Olive’s eyes widen as I approach and set the plate in front of her.
“Your love of candy apples gave me an idea.” I hand her a spoon. “This is a candy apple pie. It has the same ingredients, just done a little differently than what you’d expect. I hope you like it.”
She holds her spoon, but doesn’t make a move to taste it. “I can’t. I mean, this is nice and all but, I don’t eat sweets anymore.” Even as she says it, she licks her lips.
“Just a taste is all I ask.” I lean back, trying to give her enough space to make her own choice. “If you don’t like it, that’s fine. But I’d like you to be the first to try my recipe and tell me if it has that special Christmas magic.”
“I …” She chews her lip.
“Please?” I catch her gaze and hold it. “Just a bite?”
She eyes the pie like it might explode. “One bite and that’s it?”
“Yes.”
She’s still waffling, but then she does something that blows me away. She opens up to me. “It’s just that I’ve worked really hard to turn myself into this.” She speaks in a near whisper and glances down at her trim body. “I don’t want to go back to being that girl who sat on the bleachers and watched you run. Or the girl who was a little too fond of chocolate. Or the girl who never had a date until she went to college.”
My heart expands and booms against my ribs as I reach out and take her free hand. She doesn’t pull away, and I feel as if I’m floating. “I liked that girl. A lot. Still do.”
“You don’t mean that.” She shakes her head and looks down.
“Hey.” I pull her chin up so our eyes meet. “I mean every word. I liked you then. I like you now. You’re still Olive to me—sweet, shy, and unbelievably sexy.”
“But you don’t even know me.” Her eyebrows draw down. “Not really.”
“I know enough.” I lean back. “Now give it a taste before it gets cold.”
A small smile creeps across her lips. “You’re bossy.”
You have no idea.
She takes a deep breath and presses her spoon into the crust, then deeper into the apples and caramel filling.
I mentally cross my fingers as she pulls the spoon out and blows on the hot apples. Thinking back, I remember the first time I saw her once I got back to town. My realtor had taken me to the rundown Sullivan Shoes building across from her studio. He touted that I could convert it into my candy shop. After going through the dilapidated downstairs and inspecting the junk-filled upper floor, I’d written the location off my list. That is, until I saw Olive across the street. She was standing in her front window affixing holiday decals to the glass. Her hair was free and flowing as she sang along to some tune I couldn’t hear. When I saw her that day, I realized I’d finally discovered what happiness could be. I told the realtor the location was perfect, and I’d set about wooing Olive.
Now, as she tentatively puts the first bite into her mouth, I hold my breath. She can’t possibly know how much she means to me, but I intend to show her if she’ll let me.
Olive
A mouth orgasm. Mouth-gasm? I don’t know what to call it, but I know what it feels like. Heaven.
“Oh, my god.” I lick my spoon, completely giving myself over to the deliciousness on my tongue.
“Yeah?” He stares at my mouth, and I realize there is something insanely hot about him watching me enjoy this dessert.
“Yes.” I take another bite and practically moan through the tartness of the apples, the sweetness of the caramel, and the flaky, buttery crust.
Our eyes meet, and something in the air—or inside me—combusts. He’s out of his chair and yanking me out of mine in a moment. When our lips meet this time, there’s no room for doubt. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he pulls me close, pressing me against him as our breath tangles.
His hands rove me, finally settling on my ass as he lifts me and perches me on the counter. I can’t get enough of his kiss, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. It’s temporary insanity, but I can’t seem to put a stop to it.
He ropes my ponytail around his fist and pulls my head back, then trails his lips down my throat. I sigh as he nibbles at my neck and brings one hand up to cup my breast. When he rakes my nipple with his thumb, I jolt at the shock of arousal that shoots through me.
He claims my mouth again and palms my breast. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He pinches my nipple, and I arch my back. His erection presses against my thigh.
“Hank.” I clutch his sides. “We can’t…” My protest dissolves into a moan that he catches in his mouth.