Sweet as Pie (Spring Hills Book 1), стр. 34

“I work in a restaurant, Einstein. I have all the food I need.”

“Don’t you want to get to know your future husband?” he says, then takes another bite with his sexy mouth, his lips in a tight smile while he chews. He’s clearly enjoying this banter.

“Nope.”

“Ah, good! At least you admit I am your future husband! You just don’t want to get to know me first.” He takes another bite of his pie, chews it thoughtfully, swallows it, and then adds, “I like a woman willing to take risks.”

I chuckle. How could I not?

The man is incorrigible.

I bite the inside of my lip and try not to let him see his effect on me. Then I set him straight. Again. “I can’t, Ryker. I have to bake ten pies tonight for the homeless shelter, and I have a list of things as long as my arm to get done, now that the hotel is happening.”

It’s almost two o’clock, and I turn around and start getting things ready to close up. I wonder where Jessica is. She promised she’d help me bake the pies tonight. As I’m sweeping behind the counter, I look over at him while he finishes his pie, and he’s busy using his phone.

OK, Aspen, you get ten seconds to imagine anything you want about Ryker, and then be done forever. GO!

I wonder what his muscular arms would feel like wrapped around me… Is he a good kisser? He’d have to be, look at that mouth, and his confidence. What does he taste like? I wonder if he’s attentive in b… Oops, time’s up!

“Aspen?” Mom calls from the kitchen, startling me from my reverie.

“Yeah, Mom?” I respond as I wipe down the counter and take Ryker’s empty plate. I look up at him, and he licks his lips, smacking them for fun. “Your pie is amazing,” he whispers.

My face heats up, and I swallow.

“… and juicy,” he adds.

Then, my knees wobble, and I hold on to the counter for stability as desire runs between my legs, while I try to keep a poker face.

“Jessica just called,” my mom continues, from the kitchen. “She’s sick and can’t come in to help you make pies tonight, and she’s sorry, but she promised to make it up to you.”

My shoulders slump. “Great,” I say and shake my head.

“Oh!” Mom adds, still yelling from the kitchen, “And she says it’s not because she’s hung over. It’s legit this time.” And Mom laughs. I don’t.

“Ahem,” Ryker says, and I look at him. “Do you happen to need my services?” he asks.

“Uh, no thank you. Once again,” I reply.

And before he can say another word, I walk back into the kitchen and start gathering the ingredients to make the pies. While I’m doing that, Mom and Popster finish closing up. They can see Ryker out. A few minutes later, I come out of the pantry carrying my bins of flour and sugar. I peak into the dining room. He’s still sitting at the counter, talking on his phone.

Crap. Well, maybe he’ll leave soon.

I busy myself gathering the rest of the ingredients and equipment, when I hear Mom call from the dining room as she opens the door, and the bells above it jingle. “Aspen, we’ll see you later!”

Before I can reply, I hear the door close and lock. I walk into the dining room and see Ryker is still there, and he ends his phone call. It’s not unusual for customers to hang out here after closing, but I know Mom, and she did this intentionally. The wench.

He stands up and takes off his coat. He lays it across the counter and rolls up his sleeves. My eyes fall to his sexy forearms, golden tan and corded with muscles. Then he says, “I’m all yours.”

Dammit, I could use his help. I stand there debating with myself.

Fine. What’s the harm?

I give him one more chance to go. “You really don’t have to help, Ryker, you can go.”

“What is it with you and accepting help from people?”

“I don’t have a problem accepting help from people. I have a problem accepting help from you.”

“Get used to it. I’m here to stay.”

I don’t know what that really means, but I decide he means for tonight. To help bake cherry pies.

I put my hands on my hips and shift my weight to one leg. “It would be nice not to have to do dishes.” I smirk, thinking, if that doesn’t turn him away, nothing will.

“Dishes it is!” he says, with the gusto of a sixteen-year-old landing his first job.

I shake my head, a small smile on my lips. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

As I walk into the kitchen, I say, “Follow me.”

“I plan to. Forever,” he whispers, and my heart spins like a figure skater going for the gold.

Dammit, Aspen. Stay the course.