Chapter Twenty-two
Saxon spent the rest of the afternoon trying to schedule an inspection, but Jessup refused to answer his phone. He went to town hall, but had no better luck there. With Phillip out on medical leave, Jessup was the only option, and he was booked out for weeks—too late to get the bakery repaired and open before Memorial Day weekend.
Without any other options, Saxon called his crew and told them to report tomorrow to another job they had waiting.
After that, he called Mason to check in with him, but got voicemail, as he had all day.
He texted, and the response he got was the one he expected.
Can't talk. Working.
True to form, Mason had thrown himself into his work where he would stay until he was good and ready to come up for air.
At least he wasn't out getting into drunken fist fights again.
By the time Saxon got home, it was nearly seven. He'd texted Gemma not to count on him for dinner—which only seemed fair since he was no longer working on her project—but his stomach was growling loud enough that he regretted that decision.
A hot meal would have been heaven right about now.
When he walked onto the porch, he saw a box in front of his door. Inside it were several divided plastic containers filled with food—at least two meals, maybe three if he stretched it. Along with that was a smaller cardboard box and a note with only two words: Thank you.
His stomach gave a rumbling cheer. The rest of him was touched by her thoughtfulness. He knew she was busy taking care of Aunt Beth and picking up some baking gigs on the side. For her to still be feeding him was above and beyond neighborly. It was downright sweet.
Saxon peered across the street, wishing he'd been here when she delivered them. It had only been a few hours since he'd seen her last, but he was already aching to be near her again. He still hadn't forgotten what it was like to kiss her and feel her turn to fire in his arms.
The light in her upstairs room was off. Downstairs, he couldn't see much because of the plywood covering the broken picture window. A faint color-changing flicker coming through the glass in the front door hinted that someone was watching TV, but he couldn't see movement of any kind.
He was about to go knock on the door when he realized that Gemma's car wasn't in the driveway.
He let out a disappointed sigh and headed inside with his bounty.
After showering off the day, he heated up a meal and tried to find something to watch. Nothing held his attention, but at least the food was good. Better than good.
He was sure she'd have some fancy name for the chicken and mushroom dish that danced on his taste buds, but he had no idea what it might be. It was gone too fast, leaving him debating whether to open the next container of heaven or save it for tomorrow.
The smaller cardboard box beckoned, so he opened that and found a stack of individually wrapped mini pies in small foil pans. Cherry, pecan, blueberry and apple.
He opened the first one, grabbed a fork and dug in. By his second bite, he'd forgotten all about that asshole Jessup and his power trip. He wasn't thinking about small town bureaucracy or paperwork. He wasn't even worried about how he was going to finish the repairs on the Rise and Shine Bakery before the beginning of tourist season.
All he was thinking about was Gemma and the magic spell she'd woven over him—first with a pair of Daisy Dukes, then with her determination to help a sweet old lady, then with the cherry and buttercream taste of her mouth. And finally this—a miniature version of heaven in a tiny foil pie pan.
He had to see her again. Tonight. Right now.
He set down his pie and called her cell. When she answered, she was out of breath.
"Where are you?" he asked, deciding in that instant that he was going to hop in his truck and go wherever she was. He needed to be close enough to her to touch her again, kiss her again.
She hesitated. "Uh. Nowhere. Why? Is everything okay?"
He almost told her that no, he wasn't going to be okay until he could see her again, but decided that was way too desperate. "Everything's fine. Dinner was awesome, as usual."
Her breathing evened and her tone brightened. "I'm glad you found the box first. I was worried about raccoons getting to it before you did."
"You know you didn't have to do that."
"A deal is a deal. You worked all day. You earned it."
There was a clatter in the background, like a stack of boards falling—a sound he knew well.
That's when he realized where she was. "Gemma, are you at the bakery?"
"You don't want me to answer that. Plausible deniability."
He thought of the gaping hole in the floor where they'd repaired the joists and hadn't yet laid down any subfloor. One wrong step and she'd fall right through to the concrete basement floor twelve feet below.
"Get out of there. It isn't safe."
"I'm being careful."
"You don't even know what you're doing."
"You've done all the hard work."
Before he realized what he was doing, he was already in his truck, backing out of the drive. "Don't move. I'll be there in five minutes."
Three, if he ignored the speed limit.
"You don't have to come. I'm fine. Just doing a little rearranging."
He had no idea what there was to rearrange, other than her bones when she fell through the hole. "I'm serious, Gemma. Don't move."
He hung up and sped through the quiet streets until he reached the bakery. He parked his truck beside her car and rushed in through the back door.
The kitchen was dim. He'd seen that some of the wiring in the ceiling was damaged by mice and decided to take the opportunity to replace it while his crew was on site. The only working light was the one above the giant industrial sink. With no sunshine to flood the space, it was filled with deep shadows.
Gemma stood there, her arms crossed and irritation plain on her face. Her dark hair was pinned up in a messy bun, and there were smudges of dirt and dust on her clothing. Brightly-colored flip-flops adorned her feet, and while cute, were completely unsuited for a construction site filled with stray nails that would sink right through the soft soles.
"What the hell, Gemma?" he demanded as he came through the door. He hadn't meant for his tone to be so harsh, but he couldn't help it. She was needlessly putting herself in harm's way and it pissed him off.
His crew had stacked the cabinets they could salvage from the front of the bakery in the kitchen to keep them out of the way so they wouldn't get damaged. She'd pulled them out, apparently to make room to lay down the four-by-eight sheets of plywood he'd left. Through the door to the front of the bakery, he could see their neat stacks of unfinished oak flooring toppled precariously close to the hole in the subfloor.
She'd already cut one piece of plywood to fit in the exposed area, and had another on the floor, partially cut. A hand saw lay nearby—proof that at least she hadn't been using power tools.
Saxon counted his blessings for that and then pulled in a deep breath. When his temper was cool enough he trusted himself, he asked, "What are you doing?"
"Finishing the work. You said the pipe was fixed. I saw the new wood where you repaired the floor support doodads. I researched it, and found that all that was left was to lay these boards and put the hardwood down."
Half of him wanted to strangle her. The other half wanted to applaud her for her effort. He did neither.
"Do you want to do the repairs twice? Pay for twice the materials?" he asked.
"No. Of course not."
"Then stop."
"Am I doing it wrong?"
"The process is fine, but you're wasting your effort."
"Why?"
"Because we're dealing with Edmond Jessup, that's why. That man has such a need to feel important that he never passes an inspection without demanding something else be done. Always. If you put down the floor before he makes us do whatever tweak he insists upon, then he's going to make us rip it up and do it again."
"That's insane."
"Doesn't matter. I've been dealing with him for years—or rather, trying to avoid dealing with him. He might only tell us to put in a few more nails, but he's going to tell us to do something, because otherwise everyone will know he's really not that important around here. He'd never let that happen. And he knows how far the work had progressed when he ordered us to stop. It would be just like him to make us redo everything to spite us."
She deflated, her weary body sagging in defeat. "What an asshole."
"Maybe, but he's the one we have to deal with." He crossed to her and wrapped his fingers around her bare arms. "You need to trust me to take care of this."
"If he's that spiteful, then we're going to have to work around him. Or get him fired. He'll never let us get done in time."
"No one is going to fire him. He knows everyone and no one wants to draw his wrath. You can't work around him. If you do, they can shut down the bakery, or cite you for some obscure health code violation. How are you going to open for business if no customers are allowed inside?"
"He can't do that."
"He can and he will. I've seen it happen more than once. You have to play by his rules."
"His rules are stupid."
"Agreed, but until Phillip is back at work, there's nothing else we can do."
Her jaw clenched. She wouldn't meet his gaze. "I never should have insulted Lulu. It was stupid, and now I'm paying for the mistake."
"You had no way of knowing she was the one doing the baking at the café, or that she was his daughter. You have to let it go. Forgive yourself and move on."
"There's too much at stake. I have to make this happen."
He rubbed her shoulders, willing them to relax. "We will. Just give Jessup a day or two to cool down."
"And in the meantime?"
Come home with me, he wanted to say. Let me relax you in the best way I know how—with as many orgasms as you can stand.
But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he said, "Spend time with Aunt Beth. Bake for Flora. The summer kickoff festival is next weekend. They always need help with that."
When her gaze finally met his, he saw fear. Her tone was one of defeat. "The bakery isn't going to open in time, is it?"
"We don't know that. I'm doing everything in my power to make it happen, but if it doesn't, we'll deal with that when we have to."
"Not we," she said. "Me. This is my mess. I'll clean it up."
He tilted her chin up, holding it so she couldn't look away. "You're not alone, Gemma. Whether or not you like it, I'm going to help you."
"I won't be anyone's burden."
He'd heard her say that before, but he was starting to wonder if there was something more he didn't know—something he should know about her.
"You could never be a burden, honey. Never."
She didn't believe him. He could see it in her eyes. Some deep hurt he didn't understand.
But he wanted to.
She pulled away, cold, distant. "I'm going to lock up. Thank you for explaining how the system works. I really don't have money to pay for supplies twice, so I guess I just walk away."
Saxon had no idea what was going on in her head, but he'd seen her pain now and knew it was there. She couldn't hide it anymore. Not from him.
He cupped her face in his hands, delighting in the softness of her skin. She kept her eyes downcast, and the thick fringe of black eyelashes shielded her emotions from him too well.
He bent his knees to lower himself so he was eye-to-eye with her. "I'm not going to let you shut down like this. Talk to me, Gemma. Tell me how I can help."
"You can't," she whispered. "You've already done too much. I never should have let you talk me into our deal. I knew it was an act of pity, but Aunt Beth needs this bakery so much…" she trailed off, pain vibrating through every word.
"No pity, honey. We all love Aunt Beth as much as you do. We all want to see her happy and healthy."
Gemma lifted her gaze then, and the pain he saw there was staggering. "She's going to die soon. She's the only person who ever truly wanted me around, and she's going to die." A tear slipped down her cheek. "What will I do then?"
His heart broke for her, for the way she felt so alone in a world full of people willing to love her.
He didn't know what to say. There were no words strong enough to sweep away her fears or ease her pain. But there was one thing he knew for sure. "She's not the only one who wants you around, Gemma. I want you."
And he did. He wanted her desperately. All of her. Body, mind, soul. He knew it was crazy to fall for a girl this hard and fast, but with Gemma, there were no brakes, no parachute. He was free falling, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.
She blinked, sending the pool of tears in her eyes cascading down her cheeks. Saxon wiped them away with his thumbs as he wished for the power to do the same with her pain.
"I want you, too," she said, only the way she said it was different than what he'd meant. He'd meant that he wanted her around, that he enjoyed her company and wanted only what was best for her. But her words implied far more. Though still rough from tears, something else vibrated through her tone—something stark and hungry.
Her gaze roamed his face. Each second a little more of her tension eased and was replaced with a languid kind of need. She stared at his mouth, and he knew then what she was about to do.
She was going to kiss him.
He didn't know if it was to distract herself from her emotions or because it's what she genuinely wanted, but he couldn't find the strength to care. Whatever she needed, he would provide, even if it was the shallow desire to escape her dark thoughts.
He lowered his mouth to hers, closing the distance between them. The second they connected, his whole world shrank down to the tiny space between them—the touch of sensitive skin on sensitive skin, their breath merging, the sweet buttercream taste of her lips.
Heaven.
Her arms slid around him, slender fingers clutching at his back like she couldn't get close enough. Her breath hitched and then raced into her lungs in ragged, needy pants. His heart lurched and pounded in his chest, sending his blood rocketing through his veins in a heated rush.
His cock swelled, straining at the fly of his jeans to be set free.
Lust replaced concern. Desire overwhelmed compassion. His need to claim her, strip her, fuck her—it destroyed his need to comfort. The change was as fast as it was startling, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
Gemma was his. All that was left now was proving it to her. As many times as it took.
He grabbed her hips and lifted her onto the nearest counter. It was cluttered with items taken out of the cabinets that couldn't be salvaged. Metal mixing bowls, cupcake tins and whisks covered the surface, but he didn't let any of it get in his way.
With one hard sweep of his arm, the cookware went sliding into the giant stainless sink with a loud crash of metal on metal.
Saxon didn't care. Gemma didn't bat an eye. If anything, she grabbed him tighter, using her heels to lock his body in the vee of her spread thighs.
He'd spent a fair amount of time imagining sex with Gemma, but none of those fantasies included him fucking her on the counter in her aunt's bakery. Until now. There was no time to relocate to a more private location or to find more comfortable surroundings.
This was where he would take her.
He dove in for another taste of her mouth and was rewarded with a fluttering whimper of need so deep it startled him. Her desperate fingers clutched at his shirt, scrambling to pull it up and off of his body.
Saxon leaned away from her just long enough to strip it off, then went right back for more of her sweet, sexy mouth. His hands slipped under her tank top, splaying against the smooth skin of her back. Sleek, feminine muscles quivered under his touch as she arched to press herself against him more fully.
He wanted her naked. Needed it. He didn't know how he was going to keep breathing if he couldn't feel her skin on his.
His hands were rougher than he intended when he jerked her tank top up and over her head. The stretchy band binding her hair went flying. Her dark, silky hair cascaded around her shoulders, giving her a sultry, wanton look that drove him wild.
Her eyes were huge and dark with desire. Her cheeks were flushed with arousal. Her lips were swollen and shiny wet.
He'd never seen a woman so damn sexy before in his life.
He didn't know how he was ever going to get enough of her to satisfy his need, but he was going to try.
He moved to kiss her again, but she held up a hand, holding him at bay with a locked arm against his chest. She was panting, her words almost frantic. "Tell me you have a condom."
He didn't normally walk around with one, like some men, stashing one in his wallet for that unexpected fuck in a bar. That wasn't his style. Never had been. But since the last time they'd been here, his mouth on hers, he'd changed his habits and started carrying. Just in case lighting struck again.
Thank God for that.
"I do." He pulled out his wallet and retrieved the foil packet, knowing all too well that one wasn't going to be enough. Not with Gemma.
Her smile was part relief, part vixen. "Good man."
"Let me show you just how good." He reached behind her back, flicking open the hooks on her bra in one deft motion.
He kissed her shoulder. His mouth followed the path of her loose bra strap as it fell away. As he claimed every inch as his own, her breathing sped and goosebumps formed across her skin. When he reached her nipple and sucked it into his hot mouth, she stopped breathing entirely.
Her fingers slid through his hair, gripping his head tight. Her thighs clenched against his hips. Her head fell back, and she let out a wavering groan of pure pleasure.
Saxon feasted on her, treating each breast with exquisite care and a thorough attention to detail. He made note of what she liked, what made her breath catch, and what made her quiver. With fingers, hands, mouth and tongue, he savored her. By the time he lifted his head, both her nipples were stiff, distended and cherry red.
Delicious.
He was about to go back for more when she slipped down off the counter and unbuttoned her shorts.
"I can't wait," she said. "I need you inside me. Now."