Sweet Thing Read online

  Exquisitely slow. Deliciously drawn out.

  Long, deep thrusts that made me mindless with wanting more.

  As the first ripples of her orgasm clenched around me, I changed the angle of my hips a little, driving into her with enough force to make our heads bang.

  ‘Oh, hell...’ She came on a keen, the sexiest sound I’d ever heard as my balls tightened and I followed her over the edge a second later. Body taut. Mind blank. Stunned by the intensity of it and the ferocity of wanting to do it all over again as soon as humanly possible.

  ‘More like heaven,’ I said, disconcerted to find we still hadn’t broken eye contact, and in that moment reality crashed over me.

  What we’d done wasn’t just sex.

  We’d moved past that.

  The intimacy, the eye contact, the yearning to stay inside her, all added up to one thing.

  Trouble.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Abby

  I USUALLY STARTED baking at six most mornings.

  Today I started at five.

  Tanner had been snoring softly when I’d woken at four, giving me precious time to study him. A slumbering Tanner was nothing like awake Tanner.

  Asleep, Tanner’s face softened, making him look younger. Awake, tension bracketed his mouth and made his neck muscles bulge a little. Asleep, his lips relaxed into a semi-smile and his head lolled on the pillow all slack and cute.

  It made me wonder, had he always been this uptight or had something happened to put him on alert at all times?

  He’d dropped another hint about his childhood, about him and Remy, and while I’d never pry behind his back I couldn’t help but wish Remy had spoken more about his younger brother.

  I knew next to nothing about Tanner King and I’d been okay with that. Having mind-blowing sex with a guy for a short-term fling didn’t demand shared confidences.

  But last night had changed all that.

  I didn’t know if it was having him in my space, the only guy I’d ever let into this apartment. Or cooking him dinner and having him rave about it. Or having him tell me that he’d never spent the night at a woman’s place so this would be a first. Or the way we’d connected during the first time we’d had sex in my bed. Or the second. Maybe even the third.

  Whatever it was, I knew I was in trouble. Because this short-term fling had started to get to me a little.

  I wanted to know what made Tanner King tick.

  Realistically, nothing had changed. Once Remy was back on his feet and back at work, Tanner would leave. But I’d overheard him chatting to Makayla yesterday about opening another two clubs in Sydney, which meant he’d leave Le Miel but would still be in town.

  After last night, short term had somehow morphed in my head into something possibly a little...longer.

  I could lie to myself and say it was the sex. The phenomenal, stupendous, soul-drugging sex. But I’d given up lying to myself around the time I’d walked out on Bardley after finally admitting what a disaster I’d made of my life by kowtowing to everyone and lying to myself that I was okay with it.

  So lying was out. Which meant I had to accept the fact I was in danger of falling for my sexy fling. No biggie. I’d have to suck it up, get my game face on whenever he was around and make sure he didn’t see beneath my devil-may-care mask. Because I could care given half a chance and if there was one thing I’d learned during my brief time with Tanner, he wasn’t the kind of guy to develop anything beyond a transient liking for.

  I had clear-cut goals and I’d told him as such. No way would I let a little potential crush derail my plans.

  I’d already given up so much in my life, had frittered away too many years being someone I wasn’t for people who ultimately didn’t give a crap about me. Emotional ties bred dependence and submissiveness and compliance, so no way would I allow myself to get involved with Tanner beyond the physical.

  Moving forward, this time was for me. I intended to be selfish and goal-oriented, allowing nothing or nobody to distract me.

  Tanner King in all his sexy, tattooed glory was one big distraction just waiting to happen.

  So I wouldn’t allow it.

  After fifteen minutes of indulgent daydreaming, where I envisaged waking up to his magnificent body every morning, I’d slipped out of bed and got dressed as quietly as I could. He hadn’t stirred, so I’d left him a breakfast tray next to the bed and a note. He wouldn’t think it out of the ordinary that I’d started work at five, though he might take offence at being advised to slip out the back stairs if he didn’t want to be spied doing the walk of shame.

  In reality, I couldn’t face Makayla’s inevitable interrogation if she saw Tanner waltz in here wearing the same clothes as yesterday. For the simple fact I didn’t know what I’d say.

  Accepting I’d been idiot enough to be teetering on the brink of falling for him was one thing, admitting it to anyone else another. I could live with my secret. I couldn’t live with Makayla’s endless banter if she discovered it.

  For now, I needed to focus on my morning routine to get my head back in the game; and away from the sexy guy lying slumbering in my bed, waiting for a wake-up he’d never forget...

  ‘Damn it,’ I muttered as a glob of butter plopped onto the floor.

  The intricate process of laminating dough to produce my signature Viennoiserie pastries required concentration and skill, neither of which I had this morning if my first effort was any indication.

  So I started again. Wrapping a light dough around a layer of butter. Rolling it. Folding it. Rolling it again. Repeating the process over and over to produce a dough with many layers that would result in a puffy light texture that melted in the mouth after baking.

  Remy said my almond croissants, pain au lait and chouquettes rivalled the best he’d tasted in France. I knew his excessive compliments were supposed to encourage me so I accepted them with aplomb, all the while wishing I could be half as good as my mentor.

  So I toiled away every day, creating and tasting, buoyed by a lighter texture or a richer buttery flavour. Le Miel sold out on a daily basis so I had to be doing something right. And we often had orders for the almond croissants, which were solely my responsibility.

  I’d come so far in a year I could hardly believe I was the same person. Thank goodness I’d had the guts to leave that subservient, pathetic people-pleaser who’d given up my dreams to live someone else’s behind.

  That was another thing sex with Tanner gave me: empowerment. An intoxicating feeling of power that eradicated the shy girl I’d once been.

  Performing my first blowjob might have been intimidating, but the way he’d reacted, the way he’d stared at me afterward...made me feel more powerful than I ever had. I might have been in a subservient position on my knees, intent on giving him pleasure, but the person I’d ended up pleasing was me.

  I’d never felt so alive. So dominant. So in control. Heady stuff for the doormat I’d once been.

  When I’d first proposed a fling to Tanner, I’d never anticipated that having my sensual side awakened would result in feeling this good. In making my body come alive, he’d also given me something I’d always craved: clout. Command over myself and my choices. The confidence to do what I wanted when I wanted, without regard for anyone else.

  Something I’d secretly craved for years but never had the guts to do. Then again, it was easier with Tanner because we didn’t have a strong emotional connection. I didn’t feel the need to say yes to every little thing with him because our relationship focussed on the physical.

  Which was exactly why I’d freaked out and come down here early this morning. Because no matter how many times I mentally recited that we were two consenting adults attracted to each other indulging in a short-term fling, after the way we’d connected last night and my desire to know more about him, I had a sneaking suspicion we could move
past that.

  And it terrified me.

  The closer we got, would I be in danger of reverting to the meek, passive people-pleaser who always put others before herself? The woman who felt good about herself by making others feel good first? A guy like Tanner would hate that acquiescent docility and I’d hate myself for doing it.

  Crap.

  I concentrated on rolling and folding the dough over layers of butter, focussing on the routine to distract from my worrying thoughts, trying to relax. I liked the methodical approach to baking, the knowledge that following a clearly delineated process should result in an edible end product.

  The routine calmed me, something I craved to deal with the riotous, out-of-control feelings ricocheting through me every time Tanner popped into my head.

  He was there. A lot. Front and centre. Tanner shirtless and defiant in his private room at the club. Tanner stalking towards me in the storeroom. Tanner licking carbonara sauce off his lips. Tanner naked and sated, sprawled across my bed like he owned it.

  Hell.

  I opened the oven to slide the first batch of croissants in, the radiant heat not helping my fiery cheeks.

  Baking might be comforting, but as a distraction from the hot male in my bed upstairs it left a lot to be desired.

  Time to bring out the big guns.

  I’d nail the elusive croquembouche today if it killed me.

  Anything to divert me from the yearning to head back upstairs and have Tanner nail me.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tanner

  I HATED SNEAKING out of Abby’s apartment like a fugitive, but I wasn’t an idiot. She didn’t want to face an inquisition from her co-workers and that was exactly what would’ve happened if I’d rocked into Le Miel wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

  Nothing got past Makayla. The woman had eyes in the back of her head and I pitied the guy she set her sights on. Bold ball-breakers weren’t my type. I preferred quiet, reserved women who morphed into sex kittens with the barest touch.

  Women like Abby.

  Leaving me breakfast had been just like her, a thoughtful gesture reeking of unspoken sentiment. Unfortunately, there’d been plenty of that going around last night.

  We’d barely spoken once we’d hit the bedroom. Then again, words were superfluous when we both suspected what was going on.

  We’d potentially crossed the bonking buddies threshold into some weird, nebulous territory neither of us wanted to label. Not giving it credence suited me just fine. Her too, considering she must’ve bolted out of bed at some ungodly hour.

  So I scoffed my buttery soft chocolate croissant, drank my OJ and slunk down the back stairs, the words of her simple note imprinted on my brain.

  Thanks for last night. Hope you enjoyed dinner.

  Must do it again soon.

  Back stairs quiet in the morning.

  See you later.

  Abby

  Interestingly, no X. I thought all women liberally sprinkled kisses on their missives. Then again, I’d already established Abby wasn’t like most women.

  The ‘must do it again soon’ made me look forward to tonight in a way I shouldn’t. I wasn’t dating Abby. This wasn’t a relationship. But dinner had been great and I’d like to return the favour. By taking her to my favourite restaurant in Sydney.

  I’d never gone out with a foodie before, and considering her wealthy background, she’d probably dined at the finest restaurants this city had to offer. So I’d take her to my favourite hangout, a tiny Thai restaurant in the backstreets of Kings Cross, a place I’d give my left nut as a guarantee she’d never been to.

  It wouldn’t be a date. Just a friend returning the favour to another friend who’d cooked for me. Simple.

  ‘You’re full of shit,’ I muttered at my reflection as I shaved, something I hadn’t done for the last few days.

  I didn’t care about stubble as a rule, but Remy had always pulled me up on it ever since I’d been old enough to grow facial hair. Considering Remy would have enough to bust my balls about today, I didn’t want to add another thing to the list.

  The drive to the hospital took fifty minutes in peak-hour traffic, giving me ample time to come up with a plausible excuse as to why I’d shagged his protégé. By the time I’d parked and made it to the ward, I still hadn’t come up with anything other than the truth.

  Abby was hot and I had to have her.

  Bet that would go down a treat with my brother.

  I peeked into his room and saw Remy jabbing at the remote control, idly flicking channels, looking bored out of his brain. ‘Hey, klutz, how are you feeling?’

  ‘Better for seeing your ugly mug.’ He turned off the TV and sat straighter in bed, wincing.

  ‘Still in pain?’

  ‘Only way these fools will give me the good stuff.’ He made looping circles at his temple. ‘That morphine makes me a little crazy, in a good way.’

  I laughed and leaned down to give him a gentle man hug. ‘You’re perkier than last time, so that’s a good sign.’

  ‘Doc said I’m a model patient.’ He screwed up his nose. ‘Personally, I find it difficult to take the word of a punk wearing a white coat and stethoscope around his neck when he looks like he graduated from kinder last week.’

  ‘Everyone looks young to you, you old fart.’

  He pointed at his ankle and grimaced. ‘Considering I’ll have to use a walking stick once I’m on my feet, I may be living up to that insult.’

  ‘You’re only as old as the woman you feel,’ I said, wondering what was Abby’s age exactly.

  ‘Sadly, I haven’t been doing any “feeling” in a long time.’

  When Remy pinned me with a speculative stare, I knew what was coming before he opened his mouth. ‘What about you? Are you behaving?’

  ‘I’ve got my hands full with the patisserie, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  It wasn’t and we both knew it, so I rushed on. ‘Everything’s going well. Customers still streaming in. Pastries sold out by the end of the day. Accounts balancing. Stocks replenished. Staff happy.’

  Some happier than others, though Remy didn’t need to know how I put a smile on Abby’s face.

  ‘You’re shagging Abby,’ Remy said, disappointment lacing every word as he shook his head. ‘Man, I told you to keep your hands off her.’

  ‘Since when have I ever listened to you?’

  ‘You used to, once upon a time.’ Remy eyeballed me, making me feel guiltier than I already did. ‘You should try it again.’

  I remembered the many times I’d listened to Remy, when he’d talked me down after yet another run-in with Dad, even if he hadn’t known the reason behind my funk. When he’d persuaded me to stay rather than run away the time he’d found me hiding out in the back shed the week after Mum died. When he’d calmed me with words of wisdom on the day of Dad’s funeral, painting a rosy future for us since he was over eighteen and could access the trust fund thoughtfully set up by Mum.

  If it hadn’t been for that money, and for Remy’s calming influence, who knew where I might’ve ended up?

  I owed him the truth. At least about Abby.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t have messed around with Abby. I’m not a complete doofus—’

  ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

  ‘But we both know where we stand so she won’t get hurt.’

  ‘You’re a dickhead.’ Remy snorted, his eyes narrowed in disapproval. ‘You didn’t see her the day she stumbled into Le Miel, disoriented and lost and sad. She hasn’t told me much but her ex-husband must be a first-class bastard to do a number on a sweet girl like that and she’s steered clear of men ever since.’

  Remy jabbed a finger at me, a deep frown slashing his brows. ‘So if she’s let you anywhere near her, it means a hell of a lot more to her than it does to you. And
you’re going to fuck it up, just like you always do.’

  A chill swept over me. Remy was my go-to guy. He always had my back. So what did he mean?

  ‘Care to elaborate, bro?’ My frigid tone did little to ease the sudden tension between us.

  ‘You’ve never had a meaningful relationship with a woman. Whenever one of them gets close, you end it. That’s what I meant.’ Remy pressed his forehead, like he had a blinder of a headache building. ‘Abby is different and if you hurt her because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, I’m going to personally deck you.’

  ‘Like to see you try,’ I said, sounding meeker and suitably chastised.

  Remy had never hit anyone in his life. I, on the other hand, had dealt out justice with my fists at high school on a regular basis. Bottled-up rage and a lousy self-esteem didn’t mix, not when kids discovered which buttons to push to get me to explode.

  ‘Not that I want to encourage this but, for what it’s worth, when you walked in here you looked about a decade younger.’ Remy stared at me, studying me with a slight tilt of his head. ‘There’s something different about you. You look less...stressed, or something.’

  ‘Maybe working in a pastry shop rather than a club is good for me?’

  He chuckled at my glib response. ‘We both know that’s not true.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ I reluctantly admitted, wanting to get the lowdown on Abby from Remy but knowing he’d be onto me if I pried too deeply. ‘Abby’s special.’

  Remy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Special to you?’

  ‘I meant in general.’ My clarification sounded lame and I continued. ‘Hanging out with her makes me happy in a way I haven’t been for a while.’

  Remy’s gaze turned speculative. ‘You’re sticking around for a few months, yeah?’

  I nodded, trying not to acknowledge the leap of hope that the thought elicited. I’d already pondered the possibility of exploring more with Abby beyond our specified short-term fling, but she hadn’t given any indication to wanting more and I sure as hell wouldn’t stick my neck out.