Beefcake Page 14

  “Drive faster, man. Much, much faster,” Nate urged.

  Noble rolled his eyes as he worked to block the memory of Ivy’s sinful mouth wrapped around his dick and the most sublime suction he’d ever felt. Biting back a snarl, he stopped the truck in front of the bar and killed the engine.

  Thirty minutes later, after much muscle and maneuvering, Noble eased his brother onto Gina’s bed and wiped the sweat from his brow. Two seconds later, the woman climbed onto the mattress beside Nate.

  Wanting to be long gone before she started drowning his brother in oral pleasure, Noble said goodbye and hurried out of the bar. Once he was alone in his truck, images of Ivy crashed through him, rolling him under in a tsunami of cock-straining memories.

  Gripping the steering wheel, he exhaled deeply and surrendered. He let every minute detail about Ivy come out to torture him.

  Her sweet, enticing peach scent started inundating his senses.

  His fingertips tingled as he remembered the feel of her soft, supple skin.

  His cock sprang to life, throbbing and straining as the sweet earthy flavor of her slick nectar sang over his taste buds.

  Then out of the clear blue, his mother’s words slammed through him, washing every ounce of lust from his system. When you least expect it, some woman is going to come along and steal your breath, your heart, and your soul, sweet boy.

  An icy, foreboding chill slithered up his spine.

  No matter how vehemently he wished he could deny it, Ivy had somehow managed to crawl deep under his skin…branded herself into his psyche, and Noble had no fucking clue how to exorcise her memory.

  He unleashed a feral growl, teeming in frustration, and slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

  The fact that he’d never see Ivy again should be filling him with relief. Instead, pangs of regret and mourning gnawed at him, like an all-you-can-eat buffet, both night and day. The little vixen had cast some kind of wicked spell on him. Because unlike with any of his usual bed-bunnies, Noble would give his left nut to spend one more night with Ivy, to drag her beneath him and sink balls-deep into her silky cunt. Just thinking about her tight walls sucking at his shaft made him itch like a bad case of poison ivy.

  “Poison Ivy.” A humorless chuckle slid off his tongue. There wasn’t a more fitting name for the sexy, mind-melting siren.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, Noble started the engine and backed out of the parking space. Passing the grocery store, he noticed a flutter of purple. He eased off the accelerator and peered out the driver’s-side window.

  Wearing a flowing, purple blouse, Trudy clung to a skinny, nerdy-looking geek in thick glasses, wearing a cheap knock-off pair of cowboy boots. She tossed her head back and let out a shrill laugh as they stood beside a sleek, red sports car. When the guy bent to open the door for her, Trudy grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed a lip lock over his mouth.

  “Well, well,” Noble mumbled under his breath. “That’s got to be the infamous, hair-triggered, little-dicked fiancé, Calvin. You poor, pitiful bastard…if you only knew.”

  Not my zoo…and thank god, not my fucking hyena!

  Across the street, the sound of hammers and the scream of a table saw snagged all his attention. Rolling to a stop, he peered past the freshly washed windows of the new bakery. Inside, several workers were hanging drywall and slapping putty on the seams, while a couple others stood on tall ladders, tacking fancy scrolled cornices against the edge of the ceiling. Off to one side of the room, high-dollar rounded-glass stainless steel display cases sat in a row. After mentally adding up the price tag for such lavish upgrades, Noble let out a long, low whistle. Someone was pouring a shit-ton of money into that old building.

  His cell chimed, drawing his attention away from the construction. Slowing to the stop sign at the end of Main Street, he plucked the device from his pocket and glanced at the text from a longtime bed-bunny.

  Bonnie: I heard Nate’s back home. Hope that means you have time on your hands to play with this…

  Seconds later, a photo that gave a whole new meaning to the term selfie filled his screen. Instead of turning the corner toward Bonnie’s house and slamming a foot to the gas pedal, Noble cocked his head and studied the image.

  “How the hell…?”

  She had to have twisted herself into a knot in order to capture such a wide-open, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination shot. But what shocked him more was the fact that the sight of Bonnie’s plump, pink pussy didn’t even make his cock twitch.

  He turned off his phone, dropped it on the seat, and looked down at his snoozing dick.

  Tendrils of panic spilled through him.

  “You poisoned me real good, didn’t you…Poison Ivy?”

  With a screech from his tires, Noble gunned the engine and headed back home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Three months later—

  Waking with a start, Ivy’s eyes flew open. It was still pitch-black outside the windows. Rolling over, she whipped her cell phone off the nightstand in her bedroom above the bakery and checked the time—four thirty a.m. Instead of groaning at the ungodly hour, a nervous giggle slid off her tongue.

  Anxiety pelted her like tiny hailstones.

  Oh, god, this is it! Opening day!

  In three and a half hours, she would open the doors of Sweet Flours for the very first time. Fear, excitement, and unadulterated joy hummed through her veins. A split second later, her mental to-do list spooled through her brain. Sunrise was still a few hours away, but Ivy needed every second to pull everything together in time. She needed to fill the display cases, prepare and bake the bread, and arrange the trays of samples she planned to give the customers…customers she prayed would come.

  Ivy had painstakingly prepared an advertising campaign. She’d run ads for her grand opening the past two weeks in the local newspaper. The fellow business owners along Main Street had allowed her to tape flyers on their doors as well. Thankfully, her efforts had generated plenty of curiosity. If the people stopping to peer in through the plate-glass windows—waving and smiling as she fluttered back and forth from the kitchen, baking her brains out—was any indication of today’s turn out, Ivy was going to be a very busy woman.

  But first, she needed coffee…lots and lots of coffee.

  Tossing back the covers, she climbed out of bed. The minute her feet hit the floor, her stomach lurched and roiled. Racing to the bathroom, she dropped to her knees and retched in the toilet.

  “Not today,” she groaned, spitting into the bowl.

  Her nerves were getting the best of her. As the grand opening grew near, Ivy was praying to the porcelain gods two or three times a week. Slowly rising to her feet, she gripped the sink and sucked in a deep breath. She closed her eyes, mentally working to calm her anxiety and the acid boiling in her gut.

  If it wasn’t for the IUD implanted inside her, she might worry that she was pregnant, especially since she couldn’t remember if Noble had gloved up before he plowed her lady garden to perfection over and over again. Not knowing if she’d had unprotected sex or not was grossly irresponsible, but in her defense, Ivy’s mind had been wholly focused on other things. Like every touch, lick, and thrust Noble bestowed on her. Still, any super-sperm that might have backstroked up to her unsuspecting eggs had been permanently taken out.

  Closing her eyes, Ivy allowed the misty memory of Noble to rise to the surface.

  Seconds later, she was lost in the guilty pleasure of reliving his calloused hands gliding over her flesh, of his warm, firm lips devouring her like she was the sweetest morsel on the planet. She’d let him lead her down a path of mindless pleasure where he effortlessly dragged earth-shattering orgasms from her over and over again.

  Heat coiled and climbed her restless body.

  She could still feel the tingles of lightning from his gifted fingers. Remembered her body melting beneath each flick and thrust of his talented tongue. Savored the sweet burn when he finally slid that—shiver—fat, har
d, exquisite cock deep inside her.

  Lifting her heavy lids, Ivy peered at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin glowed in an aroused pink hue. Her pupils were dilated. And between her folds, her clit throbbed with a mournful ache that her battery-operated boyfriends—tucked away in the nightstand—couldn’t sate.

  Exhaling in frustration, Ivy shoved the memories back down and locked them away. She had too much work to do to allow Noble—whatever his last name was—to occupy her thought process with hours and hours of unmitigated pleasure.

  Ivy couldn’t afford to let memories of Noble wander free.

  It was too risky.

  She needed to focus on her business…a business that would either make or break her. After pushing off the sink, Ivy turned on the shower. Thirty minutes later, she was dressed in a pink T-shirt emblazoned with Sweet Flours across her chest and a pair of classic black pants. She twisted her hair up in a tight ponytail, the turned and hurried down the stairs to the bakery.

  Ivy pushed through the swinging metal doors, flipped on the lights, and stepped into the kitchen…her woman-cave, her solace, her refuge. The scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, various fruits, and buttery rich goodness assaulted her as much as the blinding glare from the stainless steel counters, cooling racks, oversized refrigerator, industrial ovens, and massive double sink.

  Focusing on getting all the finishing touches in place, Ivy began pulling trays of goodies she’d prepared late last night off the cooling racks. After carefully peeling back the plastic wrap that had kept them fresh, she trekked to the front of the store and began filling the display cases.

  As she passed the coffeemaker, Ivy flipped the switch. While the scent of roasted beans filled the air, she continued loading trays of lemon, blueberry, kiwi, and gooey-butter squares, apple turnovers, cream puffs, shortbread, and several flavors of Danish rolls into the display cases. She stocked the next one with assorted cookies, cupcakes, tarts, cheesecakes, and eight different-flavored multi-tiered cakes covered in buttercream frosting and artfully decorated.

  After snagging a large cup of coffee, Ivy returned to the kitchen. She cranked up the tunes on her cell phone and lost herself in the music and the feel of the sticky dough between her fingers. Yeah, it was a cheap marketing ploy, but when the customers entered the store, Ivy wanted the homey scent of warm, buttery bread to permeate the air.

  Setting the dough aside to rise, she dipped a flat of plump, ripe strawberries in white, milk, and dark chocolate and drizzled contrasting colors of chocolate over them after they’d cooled. The sun was slowly creeping up over the horizon when she carried the berries up front and slid them into the display case. Her stomach pitched and she pressed a palm against the rioting butterflies dipping and swooping inside.

  I have got to chill out. I don’t have time to run to the john and heave my heels every five minutes today.

  She closed her eyes, swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth, and inhaled several deep breaths. Forcing a calm she didn’t feel, Ivy turned and raced back to the kitchen once more.

  After quickly kneading the bread dough, she filled several loaf pans and placed them in the oven. As they baked, she arranged the sampler platters and glanced up at the clock.

  Only thirty more minutes!

  “Gahhh,” she cried out, unable to ignore the angst-ridden tremble of her hands or the abject fear pinging inside her.

  Racing upstairs to her apartment, Ivy hurried to the bathroom. After wiping the smudge of flour from her cheek, she dabbed on a bit more concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She only wished there was a makeup that could hide her surging trepidation or camouflage the fact that her entire future was riding on this one day.

  What if someone recognizes me from that shit show back in Dallas?

  A frightened whimper warbled in the back of her throat.

  Ivy scowled at herself. Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders.

  “The past is gone. Today is here. Tomorrow is a gift. No one has control over you but you. Live your life the way you want. Be strong. Be happy. And for fuck’s sake, be brave!”

  Mentally repeating the familiar mantra, she raced back downstairs and skidded to a halt. The scent of baking bread mollified her as she stood, taking in the beauty of the shop with pride and satisfaction.

  “Some dreams really do come true,” she whispered to herself.

  A loud tap on the back door nearly made her heart leap from her chest. Ivy scurried through the kitchen and pulled the heavy metal door open to find her mom, dad, and Celina smiling like a trio of loons.

  “What are you all doing here?”

  “You think we’d miss your grand opening?” Her dad chuckled. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Oh, darling. I’m so happy,” her mother gushed.

  “Congrats, sis,” Celina beamed.

  Tears filled her eyes, but she quickly blinked them back. They’d come to support her, to help her succeed. But the even more overwhelming delight was seeing Celina smile again. Ivy hugged her tightly and bit back the urge to sob like a baby.

  “Welcome back from the dark side, baby sis,” she croaked past the emotion clogging her throat.

  “Thank you…for everything,” Celina whispered.

  “All right. Tell us what you need help with,” Janice demanded as she peeled off her jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her Neiman Marcus blouse—the woman didn’t shop anywhere else. “Something sure smells scrumptious.”

  “Oh, shit! The bread!” Ivy screeched. She raced to the oven and flung the doors open. After grabbing the hot pads, she pulled out the pans of golden-brown crusted bread.

  “We’re here to help, pumpkin,” Jeff reminded, sending a surge of comfort and warmth to fill her. “Put us to work.”

  Ivy’s brain could barely keep up with the litany of instructions pouring out her mouth.

  When all was said and done, Jeff remained in the kitchen, slicing bread. Janice was enlisted to mingle with the customers, offering samples and refilling the platters as needed. Ivy gave Celina a crash course on the pricing structure and how to operate the cash register in the scant fifteen minutes before opening the door.

  “I got it. I got it. Don’t worry,” Celina assured.

  Drawing in a calming breath, Ivy lifted her head and glanced at the front door.

  Alma Anderson stood front and center, grinning like a lottery winner. Beside her, an older man with a handlebar moustache steadied a hunched-over tiny old lady clutching a cane. Behind the trio was a huge group of others wearing expectant smiles and craning their necks as they stared into the shop.

  Ivy’s heart rate sputtered. A jagged blast of adrenaline sliced through her system, and the butterflies in her stomach had gone to full-blown riot mode.

  “So much for calm,” she mumbled under her breath before painting on a faux smile as she hurried to unlock the door.

  “Good morning, everyone. It’s an honor to have you here to celebrate Sweet Flours’ grand opening. Please, come inside.”

  Alma crossed the threshold first, wearing a beaming smile as Ivy quickly scampered behind the counter. With mouth gaping open, her landlady turned in a slow circle, taking in the renovations with obvious awe. “Oh, my goodness. It’s…it’s simply gorgeous. If your treats are as remarkable as your eye for design, you’re going to make a killing.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Ivy chuckled softly while anxiety began slowly bleeding from her system.

  In her usual gracious and polite southern belle style, Janice greeted each customer filing through the door, offering up samples to them.

  While boxing up the triple-layer chocolate cake Alma had selected, Ivy craned her neck and glanced out the window and nearly swallowed her tongue. Customers were lined up and down the street, two and three deep in some places. Oh, my god!

  After Alma paid for her cake, she came back and stood at the end of the display case. “I’ll hang out here, out of the way for a bit and introduce you to your new neighbors if you’d li
ke.”

  Ivy sent up a silent apology for every disparaging thought that had crossed her mind regarding her landlady. “Yes, please and thank you so much. You’re a godsend.”

  True to her word, Alma introduced every person who stepped up to the counter. It didn’t take long before names and faces were swirling through Ivy’s brain like cake batter. Fortunately, she didn’t have time to fixate on her frazzled nerves and the acid churning in her gut.

  While more people poured in through the door, Celina effortlessly chatted up the customers while she rang up their purchases. Ivy was doubly glad for the retail experience her sister had gained running her now defunct crystal and herb shop.

  At the end of the counter, Alma was lost in conversation with the man she’d earlier introduced as Reverend Thompson when a frail old man stepped up to the counter.

  “You got anything in there without nuts?” he barked with an angry scowl. “Doc Knight says I can’t have nuts no more ’cause of my diverticulitis. Personally, I think he’s nuts, or else in cahoots with those stinkin’ money-grubbing drug companies. Costs me an arm and a leg to get my damn pills every month.”

  Out of all the people Ivy had met so far, this grumpy old codger was hands-down the most colorful.

  “I do, Mr.…”

  “Emmett Hill’s the name. Bigfoot huntin’s my game,” he proudly proclaimed. “You see that big, hairy sum’bitch, you call me. I’ll come straight away. Ya’hear missy?”

  Ivy couldn’t keep from grinning. “I will, Mr. Hill.”

  “Mr. Hill was my daddy. You can call me Emmett.” He flashed what she suspected was a rare smile, then winked as his voice softened. “I like it when the pretty girls call me by my given name.”

  “All right, Emmett,” she said, unable to stop grinning. “You just point to what looks good, and I’ll tell you if it has nuts in it.”

  Without batting an eye, the old fart lifted a gnarly finger and pointed it at her.

  A blush heated her cheeks. “Sorry, Emmett. I’m not on the menu.”

  “That’s a darn shame, because you’re a pretty, tempting little thing. If I were fifty years younger, I’d be all over you like a huntin’ dog on a pheasant.” A mischievous grin stretched across his weathered face. “All right…how about that fancy, foo-foo-looking thing with a strawberry on top.”