Sweetest Temptations Read online

  “Maybe you’re just closed off to the idea of being set up?” Hope suggested, which was not helpful at all. I wasn’t closed off. I was selective. Big difference. “Have you ever gone on a date with any of them?”

  “I thought dinner was a date?” I shot her a playful smile and chomped off a bit of breadstick, savoring the flavor of garlic butter and salt bathing my tongue.

  “At your sister’s house?” Amy scoffed. “I meant alone, just the two of you.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I consider my sister’s dining table as Ground Zero. If he can’t successfully spark my interest, it begins and ends there.”

  “Brutal,” Hope teased.

  “Fact,” I shot back. Until a man could tantalize my senses as well as a fine piece of dark chocolate, then these panties were staying right where they were: wedged halfway up my ass crack. Damn high cut briefs.

  As it turned out, those words came back to haunt me.

  Later that evening, just after six, I arrived at my sister’s home carrying my famous homemade coffee cake that everyone loved. I hoped whoever Amy tried to set me up with this time didn’t have a severe allergy to nuts; otherwise, he was screwed. And not in the way that he was probably hoping for.

  “Aunt Abby’s here!” My red-headed niece, Ariel—I’m convinced her mother was in a drug-induced fog when she chose her name—squealed as she came bouncing into the room.

  Holding the cake away from my body, I bent to catch her in a quick hug. “Hey, squirt. Where’s your momma?”

  Ariel looked up at me, her wide blue eyes round and full of life. Ah, to be a child again. “In the kitchen.” Her voice dropped to a small whisper. “She’s talking to a really cute man.”

  I felt that crimp in my stomach. The one that screamed Get out! Get out now! With a tight smile, I straightened and asked, “Oh? On a scale of the guy who played Shaggy, and Zac Effron, how cute are we talking here?”

  Her cheeks puffed as she smiled wide. “Cute like that guy you like in that one movie that mommy always watches.” Yeah, real helpful kid.

  “Care to narrow that down a bit?”

  Her blue eyes slid to a corner of the room, thinking hard. When she finally had something, I caught that pleased gleam in her eyes. “The guy that never wears a shirt and yells This is Sparta! and then kicks the other guy into the hole.”

  Oh, that guy. I felt a ray of hope glimmer to life. “Gerard Butler?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, all carefree in a way that was cute as much as it was annoying. How could she not care? This was Gerard Butler we were talking about here.

  Setting the cake aside for a moment, I got down on her level. Taking her by the shoulders, I forced her to look me in the eyes. “Now this is really important, Ariel,” I said slow and serious. I could see that her squirrel-like attention span was already waning. “I need you to tell Aunt Abby exactly what this man looks like. Is he fat and bald? Tall, short…?” I felt the urge to shake the answers free, but then I’d have to explain to a hysterical Amy that I wasn’t trying to abuse her child, and that could just get messy.

  “Umm…” Ariel looked away, toward her pile of Barbies. “Daddy bought me a new Ken! He has black hair and he’s tall and when I put water on him, he grows hair on his face.”

  I sighed and stood, realizing I had already lost her. Poor kid. Patting her on the head, I gave her a gentle push toward her toys.

  Picking up the cake once more, I tugged my shirt into place and brushed my hand over my hair, hoping everything was in place. If what Ariel said was true, that this guy was cuter than Gerard Butler, then—God love her—I was going to kick my sister’s ass.

  She’d spent so much time lowering my expectations that I hadn’t even bothered with putting on makeup or fixing my hair before coming over. I still wore a slight sheen of sweat from putting my head inside a hot oven for ten hours and my hair was a frizzy mess piled in a loose bun on top of my head. Not exactly a picture of perfection.

  Ariel was already lost in her world of make-believe, so I headed toward the kitchen and the sound of disembodied voices.

  I saw my sister first, smiling happily as she piled a mound of mashed potatoes into a large serving bowl. Her husband, Doug, stood with his back propped against the edge of the sink, a beer in hand and laughing over a joke I’d missed. Last, my attention was drawn to the deep, male voice.

  My body froze in the doorway, unable to believe my eyes.

  Fucking hell. Holding a beer in his right hand, the hot guy who’d bought my donuts was talking animatedly, gesticulating wildly, his eyes dancing with laughter. Dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a plain white cotton shirt, I decided two things. One, he was the most fuckable man I had ever laid eyes on, and, two, Amy was a dead woman.

  The room erupted into another round of laughter and then one by one, they each noticed I was standing there.

  “Oh, Abby!” Amy exclaimed, setting the gravy boat down on the counter and rushing toward me. “I didn’t hear you come in.” Draping her arm over my shoulder, she gave me a squeeze and said proudly, “Kennedy Harper, I would like you to meet my lovely sister, Abigail Satcher.”

  Recognition flashed in his eyes and a smile spread across his face. Wiping his palm on his pant leg, Kennedy stepped forward and held out his hand. “Call me Ken.”

  Oh. My. God. I recalled Ariel’s comment about Daddy buying her a new Ken. At the time, I had assumed her seven-year-old mind had taken a leave of absence, but now I realized I was mistaken. She wasn’t flaky. Rather, in her own little way, she had been telling me about him. About Ken Harper. Ken, just like the fucking doll.

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

  3

  I finally knew why “they” referred to it as stitches. I was laughing so hard, that it felt like I needed a few. My sides ached and I wrapped an arm around myself. “I’m sorry,” I wheezed, trying my best to get it together. “Ignore me. I’m so sorry.” I didn’t even know why I was laughing, except to say I may have been experiencing a temporary break with reality. It was the only explanation I had for the rampant giggles that had overtaken me.

  Concern for my well-being registered on Amy’s face as she carefully took the cake from me. “You alright there, Abs? Need some water or something?”

  Forcing myself to stand upright, I wiped the tears from my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, holding it until I was sure that I could speak clearly and levelly. Breathing out slowly, I cast a look at everyone. “I’m good. I just thought of something funny, and I’m sure you all know how that goes.” I waved a casual hand through the air. Nothing to see here, folks!

  Amy and Doug looked at me funny, as if I had lost my mind, but Ken….Oh, Ken was a different story. His crystal blue eyes held mine for far too long, and then the smallest smile began to creep across his face. Was that…was that appreciation I recognized? Call the Coast Guard ‘cause I was drowning! This had to be the first man in the history of ever to appreciate my special brand of quirkiness.

  Suddenly feeling on the spot, I turned to Amy and clapped my hands together. “Dinner smells great. Is there anything I can help out with?”

  Waving me off, she said, “No way. You brought the dessert. Go have a seat, all of you. Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

  I glanced over at Ken, who stood face-to-face with Doug as my brother-in-law attempted to pull him into a conversation about physics and dark matter. As a real life scientist, Doug was definitely the brains in the family. Ken’s eyes shifted to mine, catching me staring. Now, while I wouldn’t normally feel obliged to look away, this man flipped my Oh, shit switch and I darted to Amy’s side. “Here, I can carry that,” I said, grabbing the giant bowl of tossed salad.

  “Abs, seriously, I got it.” I felt Amy on my heels as I marched into the dining room. “What’s gotten into you?” she hissed.

  Glancing at her from across the table, I regarded her seriously. “Are you kidding me? Of all the guys you bring into this house, you choose him?” I d
idn’t mean it to come out so…disgusted. Or accusatory, but this surprise wasn’t as welcome as it should be.

  Her eyes grew wide and her head snapped back. “What are you talking about? I always invite a guy over for dinner. You know this.”

  Pointing at the kitchen doorway, I said furiously, “Not that kind of guy!”

  “What? Cute? Clean? Respectable?”

  “The cute part,” I clarified, incensed. “You lowered my expectations. Made me drop my guard. And now this. Look at me,” I cried, waving my hand at my bedraggled appearance. “I’m a mess.” I needed a shower and five minutes with a blow dryer.

  “Oh, be quiet,” Amy hushed me. “You look great. I don’t know what you’re so worried about anyway. It’s just another guy.” My jaw dropped and my eyes narrowed. I was prepared to take it to the floor with my sister, right then and there, but she didn’t stick around to duke it out.

  Whisking out of the room, I went after her…and bounced off Ken’s chest as he chose that moment to walk through the doorway.

  “Oh, excuse me.” Ken grasped my shoulders, preventing me from falling flat on my ass. Momentarily stunned, I held onto his outstretched arms—arms that I realized were very hard and very thick—and stared into his mesmerizing eyes, surrounded by fine lines. He must smile a lot, I mused. “Are you okay?”

  His question snapped me back into focus and I pulled away, shaking my head clear. I felt my cheeks heat as he continued to watch me, and looked down, pretending to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles from my cotton shirt. “Fine. Thanks for catching me.” I flashed him a politely nervous smile and brushed by.

  Amy was stacking plates when I caught up with her. I wanted to say so much. How dare you bring that man in here? What happened to the fat and balding men? Pastor Pits is going to have a field day with you at Sunday confessional. I settled on, “You could have called and warned me.”

  Amy shot me an annoyed look over her shoulder. “Why? I’ve never had to call you before.”

  I tilted my head and passed her a silent you know why look. “Have you looked at him? He’s…he’s…” I spluttered, searching for the right words to describe him. Thankfully, Ariel chose that moment to skip into the kitchen. I pointed at her. Or more specifically, I pointed at what she held in her hands. “He’s a Ken!”

  Holding a platter of thinly sliced roast beef in her arms, Amy turned to face me. Her eyebrows rose up a notch as her head tilted down toward her chest. “Yes,” she said slowly, “his name is Ken. Good job, Abs. Maybe we can work on your table manners next. Ariel,” she said, as she walked by, “could you help Aunt Abby carry in the rest of the food please?”

  And then she was gone. I met Ariel’s innocent blue gaze and released a heavy breath. “Well, kiddo, it looks like it’s just you and me now. What do you say, can you be my wingman?”

  Ariel held out her petite hands and accepted the bowl of steamed green beans, giving me a quizzical look. “What’s a wingman?”

  Scooping up a giant bowl of whipped sweet potatoes and the gravy boat, I began leading the way to the dining table. “Well, Ariel, a wingman has a very important job. Have you ever played good cop, bad cop before?” When she nodded her head, her red curls bouncing, I continued. “How would you like to be my bad cop?”

  ***

  “So, Ken,” I said with a soft smile. “Tell me about yourself.”

  I watched intently, analyzing Ken’s every move. He was a lefty. That meant artistic, athletic, quick to react, and good with his hands…I could work with that. And since I was watching his hands, I couldn’t help noticing a few extra details. Long, thick fingers, wide palms, calloused indicating that he was a hard worker. I wouldn’t mind experiencing a little more of what they had to offer up close and personal. But I was getting ahead of myself.

  Ken stabbed a piece of meat onto his fork, dragged it through a mound of potatoes, and then paused. “Is this the part where I give you my resume?” he joked. I fluttered my eyelashes at him, and he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m thirty-four, college dropout. No wife. No kids. I rent an apartment on the marina. I own my own car. And I work for TFD.”

  “You work for the fire department?” I asked, sitting back and studying him in open appreciation. Now I understood why he had the body he did. He was tall, lean, and muscular. Rugged.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his aquamarine eyes glinting with mischief. Instantly, my thighs went up in flames. I watched, my mouth watering, as he lifted his glass of red wine to his lips.

  I couldn’t help thinking that it should have been beer instead. A manly man like Ken didn’t fit the picture of the wine drinking man that I had in my head.

  “Why don’t you have kids?” Ariel piped up. “Don’t you like them?”

  I almost elbowed her to zip her lips, but she made a good point. A man his age, why didn’t he have kids?

  Ken’s eyes softened as he set his sights on Ariel, who sat beside me, her stumpy seven year old legs swinging freely beneath the table. “I like kids, but I’m still searching for the right lady to have them with.”

  Melt-ing.

  Ariel asked, “Like the prince searching for the princess?”

  Ken grinned. “Exactly.”

  “Which princess?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she shifted into bad cop mode.

  Ken’s yummy, full lips pursed, calling up all kinds of naughty fantasies that were best left off the dinner table. “Sleeping Beauty,” he declared.

  “Why?”

  “So I could kiss her awake.”

  I melted. Ken was saying all the right things, and I had melted for him. If I could sweep him up right now and whisk him away to my bed, I would do it in a heartbeat. I would pretend to be asleep and he could kiss me awake starting from my mouth and working his way all the way down. Pretending to be unaffected by his charms, I rested my elbow on the table and twisted my wine glass. “How long have you been with the department?”

  Ken’s alluring gaze trapped me once again, and he mirrored my pose. Except, when his wide shoulder pressed against the back of the chair, his long limbs hanging loose, he made it look sexy.

  “Why didn’t you ever get married?” Ariel inserted. “My mom said when a boy isn’t married he has commute issues.”

  “Ariel,” Amy scolded, reaching across the table to tap her fingers against the crisp white tablecloth.

  Amused, I leaned into her and whispered, “Commitment. He has commitment issues.”

  “Oh.” Ariel made a face, thinking hard. Her lips moved, forming the word, committing it to memory. When she finally got it, she beamed.

  For as proud of herself as she seemed to be, her parents were not. Doug looked angry, while Amy looked supremely embarrassed. Doug offered Ken a tight, apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Kids, you know?”

  Ken smiled politely, and nodded. “Don’t worry about it. I have a couple friends whose kids would blow your mind. It doesn’t bother me a bit.”

  A man who appreciated kids and knew his fairy tales. Consider me gone. In just a short conversation, Ken had managed to do what no man before him had: capture my interest and wet my panties. He was definitely someone I wanted to get to know better.

  A soft sigh escaped me. Ken’s eyes shot to my face, and I froze. He was so hot, so delicious, and so toothachingly sweet, I almost couldn’t stand it. And he seemed to realize that. With a playful wink, he dug into his meal, and the rest of the dinner passed with easy conversation, held mostly between Ken and Doug.

  When dinner was over, I helped Amy clear the table and excused myself while she busied herself serving up dessert. I know people who create things are supposed to be egomaniacs and I should have been present for the first bite so I could revel in the moans of ecstasy, but I never have been one for the spotlight.

  I loved baking. I enjoyed knowing what I made, made people happy. But I didn’t want to be heaped with praises. It just wasn’t my style. So, covertly tucking a small piece of cake into a napkin, I excused myself and headed o
utside to catch some fresh air.

  Leaning against the porch railing, I scanned the cul-de-sac Amy and Doug lived in while I munched on dessert. The neighborhood was full of cookie-cutter houses with long, narrow porches, garages standing at attention, and wide, green lawns. It was quiet, quaint, and utterly boring. I tried to picture myself living here, waking up to smiling neighbors and quiet streets, and shuddered.

  I couldn’t do it. I liked the clamor of the neighbors in the apartment above mine. I fell asleep to the muffled sounds of heavy metal from the apartment below. I didn’t know anyone in my building, either, and that suited me just fine.

  I must have lost track of time, because a while later, the front door opened and Ken stepped out. His jovial laughter preceded him as he stepped onto the swiftly darkening porch. “Thanks again for dinner. The roast was wonderful, Amy.”

  “I’ll give you a call and set up that appointment tomorrow morning,” Doug told him.

  “Sounds good.” I stood bent over the porch railing, my elbows holding me up, and watched over my shoulder as Ken lifted a hand to say goodbye. As he turned to shrug into his jacket, he caught sight of me and paused. “Hey, I thought you left.”

  I looked out at the burning skyline, and felt the air shift a moment before he leaned down, propping himself on his forearms not more than an inch or two from me. He was close enough that I could feel the heat from him tickling my skin. A shiver tracked down my spine. Good lord, the awareness I had of this man was incredible.

  “You didn’t have any cake,” Ken said, and I could feel his eyes on me.

  “I already know what it tastes like,” I returned, giving him a brief, rueful smile. “I baked it.”

  He nodded, his eyes darkening. “You’re right, you did. Best damn cake I ever had.”

  I couldn’t help the pleased smile that curled my lips. I also couldn’t force myself to look away. Ken held my gaze, and I felt my heart begin to race. “Thanks,” I said, embarrassingly breathless.