Just Desserts
Page 1
Chapter One
If anyone had told Sebastian Romanov that today would be the day he fell in love, he would have dismissed them completely. And if he’d had any inkling of how hard he would fall, he would have had them shot for the lack of warning.
He didn’t believe in love, in any of its stages: at first sight, over a series of dates, or people who’d been friends for years suddenly snogging each other at the local pub.
Sebastian believed in facts, figures, and results.
Fact: His annoying cousin, Alexander, was moping around, and kept calling him.
Fact: Sebastian had Alexander’s calls blocked.
Fact: Alexander had resorted to popping up everywhere Sebastian had the unfortunate luck to be at the time.
Figures: This had been going on for six weeks, which was five and a half weeks too many.
Result: Sebastian had boarded a jet and flown to the States to collect a woman, in order to not to kill his cousin and land himself in jail.
Or so he had convinced himself.
Never would he admit to anyone that this entire scheme was the result of the fact he actually owed it to his cousin to meddle in the poor bloke’s relationship due to (also a fact) all the years Alexander had been forced to do his uncle’s (and Sebastian’s father) dirty work.
The soles of his shoes crunched on the salt and sand coating the formerly icy sidewalks of Holland Springs. Christmas decorations adorned nearly every storefront, bright red and green attracting the last minute shopper.
“Aren’t you Christian Romanov?” a woman dared to ask.
Slicing his gaze her way, he raised a brow. “No.”
She tossed long blond hair over one shoulder, her brown eyes assessing. Knowing. The smell of freshly cut lawn, coconut, and sea breezes drifted to him. Summer. She smelled of summertime.
“But you look just like him.” She matched her stride to his, the heels of her boots tapping out a rhythm.
Jaw clenching, he bit out, “Coincidence.”
“If you say so.”
An escape route appeared and adrenaline flowed through him, but he kept his steps measured. “I do.”
He made a sharp right. The echo of her boots went silent and he shoved his hands in his coat pocket, surveying the area. The little side street was blessedly devoid of people.
Exhaustion hit him hard, and he mulled over taking a breather on a convenient bench. Just as he leaned in the direction of resting for a minute or two hundred, tastefully twinkling white lights caught his eye.
Crossing the street, he felt the beginnings of a smile on his face when seasonally decorated cupcakes activated his sweet tooth. Pausing, he glanced up at the name, The Sweet Spot. Pink and brown dots surrounded the curly letters, underneath was a name, Daisy Barnes, and a phone number.
He didn’t have time for this. There was a woman to be found, a company to run into the ground, and a father to commit to the worst and slowest imaginable death possible.
Really, what more could be expected of him during the holiday season?
Sugary candy canes placed in the center of cupcakes topped with green icing made him pause once more. All glittery red and white under a spotlight. Just sitting there, waiting to be eaten. He’d never been one to deny his culinary cravings. There were very few things in life that he gave himself permission to enjoy. Sweets were at the top of his list.
“Only a quick pop-in and I’m done,” he muttered to himself. A few more steps and he pushed open the door. Bells jingled. Bing Crosby crooned in the background. Customers sat at tables with Menorahs, Christmas trees, and Kwanza candles as centerpieces, drinking and eating various desserts.
There was a line at the register, so he queued up for his turn. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, palming his phone. Any minute now, he expected a text from his driver or one of his bodyguards for the location of Rose Holland.
He turned his attention towards the display of sweets, mentally sorting out the ones that he wanted to buy.
“Now you know those éclairs aren’t good for your diabetes. What will your wife think of you sneaking these?” a melodic voice asked, her voice teasing. “She’ll come in here and fuss at me for enabling you.”
That was well done of her, Sebastian thought. It was good business to take care of one’s customers.
“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” the elderly gentleman in front of him said.
“Then how about something healthier, like a pretzel, with some low-fat, sugar-free yogurt on the side?”
“Sound disgusting,” the man said and Sebastian nodded in agreement. It sounded horrid.
“It’s yummy,” she insisted. “I tried it myself first.”
“Then your taste buds are on the fritz,” the man grumbled.
The woman laughed, full and hearty, and as melodic as her voice.
That laugh made him look up and over the man’s shoulder. Had he known it would become the moment of moments, he would have turned around and never darkened this street or town again instead.
But he didn’t know. So he looked. And what Sebastian saw made him freeze.
Forget moving—he couldn’t speak or even hear anything, his heart pounded too loudly in his ears.
She smiled, hazel eyes shining and orange hair bright under the lights.
Everything inside of him came alive. His palms were sweaty, his knees all weak, and he felt the earth move beneath him.
The man in front of him paid for his purchases and walked away. Now all of her attention was on him.
“Can I help you?”
A sort of croak emanated. From him.
Her smile fell as her head tilted to one side, and he was gutted. It was his mission to make her smile again. Finding Rose Holland was rapidly sinking to the bottom of his to-do list because of that smile.
That smile was beautiful, sweet, kind, and lovely, so very lovely. He was in love with that smile—that face. Everything. Oh, holy hell and kill him now.
“Are you okay?” she asked, and he blinked. Apparently, she felt nothing he did. She hadn’t felt the connection or the earth tilt on its axis. It was just another day, another customer for her. “Would you like for me to call your brother? I don’t think he and Zoe have left town just yet.”
That she knew exactly who he was made it worse. Heat rising to his face, he took a breath and drawled, “Not necessary. However, may I speak to the owner?” Hopefully, Daisy Barnes would take this woman’s place and spare him any more embarrassment.
Lush lips twisted a little. “I am the owner.”
“You’re Daisy Barnes?” he barked, accusation and disbelief in his tone. Oh, bloody great.
Those lips of hers flattened a little, and then her smile returned. No, not the same smile. This was a hurry-up-and-state-your-business-and-get-out smile.
His heart pinched and he fought the urge to rub his chest in that very spot.
“For the last twenty-four years I have been.” She nodded a little, and then said, “You’re Sebastian Romanov. We’re practically related, you know.”
Stupefied, he could only reply, “We are?” in an even sharper tone. Shut it, he mentally told himself. He was totally mucking this up.
Daisy, bless her, kept her smile in place. “Your brother married my first cousin. Zoe’s dad is my uncle. That makes us cousins by marriage.”
Cousins by marriage? “It most certainly does not,” he snapped. No way in hell he wanted to be related to the woman who made him all sweaty, shaky, and gutted.
Hazel eyes widened, and her face paled a little in obvious embarrassment. “What can I get you before you leave?”
He couldn’t blame her wanting him out of her store, and he couldn’t help but admire how she stood up to him. He couldn’t help but notice it only upped his love-struck state. There was no way he could stay here any longer, not in her shop at least.
So, he blurted the first thing that came to mind, “I’m looking for Rose Holland.”
A dark brow lifted and she tucked a strand of orange hair behind her ear. “Have you tried her store?”
“I’m not an idiot,” he said. The hell he wasn’t. No greater idiot had ever existed before him.
She crossed her slender arms over a rather ample chest, tantalizing him with a glimpse of lace and creamy swells of flesh, and then she frowned when she caught him noticing. “Anything else?”
Yes, dear God, for this entire conversation to be over. “Your best cupcake.” He swallowed. “Please.”
A confident smile graced her lips. “They’re all my best.”
Cheeky, he thought, all bemused and bewitched. “I’ll take the lot—all of them.”
“All—” she glanced at her case, brows furrowing. “—thirty five?”
Yes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He lifted his chin, falling back on what he did best—intimidate and hold at bay.
“I’m only ridiculous every other Tuesday.”
“Today is Tuesday,” he pointed out.
She smiled wickedly, and he nearly swooned like a school girl at a One Direction concert.
“Exactly.”
This most perfect of all women had to stop, because if she didn’t, he’d most likely end up on bent knee, proposing marriage and babies. Two things he’d always told himself that he never wanted and never deserved.
“I’ll take a dozen,” he said, pulling his wallet out. He’d simply pay for his purchases, leave, and eat his cupcakes in private while nursing his embarrassment.
“What flavors?”
Instead of answering like a decent human being, he smacked his credit card on the counter and snapped, “It doesn’t bloody matter.”
Taking a step back, she grabbed a container and marched to the display. He half expected her to toss each one in and shut the lid so hard that the cupcakes would be a smashed mess by the time he opened it again, but she didn’t.
Instead, she began to hum as she carefully selected and placed each cupcake in a green box, closing the lid carefully and tying a silver bow around it. Her head was bent as she worked, her back to him. He couldn’t stop staring at the exposed nape of her neck. Her bright orange hair was caught up in a bun, two chopsticks—one green and one red—holding it in place.
While she worked so efficiently, oblivious to him, erotic thoughts appeared out of nowhere—all over that smooth expanse of skin. Thoughts transformed into mental images of him kissing the nape of her neck, while he slowly moved inside of her. Of her hair, tumbling around her shoulders before sliding across his thighs while she put that lush mouth of hers on his body.
He swallowed, willing the images away and instead filled his head with to-do lists.
Fly to Holland Springs.
Search for Rose Holland.
Find Ms. Holland and convince her to fly to England for the holidays.
Daisy whirled around, placing the green box on the counter. “Anything else?”
Come back to Holland Springs, find Daisy Barnes again, and convince her to fly anywhere with him.
Ha! Voicing that particular addition to his to-do list was not something he could afford. Ever. Not even if she were amenable to the idea. Most certainly, she would not be amenable due greatly in part to the top-notch conversation he’d been having with her up to this point.
Honestly, the best thing he could do at this moment would be to cut his losses and leave.
“Ms. Barnes, I truly apologize for insulting you and taking up your time,” he said, and then grabbed his credit card and the box of cupcakes. He gave Daisy a stiff nod, ignoring the most treacherous part of him that now beat out her name, and walked out of her shop.
Daisy stared after him, jaw on the floor. “What in the world?” she whispered. He’d been unresponsive, rude, insulting, and then completely apologetic. There was no mistaking the look in his beautiful blue eyes.
Sebastian disappeared around the corner, green box under his arm.
“He didn’t pay for anything,” she said as reality hit her. She checked the register to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. “Cheese and crackers! He didn’t pay for a darn thing.”
Hurrying around the counter, she shoved the door to her store open and ran up the sidewalk, cold December air finding its way through the thin cardigan she wore.
A hard body rammed into her or she rammed into it. Either way, she was falling, until a large hand jerked her up and steadied her.
“Mr. Romanov said to give you this.” The enormous man held out a fifty-dollar bill.
She gaped at the money, and then at him. “That’s too much.”
“Mr. Romanov said keep the rest for your trouble.”
Then the man, who had to be Sebastian’s bodyguard, let her go, still holding out the money. She took it and slipped it in her back pocket. “Tell him thank you.”
“Da.”
“Wait!” she cried as he turned to go.
“Da?”
She wet her lips. “Why is Sebastian looking for Rose Holland?” Please let him be here for something good, not to do something horrible to Rose, she thought, because she would have no choice but to tell the police or CIA.
A wide grin split the man’s face. “He wants his cousin to stop pestering him.”
“Alexander Romanov.” The man had a weird obsession with her cheesecakes, before he’d left town suddenly. Rose was almost as bad. Anyone with eyes could see the two of them were sweet on each other.
“Yes.”
“How does my friend Rose fit in with his plan?” she said, stressing the word friend. A gust of wind made her shiver and she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Mr. Romanov will take her to his cousin.”
“Take her-take her, or ask her to go?” Her lips had to be turning blue. She was not a fan of the cold at all, but none of that mattered. She had to make sure Rose was safe. The poor girl had been through enough.
If anyone had told Sebastian Romanov that today would be the day he fell in love, he would have dismissed them completely. And if he’d had any inkling of how hard he would fall, he would have had them shot for the lack of warning.
He didn’t believe in love, in any of its stages: at first sight, over a series of dates, or people who’d been friends for years suddenly snogging each other at the local pub.
Sebastian believed in facts, figures, and results.
Fact: His annoying cousin, Alexander, was moping around, and kept calling him.
Fact: Sebastian had Alexander’s calls blocked.
Fact: Alexander had resorted to popping up everywhere Sebastian had the unfortunate luck to be at the time.
Figures: This had been going on for six weeks, which was five and a half weeks too many.
Result: Sebastian had boarded a jet and flown to the States to collect a woman, in order to not to kill his cousin and land himself in jail.
Or so he had convinced himself.
Never would he admit to anyone that this entire scheme was the result of the fact he actually owed it to his cousin to meddle in the poor bloke’s relationship due to (also a fact) all the years Alexander had been forced to do his uncle’s (and Sebastian’s father) dirty work.
The soles of his shoes crunched on the salt and sand coating the formerly icy sidewalks of Holland Springs. Christmas decorations adorned nearly every storefront, bright red and green attracting the last minute shopper.
“Aren’t you Christian Romanov?” a woman dared to ask.
Slicing his gaze her way, he raised a brow. “No.”
She tossed long blond hair over one shoulder, her brown eyes assessing. Knowing. The smell of freshly cut lawn, coconut, and sea breezes drifted to him. Summer. She smelled of summertime.
“But you look just like him.” She matched her stride to his, the heels of her boots tapping out a rhythm.
Jaw clenching, he bit out, “Coincidence.”
“If you say so.”
An escape route appeared and adrenaline flowed through him, but he kept his steps measured. “I do.”
He made a sharp right. The echo of her boots went silent and he shoved his hands in his coat pocket, surveying the area. The little side street was blessedly devoid of people.
Exhaustion hit him hard, and he mulled over taking a breather on a convenient bench. Just as he leaned in the direction of resting for a minute or two hundred, tastefully twinkling white lights caught his eye.
Crossing the street, he felt the beginnings of a smile on his face when seasonally decorated cupcakes activated his sweet tooth. Pausing, he glanced up at the name, The Sweet Spot. Pink and brown dots surrounded the curly letters, underneath was a name, Daisy Barnes, and a phone number.
He didn’t have time for this. There was a woman to be found, a company to run into the ground, and a father to commit to the worst and slowest imaginable death possible.
Really, what more could be expected of him during the holiday season?
Sugary candy canes placed in the center of cupcakes topped with green icing made him pause once more. All glittery red and white under a spotlight. Just sitting there, waiting to be eaten. He’d never been one to deny his culinary cravings. There were very few things in life that he gave himself permission to enjoy. Sweets were at the top of his list.
“Only a quick pop-in and I’m done,” he muttered to himself. A few more steps and he pushed open the door. Bells jingled. Bing Crosby crooned in the background. Customers sat at tables with Menorahs, Christmas trees, and Kwanza candles as centerpieces, drinking and eating various desserts.
There was a line at the register, so he queued up for his turn. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, palming his phone. Any minute now, he expected a text from his driver or one of his bodyguards for the location of Rose Holland.
He turned his attention towards the display of sweets, mentally sorting out the ones that he wanted to buy.
“Now you know those éclairs aren’t good for your diabetes. What will your wife think of you sneaking these?” a melodic voice asked, her voice teasing. “She’ll come in here and fuss at me for enabling you.”
That was well done of her, Sebastian thought. It was good business to take care of one’s customers.
“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” the elderly gentleman in front of him said.
“Then how about something healthier, like a pretzel, with some low-fat, sugar-free yogurt on the side?”
“Sound disgusting,” the man said and Sebastian nodded in agreement. It sounded horrid.
“It’s yummy,” she insisted. “I tried it myself first.”
“Then your taste buds are on the fritz,” the man grumbled.
The woman laughed, full and hearty, and as melodic as her voice.
That laugh made him look up and over the man’s shoulder. Had he known it would become the moment of moments, he would have turned around and never darkened this street or town again instead.
But he didn’t know. So he looked. And what Sebastian saw made him freeze.
Forget moving—he couldn’t speak or even hear anything, his heart pounded too loudly in his ears.
She smiled, hazel eyes shining and orange hair bright under the lights.
Everything inside of him came alive. His palms were sweaty, his knees all weak, and he felt the earth move beneath him.
The man in front of him paid for his purchases and walked away. Now all of her attention was on him.
“Can I help you?”
A sort of croak emanated. From him.
Her smile fell as her head tilted to one side, and he was gutted. It was his mission to make her smile again. Finding Rose Holland was rapidly sinking to the bottom of his to-do list because of that smile.
That smile was beautiful, sweet, kind, and lovely, so very lovely. He was in love with that smile—that face. Everything. Oh, holy hell and kill him now.
“Are you okay?” she asked, and he blinked. Apparently, she felt nothing he did. She hadn’t felt the connection or the earth tilt on its axis. It was just another day, another customer for her. “Would you like for me to call your brother? I don’t think he and Zoe have left town just yet.”
That she knew exactly who he was made it worse. Heat rising to his face, he took a breath and drawled, “Not necessary. However, may I speak to the owner?” Hopefully, Daisy Barnes would take this woman’s place and spare him any more embarrassment.
Lush lips twisted a little. “I am the owner.”
“You’re Daisy Barnes?” he barked, accusation and disbelief in his tone. Oh, bloody great.
Those lips of hers flattened a little, and then her smile returned. No, not the same smile. This was a hurry-up-and-state-your-business-and-get-out smile.
His heart pinched and he fought the urge to rub his chest in that very spot.
“For the last twenty-four years I have been.” She nodded a little, and then said, “You’re Sebastian Romanov. We’re practically related, you know.”
Stupefied, he could only reply, “We are?” in an even sharper tone. Shut it, he mentally told himself. He was totally mucking this up.
Daisy, bless her, kept her smile in place. “Your brother married my first cousin. Zoe’s dad is my uncle. That makes us cousins by marriage.”
Cousins by marriage? “It most certainly does not,” he snapped. No way in hell he wanted to be related to the woman who made him all sweaty, shaky, and gutted.
Hazel eyes widened, and her face paled a little in obvious embarrassment. “What can I get you before you leave?”
He couldn’t blame her wanting him out of her store, and he couldn’t help but admire how she stood up to him. He couldn’t help but notice it only upped his love-struck state. There was no way he could stay here any longer, not in her shop at least.
So, he blurted the first thing that came to mind, “I’m looking for Rose Holland.”
A dark brow lifted and she tucked a strand of orange hair behind her ear. “Have you tried her store?”
“I’m not an idiot,” he said. The hell he wasn’t. No greater idiot had ever existed before him.
She crossed her slender arms over a rather ample chest, tantalizing him with a glimpse of lace and creamy swells of flesh, and then she frowned when she caught him noticing. “Anything else?”
Yes, dear God, for this entire conversation to be over. “Your best cupcake.” He swallowed. “Please.”
A confident smile graced her lips. “They’re all my best.”
Cheeky, he thought, all bemused and bewitched. “I’ll take the lot—all of them.”
“All—” she glanced at her case, brows furrowing. “—thirty five?”
Yes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He lifted his chin, falling back on what he did best—intimidate and hold at bay.
“I’m only ridiculous every other Tuesday.”
“Today is Tuesday,” he pointed out.
She smiled wickedly, and he nearly swooned like a school girl at a One Direction concert.
“Exactly.”
This most perfect of all women had to stop, because if she didn’t, he’d most likely end up on bent knee, proposing marriage and babies. Two things he’d always told himself that he never wanted and never deserved.
“I’ll take a dozen,” he said, pulling his wallet out. He’d simply pay for his purchases, leave, and eat his cupcakes in private while nursing his embarrassment.
“What flavors?”
Instead of answering like a decent human being, he smacked his credit card on the counter and snapped, “It doesn’t bloody matter.”
Taking a step back, she grabbed a container and marched to the display. He half expected her to toss each one in and shut the lid so hard that the cupcakes would be a smashed mess by the time he opened it again, but she didn’t.
Instead, she began to hum as she carefully selected and placed each cupcake in a green box, closing the lid carefully and tying a silver bow around it. Her head was bent as she worked, her back to him. He couldn’t stop staring at the exposed nape of her neck. Her bright orange hair was caught up in a bun, two chopsticks—one green and one red—holding it in place.
While she worked so efficiently, oblivious to him, erotic thoughts appeared out of nowhere—all over that smooth expanse of skin. Thoughts transformed into mental images of him kissing the nape of her neck, while he slowly moved inside of her. Of her hair, tumbling around her shoulders before sliding across his thighs while she put that lush mouth of hers on his body.
He swallowed, willing the images away and instead filled his head with to-do lists.
Fly to Holland Springs.
Search for Rose Holland.
Find Ms. Holland and convince her to fly to England for the holidays.
Daisy whirled around, placing the green box on the counter. “Anything else?”
Come back to Holland Springs, find Daisy Barnes again, and convince her to fly anywhere with him.
Ha! Voicing that particular addition to his to-do list was not something he could afford. Ever. Not even if she were amenable to the idea. Most certainly, she would not be amenable due greatly in part to the top-notch conversation he’d been having with her up to this point.
Honestly, the best thing he could do at this moment would be to cut his losses and leave.
“Ms. Barnes, I truly apologize for insulting you and taking up your time,” he said, and then grabbed his credit card and the box of cupcakes. He gave Daisy a stiff nod, ignoring the most treacherous part of him that now beat out her name, and walked out of her shop.
Daisy stared after him, jaw on the floor. “What in the world?” she whispered. He’d been unresponsive, rude, insulting, and then completely apologetic. There was no mistaking the look in his beautiful blue eyes.
Sebastian disappeared around the corner, green box under his arm.
“He didn’t pay for anything,” she said as reality hit her. She checked the register to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. “Cheese and crackers! He didn’t pay for a darn thing.”
Hurrying around the counter, she shoved the door to her store open and ran up the sidewalk, cold December air finding its way through the thin cardigan she wore.
A hard body rammed into her or she rammed into it. Either way, she was falling, until a large hand jerked her up and steadied her.
“Mr. Romanov said to give you this.” The enormous man held out a fifty-dollar bill.
She gaped at the money, and then at him. “That’s too much.”
“Mr. Romanov said keep the rest for your trouble.”
Then the man, who had to be Sebastian’s bodyguard, let her go, still holding out the money. She took it and slipped it in her back pocket. “Tell him thank you.”
“Da.”
“Wait!” she cried as he turned to go.
“Da?”
She wet her lips. “Why is Sebastian looking for Rose Holland?” Please let him be here for something good, not to do something horrible to Rose, she thought, because she would have no choice but to tell the police or CIA.
A wide grin split the man’s face. “He wants his cousin to stop pestering him.”
“Alexander Romanov.” The man had a weird obsession with her cheesecakes, before he’d left town suddenly. Rose was almost as bad. Anyone with eyes could see the two of them were sweet on each other.
“Yes.”
“How does my friend Rose fit in with his plan?” she said, stressing the word friend. A gust of wind made her shiver and she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Mr. Romanov will take her to his cousin.”
“Take her-take her, or ask her to go?” Her lips had to be turning blue. She was not a fan of the cold at all, but none of that mattered. She had to make sure Rose was safe. The poor girl had been through enough.
