Have Your Cake (5 page)

Cyana gawked at the size of the interior. “Wow, Asher. You can fit seven cars in here.”

“I figured the room could be outfitted for a restaurant style kitchen. The house is big enough for seating large events. On downtime we could use this space to start up a seasonal restaurant on the side.”

“That’s good thinking.”

“We wouldn’t want all this space to be wasted.” He shrugged.

“Where’s your floor plan?” she asked.

“Over here.” He waved her to a small table where the computer sat before moving the mouse to wake it. She stepped in closer, surveying the digital image of the floor design.

“How about this.” She pointed to the screen. “We could use the dark slate to form a diamond pattern around the sinks and ovens to kind of mark off where the foot traffic would be heaviest. This way you can still have the floor down without delay and use all the materials.”

“Well, I’ll be damned, little lady. Your idea just might work.” He rubbed his chin considering her design change. “Now how come I didn’t see that?”

“You were too hot at the moment.” She gave him a gentle elbow.

He chuckled. “Wait a minute. You said we.”

“I can help,” she said.

“Really?”

She smiled. “We’ve only worked out a deal on the car tow. You saved me a hotel fee. I have to pay you back for letting me stay here.”

“Hm. I’ll have to approve your skill before I make a deal.”

Her shoulders went back against the challenge. “Cowboy, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

C
yana strapped the extra pair of knee protectors on while Asher finished marking the floor with her changes. She put on a face mask and loaded a bucket with the mortar. Asher remained watchful. It was his kitchen. Making sure she didn’t screw it up would be at the top of his list. She was certain the man took a healthy level of pride in his work considering the beauty he’d placed into every area of the mansion he’d touched. She started the drill to mix the water in.

He hauled in the light slate for the farthest end of the room where the refrigerators and pantry closets would be. When he had a decent amount inside, he stopped to check the bucket she was working on.

“Mighty fine job you’re doing, Love. How’d you get those skills?”

His brow was glistening from the labor of carrying the tiles. She shoved the mask down to her neck and took a deep whiff of masculine goodness.

“My parents bought a kitchen when I was younger. It was my dad’s dream. He and Mama saved a long time for it, but the restaurant needed work. I helped dad with laying the tiles.” She shrugged at the memories to make it seem like no big deal. Remembering her dad’s patience and humor during the project tugged at her heart strings. She turned off the drill.

“You ready?” She asked, wanting to focus more on the project and shake the nostalgia.

“Sure,” Asher spoke, starting to unbutton his flannel. He peeled it off, revealing a grey cotton tank stretched for mercy over his chest and meaty shoulders. Sweat darkened the front of the tank all the way down to the knots of his abdominal muscles. He used the shirt to wipe his face, making Cyana wish she had it to wipe away her drool.

Before he could look at her, she had the drill disassembled. She tugged the mixer attachment out of the mortar. “Could you wash this up, please, and bring back the spacers, level and the trowels.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She hauled the bucket to the work area then got down on her knees, mentally picturing the labor needing done.

Asher reentered the space then came down on the floor beside her with the tools. “So, should you lay and I spread, or the other way around?” he asked.

She made eye contact. Her mouth fell open, but nothing came out. His confident smirk indicated she took the statement exactly the way he’d insinuated.

“I meant the tiles, Love.” He winked and nudged her gently with his elbow.

She shifted her attention from him then pressed her lips together. She took the trowel from his hand, shaking her head with a chuckle of embarrassment. This man had a way of taking her mind to the dirty side as if he could read what she was thinking. Again, it was best to leave that one alone. “We work as a team, Cowboy.”

“Oh, back to cowboy, is it?”

“As long as you make a good partner,” she said.

“Well, hang my hat. I ain’t gotta stay in the white boy zone. I can work my way back to the cowboy.” He spoke with a note of hallelujah in his words.

She laughed away all the tension in her body. “Are you ready?”

A
sher cast a sideways glance Cyana’s direction. He was thankful he’d bought extra gear just in case Joshua paid him a visit and wanted to help out. Spying Cyana in the protective equipment on her hands and knees was a sight he’d pay good money to see. Her neatly prim hands worked the grout onto the concrete floor. She flipped the trowel to make the grooves needed to set the tile. He had to admit he was impressed. She situated the tiles and spacers, tapped them down in the mortar then tugged the leveler to her side, checking the floor to correct any imperfections.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you knew how to do this.”

She gave a brilliant smile, making his heart skip a beat. “I told you I could help.”

“I’m impressed,” he said.                           

She shrugged. “Be impressed if you like the design when it’s done.”

He nodded. “Fair enough, little lady.”

He could have the tile laid in a long days work, but he didn’t mind the help. If it made her feel better about crashing at the place, he didn’t want to take a good feeling away from her.

It took about ten minutes before he noticed working next to Cyana was distracting. She sat on her heels then raised the back of her hand to wipe at the sweat on her brow. He inhaled the sweet smell of cocoa butter and peppermint lingering around her. His gaze swept her yellow t-shirt and denim capris. Her hair was braided in six neat lines and tucked into a satin hair tie at the back. He observed her face intensely, admiring her features before she was in motion again.

He tried to draw his mind to the project, but occasionally her hand would brush his, sending a jolt of energy through his chest. When he reached for the leveler, his palm closed over hers. They made eye contact before laughing. Her happiness gave him a fluttering feeling in his belly, sprouting heat which drained tension from his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much. Cyana seemed to bring happiness with her. It was something he could get used to.

He removed his hand with reluctance. She glanced around the room. “Wow, we’ve made real progress.”

C
yana had to do something to take her mind off Asher working diligently close to her. They made a great team, but every time their gazes met it felt like she could see his soul. It was good. So good she wanted to fall into his gaze, command it with her every move.

Now she knew how Mama had felt about her father. The family teased him, called him white boy. His mixed heritage gave him the grey-brown eyes her sister inherited. He was a light pecan tan. Mama would always comment on how his eyes won her soul.

Even laughing with Asher brought ease with his presence. Her contentment swayed from something wholesome to something downright naughty. It didn’t help when he removed the flannel. He wasn’t overly defined with muscles on top of muscles, or muscles in places where most people didn’t know they existed. He was a slim type of fit, large for his size and long in the torso. His arms flexed with detail, showing the fruit of a life lived with working hands.

Oh, to feel those work roughened hands in delicate places.
The thought made her mouth water. Her thighs warm for his touch. A caress scarred with knuckles swollen from the inevitable beatings his lifestyle bestowed. She could see the strength of them every time he reached for something.

Stop, Cyana.
She inwardly scolded. She shouldn’t think like that with his type. Damn, Asher looked good. She’d never gone outside her race before, but he made her want to try a new flavor.

She took a deep breath to soothe the heat Asher’s interest gave her skin. When he shot a glimpse of the room and met her stare again, that two-toned glare looked hungry. If she wasn’t mistaken, she would think he was eating her up in his mind. The story of the big bad wolf made her chuckle. “You look impressed,”

He smiled. “You and I make a good team. You need another job?”

“Oh no, white boy. You’re not putting this sista to work unless it’s in the kitchen.”

“If you bake half as good as you lay tile, then you’re a ringer.”

“Oh, I bake better,” She boasted in Huffing fashion. “Still, tiling is not much different. You have to mix, measure and be exact.”

“You seem like a natural. Any other talents you want to surprise me with?” His leer flashed a hint his words didn’t match.

C
yana woke in Asher’s bed. Guilt for taking his comfortable sleeping spot coiled in her belly. Besides feeling like a grateful thief, the smell of him lingered on her skin. She’d slept in today and sprawling in the bed reminded her of why. Every muscle ached from laying tile.

A smile tugged at her lips. She’d forgotten work could actually be fun until she labored next to Asher. Part of her wondered if he’d been flirting with her, or if her dirty little mind had twisted every word he said. Men just didn’t come on to her.

She nibbled her lip a moment to conjure up the last time she’d felt an attraction to someone. The instances eluded her. Honestly, she’d been far too busy to notice many men, or far too scared. She couldn’t figure out if it was one of those things or another. She’d been busy raising Eric as a single mom and acutely aware of the abuse he could suffer at the hands of men who weren’t his blood.

His own father hadn’t been too much help in extinguishing the notions of fear. Ancient dread pooled into her bones as the memories of Eric’s screams shattered her thinking. It wasn’t right to treat a three year old like a punching bag. She’d taken a few beatings from Jamal, but after he'd hurt Eric, she drew the line. She wouldn’t put her son through that again.

It was wrong. Somewhere in her gut, no matter how much she loved Eric’s dad, she knew a man shouldn’t be violent to children. A good man shouldn’t want to harm his son.
He was just a baby.
More guilt ushered its way into her.

Her dark-skinned baby boy had been heavy in her arms the day she rushed him to the emergency room with broken ribs. She hadn’t been grateful to see the law take Jamal to jail. The man had been everything to her. Every child deserved a dad. The loss of her father swayed her to hang on to Jamal. Life hadn’t gotten better until Jamal had died in the jail cell he deserved. Afterward, she learned to support her small family with great cooking. Baking gave her an identity. It was more than enough to help Eric grow into a fine young man. She grinned to herself.
A strong football playin’ man.
The kitchen not only provided him all the pounds of protein he needed, it also brought her back from her attachment and depression.

She took a long breath. “Cyana, you know you have terrible taste in men.”

Her stomach growled in protest from skipping dinner.
Not right now.
She rolled out of the bed, reaching for her yoga mat. The CD player wouldn’t do today. She needed to be able to block out the outside world and forget about the trauma of her last serious relationship.

She rummaged in her duffle for her MP3. Donning her most comfortable sports bra and terrycloth shorts, she shoved the ear buds in and headed to the hardwood floors she’d worked out on yesterday.

A
sher raked his hand through the lengthy top hair falling towards his view. He’d have to schedule a hair cut before the wedding. He stepped out of the doorway to the workshop and noted the sky. The storm front lingered. Clouds billowed thick in puffs of white with windswept gray bottoms.
Another muggy September day.
He peered over the lawn at the landscapers tending to flowers and bushes adding floral notes to the air. One bonus from the rain was the lawn would be soft under foot and the roots strong for future growth.

Blue Jays took to the air, trailing his attention to the very top of the house which he could view from the shop. Static hovered over his skin.
Cyana.
His thoughts went to her every time he peered to the second floor of the mansion. His belly warmed and heart thumped a bit harder.

Damn.
He hadn’t even seen her.
Whatever kind of madness this is has to stop.
He groaned against the thought and crossed his arms.
How in hell did I ever get a sweet spot for this beauty?
He rubbed the back of his neck before his phone rang. Checking the number, his mood fell flat.

“Good morning, Mother.” He answered Sally without a hint of enthusiasm.

“Asher Wilmington, is that how you greet your mother? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks.”

He rolled his eyes at the drama in her tone. “I said good morning. You needn’t exaggerate about the frequency of our conversations. Since you’ve decided to take over Josh’s wedding coordination, we’ve been in touch.”

Sally huffed. “I have not
taken over
. I feel if my grandson wants to get married, he should have only the best wedding coordinator, meaning my services are available. Naturally.”

Asher stepped back into the workshop. Even though his mother’s flamboyant behavior was above irritating, she had a point. Her events featured in bride magazines all over the country. This occasion would no doubt bring the same, if not more, attention.

Irritating as she was, her use of his locations earned them both a lucrative living. He was half-listening to her ramble on regarding vases, doilies, ribbons or something completely feminine before the sound of his name brought him back to the one-sided conversation.

“I should dote over someone,” she continued, “I’m still looking forward to your big day. Why haven’t you settled down with any of those eligible bachelorettes I’ve set you up with? I would love to be a grandmother again. You know,
before
I’m a great grandmother.”

“I’m not interested in what your girls have to offer, Mother.”

“Obviously you haven’t the finest of tastes.” The statement came across as smug as he was certain Sally intended it.

He shook his head, thinking of every scrawny blond she threw at him in an attempt to get her ideal towheaded grandchild. Asher had his fun with her pickings and tossed them back into the wild. They had all been spoiled brats, more interested in what he, or his money, could do for them and less interested in him. He squashed the desire to tell his well meaning mother to butt out of his life. Now was not the time. He needed to get off the phone with her as soon as possible and giving in to any of her baiting would result in another twenty minutes of conversation at best.

“Mother, why are you calling?”

“Ignoring your old mum, I see.”

“Absolutely. I would hate to think you called because you were so concerned where my dick’s been.”

“Asher Theodore Wilmington.” The shock in her voice made him smile. That little rattle against her perfect world was sure to cut the conversation short. “How vulgar. You would dare speak to your mother in such a manner?”

“When she’s buggin’ me about grand children, yes. Is there a purpose to this call?”

“Ugh. I don’t know how you came to be so unrefined, Asher. Really. The best schools and the best training.” She sucked in an exasperated breath swift enough to hear over the phone. “I have invited Judge Lee Garret to this event. You remember his niece, Sophia?”

Asher groaned.

“Do not do that, Asher Wilmington. Don’t.” Sally was firm. “After all the strife our family has been through, you will make good on your promise to have things restored.”

“I’ve done enough for you, Sally.”

“Negative. This event is set to be the largest in Weynor history. The perfect Southern wedding. A lovely lady on your arm is a must for the camera. You owe me after ruining your relationship with Rachelle. You promised to make it up to me.”

I ruined the relationship?
He gritted his teeth through her intentional moment of silence.
Don’t give in to the game, Asher. Just, let it go.

“Sophia is perfect.”

“Fine. Set it up. Is there anything else?”

Sally sighed over the phone. He recognized the antic and could visualize her placing a finger to her temple and shaking her head, as if she were disciplining an unruly child. His jaw started to ache. He was certain he’d grind the enamel off his molars if he waited any longer.

“Mum.” He mimicked the title she gave herself. “You need to start talking or I’m going to fall behind on this project and your perfect wedding won’t go as planned.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you just say you were busy?”

Because it wouldn’t have mattered.
He bit back the comment. “Mother, I’m always busy. So get to the point here.”

“Your nephew is so gracious. He has such good manners, despite his upbringing,” she said.

The last words were meant to sting. Since his brother had believed in cocaine more than family, his nephew, Josh, was left fatherless and motherless after an attempted bank robbery landed both his parents in prison. Asher stepped in to raise the boy.

He gripped the edge of the table, reminding himself if he remained civil the conversation would end quickly. “Go on.” He spoke absent emotion.

His mother huffed over the phone, indicating her disappointment with his lack of desire to squabble with her. She continued, “Josh will be arriving at the Milway in three days to tour the improvements. I hope you’re on track enough we’ll still consider the place for his event.”

Asher never failed a project and recognized the statement as another hook to bait him into a longer conversation.

“Good, I’ll talk to you later mother,” he quipped.

“Dear, wouldn’t you want the details...”

“I’m perfectly capable of calling my nephew. I’ll get 'em from him. Have a good day, Mother.” He hung up before she could reply. He set the phone against the work table, rested both elbows there to lower his head and grip his hair.

The plans were going smooth. The project could be a bit ahead of schedule, thanks to Cyana. Like a cool stream, the thought of her whipped the irritation away and placed a smile on his lips.
If Sally only knew about this one.

The beeping of a delivery truck caused him to stand upright. He glanced over the carved canopy a moment to assess the progress. It was three quarters of the way done. The surprise would be finished in his spare time.
On time.
Satisfied, he exited the workshop and locked it. His boots clopped along the stone path up the hill towards the house.

Asher met with the same delivery driver from the previous day. He was grateful for the opportunity to apologize in person. “Morning, partner.”

“Good mornin’, Mr. Wilmington.” The man seemed to roll out of the truck’s high seat. His flannel shirt tugged around his middle. A Georgia Bulldogs hat set atop his curly brown-gray hair which connected into a silver-brown beard hitting his upper chest. He dusted some crumbs from his clay-stained jeans and attempted to say something else but Asher raised a hand, palm out, to stop him.

“About yesterday. It really wasn’t fair for me to come down hard on you.” Asher reached into his back pocket and fished out a gift card for the steakhouse. “Here, take this as a peace offering. Hope it’s enough of an apology for ya.”

The driver recognized the lengthy steer horns on the card and smiled, placing a hand over his rounded belly. “Aw hell, Mr. Wilmington, you don’t have to do that. I should have checked the invoice more carefully when I picked it up.”

“Take it. It’ll make me feel like less of an ass.”

The man chuckled. “If you insist.”

“What you got for me today?” Asher asked as if he didn’t know already.

“Patio furniture. I checked every line of this order.” The man spoke while tucking away Asher’s gift.

“Good. Let’s get this puppy unloaded.”

The driver dropped off the patio furniture and was on his way in a more leisurely pace. Asher spread the contents of the delivery over the lawn before assembling one of the white tables for a practice round to monitor how long it would take to get all of them done. He mounted the back steps with the first and set it under the furthest ceiling fan. When he twirled back to the house, the air left his chest. His cock bucked at the sight through the glass.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. Cyana’s pert ass was straight in the air. Her breasts dangled towards her face. She’d maneuvered her body into a perfect V-shaped downward dog.

The girl does yoga?
She looked damn fine doing it. How many surprises would she smack him in the face with? She was moving into a plank position, making the smooth heart shape of her ass into two fine mounds. He wiped the back of his hand against his lower lip to check for drool.

Damn if Cyana didn’t get under his skin a little more each day. He could sit his ass right against the porch railing and watch the sight of her fine body moving. But, his shy little baker would probably stop what she was doing and run off at the sight of his shadow. With a half smile on his lips, he adjusted the bulk below his buckle and hauled himself away to finish the time analysis. He was confident he’d get his fair share of Cyana when it was time to grout.