Smashwords version Sweet Surrender (2 page)

Rafe McDaniel couldn’t help grinning as he walked in the door of
Sweet Surrender.  The first thing he spotted by the front door was a life
size display of a lingerie-clad female mannequin tilting her head back, lips
parted, dangling a chocolate penis-shaped lollipop over her mouth as if she
were about to deep throat it.
The second thing he spotted was…her.
The voluptuous blonde with golden curls like an angel and a body
built for sin, with padding in all the right places, was standing in front of a
counter across the room from him, gingerly holding up a glass jar and staring
at it like it might turn into a snake and bite her.
She wore a pin striped navy blue business suit which made her look
like an accountant who’d wandered into the store by mistake, but he wasn’t
fooled.  She was a woman built for passion. If anything, the conservative
attire made her even more  – she looked like a sexy librarian who was
waiting to be thoroughly ravished.
He felt an unnerving thrill of attraction running through him, and
a rush of blood to the groin.

Down, boy, he scolded himself. I’m here on a recon mission. Not to
get lucky.

Although he sure would consider himself lucky if he found himself
between the sheets with that blonde.

He didn’t see anyone working behind the counter, and he found himself
wandering over to her, as if drawn by a magnetic force.
Poppy stood in the corner, trying to turn invisible in the hope
that whoever had just come through the front door would think the store was
empty and leave.
No such luck.
“Hello?” A deep voice from behind her said, and she sighed in
defeat and spun around to face him.
And couldn’t form words.
The new customer was a man, and he was ridiculously good-looking,
with broad shoulders and curly brown hair and caramel brown eyes. He wore a
blue polo shirt which revealed the curves and defined lines of his biceps and
his tapered waist, and comfortable, worn denim jeans which accentuated his
muscled thighs.
And there was something more – the smile that curled his sensual
lips and the glint of humor in his eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat, and
her nipples hardened and there was a rush of moisture between her legs.
The glass jar slipped from her fingers.
“Hey!” He caught it just in time, then held it up and read the
label.  “Raspberry Ecstasy body butter. What does Raspberry Ecstasy taste
like?”
“Why, I…I don’t know. I’ve never experienced Raspberry ecstasy.”
Wow, she was actually forming words. Her lips were forming words and stringing
them together in a sentence, and her voicebox was saying them. Very good,
Poppy! She gave herself a quick mental pat on the back.
Her usual reaction to stunningly handsome men was to flee, before
she had a chance to start stammering and blushing and making an utter fool of
herself.  Fortunately, she didn’t encounter godlike Adonises that often –
only when she was hanging out with her sister. Viola’s string of boyfriends
were always weird looking, quirky performance artists or musicians.
But here she was, trapped in a corner by a giant slab of man-hunk,
and obligated to be nice to all the customers who came in because she’d made a
promise to Penelope and she always kept her word.  So fleeing was not an
option.
“I’ve never experienced Raspberry ecstasy either. Other kinds of
ecstasy, yes, but not Raspberry. Shall we try it out?” He was smiling down at
her, and the warm glint of humor in his eyes said that he was laughing with
her, not at her.
He gently set the glass jar down on the counter and picked up a
small sample spoon. “I actually need a woman’s opinion,” he said.  “I’m
researching options for a bachelorette party. Would you be willing to try a
bite?”
Poppy swallowed hard.  Try a bite? An image of herself gently
biting his inner thigh, then running her tongue over it, flashed through her
mind. She flushed. That was not an option that a man who looked like him would
offer a girl like her.
But wasn’t he flirting with her? Well, what the heck, he probably
flirted with everyone. He had a flirtatious air about him.
“Certainly. We aim to please,” she said, aware of the red flush
that was staining her cheeks again. He must have noticed she was blushing, but
he didn’t say so.
“Oh? You work here?” He glanced at her curiously.
“What?” she said self-consciously, and took a step back. He
probably expected that a place like this would only hire bone-thin fashion
models.
“I thought the employees would be dressed a little…well, sexier.”
He gestured at a circular rack of negligees.
Oh. It was her frumpy clothes that surprised him, not her girth.

“They don’t make those in my size,” she blurted, then bit her lip.
When she did, she noticed his eyes flick to her mouth, and she could swear he
took a breath, but that must have been her imagination.
“Sure they do. Look,” he said, and went over to the very plainly
marked size 16 section, grabbed a black lace baby doll negligee, and held it up
in front of her, critically appraising it. It was see-through and trimmed with
frothy layers of lace, and the straps were made of black satin ribbon.
His smile broadened, and the gleam in his eyes turned carnal.
 Was he actually imagining her in the negligee?
“You should buy it. It would fit you perfectly. Although you
probably wouldn’t want to wear it here; it’s a little drafty,” he grinned, and
put it back on the rack.
Then he turned back to her, and when he focused on her, she felt
as if clouds had melted away and she were bathed in beams of sunshine.
“So, this is your first day, I take it? I’ve never seen you here
before.”
At her startled glance, he added “I rent an apartment over the used
record store next door. Moved in a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, really?  Do you like the neighborhood?” The bakery was
in an area of Port Rollins, Oregon, that was being rapidly gentrified, and to
the west it was all fancy coffee shops and boutiques and trendy restaurants,
but to the east of their location was still a dodgy collection of warehouses
and abandoned buildings filled with squatters, all the way down to the bay.
He considered the question. “Overall, yes. The neighborhood’s
coming up, although I’d still be cautious, if I were you.  Where do you
live?”
“In the apartment above the bakery. For the next couple of months
anyway, I’m your next-door neighbor.” For some reason, she started blushing
again as she said that. She was not imagining the possibilities in her mind.
Not, not, not!

“Doesn’t that girl who owns the bakery live there?”

Her smile dimmed. Was he wondering where Penelope was? Of course
he was. Penelope had a face like a Botticelli angel and a body that drove men
to violate commandments.  As soon as Penelope entered the picture, Poppy might
as well have been invisible.

“She did, but she got hit by a car last week, and she’s going to
be laid up in the hospital for a couple of months, so I came up here to help
her out.”

“I heard about that accident.  I didn’t realize she was that badly
injured. You’re good friends, then?”

She shrugged without answering, dispirited. Okay. He liked
Penelope. Big surprise.

But then he thrust his hand forward, with a big, warm grin
spreading across his face.

“Rafe McDaniels. Pleased to meet you. I figure I should introduce
myself, since I’m going to have you eating out of my hand in a minute.”
Despite herself, she giggled.  He had a warm, friendly air
about him that put her at ease, which was a miracle, considering the
circumstances.

“Poppy Donavan. And my, aren’t you self-confident.”
“And very rarely wrong.”
He grabbed a little plastic spoon from the wicker basket, dipped
it into the sample jar and then held it up, with a little red dollop of body
butter on it. Then he leaned forward and she found herself parting her lips,
and the spoon slid into her mouth, and she sucked on it. It was buttery soft
and sweet.  The taste of raspberries and cream caressed her tongue, and he
stared at her as if he were imagining her writhing beneath him, and hot jolts
of arousal crackled through her body, making her shudder involuntarily.
Her panties were wet with her arousal now, and her nipples were as
swollen as bing cherries, straining against the fabric of her camisole. Thank
God her excitement was hidden by the thick fabric of her jacket.
“Good?” he breathed, in a low, husky voice.
“Ahhh…yes. Very. I recommend it,” she stammered.
“Now, I don’t know if I’d be better off with the fruit flavors, or
more of a chocolate theme. Do you mind?”
“Well, I guess I could indulge you. Since you’re a customer.”
 Her hands were trembling. She clenched them into fists.
He opened up a sample  jar of Chocolishis Body Butter, and
dipped a tiny spoon in,  scooping up a generous dollop.  This time,
as he brought the spoon forward, she leaned towards it with her lips parted to
accept it, and she definitely heard him catch his breath and saw a look of
undeniable hunger in his eyes.
Maybe he’d just been making polite conversation about her sister
earlier. His face hadn’t lit up the way most men’s did when they talked about
Penelope.
Maybe he
did
want her.  Well, what was so crazy about
that? Some men liked full figured women.  She’d been told more than once
that she had a pretty face. She had boobs for days.  She had a butt
for…months? Anyway, why shouldn’t he want her?
Her confidence swelled inside her. She wasn’t blushing now.
She reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding his hand in place,
and then she sucked on the spoon slowly, swirling her tongue on it. Warm,
buttery chocolate melted onto her tongue.  His eyes locked on to hers and
there was raw, naked desire there, the look that two lovers exchange before
falling into bed and ripping each other’s clothes off.
She pulled away ever so slowly, letting the spoon slide out of her
mouth, and released his hand, without taking her eyes off him for a second.
This was
wonderful
. This was exhilarating. She couldn’t
remember the last time she’d had this much fun flirting with a guy.
 Probably never. She felt powerful and in control, knowing that he wanted
her.

“I like it,” she breathed in a husky, sensual voice that she
summoned from somewhere deep inside her.
“Me too,” he said, his face inches from hers now, lips slightly
parted.

And the front door to the shop slammed open, and a tall, furious
brunette in skintight designer jeans stomped inside and made a beeline for
them. She was skinny as a reed, of course.
“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded.

Rafe
jerked back away from Poppy, with a groan. He’d completely forgotten about
Serafina in the car outside. How had that happened?
He knew exactly how. He’d let the voluptuous Poppy suck him into her vortex of
sexiness and seduction, and all the blood in his head had rushed to his groin,
and…
Damn. This wasn’t like him at all.
He glanced back at Poppy, who had fallen several steps back, and who had a look
of raw, naked hurt washing over her face.  His stomach twisted in a knot.
Damn it to hell, he needed to explain himself to her.
Serefina had folded her arms across her chest and was tapping her foot
furiously. “What the hell are you doing in here? You said you’d be RIGHT OUT!
 I was stuck out there for like an hour!” she snarled.
Not for the first time, he quelled a rising tide of disgust and annoyance, and
restrained himself from snapping at her. Typical spoiled rich kid who still
acted like a five year old throwing a tantrum because she hadn’t gotten enough
toys for her birthday. Life had handed her everything, and she appreciated
nothing.
“Since I was in here for less than ten minutes, I doubt that. Let’s go,” he
said coldly, and turned to Poppy to apologize and tell her that he’d stop by
later – but he was looking at her retreating back, as she hurried across the
room and through a door marked “office”, which she slammed shut behind her.
“I said I want to go now!” Serafina snapped again, and Rafe whirled to face
her.
“Shall I call you a cab?” he asked, icicles dripping from every word. She spun
around and stomped out of the store.
On the street outside, the morning sun was climbing higher in the cloudless
blue sky, shining down on the warehouse district.  Up and down the street,
the neighborhood was coming to life as merchants set  up chairs around the
tables outside of cafes, rolled up metal gates, and flung open their front
doors.  

A street musician leaned against the wall of a grocery store, hugging his
guitar to his chest, eyes closed, humming a nameless tune. A tall, skinny man
in tattered clothing, with a wild-eyed stare, wandered from one parked car to
the next, tucking colorful flyers under their windshield wipers.
As Rafe held open the door to his Volvo and she furiously flung herself inside,
he turned to give the bakery a long, lingering look before he climbed into the
driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb.
What he didn’t know, and what Poppy didn’t know, was that he wasn’t the only
one watching Sweet Surrender that morning.