly sigh. I managed. Barely. Then I straightened my spine and remembered what I was doing. “Well, it makes no sense. That you like me. You are this tall, muscled, incredibly handsome, enchanting man. You’re a real man. Like cut wood with an ax kind of man. Women absolutely drool over you, and you don’t even notice. You have some kind of… power about you, like if we were both on a plane and it was going down, I wouldn’t be scared. Not at all, because I know you would somehow handle the situation. Now, I don’t know if you’re a pilot or whatever, but I know you’d take care of it. Take care of me.” His body visibly relaxed at my words, though his dark brows bunched together, listening to me very intently. With an intensity that was nearly impossible to breathe through. “And I’m a baker,” I added. “A good one, I’ll give you that.” “A great one,” he corrected, his voice thick and velvety. I swallowed the ...

“What are you doing?” Rowan didn’t answer me. He continued his ascent, walking us into my bedroom before setting me down. I almost gasped when my feet hit the floor and took sight of his face. His face that was white hot. And hungry. For me. “Show me,” he demanded. I felt his voice as if it were a caress over every inch of my body. “W-what?” Again, if my legs were working, I might’ve run. But I couldn’t be sure. My need was quickly surpassing my embarrassment. He didn’t touch me. No… Even though I was desperate for him to. “Show. Me,” he repeated, mouth inches from mine. “Show me how you make yourself come.”

“You want to be a good girl for me?” he asked, voice silky, holding the vibrator out to me. My pussy pulsed.

“I want you to show me how you make yourself come,” I repeated, my tone husky. “Then I want you to… finish. On me.” My cheeks flamed hotter with the request. I wasn’t embarrassed by it, not completely. But I felt brazen saying it aloud. Not the timid baker I’d been for as long as we’d known each other. Rowan’s eyes widened at my request. I might’ve felt nervous then. Might’ve sank back into that meek version of myself who didn’t verbalize my desires. But there was no time for that. “It’s like I fuckin’ dreamed you up,” Rowan growled, hands moving to his belt. I squeezed my thighs together in anticipation as I watched him free himself from his jeans.

“Cupcake, that was the hottest thing I’ve experienced in my whole fuckin’ life,” he told me in a rough voice, taking me even further from what I’d thought reality was. “Can’t wait to get my cock into that pretty pussy of yours,” he continued. “Know it’s gonna be sweet, tight… fuckin’ heaven.” And although I thought my body was spent, all pleasure inside of me sated, my thighs pressed together at his words, need for him blooming in my stomach. Rowan’s eyes were blazing as he leaned down and laid his lips between my legs, on top of my soaked panties. Then he inhaled. Deeply. Me. The smell of my pleasure, of the aftermath of what we’d just done. What I’d just done. His eyes found mine, sending my heart into my throat. “Sweet,” he murmured. My mouth was dry, every single one of my limbs tingling from the word, from his gaze. From him. Then, from somewhere outside, a bark sounded, Maggie yanking us back into reality.

“Love that you still blush after I’ve seen you come hard and hot, after my cum has decorated that perfect skin.” Jesus fucking Christ.

“So… if we’re not going out for dinner, I can whip us up something to eat,” I suggested, my voice still breathy and thin. Rowan tipped his chin as he assessed me. “I have a feeling that you’re always looking after people when they come here.” I shrugged. “Well, it is my house.” “It is,” he agreed, nodding and walking into the kitchen. “But I also have a feeling you rarely find yourself in situations where someone else is looking after you. Feeding you.” A pleasurable ache formed between my legs. “Feeding you.” Of course, he was talking about food. Except he wasn’t. I could see from the way his lip curled upward, his eyes flickering with the hunger I’d seen in my bedroom. “I, um…” I cleared my throat. “I haven’t had the occasion to have people… feeding me.” Rowan continued staring at me, this time with a wrinkle appearing between his brows. “Yeah, well, consider this the occasion.” He looked to my fridge. “Am I gonna get in trouble for touching anything sacred in this kitchen?” I let out a chuckle. “Why would you be in trouble?” Rowan opened my fridge door, motioning to the organized shelves. “Never seen a fridge like this before, cupcake. I’m afraid you might chop off an appendage or somethin’ if I put stuff back in the wrong place. My lips stretched up in a smile. He was teasing, but he was doing it good-naturedly. Warmly. “I like things a certain way, including all of your appendages.” I hid behind my hands for a moment, realizing what I’d said. I swallowed my embarrassm...

“Gotta stop doin’ that, cupcake,” Rowan said as he closed the distance between us, rubbing my bottom lip with his thumb. “Doing what?” I whispered. “Looking at me like that.” He grasped my hips, pulling our bodies flush together. “Makes me want to fuck you right here on this floor.” It was a good thing he was holding on to me because I didn’t quite trust my legs to hold me up after that little statement. “I wouldn’t be… adverse to that,” I replied, my voice rough and full of need. “Neither would I,” he murmured as he yanked me even closer to show how much he wanted that. Me. Need coiled through me. “But you’re dead on your feet, cupcake,” he continued, smoothing back some hair on my face. “You were up before the sun today, on your feet all day, and I’ve got a hunch you got about as much sleep as I did last night because I was imagining this.” He pressed his lips against mine. Soft at first, but then harder, hungrier. I met his need with a hot hunger of my own. Rowan leaned back, hands biting into my hips with a mixture of pleasure and pain. “I’ll tell you that my imagination pales in comparison to the real thing.” My lips were swollen, my heart thundering, and my body his to command, despite the exhaustion creeping to all of my limbs. “I want you, bad right now, Nora,” he murmured against my lips. “But I want you rested. Because later, I’ll want you up for hours. Want to take my time with you.” His hand skimmed down my side. “Want to learn every inch of your body.” My brea...

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he growled, his words vibrating against my pussy. I was almost at my breaking point when my eyes met his. “You gonna come for me like a good girl?” he asked as he pushed a finger inside of me. My teeth sunk into the flesh of my lip, so hard I tasted blood. His finger moved inside me, slowly, torturing me. I knew from the wicked look on his face it was intentional, that he could feel how close I was to climax. “Nora, are you gonna come for me?” he asked again, low and thick. I nodded rapidly, barely able to move, desperate for release. “Tell me you’re gonna be my good girl.” My body spasmed against his finger, seconds away from exploding but needing his mouth. “I’m gonna be your good girl,” I rasped. He smiled wickedly before his lips found my pussy again.

“You’re mine,” Rowan grunted, the veins of his neck bulging. My body soared as another orgasm rocked me. This one more intense than the last. More intense than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. Suddenly, Rowan stopped. Completely. Gripped my hip with one hand and the back of my neck with the other. “Say it,” he gritted out. His body was stiff, his stare cold, almost feral. Rowan was holding himself still with great effort. “Say you’re mine, Nora.” “I’m yours,” I gasped. His eyes blazed with satisfaction as I tightened my legs around him. “Now say you’re mine,” I demanded. He grinned. “Oh, I’m fuckin’ yours, Nora.” Then he began moving again. And he took us both over the fucking edge.

“You we’re fuckin’ made for me,” he murmured. “Never came that hard in my fuckin’ life. And I already get hard whenever I smell cinnamon. I’m done for now.” Though he was speaking very seriously, his voice a low rumble, I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle. “Cinnamon?” I repeated. A lazy grin spread across his face as he dropped a kiss on my lips. “Let me tell you, baby, any time I smell baked goods, I think of you. Naked.” He grabbed my hips, pulling me closer, proving he was still hard inside me. I let out a little gasp of pleasure. “Yeah,” Rowan hissed in satisfaction. “So now, any time I smell cinnamon or chocolate, I’m gonna think of this right here, and I’m gonna be fucking done for.”

“I can’t believe we just had sex in the kitchen,” I whispered, my cheeks warming. One side of his mouth turned up in a devilish smirk. “I can’t believe I just fucked you like I did, and you’re still blushin’.” My hands went to my cheeks. “I can’t help it.” “Don’t want you to help it,” he replied. “Don’t ever want you to stop blushin’ with me.” “I don’t think I’m ever going to be in danger of that,” I responded. He kissed my nose then ran his hands down the side of my dress. “You go about your morning,” he commanded, stepping back. “What are you going to do?” I asked, straightening my dress. “It’s going to be incredibly boring for you to spend the morning watching me.” He settled himself on a stool right by the counter. “Like fuck it is.”

“Who needs a real date when you can get fucked on a kitchen counter?”

“What are you doing?” I asked again, doing my best to push those fears away. “Building your Practical Magic greenhouse,” he answered, as if it were obvious. I blinked at him. “You’re building my greenhouse?” He hummed in confirmation. “Kip’s got the plans. You want to alter them, let me know. But it’s gonna get cold soon, so I want this done for you before winter sinks its teeth in.” He squinted at the house. “Got as close as I could to the layout in the movie, having made some adjustments.” I struggled to comprehend this. “I told you about this last night.” His lip twitched. “I was there.” “I told you about this last night, and today, the next day, you’re just… building me a greenhouse?” I needed to ask the question out loud. “Not gonna take too much time,” he shrugged. “Maybe a week. Two. We’re gonna spend a few hours after work each night, a full day on the weekends, an hour here and there whenever we’re between jobs.” I just stared at him. “You’re building me a greenhouse,” I repeated, but this time it wasn’t a question. Rowan’s expression softened. “Yeah, cupcake. I am.”

“Just to be clear,” Fiona announced, her narrowed eyes focused on Kip. “This is not going to be a thing.” She waved her arms between them first, then at our little group in general. “We’re not in some fucking Hallmark movie or CW show. This isn’t where two best friends fall for the other two best friends.” Her gaze then turned to me and Rowan. “You two are cute as fuck, I get that. You’re a Hallmark movie all on your own. But I am not interested in him.” She pointed her finger at Kip. He just simpered. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” he said before taking a pull of his beer. I tried to stifle a giggle but failed, resulting in Fiona sending a withering glare in my direction. “I’m serious,” she hissed. I held my hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to make you sleep with Kip.” “Oh, no one’s going to have to make her,” he chimed in, eyes dancing with amusement. “There’s not enough money or penicillin in the entire world,” she told him sweetly. “And there’s not enough booze in the entire world to get me drunk enough to go close enough to get those nails sunk into me,” he replied without missing a beat. All of their interactions the rest of the night had been somewhat similar. It was amusing to watch, though I was disappointed that it wasn’t going to work out between them.

But it was the look in his eyes that would’ve knocked me off my feet if I’d been standing on them. Yes, his eyes were clouded with desire, drenched with erotic satisfaction. But there was something beyond that too. Something heavier and thicker than pure desire. There was reverence there. I might have been the one on my knees, but he was the one worshiping me.

“Nathan made his choice,” I informed her. “I had nothing to do with him leaving town. Thankfully, I have nothing to do with him or you anymore.” Claire sucked in a sharp breath. “You are a piece of work,” she hissed, abandoning all pretense of civility. “Of all the women who wanted Nathan, all the women who deserved him. Who deserved our family name. Of all the women, he chose you. He was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you threw him away. Broke his heart. Drove him out of the town he was born in.” I laughed out loud at that. I couldn’t help myself. This ticked off the woman more. She might’ve scowled, but who knew considering all of the toxins freezing her facial muscles. “You really are deluded,” I shook my head once I got a hold of myself. “Nathan will never be the best thing that happens to any woman. Because he was raised to think he is God’s gift when really he’s just another rich asshole who doesn’t know where to find the clitoris.” I really wished I had a camera so I could immortalize the look on Claire’s face. Fiona struggled to contain her giggle beside me, and even Tina choked out a chuckle. The shock on Claire’s face only lasted for a handful of seconds, unfortunately. Then she regained her bearings and found a toxic glower to direct my way. “You’re trash,” she snarled. “And you’re going to pay for running my son out of town. Mark my words.” I let out a laugh. “You sound like a Scooby Doo villain.” Then I leaned slightly forward, narrowing my eyes...

“I made lemon poppyseed muffins,” I told him, pointing to the cake stand they were encased in. “You tryin’ to fatten me up, cupcake?” he teased. “As if that is possible.” I ran my hand along his washboard abs to punctuate my point. All teasing left his eyes and was replaced with hunger. I swallowed roughly, my own need awakening with a vengeance. “Don’t take too long,” he instructed. “We’re going to my place after this.” My heart squeezed with excitement. “Your place?” “That okay with you?” I nodded enthusiastically. “More than okay with me.” We’d spent every night together at my place, so I was infinitely curious about his. “Good.” He leaned in to kiss me firmly on my mouth. “Now get to closing this place up so I can take you to my place and fuck you in every room so your cunt is all I think of whenever I’m there.” Holy fucking shit.

“Now I’m gonna think of this sweet pussy every time I walk through the front door,” he growled, pushing into me. I gripped on to him, crying out in pleasure. “Gonna think of you clenching around me, taking me like a good fuckin’ girl,” he grunted as he moved inside of me, the cords of his neck straining. It was safe to say that I fucking loved Rowan’s house so far.

“He’s not here,” I told her, gripping the front door. Maggie was pressed against my legs, as if in support. The girl looked to me then to Maggie. “I, um. I’m so sorry,” she looked down, blushing. “This is really embarrassing. I got an Uber here, because, um…” She turned her head down the driveway to where her ride had left her behind before looking back at me. “Rowan is usually home, and he’s usually alone, and… I’m so fucking sorry. I never would’ve done this if I knew he had… if I knew you were here.” The poor girl sounded completely sincere and utterly mortified. She was not some kind of harlot having an affair. She was a young girl who had an arrangement with a hot older man, and I would’ve said more power to her if the situation were different. But the situation was not different. “I’ll just wait out here and order a ride,” she babbled, fumbling for her phone. I paused. Only for a second, but I felt guilty over it. “No, come in,” I offered, stepping back. “No, I couldn’t do that,” she exclaimed. “This is, like, bad enough. I feel like such a fucking bitch, and I can’t believe I woke you up. I promise, my ride is like…” she squinted at the screen on her phone, “twenty minutes away. I’m good waiting.” She smiled tightly, but I could see the goose bumps on her exposed skin, which there were a lot of. It was cold and dark, and she was not to blame for all of this. “Please come in,” I asked. We were far enough out for the Uber to take a while, and the amount of available r...

“Kaitlyn and I used to have a casual thing. She was one of the few women in town who didn’t try to push for commitment. Haven’t touched her or any other woman since you became mine. Didn’t think to call her because this town is a fucking rumor mill, so I figured she’d hear through the grapevine.”

“See you working this over in your head,” he murmured quietly. “Tryin’ to find some way to make it make sense to be mad at this. End this.” He cupped my cheek, eyes looking at me and seeing far too much. “But you’re not gonna find shit, cupcake. This is it. You’re it for me.”

“You are not weak,” he growled. “Fuck, Nora. You are the strongest person I know. The shit you’ve been through?” He shook his head. “Fucking hate that you had to live that, baby. That mother of yours has a lot to answer for.” His eyes became murderous at the mention of my mother. “A fucking lot. And she’ll answer for those sins eventually because karma is real. The life you’ve given yourself proves that. It wasn’t some unseen entity that created it. You built it. Literally. You built a life with your bare fucking hands.” He lifted our intertwined hands to his mouth and kissed my fingers. “You radiate love, Nora. Warmth. From your fucking pores. You don’t see it because of what that woman did, but there is a light inside you. You attract people. Your bakery isn’t as successful as it is just because you know how to make fuckin’ great shit. Which you do. It’s successful because of who you are. People in this town love you, baby. I love you.” I gaped at him, dumbfounded by everything he’d just said but especially the last three words he’d uttered. “What?” I whispered. “I love you,” he repeated without hesitation. “I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. And I’ve only loved you more since I got to touch you, kiss you, make you mine. Every new thing I discover about you is yet another reason why I’m a fuckin’ goner. Why I’m yours for life. Hate that you deal with that shit, fuckin’ hate it. But you’ve been dealin’ with it alone for all these years. Making you a promise ...

“Need you to promise you’re not gonna hide pain from me. Even if you don’t think it’s real.”

“You take care of everyone but have never had anyone to take care of you.” His lips brushed my fingers again. “Now, cupcake, I’m gonna brace for a comment on feminism after I say this, but I’m gonna say it anyway. You’ve got me. You’re my woman. I’m gonna take care of you. You can relax your grip on the reins, baby. You can trust that I’m not gonna let you go off course.”

“You better be invoicing me for all of this,” I told him in a stern tone. Stern was all I could manage. Tears were prickling the backs of my eyes as it was. Speaking of stern… that’s exactly what I saw on Rowan’s face. “You give me a cent for this, we’re gonna have problems.” I gulped at his rough tone. “This is a gift.” I gaped. Opened my mouth. Closed it. Waited for the punchline even though Rowan wasn’t exactly a joking kind of guy. “A gift?” I squeaked. “You cannot build an addition onto my house as a gift!” My voice rose then. “I mean, we’ve been dating like… a month. And this is thousands of dollars of material, labor…” Rowan surged forward to clasp my upper arms. Not hard. His touch was featherlight, as if I were made of glass, ever since I woke up in the hospital. “First, you’re not workin’ yourself up.” He scowled. “You’re gonna go sit on the sofa.” “No!” I protested, rooting myself in place, even though my stomach was throbbing, and it was exhausting, standing for so long. A muscle jumped in Rowan’s jaw. “You cannot give me this as a gift,” I whispered. “You cannot give me everything I’ve dreamed of.” I looked down so my tears would hit the floor. Rowan wasn’t about to let that happen. His finger lifted the bottom of my chin so I looked upward, into his eyes. “Cupcake, this is my job.” He tilted his head toward the greenhouse. “I get deals on shit, pay Kip in beer, and get plenty of payment in all the things you bake for me. The way you smile at me in the morning...

It was safe to say the vibrator stayed in the drawer, and I was very satisfied. Unfortunately, we burned the lemon meringue pie.

“Your mother is really fuckin’ lucky I’ve got a code about committing violence against women.” “Yeah, well, cockroaches can’t die anyway,” I smiled sadly. “She’ll survive the nuclear apocalypse."