“Not a chance. I definitely want to know why you need a man.” He put emphasis on the word definitely.

“I need a date. To my sister’s wedding,” I admitted. Going alone was bad enough I’d brought up the idea to Aunt Jean of buying a date at the auction to go with me. Which she’d taken to heart and done just that.

Bought me a bachelor. A good one, too. Thatcher Manning was all man. Six feet plus of muscled perfection. I’d never heard one bad thing about him—and gossip made its way into the bakery. And he was gorgeous. This close I could see the auburn stubble on his jaw. The way his full lips tipped up in amusement. The slight crook to his nose reminding me that while I thought he was perfect, he might not be after all. I wasn’t looking for perfection. Hell, I wasn’t even looking, but a fake date as hot as him? Worked for me.

Except I hated needing help. Growing up, whenever I asked for it, I got more of a lecture on doing things wrong than anything else, so I’d given up. Took care of myself. When I moved to The Bend, I’d decided to open Flour Power. My family—except for Aunt Jean—hadn’t thought a bakery was a good business idea and figured I’d fail. I’d done it on my own and with tons of hard work, it was doing well. Going solo worked for me. Except in this one instance.

“Why didn’t you bid on me, sweets?” he asked.

“Sweets?” I practically squeaked. I wasn’t a total dork, but I definitely wasn’t used to having a guy like Thatcher’s attentions very focused on me. I wasn’t a total dud when it came to guys and dating, but no one in the past—or most likely in the future—would melt my butter like he did.

And I knew a lot about butter.

Sitting this close, his voice was softer, although the deep rasp still raked over every nerve. As in every nerve in my nipples. They were hard points and I had to hope weren’t noticeable through my top.

He leaned in. I held my breath because… Thatcher. Manning. Was. Breathing. Me. In.

“You smell like vanilla.”

“A… a work thing,” I whispered, tilting my head to the side because his nose was hovering right above my neck. So of course I rambled. “I just delivered a wedding cake.”

“Mmm,” he murmured and I felt that in my clit. “I bet you taste just as good as that cake.”

“I… I—” What the heck did one say to that? Because all I could think about was where he wanted to taste me. My pussy clenched as I envisioned seeing his red hair between my thighs.

“Why didn’t you bid on me?” he asked again.