Pure Wicked (Wicked Lovers #9.5)(15)
Author: Shayla Black

“Cute little town,” he said.

“Small.”

“Quaint,” he corrected.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” She gestured to her place. “Want the tour?”

“Sure.”

She let them both in the back door. She mostly kept supplies here, along with a small office in the corner. Flipping on lights, she led him into her kitchen, which sparkled—just as it did every day after the close of business. Her industrial oven and mixer gleamed. Pristine stainless countertops covered the length of two walls, waiting for her to create the next yummy treat. She’d had to get a loan from a bank in Texarkana since the town’s one financial institution had refused to loan funds to a “kid,” but she’d done it on her own. And she was proud.

“So this is where the dough happens?” He winked.

“Yeah. And up front here…” Bristol directed him through the next door and into the front of the shop with its display cases and bistro tables. “This is the customer area. I can only seat twenty since the building is a converted brownstone and this room is the former parlor. But I’m proud of it.”

Jamie looked around, seeming to take in every nuance. His eyes gleamed with appreciation. “It’s got a lot of charm. Most places I go have none.”

She frowned. “What has you traveling so much?”

“Gotta make a buck.” He shrugged. “So do you live somewhere near your shop?”

She wondered what he did for a living but got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it. And did she really need to know if they were simply going to have a fling? “Upstairs.”

Maybe it didn’t seem smart to take a stranger home, but instinct told her Jamie wasn’t dangerous. Besides, her family and friends knew who she’d gone home with. Jayla would no doubt check on her.

Bristol took Jamie’s hand and guided him back to her stock room and to the staircase along one wall she and Jayla had restored to its original gleaming wood, just like the floors.

Together, she and Jamie charged up to her apartment, and she unlocked the door. As it creaked open, the last golden rays of the day illuminated her rustic chic space—the cozy white sofa, the glass table built on whiskey barrels, the braided rug under her grandmother’s dining room table.

He glanced around, then cocked his head in thought. “It’s you.”

She smiled and shut the door behind them, flipping on the overhead lights. “Yeah?”

“Comfortable, happy, unvarnished. I like it.”

“Thanks.” He seemed to get her, and that did Bristol’s heart a world of good. Hayden had hated this place. He liked things grander and more formal, not an eclectic grouping of her favorite things. He called antiques “recycled junk.” “But you didn’t come all the way to Lewisville to comment on my decor, right?”

“No.” He turned to her, his hands suddenly engulfing her hips, his stare drilling down into her eyes. “I did not.”

“So what did you come to do?” she challenged.

He gave her a panty-melting grin as he pulled her closer, fitting her flush against his body where she could feel every inch of him. “Make you glad you let me follow you home.”

Bristol swallowed and lifted her face to him. “Are you finally going to kiss me?”

“Eager?”

She gave him a coy shrug. “A little.”

“Let’s see if we can make that a lot.” He took her face in his hands.

She flashed back to the bar, in the instant before their lips had nearly met. Heart pounding, blood racing, need reeling… Yeah, she’d cursed her mother’s interruption. But since then, her anticipation had grown. She wanted him more now. Maybe Mama had done her a favor in the long run. They wouldn’t be interrupted here.

“You’re welcome to try.” She gave him a wicked grin.

He didn’t say a word, just dipped his head toward her. Bristol held her breath. Her heart felt suspended in the moment and too filled with anticipation to beat. No man had ever excited her so much with a mere word or smile. She wondered how she’d handle his kiss.

“Look at me,” he insisted, his voice gruff and low.

Her lashes fluttered open, and she peered up at the deepest, darkest eyes she’d ever lost herself in.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “I wanted to see you, get closer to you. This may be temporary but it isn’t impersonal.”

“It’s not,” she whispered.

He caressed her face, shifted a hand behind her neck, fingers sifting through her hair. Bristol hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked even more serious. “Good.”