Beautifully Decadent (Beautifully Damaged Book 3) (25 page)

“Loki, come.”

He reacted then, following the command, but he did so very reluctantly. Avery didn’t move, just lay there, still laughing, her hair had fallen out of the knot thing she always had it pulled up in. Her gaze moved from Loki and me to the sky, her expression turning almost serene. The temptation to look up and see what put that look on her face nearly had me doing so.

“How’s work?” It was kind of a lame-ass question, we’d talked about her work yesterday, but that happened when the blood in your brain headed south—a condition occurring more and more when I was in her presence.

Her green eyes turned to me. “Awesome. I have a team, two sous chefs. I can’t get my head around that. Me, who just started my first professional job as a chef and I have a team.” She rolled and stood, the movement fluid, really fucking sexy and completely unconsciously done. She pulled her hair back while answering. “They look at me like I can split the atom and perform brain surgery at the same time.”

“Can you?”

She looked mischievous when she replied, “Not yet.”

Her lower lip begged to be bitten, fuller than the top one and perfectly shaped. Dragging my eyes from her lips, since I felt my jeans getting tighter, I managed to lift my gaze to hers when she asked, “Have you finished the bookcase?”

“Yeah.”

“How many more do you have to make?”

“Four.”

“I’ll help with those too, if you want.”

After yesterday, the thought of working with her again was very appealing. “I’d like that.”

“Cool. I have the sketches for the gardens. Fall is for planting, so it’s a good time to get to work on them.”

“Do you have time to look them over now?”

“Sure, but I’ll need to multitask. Ember called earlier in the week and invited me to dinner tomorrow. I’m bringing dessert.”

The thought of her among my friends appealed too, a whole hell of a lot. “We can drive over together.”

For just a split second, I caught her unguarded reaction to my suggestion and I liked every single expression that swept her face. “I’d like that.”

Her and me in my truck, yeah I fucking liked that idea too, more specifically the trouble we could get into. Changing the subject before my IQ dropped any lower I asked, “What are you making for dessert?”

“A chocolate caramel cake, layers of dense chocolate cake and creamy caramel with a rich chocolate buttercream icing. I need to make three. Normally I’d bake them the day of, but I have found with this recipe it tastes better the next day since the caramel is absorbed into the chocolate cake.”

“I’ll help, but with your guidance because I don’t know the first thing about baking.”

“No worries, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” She said that with a wink because she’d used my own words back at me.

We headed inside where Loki settled on the sofa. Avery started pulling pans from the cabinets. “Can you get six pounds of butter and the cream from the refrigerator?”

“Six pounds of butter? You have six pounds of butter?”

“I always have at least six pounds, but I’m making the caramel so I’ve double that. I bake, butter is in everything.”

That was true enough, but going through that much butter she should probably get herself a cow or two. I got distracted when Avery bent in half to get something from one of the lower cabinets. Her ass in those sweats, Jesus I wanted a piece of that. Not surprising, since I seemed to revert back to a teenager whenever she was around, my dick grew hard and my hands actually itched to grab her hips so I could pull her to me and make us both happy. In an attempt to not succumb to the horny adolescent I had been reduced to, I turned and moved deeper into the refrigerator and pictured Sister Margaret naked; the cantankerous old nun from my days at St. Agnes orphanage, who at ninety-eight was still a ball-buster. Yep, that worked every time.

“Are you going to climb into the refrigerator?”

“Smart ass.”

Her only response to that was a saucy smile. “Before we get started, here are the sketches.” She slid a few sheets in front of me, and damn but she’d been serious about knowing what she was doing. She’d drawn the house, really well too, and the gardens she proposed. The other pages showed in more detail each garden bed and what plants went where. Pictures were included of all the plant material she recommended.

“These are amazing.”

Her head lifted and the warmest smile touched her lips. She stirred my blood like no one ever had, but she also brought a peace that was nearly as good. Dad was right; I never stood a chance with my attempt to stay away from her.

And accepting my fate, I gave in to the hunger to have her near. “Are you free on Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s hit the nursery and order the plants.”

If possible, her smile grew even warmer. “Sounds good. I can work on the gardens in the evenings.”

“We’ll work on the gardens.”

The look she gave me shifted something in me, something I didn’t appreciate at the time but was irrevocable all the same.

“We need to measure out the dry and wet ingredients. Which do you want, wet or dry?”

We were talking about cake but the image of Avery, naked in my bed, wet for me, turned me hard again.

Tamping down on that before I dragged her across the quartz countertop and took her right there, I replied, “I’ll take dry.”

She jotted down the dry ingredients and their proportions and slid the paper to me. “All of that can be found in the pantry.” And as I worked on that, she measured out the buttermilk, the butter and the vanilla. Melted the chocolate, added the sugar to sweeten it.

“The baking powder, salt and flour can be blended. The sugar we’ll cream with the butter before adding the eggs and then we’ll alternate between the flour and the buttermilk until everything is incorporated. Can you start creaming the butter while I prepare the pans?”

“Sure.”

“When it turns a pale yellow and has increased in volume you can add the eggs.”

“We’re not going to get to eat this, that seems cruel.”

“I have an apple/cranberry pie in the freezer.”

“That’ll do.”

I was watching her move around the kitchen, not really paying attention to what I was doing. And wanting her closer, I asked, “Is this good?”

She peered into the bowl, the scent of cocoa wafting up to me. I swear the woman smelled like cocoa and not because she just melted chocolate. It was like her natural scent. It drove me crazy. “Looks good.”

She looked good. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep from kissing her. I wanted her curves pressed up against me, wanted her taste on my tongue, wanted to feel as she let go and gave in to the passion I knew simmered under the surface.

“You can add the eggs and then the extra yokes. And that’s what’s going to make this cake airy and light. And the chocolate is cool enough now, so you can add that and then alternate between the flour and the buttermilk.”

When done, she poured the batter evenly into the pans and set them in the oven. “I’ll defrost the pie and you can start measuring the dry ingredients again. After the cakes are done I’ll show you how to make homemade caramel. As a thank you, I’ll whip you up something for dinner before I have to go to work.”

Yeah, I wasn’t going to be able to keep from kissing her for much longer. So fucking sweet.

As soon as the door opened at Ember and Trace’s, we were greeted to a wall of noise. Everyone else seemed to already be there. Rafe was just beside me, two cake holders in one hand, and Loki’s leash in the other.

“You made it!” Ember reached for the cakes from Rafe. “And you brought lots of dessert. Leftovers!”

I felt Rafe’s hand on the small of my back, his touch light and yet it burned clear down to my bones. Stepping into the apartment, I took a moment to just observe. Lucien was across the room, Darcy pressed up against his side, her hand being held in his and on his shoulders was Emily, who was pulling on her daddy’s hair and squealing in delight. Two older men were talking with Lucien; both obviously were related to Ember. Another woman, also older, stood with a tall, dark-haired man. She had to be Trace’s mom because they had the same eyes. And with them was another woman about Ember and Darcy’s age, but with how she gestured and moved she seemed younger than she looked. There were two guys, teenagers, one looked just like Lucien and the other looked remarkably like Trace. Kyle was there, talking to Tara, the bartender from Allegro. And on the sofa was a nun; I knew this because she was dressed in a habit. But what had me unable to pull my focus from her was that she looked to be about 120 years old. She must have sensed my stare because her head twisted, and very sharp and alert eyes settled on me. I’d been staring, it was rude, so I waved. She didn’t return it.

“Okay, going around the room. You know Lucien, Darcy and Emily. They’re talking to my dad, Shawn, the man on the right, and my uncle Josh. Kyle and Tara, whom you’ve met, the tall man there is Vincent Gowan and he’s married to Trace’s mom, Victoria. And the woman with them is Chelsea, Trace’s sister. She’s a few years older than me, but she was in an accident when she was younger and suffered some brain trauma. Those two clowns are Brandon and Seth. Brandon is Lucien and Darcy’s son and Seth is Trace’s cousin in a convoluted way. And the woman on the sofa is Sister Margaret. She played a pretty big role in getting Lucien and Darcy reunited with their son.”

“Sounds like a story there.”

“Yeah, there is. Let’s put these in the kitchen.” She looked passed me to Rafe. “We’ll be right back. You want a beer?”

“Yeah, thanks Ember.”

Their kitchen was fantastic. All Clad pots and pans hanging from the pot rack, a subzero refrigerator, soapstone countertops and plenty of room for multiple people to work and not bang elbows. “Oh my God, I’d sleep in this kitchen.”

Ember glanced around the room, someone obviously not a cook enthusiast. A suspicion confirmed when she said, “This is Trace’s domain.”

“I like it.”

“So you arrived with Rafe.” She bumped her shoulder into mine just as Darcy appeared.

“You came with Rafe. Progress.” Darcy and Ember clearly shared a brain.

“You both need to get a hobby.”

“You have that sexy man sharing space with you. You need to come up with a plan.” Darcy was in the mood to play matchmaker apparently.

“If you don’t come up with a plan, you must be an idiot.” Sister Margaret said as she walked into the kitchen.

“She comes across mean because she is mean.” Darcy’s comment had my jaw dropping.

“What is it with you younger folks, dropping your jaws like nitwits. Close that up girl, I don’t need to see your tonsils.”

Did she just say that to me? She was a nun, I should show respect, but the words came out before I could censor myself. “You’re charming. So when do they put you back in your sarcophagus?”

Rafe and Trace strolled into the kitchen as I asked that. Both stopped and looked from me to Sister Margaret, whose expression I could not read at all. Thinking I might be about to have my hands slapped with a ruler, I contemplated taking a step back but showing weakness was not something I did. And then the woman made a sound; it was an awkward sound so it took a minute to realize she was laughing. And me being me said, “You either smoke entirely too much or you seriously need to laugh more.”

Trace chuckled, Rafe grinned and Darcy and Ember both dropped their jaws and honestly, I kind of understood Sister Margaret’s comment. Her beady eyes were glued to me and then she laughed again. “I like you. Wherever did you find her, Ember?”

“Trace did. She’s his new pastry chef.”

“Sassy and can cook. You better snatch this one up, Rafe, before she gets away.”

The room fell silent again for a completely different reason and feeling awkward, I was about to exit stage left when Rafe softly replied. “I think you might be right.”

He winked at me before taking the beer from Trace and walking from the room.

“Did he just say that?” Darcy asked.

“He did.” Ember confirmed.

Sister Margaret’s contribution, “Please, they’re hot for each other. A blind man can see that.”