Say You Want Me (11 page)

“You still haven’t answered me. If you weren’t going to give this a real shot, why try?”

I don’t have an answer to give him, so I give him what I can and hope he understands the meaning behind the words. “You have no idea what it’s like to grow up thinking you’re worthless. It kept me from letting anyone in. It’s been easier to not get disappointed. I’ve kept my heart safe. So, when I push you, it’s because I’m scared. If I let you in fully, you won’t let me go!”

Wyatt lies back down, rolling onto his side, and I mimic the movement so I’m facing him. “You have every intention of going back, don’t you?”

“I did.”

“And now?”

Now, I’m losing more of my hold. I’m slipping each day.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything other than we’re having this kid. We’re going to be parents, and I don’t know how I feel about us.”

He smiles. “Okay, I can handle that. I’m going to work harder.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Each excuse that I had as to why this wouldn’t work is fading away.

And here I am, falling for him. Fast. I don’t trust myself. I’ve never been in love, and he’s only ever loved Presley. What if this isn’t real?

A
NOTHER DAY OF SOAP OPERAS
and surfing Facebook. I’ve been going slightly stir crazy the last week. Wyatt has to be ready to kill me. I’m at the farm every day, trying to fit in a little. Presley has been great, and I’ve been doing half her work since I’m bored. I’ve learned a lot about cattle, not that it’ll help me when I go back to Pennsylvania, but whatever.

Today has been harder for me. I’m depressed and really homesick. I miss the bakery, my friends (not that I have that many), and the city. I would love to take a walk through Old City, stop at a few stores, and then maybe see if anyone wanted to go to a Phillies game. Instead, I’m sitting here folding laundry and waiting for life to become fun again. Wyatt is normally home by now, but he said he had to stay late and help Cooper. Since Presley’s brother is the owner of the Townsend ranch, Wyatt doesn’t really get a say.

My phone flashes with a number I don’t know. “Hello?” I answer.

“Angie?”

“Yes,” I hesitate.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the voice rings of relief. “This is Mrs. Kannan, sugar.”

“Oh, hi,” I say with surprise. “Is everything okay?”

A few seconds of a pause. “Not really.” She coughs. “You see—” She breaks into another coughing fit. “I’m terribly sick and I have to get those cupcakes for the festival tomorrow.” She starts hacking and wheezing. She clears her throat and comes back on the line. “I can’t work and those cupcakes won’t make themselves.”

I see where this is going.

“I’m not the greatest baker. Presley would really be the better option,” I suggest.

Presley spent her time in the bakery part and was the real talent behind the curtain. I did a little, but I mostly worked in front and did bookkeeping stuff.

“I asked her, but she’s already baking pies with her mama. I’m desperate.” She manages the last word before hacking up a lung.

If I say no, I’d be a total bitch. “Okay, of course,” I say quickly. “Yes. I’ll help out however I can.”

“Thank you so much, sugar.” Hmm, she sounds much better. “I mean . . .” She starts to wheeze. “You’re saving a dear old lady from great embarrassment. I’ve had cupcakes at the festival since I can remember, which is a
long
time.”

I silently laugh. “I’m glad to help, Mrs. Kannan. Do I need to come by and get the keys?”

“No, no, sugar,” she replies instantly. “Wyatt knows how to get in. I don’t want you catching whatever I have. Bye now.”

She disconnects, and I look at the phone. I’ve been played. Expertly I might add.

I text Wyatt about the call, and tell him I need him to get me into the bakery to help. Thirty minutes later, he walks through the door with dirt all over his face.

“Hey.”

“Thanks for coming home. Presley called explaining I need to make about a thousand cupcakes by tomorrow.”

He grins. “Our festival is an affair.”

“Sounds like it.”

Wyatt walks into the bedroom and returns a few minutes later in only a towel. “I’ll clean up and take you over.”

I go to protest, but he shuts the door before I can say anything. I wonder why he didn’t ask me about going to the festival. I figure that would be something he’d attend. Maybe he doesn’t, though? Weird.

Once he’s all clean, we’re on our way to the small shop that sits in the middle of the main street, which is freaking adorable. The store fronts have the old version of the flag banners that hang in a half circle. There are big tents lining the street and little fair-looking rides down at the other end. If he doesn’t bring me here tomorrow, I’ll kill him.

“This is so damn cute,” I muse as we walk to the back of the store.

“It’s something.”

“Were you going to take me to the festival?”

He looks over with the key in the lock. “I figured you’d hate it.”

“Why?” I ask with shock. “Why would you think that?”

“I didn’t know if draggin’ you to a big event in town would earn me any points. I can’t tell if I should make you go to things or keep you away from them.”

That hurt. I guess I haven’t really wanted to become a part of the town. Or really a part of anything solid here. It makes sense why he’d feel that way. Ugh. I hate myself sometimes. “I’m sorry. I really would love to go.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “If you’d like to take me.”

He grins. “Honey, you’re working it now.”

“What?”

“You agreed to bake, but you also need to be out front to sell the cupcakes. There’s no way these ladies are going to let you slide.”

I gasp. “You knew!”

“Of course I knew. I’ve been getting worked by that group since I was in diapers. They knew you couldn’t say no. They found an in and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

Son of a bitch. I freaking knew it! Then again, I never would’ve been able to say no even though she was faking. Presley used to joke about their meddling, but I thought she was being dramatic.

They showed me.

We enter the bakery, and I’m taken back in time. The appliances are all older, well used, and loved. It’s beyond clean, but not stark. The entire bakery is filled with deep reds, navy blues, and worn whites. It’s Americana décor at its finest. All the pieces are eclectic, but purposeful. There’s linens on the five tables in the corner. The glass case in front is filled with different cakes and bakery items. The wall is chalkboard with all the flavors and their prices.

“Well.” I turn to Wyatt. “I’m going to be here a while, so if you want, I can call you when I’m done?”

Making a thousand cupcakes is going to take me all night.

“I’m not leavin’. I’m your assistant,” he announces.

“No.”

“Yup.”

“I don’t have time to show you what to do, Wyatt,” I try to explain. “I need to work quickly.”

He chuckles. “Then you better hop to it, Big City.”

I start to familiarize myself with the bakery. Not that I really know my way around For Cup’s Cake either, but this is crazy. With Wyatt’s help, I find all the ingredients and start to arrange them.

God I hope I don’t screw this up.

“Okay.” I sigh and then consider the most efficient way to do this. This shop has two side-by-side convection ovens. They’ll definitely be able to accommodate large batches. “I can do this.”

“I never had a doubt,” Wyatt encourages. “What do you need me to do?”

He stands at the metal table, waiting for instructions. I dish out some things he can do to help. They are small, tedious tasks, but I really suck at measuring, so I hope to God he’s better at it than I am.

I grew up learning how to cook with a little of this and a smidge of that. When Presley introduced me to baking in college, what I made was not all edible.

In fact, most was awful.

After Presley taught me that baking wasn’t just a little of this and throw some of that in, I got better . . . or maybe I got used to tasting things that weren’t edible.

Wyatt and I work together, laughing as we assemble things. He makes the batter, and I handle the frosting. Before too long, we’re sliding trays in and out like a well-oiled machine. We may actually pull this off.

We’re on the last batch when Wyatt breaks my concentration away from decorating a row of cupcakes. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be this messy.”

I look around at the kitchen we trashed. “Definitely not! My baker would kill me if she saw this.”

I turn around to grab the next batch I need to frost, but Wyatt is suddenly behind me. “Shit!” I yell as I almost drop the tray.

He laughs. “That was close.”

Wyatt steps into me, and I’m between his hard body and the cold metal table. “It is close.”

“Close isn’t always bad.” His eyes soften.

No. It definitely isn’t.

He takes the tray from my hands and slides it on the table, grabbing one of the frosted cupcakes. I watch the wicked gleam in his eyes as he lifts it between us. “Try it.” He puts it to my lips.

I’m not going to lie, it smells amazing in here, and I’ve wanted to taste them. I don’t hesitate before I lean forward a bit and lick the icing. My eyes close, and I can’t help but to hum my approval.

Wyatt’s hand tightens against my back. “Don’t make those noises, baby.”

My gaze connects with his heated eyes. When he looks at me like that, I want to forget all the rules. He’s insanely sexy. He’s looking at me like he wants to be the cupcake, and I sure as hell want him to lick me.

“Why not?” I tilt my head and lick my lips. I’m playing a dangerous game, and he’ll win. He hasn’t pushed, which is a good thing because I wouldn’t be able to resist. Wyatt is fire, and if it’s anything like we’ve had in the past, I’ll gladly take the burns.

“I know the rules,” he reminds me. “I won’t kiss you until you’re sure. But a man only has so much patience.”

I run my fingers up his chest. “Yeah?”

“You’re in my arms, sexy as you’ve always been, and I want nothing more than to make you feel good.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s going to make me melt.

Who am I kidding? He already has. I want to play this game. I want him to beat me.

“What if we call a cease fire?” I offer.

The wicked smile that dances across his lips sends a shiver down my spine. This is going to be good. This is going to be really good.

“Would I be allowed to do this?” he asks as his lips press against mine.

“Mmm hmm.” My mouth doesn’t retreat, but he pulls back.

“What about this?” Wyatt’s hand cups my breast, and my head falls back. “Do you like when I touch you like this?”

“Yes,” I murmur.

“What about if I do that and this?”

I wait for something else, but nothing comes. I open my eyes and look at him as his other hand tangles in my hair. He guides my face to his, but I’m already there. His mouth touches mine, and then his lips open. His tongue glides against mine, making me lose all sense. He could ask me to strip down and then fuck me on the table and I’d let him.

This isn’t a cease fire. This is a surrender.

I’m waving the white flag.

Our tongues dance as his hand kneads my breast. He parts my legs with his knee, and the desire to rub against it is so high I succumb. I start to move, but he pushes me more securely against the table. I’m trapped, but I don’t want to be anywhere else.

Next thing I know, he’s lifting me up and pushing me backward so I’m sitting on the table. I hear the sounds of bowls clanking to the ground, but I don’t care. As long as his lips are on mine, I don’t care if the place is burning down.

He moves his hand from my breast and slides it lower. “I need more,” I beg. “Please.”

“Tonight is about you,” he insists. “I want to make you feel good.”

His lips are back against mine, kissing me breathless. I don’t know why I’m being so crazy about this. We’ve already done the deed. It’s just that I want to do things right if we can. However, that doesn’t mean we should keep fighting the attraction we feel. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

“Wyatt.” I tangle my hands in his hair as his lips move down my throat.

“That’s it, baby. Feel what I’m doing to you,” he encourages.

I feel it just fine, thank you very much. Thanks to the increased blood flow and his ridiculous sexiness, I feel everything in vivid detail. It’s been so hard not to beg him each night to touch me . . . I’m really glad I won’t have that problem now.

He lifts my shirt over my head and then pulls my bra off.

Our lips connect as we both give and take. His thumb and forefinger roll my nipple back and forth. Then his mouth breaks from mine, and his tongue glides across my neck before he licks around my nipple. “Yes.” I pant. “Yes,” I say again as he swipes across the pebbled peak.

Wyatt doesn’t make me wait. He starts to suck, causing me to writhe on the table. I had no idea that my breasts would be so sensitive, but everything feels heightened.

While continuing to lick, suck, and bite, his hand moves over my center. The pressure against my clit is too much. “Please don’t make me beg.” My voice is full of need.