Scoop.
Just call it off, Saylor. Tell Hayes we already made our point today in the clearing—that I’m deliriously happy with a much more successful man than Mitch—and then hop on a plane. Leave all of this tumult behind and keep what’s left of your heart and dignity intact.
Scoop.
Get a grip, Say. You’re letting one kiss make you lose your ever-loving mind and jump to conclusions that are all supposition.
I blame it all on him. From taking the trip down memory lane with the old Hayes I used to love and then switching gears and having new experiences with the mature Hayes who brought me here. The one who makes unexpected observations, makes me laugh until my stomach hurts, and who doesn’t care if he’s covered in cupcake splatter so long as I’m not mad at him.
The one who came here to try and help me gain some kind of redemption and hopefully save my store.
I brace my hands on the edge of the counter, hang my head, and remind myself why I’m here in the first place. To save the bakery and to restore my reputation.
Not for the more than enjoyable distraction of Hayes Whitley.
When I lift my head, the distraction himself is standing on the other side of the kitchen. Shirt off. Chest heaving. Running shorts on. Hair damp with sweat. Jaw muscle pulsing. Eyes locked on mine.
My breath catches. At the sheer beauty of him. At the force in his expression. At the raw emotions rioting through me just from the sight of him. At how every single part of me stands at attention when his hands fist at his sides and his muscles tense.
Hello, distraction.
I hate him and love him, want him and don’t want him.
He takes a step forward. Stops.
I remind myself to breathe. To say something to break the hold he has over me. To ignore the sudden ache in my lower belly and that slow burn of arousal that coats my skin in goosebumps.
“I went for a run.” His words are strained. Hoarse. And yet I’m not exactly sure why he’s telling me the obvious.
“I’m making cupcakes.”
He nods his head as if this is a normal, everyday conversation. But it’s far from it if the way my body is reacting to every single thing about him can be used as a barometer.
My nipples harden and my mouth waters. My body aches in places I’ve never felt before as I take him in. The way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. The fine mist of sweat on his chest. The flex of one of his pecs causes me to realize I’m staring. I look up and notice the barely there arrogant smile on his lips before meeting his eyes again.
“I keep telling myself that we can’t do this, Saylor.”
His words cut through the tension settling around us. Throw water on the sexual fire sparking between us.
And even though his words say no, every single thing about his body says yes. The predatory posture. The gleam in his eyes. The tautness of his muscles. Visible restraint that a part of me wants to test. I wonder how hard I’ll have to push before it snaps.
I know without a doubt that snap will sting, but for some reason I have a feeling when it comes to Hayes Whitley, the sting might just be worth it.
Another step.
Predator toward prey.
“Can’t do what?” My voice is barely a whisper. The tight buds of my nipples press against my thin bikini top and communicate what the rasp of my voice can’t. I want you. Kiss me. I only want to think about here. And now. And the way you make me feel.
His chuckle is soft. Low. Strained. He’s closer now. Within touching distance. He reaches out to the bowl beside us on the counter, runs a finger around the edge of it, and brings it to his lips. He waits to make sure I’m watching him as he sucks the batter from it. And damn it to hell if the groan he makes when he pulls his finger from his mouth doesn’t pluck on the strings of desire running throughout me.
“What can’t we do, Hayes?” I ask again. Have to. I need an answer to know if what I think he’s saying and what I want him to be saying are the same damn thing.
Another step.
He withdraws his finger from his mouth as he angles his head and holds my gaze. Waiting. Gauging. Anticipating. I can feel the heat of his body. Hear his steady inhale of breath. And I’m more than ready for his touch when he reaches out and places his hand on the side of my neck.
“Everything.” He licks his lips, glances down to my mouth, and then back up to my eyes as his thumb rubs ever so slightly over my collarbone. “And nothing.”
“Oh.” My mind spins. My body aches. Every part of me wants.
“This is a bad idea.”
He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. It’s just a simple taste of a kiss but with that singular action my reasons disappear, my heart tumbles, and my body aches for him.