So Much More (Made for Love #3) (22 page)

I check the time and get an idea. There’s another kitchen I know better than my own. I’m going to borrow it. I know that Brandon said I wasn't allowed to be at the coffee shop all by myself, but I’ll be in and out in less than two hours. He’ll never know. Besides, I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t go. This is an emergency.

R
ED COAT
. I’M DYING
to know what that means. The look on her face when she heard it…

Harper—that’s the redhead’s name—I could tell that they’re close friends, that she hadn’t meant to hurt Sarah with her words. It was also completely obvious that whatever situation
Red Coat
is connected to is still something that plagues Sarah. My gut tells me this involves the married jackass who broke her heart. It kills me to think that he was on her mind all afternoon.

Sarah was different after Harper left. She kept telling me she was fine, but her smile wasn’t
mine
. I know
my
smile. I missed
my
smile. When she came back to the office to tell me she was leaving and I hugged her goodbye, she pulled away first.

She’s never the first to let go.

As I ease my way to a stop in front of the stairs that will lead me to my apartment, I reach into my pocket for my phone. I want to check on her. My pocket, however, is empty. After a full pat down, I realize I don’t have my phone. I’ve been misplacing the damn thing all day, so I’m hardly surprised that I forgot it at the shop. Nevertheless, I’m a little pissed because now I have to go back and get it. Not only do I want to check on Sarah tonight, but I can’t go another day without texting her on my way into work. The look on her face this morning—I don’t want to be responsible for that kind of disappointment ever again.

I ride fast, shaving off a couple minutes from my usually fifteen minute ride. When I pull up in front of the bakery, I don’t even bother to lock up my bike. I plan on being in and out. That is, until I see the lights are on inside.

I swear I didn’t leave them on.

When I reach for the door handle, I find it locked. I’m relieved and more confused all at once. I let myself in, prop my bike next to the door, and twist the deadbolt before I make my way to the kitchen where the light is coming from. I’m halfway there when I hear it—the most horrible singing I’ve ever heard in my life.

As I stand in the entryway, listening to the awful screeching noises that are coming out of my gorgeous sweet girl, I can’t contain the big ass grin that spreads across my face. I specifically told her I didn’t want her here by herself. I’m irritated with her for ignoring me—but as she sways her hips to the beat of whatever song is playing through her earbuds, I can’t help but smile.

She’s got her hair pulled up into a long ponytail. Her tank top and her little cotton shorts reminding me of her every curve. Her apron is tied around her as well, shielding her from whatever it is that she’s making. As she sings her heart out, I fall for her a little bit more. I’m in love with the fact that she can’t carry a tune to save her life and she doesn’t give two shits about it. It just might be the cutest damn thing in the world.

God—I want to kiss that mouth.

When she stops stirring and uses the wooden spoon in her grasp as a microphone, I know I’m not leaving until I stake my claim and kiss my girl. She spots me out of the corner of her eye and yelps as she spins to face me, dropping the spoon in the process.

“
Holy shit!
” she cries, yanking her earbuds out. “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?” I ask, slowly making my way toward her.

“Um—baking cookies.”

“Alone?”

“Okay. Yes. Alone. But I
needed
to bake something and Millie hates it when I bake at home.”

“I told you—”

“I know, I just—”

“You’re not good with
no
. I know,” I murmur, sliding one hand around the nape of her neck and the other around her waist. “I don’t like you in here all by yourself so late.”

“I know,” she begins to say, resting her hands against my chest. “I’m sorry.”

“What’d I tell you about apologizing?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but I don’t give her a chance to speak. I can’t go another second without kissing her—so I crash my mouth against hers, pulling her closer. She whimpers and then wraps her arms around my neck, holding me tightly as she instantly returns my affection. Her lack of hesitation encourages me to kiss her deeper. I flick my tongue between her lips, brushing it against hers, and she frees another feeble moan. This time, my cock responds.

I can’t stop myself from backing her up against the counter and pressing into her until she can
feel
what she’s doing to me. She hugs me harder, as if she wants me closer, and I open my mouth wider, plunging my tongue deeper. She feels incredible and she tastes even better—better than I ever imagined. I can’t get enough. I can’t stop.

I want more
.

I grab her hips and lift her up onto the workspace, never once taking my lips from hers. When she’s sitting, she wraps her legs around me and pulls me in, telling me that she’s just as hungry for this as I am. All of my senses are filled with
Sarah.
Touch. Taste. Sight. Smell—and the only thing I hear are the sounds of our hot, wet kiss, and the faint music coming from her earbuds.

Her earbuds.

As if someone has dumped a bucket of cold water over my head, I’m yanked out of the moment and I pull my mouth from hers. When our eyes meet, I can see her astonishment mixed with her desire and my dick tells me to dive back in—but my heart is demanding that I stop. For a second, neither of us speaks as we work to catch our breath.

“Why are you here?” I finally manage.

“What?” she breathes.

“Why are you baking? Is this about him?”

“Him? Him who?” she asks, shaking her head.

“Your ex. Harper. Red Coat. Why are you here? Is this about him?”

“Why? Why are you asking me that?” Her arms fall away from me and that’s all the answer I need.

“This—
you and me
—it can’t have anything to do with him. We cannot be a
reaction
.
This
—you and me—we’re more than that.
Dammit
.” I step back from her, still struggling to catch my breath. I hate the distance that now separates us. I hate that I’m the one who put it there. I can’t say exactly where my will power is coming from, but it’s winning.

I want to be more than a rebound.

I’m not letting her go, which means right now—I have to let her go.

“You should leave.”

“Brandon—”

“I’ll clean up. You should go.”

I watch her stare at me, completely taken aback, until I can’t handle it any longer. When I start putting things away, returning ingredients to their rightful places, she slides her way off of the counter. Without a word, she discards her apron, gathers her purse, and leaves.

I’m not exactly sure how I got home. I know I drove, but I can’t remember it. I imagine, seeing as how I made it back in one piece, that I didn’t run any red lights or stop signs, but I can’t say for sure. I can barely think about putting one foot in front of the other, so switching on turn signals and checking blind spots may or may not have happened. What
did
happen was that kiss.

Holy. Shit. That kiss…

If I had to use one word to describe that kiss it would be:
greedy
.

No, ravenous.

Definitely delicious.

Or possibly insatiable?

Fuck. I can’t pick one word. It was perfect.
So, so, so
perfect!

It was equal parts gentle, passionate, demanding, and generous. It was a little bit sloppy and out of control, but it was also completely intentional and it felt amazing.

He
felt
amazing
.

I couldn’t get close enough. His hard body wrapped around mine, one hand supporting my neck as he bent over me and devoured my mouth, the other against the small of my back as he crushed me to him. I wanted more. I wanted to be closer. The warm, tingling, ache between my legs has never felt so overwhelming. I’m still so turned on, I wonder if I’m ever going to be able to go to sleep.

I’ve never felt this alive in my entire life.

Not even with Luke—the man I was ready to give my virginity to.

Luke—the man who broke my heart.

Luke—the reason why Brandon pulled away from me and the hottest kiss I’ve ever known.

Brandon—
the man I want.

My stomach is in knots thinking about the look on his face when he stepped away from me. I can’t believe he thought
Luke
had
anything
to do with that kiss. I can’t even explain how much I
wasn’t
thinking about Luke or
the fucking Red Coat Incident
with Brandon’s mouth pressed against mine. Literally, there are no words to describe how distant he makes all of those memories. In that moment, Luke ceased to exist.

I wish I could have found a way to tell him that, but I was practically speechless at the sudden shift between us. Now, as I sit in the middle of my bed, absentmindedly brushing my hair, I replay his words—

This—you and me—it can’t have anything to do with him. We can’t be a reaction.

He said it with so much conviction that I know, deep down in my heart, that he’s been hurt—hurt by someone who attached herself to him as a
reaction
.

Olivia
.

The name pops into my head instantly. I remember the way he acted when Row brought her up at brunch yesterday. She had said that I was like a breath of fresh air compared to Olivia. I don’t know what that means, but I understand that whatever happened between them is what I’m up against.

And believe me—I’m ready to fight. After that kiss, there’s no turning back.

I don’t sleep. Not even a little bit. I try. I’m up until midnight, tossing and turning until I can’t take it anymore and I reach for my Kindle. I read until my alarm clock goes off and then I’m up as if I’d gotten eight hours of sleep instead of none.

I wash my face, brush my teeth, braid my hair, throw on some mascara, and then I’m gone. I text Brandon on my way out the door, letting him know that I’m leaving. I’m so anxious to see him that I feel like I might give myself an ulcer. He sends me a text while I’m in route. My phone is buried in my purse, so I don’t check it until I park my car. When I open it, I read that he’s on his way, too.

As I make my way inside, I figure that he should be about five minutes behind me. Five minutes later, after I’ve donned my apron and pulled out the recipe book, he hasn’t arrived yet and I’m a little surprised. I gather what I need for the butter pecan scones, my nerves growing more and more agitated as the minutes pass. At five-forty-five, I’m so worried that I can’t even bake, from fear that I’ll screw something up. He's fifteen minutes late.

He’s never late.

I make my way back to the front and step outside, looking to see if I can spot him. I see no one. For five minutes, I pace back and forth in front of the door, gnawing on my bottom lip, thinking up a million reasons why he’s not here. All of which are horrible, complete with images of his bike twisted and mangled and completely useless.