Have Your Cake (14 page)

Her passion carried in the air, infecting him with warmth.
She’s made for this.

“Stand right there. Don’t move.” He whipped out his phone to snap a picture of her in the apron. He stood. “Let’s get a few for your portfolio.”

After angling pictures of each cake in the lighting with her standing next to the counter, he snapped photos of each one and sent them to the printer upstairs. “These will be great additions,” he said.

“Will you help me get the cakes in the fridge?” she asked.

“I’ll go get the cart.”

She used the cake lifter to transfer each piece onto the cart. After covering them for appropriate protection, he rolled them into the fridge. The attention to detail and level of speed she worked with settled a new found respect for her craft in him. He stared over all five originals with his hands on his hips, knowing the delicacy of the sponge beneath the beauty of her decorations. His baker deserved her Huffin Muffin dream.

“Wasn’t there a floor you were supposed to show me?” she asked from the doorway.

He pivoted to her. “Absolutely.”

C
yana brushed the sugar from her hands and removed her apron to set it on the counter. She could scent Asher standing behind her before she shifted to him. His gaze held a heavy sparkle.

“Come on.” His large hand wrapped her wrist with delicate pressure.

She couldn’t imagine him as a hitter. She squashed the unsettling thought and followed his stride. He smiled back at her when he opened the side door of the house kitchen. Excitement toyed in his two-tone gaze as he guided her. He unlocked the stable kitchen door and stood next to the opening, raising his hand to allow her inside first.

He flipped the lights on. She stepped into the space. The gleam of stainless steel made her blink several times. “It’s complete.” She awed at the finished professional kitchen which replaced the stables. “Asher, you told me you prepped for the appliance delivery, not that the kitchen was done.”

He chuckled.

“Look at the floors.” She covered her opened mouth with both hands. “It’s more beautiful than I imagined.”

“What can I say? I had a hellava designer.”

She pivoted to him. “You can’t put this all on me.”

“Why not?” He approached her. “It was your idea.”

“It’s so beautiful.”

He shrugged before she spun away and took a few steps into the room. “You make floors like you make cake.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Beautiful.”

She leaned backwards into him. “You did the seal yourself?”

“Of course.”

“You’re so talented, Asher.”

He hummed a moan into the top of her hair and caressed his thumbs up her sides. “So are you. It takes talent to teach this here cowboy how to roll fondant.” His fingertips snuck under her waist length t-shirt.

“Asher,” she whispered his name.

“Mm. Working with you in front of me was torture. Can you imagine all of the thoughts I had to suppress?”

His fingers slid the rim of her jeans. He undid the button. She had to get home well before he wanted to let her go. He wouldn’t have her leaving him in the same tense knot she arrived in. Cyana moaned at his palm slipping down over her bare mound and into her folds. “Asher. Please.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I live to serve.”

Asher had her jeans stripped to the knees, her bra thrust to her upper chest and breasts dangling over the stainless steel island. He gripped the back of her neck while her palms were spread out to hold the weight of her upper body. He instructed her not to move and bumped her back and forth with his hip against the right round of her ass. The motion dragged the tips of her nipples along the chilly surface while his fingers worked her clit. She moaned at the icy sensation coupled with the heat and lightning of his touch between her thighs.

The strain of his cock pressed into her rear muscle. She whispered for it to fill her where his fingers fell shy. The torture of watching her response played out over the serious concentration on his face. The warnings in the back of her mind insisted she get away and not fall into the mix of his torment, but they were quiet at best. He kissed the back of her shoulder, melting her resistance.

This had to be wrong. Wrong to expose her heart to a stranger. Wrong to trust a man of proven violence. A criminal. She was giving in to him. Somewhere in her head she knew the severity of her decision. Nowhere in her heart did she care.

He nibbled her ear. “You feel so ready.”

“I am.” He stroked a circle against her clit. “A few more. Like that.”

A half-smile tugged his lips. “Yes, ma'am. But, you're not coming without me.” He righted his stance and took a step to the left. The heat of his naked cock brushed against her. She lifted her rear. His smooth fire parted her with a firm thrust. Her hands curl into fists. A cry left her throat. Her pussy twitched and clamped around his cock. The drag of his withdrawal arched her back and curled her toes inside her shoes while she sucked in a long breath. He plowed into her. She gave in to his firm thrust with flashes of light dancing behind closed lids.

“Damn Cyana, you’re better than I could have imagined,” Asher whispered.

A
sher raised his hand and signaled for Cyana to join him at the kitchen island. She’d gone for a shower after he made certain she broke a thorough sweat. The kitchen counter surfaces sat empty, all the containers and baking equipment cleared. ”Where’d all the stuff go?” she asked.

“I cleaned it up and loaded the car for you in case we lost track of time.”

“Thanks. You really shouldn’t have done it all by yourself.” She drew closer to him. He had the Huffin Muffin portfolio spread out on the island. Cyana smiled, toying with her sleeve before joining him.

He shrugged. “Most of the containers were empty.” He coaxed her onto his lap, wrapping an arm around her. His hand settled on her thigh with a squeeze.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I hope you don’t mind but,” he opened the portfolio, “I took a deeper look and made some suggestions on your business plan.”

She noticed the writing in the margins.

“I also took the liberty of placing post-its on the existing photo pages with some suggestions you could incorporate into the designs.”

Warmth swelled in her chest. “Asher, you shouldn’t have.”

“Sh.” He placed his rough finger against her lips. “You’re my good deed. Remember?”

She smiled and averted her gaze. He removed his hand. “Must have been some demons you’re trying to get away from.”

“You have no idea.” He kissed her temple. “So, what do you think?”

She flipped a page and spotted one of his sticky notes on her photo. She opened her mouth to reply, but he pressed a second kiss into the side of her throat.

“Asher, you really make it hard for me to think when you do that.”

“I don’t want you to think.” He hugged her closer, nuzzled into the space between her neck and hair. “Just keep creating. Keep making wonderful.”

The noise of the front door opening stole her attention.

“You were expecting company?” she asked.

“Josh.” He ran the tip of his nose along her earlobe before kissing her neck.

“Asher!”

Asher’s body tensed. A strained curse left his lips at the female voice.

“Asher. There is the most atrocious piece of junk out in front of the Milway.” A tall slender blonde seemed to materialize in the doorway. “Oh my.” She pressed a hand to her chest.

“Where’s Josh?” Asher asked. His voice was hard and cold, nothing like what Cyana had come to know.

“Josh couldn’t make it.” The woman moved the hand to her hip. “I was sent in his place. I am the coordinator, you know.” She sashayed into the room wearing a blue gown. It hugged her from breasts to hips before it flowed to the ground in an array of shimmering aqua and green. It was early evening and she was dressed like she was going to dinner. She set her matching clutch on the kitchen island. Cyana tried to remember just who the coordinator was. Iona had mentioned she was a Wilmington, but Cyana was only half-listening through her panic.

“Is that how you greet your mother?”

Cyana stiffened on his lap.
Mother.
Asher's mother was a stunning woman for her age. Cyana could see the fine angles of her face echoed in the more masculine attractiveness of Asher's. The slightest of crow’s feet and thin smile lines around her mouth. Self-consciousness forced Cyana’s gaze to the countertop.

“Hello, Mother.” Asher said the words as flatly as he’d spoken before.

Tension crackled through the room. The kitchen’s atmosphere became heavy.

“Did you not hear what I said, Asher? There is a junk pile on wheels in front of the house. Whichever one of your wet backs is driving it needs to move it now? The photographer will be showing up any minute.”

“Photographer?” Asher leaned forward, his hard form pressed into Cyana’s back. She struggled to hold in her approving response to his closeness. “What photographer?”

“Frank Giselle, from Sweetly Bridal.”

“Giselle isn’t scheduled for another three days, Sally.”

“I had a coffee with him this morning and convinced him to photograph the house naked as my canvas so the subscribers of Sweetly Bridal could see the wonderful transformation it makes on the wedding day.” Sally peered around with a pinched expression. “Josh was right. You’ve done well making this nearly condemned trash heap into something of an elegant model to work with.”

“If you invited Giselle this morning, why am I just now hearing about it?” Asher asked.

Sally sucked her teeth, dismissively waving her hand. “Oh, bother.”

“You schedule all visitations through me. That’s the way this works, Sally.”

“I didn’t think it would matter. I certainly would have called if I knew you were fraternizing with the help.” She wiggled her fingers at Cyana.

Cyana jolted into a straight-backed position as offense rocketed up her spine. Her movement shoved her backward into his heat. She caught a glimpse of Asher’s fist tightening on the countertop. His knuckles lightened with the intensity of the clutch. The air crackled around them. This man could certainly hit. And, right now, he wanted to.

“This one looks mixed. Does she at least speak English?” Sally scowled.

Cyana’s attention snapped to Asher’s face. His jaw twitched with the clenching of his teeth.

“Perfectly,” Asher said, his attention never leaving Sally. “Mother, meet Cyana, baking chef of Huffing Kitchen.” He gestured to Cyana, compelling her to lock gazes with Sally. The woman’s steel blues seemed to cut right through her. They were the same beautiful color as Josh’s, only cold and unwelcoming. “Cyana, this is Sally, interior decorator and wedding coordinator.”

Cyana stuck out her hand, her voice passed small. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Sally grasped her clutch from the counter and tugged it away from Cyana as she straightened her spine. “You
can’t
be serious.” She turned her nose up before presenting her back to Cyana’s courtesy. Asher’s arm yanked back. His hand gripped Cyana’s right hip. She could feel the corded ripple of the muscles in his legs as he suppressed the urge to spring from his seat. Sally’s heels clicked against the kitchen floor as she started for the door. “Have the junk heap in front of the house moved within ten minutes, Asher, or I’m having it towed.” She threw over her shoulder.

Asher let out a growl.

“
I
think I should go.” Cyana hopped off his lap, closed the portfolio and clutched it to her chest.

“Cyana—”

“No, Asher, I’m sorry. I have to leave.”

He cursed. She turned from him, exiting the kitchen. Sally hovered in the peripheral vision of her right eye.

“KiKi,” Sally called.

Cyana halted on the ripple of irritation jolting up her spine. Sally couldn’t have been talking to her, but all the workers were outside. Cyana pivoted. “Excuse me?”

“Kiesha, Shalaun, LaToya. Whatever.” Sally waved frivolously. “If the thing out front belongs to you, plan on parking it at the beginning of the driveway and walking from now on, or find something more
appealing
to drive over.” She stretched the word out to make her point. “The Milway must maintain a certain level of appearances.” Her voice fluctuated into a lighter octave while she held both her arms out to showcase the empty space. “You do understand, don’t you?”

“My name is Cyana. I heard you.” She twirled away from Sally and traveled out the front door.

Emotions rose in her throat as she trotted down the stairs. A Premium Mustang GT sat behind her Gremlin.
Too different. We’re just different.

She settled into the seat of the classic coupe with a knot swelling in her throat. She leaned her head back against the headrest and gasped for air to stifle the pending breakdown. She closed her eyes but a tear escaped.

“Stop it, Cyana.” She coached herself until she became calm. With a sigh, she settled the Huffin Muffin portfolio on the passenger seat, but noticed something was missing. “Aw crap.” She flopped back into the driver’s seat, pressing her hands to her forehead. “My purse.”

“
W
hat in hell is eating you?” Asher charged from the kitchen.

Sally turned to her hotheaded son. “It’s obvious the only person with the least bit of concern for this family’s name over the past decade has been me. I have an important event scheduled here today, Asher Wilmington.”

“An unauthorized event.” Asher stopped short of his mother with both hands on his hips.

“All the same. It would have been terrible for Giselle to see you with that,” Sally waved her hands around and feigned a shiver, “hoodlum.”

“What!” Asher fisted his hands and took another step forward. Sally raised her chin to his challenge. The sight of defiance in her sparkling glare reminded him to reign in his emotions. This wasn’t about Cyana. It couldn’t have been. He paused in his stride, willing to play his mother to dig into her attitude. “You invited yourself into my home and insulted my guest over saving your precious Wilmington legacy? Very quaint.”

“Asher.” Sally shifted on her heels and crossed her arms before sauntering back into the kitchen space. “You’ve turned down every match I’ve presented you. Shot down dates with beautiful women born of means. Since you have found some relief with your booty-call girl, perhaps you’d like to focus on a more suitable match.”

“We’ve had this conversation before. It’s not like you and dad were the best role models. I don’t need your help with relationships.”

She sucked her teeth and let out a frustrated groan, setting her clutch on the island. “You have only four years before the last of the money your father set in your trust fund is given to charity. You need to settle down in order to claim it.”

“That’s what this is about?” he asked.

“I seek only your best interest. You know it.” Sally pointed a prim finger towards the ground.

“My best interest?” Asher gave a bitter laugh. “Since when have you had a reason to seek my best interest?”

“I have reasons, Asher. You’re my son. Is it not enough?”

“What’s your cut, Mother?”

Sally gasped. “Asher?”

“Oh, please. You’ve only showed concern for my interest where money’s involved. Unlike some people in this family, I don’t marry for money.”

The sting of Sally’s strike lasted only seconds against his cheek. “Unpleasant, Asher Wilmington. You are not allowed to speak to me with such disrespect.”

“With such truth,” he said.

She leaned to him, pressing a finger into the center of his chest with enough pressure to make the spot sore. “You are rotten. You were a perfect little boy when you were born, but the moment you hit puberty you became some nasty beast.” She waved her hands over the length of him.

“I became a man. Did it frighten you, Mother? Did it scare the living day lights outta you and Gerald that I could think for myself?”

“Gerald is your father. You should call him so.”

“I think not.”Asher emitted a contempt laced chuckl
e
.

“Asher Theodore Wilmington, at times your behavior disgusts me. Thinking for yourself got you where? Arrested. Breaking and entering. Assault. Possession. Rehab. Do you not remember?”

“Now, I’ve been walking the straight and narrow.” He swiped his hand, palm down, across his midline. “I’m my own man. My thoughts. My deeds got me here.” He pointed to the polished floors.

“You have an obligation to this family after what you’ve done to scar its name.” Sally took a step forward.

“Is that what you told David after what he’d done?” Asher bit the words out and regretted them the moment they passed.

Sally’s mouth clamped shut. A hand went to her stomach. She took a step back.

“How dare you bring your brother into this?” she hissed, with a glimmer of tears.

His chest ached from his foul maneuver. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake. An asshole move on my part. But, you’re pissin’ me off enough to spit fire.”

“That’s no excuse,” she jeered. “You both neglected your father’s legacy. He worked so hard for you boys.” Sally’s tears finally spilt over and nailed the coffin shut on his guilt level.

He puffed out a breath. “Mother, don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup for the photo shoot.”

She sucked her teeth. “How can I not with you rubbing salt in old wounds?” She gasped for a breath and knit her brow in her classic attempt to get a hold of her emotion. “If Giselle had seen you, word could have gotten back to Sophia.”

“Ah hell.” Asher pressed his fingertips to closed lids. “I forgot about her.”

“Language Asher. Though I must admit, your little fling could have ruined the wedding.”

“Fling? No one said Cyana was a fling. This damned thing you’ve got me setup on with Sophia is more of a fling than Cyana.”

“Sophia is an educated woman of means. Well bred-”

“I’m not looking for a horse, Mother,” he cut in.

“Asher,” she hissed. “What is this ungrateful demeanor?”