All for You (Sweetbriar Cove Book 2) Page 15

  Summer laughed, glad to lighten the mood. “It is pretty damn dazzling,” she agreed. “But that’s what’s confusing me. One minute we’re connecting, and it’s like we’re so close. But out of the bedroom . . .”

  And the garden. And the kitchen floor . . .

  She shook her head. “Anyway, it’ll be fine. Like I said: adjustment period.” She paused by the newsstand and searched the shelves for the Cape Cod Gazette. “Do you see it? Eliza said my article should be running today, in time for the holiday weekend.”

  “I’m glad you guys had a chance to talk. She’s great, isn’t she?”

  Summer nodded. “I was kind of nervous, and she asked all kinds of questions, but I think it went OK.” It had been a relief to distract herself from all the Grayson questions and focus on the bakery again. Eliza had happily tasted her éclairs and toured the whole space, promising to be first in line for the opening.

  “Here.” Poppy pulled down a copy. “You made the front page!”

  “Really?” Summer gulped. There she was, beaming out from behind the counter with a spread of delicious cakes she’d baked just for the photo shoot. “ ‘Sweetbriar’s New Sweet Treats.’ ”

  She felt a shiver of excitement. “Oh my god, it’s real!”

  “You look great.” Poppy flipped the pages. “You’re number one on their holiday weekend to-do list. Big-city chef Summer Bloom is no stranger to the spotlight,” she started reading aloud. “She’s been turning out sweet treats at some of New York’s finest restaurants, and is now bringing her adventurous, irresistible baking to Sweetbriar Cove. We sat down over a slice of her famous peach cake to talk about making the move—and . . .” Poppy stopped.

  “And what?” Summer asked.

  “And . . . what it’s like growing up as TV cooking royalty.”

  “Oh.” Summer deflated.

  Poppy gave her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted this to just be about you, and not your mom.”

  “No, it’s OK.” She sighed, scanning the rest of the article—which was as much about Eve’s many successes as it was her own baking. “I mean, I get it. She’s a star. Of course they’re going to write about that. I just . . .”

  Summer paused. She’d just wanted this to be about her. After all her hard work, it still stung to see her mom’s name in print right beside hers, as if that was the only reason she’d made a success of things. But she didn’t even need to say it out loud; Poppy knew exactly what she was thinking and gave her a big hug.

  “Look on the bright side, this is a rave review,” Poppy pointed out. “You should have people lining up to visit.”

  “I’ll settle for no tumbleweeds,” Summer said, crossing her fingers. “Otherwise it’s you and me eating three dozen gingersnap cookies.”

  “Tempting, but I promise we won’t have to,” Poppy said, determined. “You’re going to knock this one out of the park.”

  “What? A sports metaphor?” Summer teased. “Cooper really has gotten to you.”

  Poppy laughed. “He gets his baseball games, I get my Hallmark movies. It’s a deal.”

  See, that was compromise. Instead, she was waiting for Grayson’s call that he was done at the bookshop and could fit her into his schedule.

  Her emotions must have shown, because Poppy suddenly brightened. “Hey, I’ve an idea, why don’t you guys come over for dinner with me and Cooper tonight, like a double-date?

  “I don’t know . . .” Summer said slowly. “He’s pretty private.”

  “But they’re friends. Who knows, maybe he’ll relax more in a group?” Poppy suggested. “It’ll be fun.”

  Summer thought about it. They’d been off on their own all this time, and she was curious to see Grayson with his friends. Plus, maybe if he saw how happy Cooper and Poppy were, he’d realize that acting like a real couple wasn’t the end of the world. “OK, thanks. I’ll go by the bookshop now and ask him. Want me to bring dessert?”

  “Umm, yes!” Poppy grinned. “When have I ever said no to that?!”

  She left Poppy at the coffee shop working on her next novel, and strolled to the bookstore to drop in on Grayson. She should be back in her kitchen, preparing for the soft open, but she couldn’t resist ducking up the leafy pathway and pushing the door open. She found the front room empty—save a hundred books, piled haphazardly on the floor.

  “Hello?” she called. “Grayson?”

  He materialized from one of the back rooms, with his arms full of books and a puzzled expression on his face. “Summer? Did we have plans?”

  “No.” She carefully navigated her way around the stacks and reached up to kiss him hello. “I was just with Poppy and thought I’d drop by and say hello. What is all of this?” she asked, looking around.

  “New catalog system,” Grayson replied, going to shelve the books he had in his hands. “It was time for a change.”

  Summer watched him work, his shoulder muscles rippling through the thin cotton of his shirt. And even though he’d been naked beneath her not even seven hours ago, she felt that champagne fizz of desire snake through her system again.

  “So what’s the new plan here?” she asked, stepping closer. She ran her hands over his shoulders from behind, loving the feel of him, hot beneath his clothes. “Are you trying to magic order from chaos, as usual?”

  “Something like that.” Grayson paused, still facing the bookcase, and Summer let her hands wander around to his front. She felt his muscles tense beneath her touch, and she savored the reaction. His voice may stay steady, but he couldn’t deny she affected him, not when his body told her everything she needed to know.

  She traced lower, drawing light circles on his abs until Grayson caught her hands and turned. “Not here,” he said, but she could see the desire in his eyes.

  “Nobody’s around . . .” Summer looked up at him teasingly. She bit her lip and gave him a smile, and Grayson groaned softly.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing at all.” She grinned, loving how she could raise his temperature. If this was the only way to knock him off balance, then she’d take it—every last flirty moment. “Of course, we could change that any time you like . . .”

  Grayson’s eyes dropped to her lips. “I’m working.”

  “I can see that.” Summer dropped his hands. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Not so fast.”

  Before she could leave, Grayson reached and caught her back against his body. The spark ignited in her bloodstream, hot and bold at his touch. “I need a goodbye kiss,” he murmured, eyes hungry on hers.

  “Take it,” she whispered back.

  Take me.

  Grayson kissed her, light and slow, but that wasn’t enough. Summer reached up, looping her arms around his neck and pressing closer. It was like fuel to the fire. In an instant, Grayson had her pushed up against the bookcase, covering every inch of her body with the hard, lean planes of his own.

  Yes…

  Summer melted into him, loving the feel of his mouth, hot and demanding, as he eased her lips apart and slid his tongue deep inside. His hands roved over her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

  She wanted him. God, she wanted him. This was when it was all so simple: just hands and mouths and bodies pressed, tight with wanting. There was no room for insecurity and doubt, not with Grayson hard against her and his body trembling to her touch. He nudged her thighs open, and she could feel how much he wanted her, his hand sliding around to cup her breast, teasing her through the thin fabric of her shirt as his mouth demanded more.

  She gave it. She gave it all. Head spinning, legs weak with desire. The kiss raged on. She tugged his shirt free from his jeans and slid her hands up underneath, skin to skin, as he tore from her lips and dipped his head, kissing down the sensitive column of her neck and teasing at her collarbone, making her moan out loud.

  “Ahem,” an amused voice came from the doorway.

  Grayson went rigid against her. Summer’s eyes snapped out. D
ebra was watching them with a smirk. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m looking for those crime books you said you had in.”

  “Back room.” Grayson’s voice came out ragged. He stepped back from Summer, but Debra just chuckled.

  “Oh, don’t go stopping on my account. I’ll see to it myself.” She winked, then ducked out.

  There was silence.

  Grayson looked red-faced. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  Summer laughed. “It could have been worse.” She tugged her dress back in place, and gave Grayson a smile. “Believe me, it was about to get a lot worse. Or better, from where I’m standing.” She reached for him again to smooth his shirt down, but Grayson flinched back.

  “I told you I was working.”

  “Yes . . . and I also said I would leave you be,” Summer answered slowly. “You’re the one who wanted more.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t have.” Grayson’s face was shadowed. “You know what? It’s fine. I’ll call you later.” He turned away and picked up a stack of books again and began shelving them with sharp, abrupt movements.

  She was clearly dismissed.

  Summer was stunned. “I . . .” She tried to find the words, but it was hard making sense of this. “It’s just Debra, it’s not a big deal. She’s probably seen far worse.”

  “Well, not from me.” Grayson was still tight-lipped. “I told you, I don’t like everyone knowing my business.”

  Summer took a deep breath, biting back her protest. “Fine. I understand. Look, I only came to ask if you want to get dinner with Poppy and Cooper tonight. They invited us over, grilling and beers. It should be fun,” she added, even though “fun” looked to be the furthest thing from Grayson’s mind.

  “Works for me,” he said with a brief nod. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “OK. See you then.”

  Summer paused another moment. She still wasn’t sure what just happened, but it wasn’t anything good. Adjustment period, she reminded herself. Give him time. So despite every instinct telling her to stay and try to talk it out, she forced herself to walk slowly to the door. She still half-hoped Grayson would stop her—call her back and apologize for his mood, and pick up that epic kiss where they’d left off. But he kept shelving those books, even when the bell above the door sounded her exit.

  Summer stepped out into the sunshine, and he stayed inside, alone.

  She shook her head and despaired. What was going on in that man’s mind?

  17

  Grayson sat in his empty bookshop, the same way he always did at 4 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. But instead of relaxing, content in his peaceful retreat, he was tapping his foot impatiently against the desk leg, watching the clock tick, too slow, to the end of the day.

  It was quiet. Too quiet. He usually loved the calm, but today, he found himself wishing for some distraction—an idle browser, needing recommendations, or even some kids for him to scowl at and scold—anything to keep his mind off the woman he was trying so hard not to think about.

  Grayson got to his feet, pacing restlessly. What was he doing? Counting down the hours until he saw Summer again, compulsively checking his phone in case she’d called . . . He was a grown man, but he felt like a boy all over again, aching for her touch like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

  It was crazy. Making out like a teenager up against the stacks. Blowing off work and making a public spectacle of himself. He needed to get this thing under control, and fast. Tonight was a start, at least: dinner with Coop and Poppy. That was safe ground. They would grill some steaks, drink a couple of beers like adults, and make civilized conversation—instead of Grayson pushing Summer up against the wall the moment he laid eyes on her and ravishing her the way he craved.

  God, it was an addiction. The taste of her, the feel of her body pressed beneath him. The way she laughed, curled up in the sheets late at night. And that look in her eyes, it pulled him under every time. Sweet and reckless, wild and free. He would travel to the ends of the earth to have her look at him like that—which meant having her just a couple of miles away was pure torment, all day long. It had been hell that week, trying to keep to his normal routine with her to tempt him astray. Every morning he had to drag himself out of bed with super-human strength, pounding those miles on his morning run to try and forget the thought of her, naked back in bed. And as for the bookshop . . . He looked around, scolding himself for the mess. The usually-ordered haven had fallen into disarray with his attentions elsewhere. Books shelved in the wrong place, left in stacks on the floor by idle browsers—and his grand re-catalogue plans had only made it worse.

  He should have known this would happen. A butterfly flaps its wings and half-way around the world, a tornado whirls to life. So was it any wonder that a beautiful woman’s smile could send ripples of disturbance through his world?

  Except she wasn’t just any woman.

  Grayson pushed the thought aside and got to work, determined. This couldn’t last, he decided, as he pulled another shelf of history books down to re-shelve it from scratch. He needed to figure out how to handle this whole situation. Clear his head, establish some boundaries. It was just like his work on the orchard, or even this bookshop here: you had to carefully nudge things towards order, but with a little planning and discipline, things fell back into place again.

  But there was still only one place he wanted Summer falling. Into his arms—or better yet, his bed.

  Grayson let out a groan of frustration, and let the books fall back into a heap on the ground. He’d never had this problem with the women he’d dated before, but they had always been happy to keep things casual: a dinner here, a drinks date there. It was different with Summer. He was different with her. The moment she left, he wanted her back again, and when he was with her . . . all pretense at self-control flew right out the window.

  The bell over the door rang, and Grayson made his way back out front. “Hank,” he said, surprised. “What brings you out here?”

  Hank Paulson was more at home at the hardware store than around books. He read the local paper cover to cover and declared that was his lot. And sure enough, he looked out of place, gingerly peering at a stack of children’s books.

  “I didn’t hear from you about the paraffin stove,” Hank said. “I’ve got the thing in my truck, if you’re still going.”

  Camping. Of course. Grayson went every year without fail, Memorial Day weekend, to escape the crowds. “Thanks,” he said hurriedly. “Appreciate it. Sorry I didn’t stop by sooner.”

  “No problem. I would have forgotten too, except Maura has it in her calendar. I swear, that woman has everything in there,” he tutted affectionately. “November 2, change the basement light bulb. May 5, lasagna for dinner.”

  “Sounds like she keeps you in check.”

  Grayson followed Hank out front and transferred the camping stove to the back of his Jeep. “Great weather forecast,” Hank said amiably. “Where are you heading this time?”

  “I don’t know . . .” Grayson usually planned his trip way in advance, checking hiking logs and the national park terrain, but this year, it had been the furthest thing from his mind. “Up to Vermont, in the Green Mountain area, maybe? I went a couple of years back, always meant to go deeper into the lakes.”

  “Well, you have a good time. Watch out for the grizzlies.”

  Grayson chuckled. Hank insisted their national parks were stock full of bears, and warned him every year, but every year, he barely saw a buck or two. “Will do.”

  He slammed the trunk shut, feeling better already. A trip to clear his head was exactly what he needed. Back to nature, away from Sweetbriar—and the storm of unwelcome emotions threatening to get the better of him. With any luck, he’d return refreshed, calm, and with some idea how to keep this chaos contained.

  But the thought barely lasted another couple of hours—until he arrived on Summer’s step to pick her up for dinner. “Hello?” he called, stepping through the open front door
.

  “Just a sec!” she called, racing barefoot downstairs, with damp hair already curling in the evening heat. “I’ve got muffins in the oven.” Summer paused, breathlessly reaching up on her tiptoes to press a hot, sweet kiss to his lips. “Be right back!”

  She hurried back to the kitchen, leaving Grayson staring after her with his heart pounding.

  How did she do that to a man?

  He took a breath and looked around. The space had been transformed, and now it was ready for business, with a long counter up front and plenty of space behind a gleaming glass display. Racks on the wall awaited breads, and a chalkboard menu was behind the counter, with Summer’s careful script spelling out the different treats that would soon be on offer.

  “It looks great,” he said when she re-emerged. “Ready for business.”

  “Fingers crossed.” Summer scooped her hair up into a ponytail and grabbed a bakery box from the counter. She flashed him a smile that could stop traffic—or a man’s pulse. “Ready?”

  Grayson swallowed. He wasn’t, not at all. Not for this tempest building between them, raging out of control.

  “Yes,” he lied. “Let’s go.”

  They drove the beach road to the coast, and Summer tried to relax. She’d spent all afternoon prepping for the soft open, and now the bakery was ready and her part-time employees were due at 7 a.m. the next day, but still, she had a night of baking ahead of her.

  “Long day?” Grayson asked, looking over.

  “Is it that obvious?” Summer winced. There were some things concealer just couldn’t cover. “Sorry, I’ve just been racing around trying to get everything together for tomorrow. Poppy better have some good, strong coffee waiting.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” Grayson paused at the light, and leaned over. He kissed her, slow and sweet, as if they had all the time in the world on the empty back road. Summer melted into him, savoring the taste of his mouth and the feel of his beard, soft against her hand.