Oh my.

He was still turned on too.

And let’s just say that look on his face was nice.

“Hold that thought and, for fuck’s sake, whatever you do, hold that look,” he growled before he let me go. I teetered slightly but managed to stay standing, turn, and watch him stalk toward the door.

I walked the few feet to the island and put my hands on it as he unlocked the front door. Then my eyes dropped.

On the corner of my island was a white, ceramic pedestal cake stand with glass dome. Sweeping lines. Simple and elegant. It cost a fortune and I didn’t care. I baked cakes. I needed fabulous cake stands. At that moment in my life, I owned seven of them (in my home, at the bakery I had tons more). All of them fantastic, most of them expensive. They rotated to the top spot on my island depending on my mood.

In the one now were six cupcakes with mountainous swirls of frosting, glittering, edible fairy dust, and pastel confetti. Two had mint green frosting, two had pale pink, two baby blue.

This meant Brock had a cupcake while I was saying good-bye to Martha, before I made it to the kitchen when he was eating his second one.

I felt my face go soft as I realized I missed that too. He had a great body, the kind of body that no matter what age, but especially at forty-five, you worked on. He didn’t shy away from his food, his beer, or his bourbon. He lived his life like he appreciated it. But he still took care of himself. I’d phoned him enough times when he told me he was at the gym or just got back from a run to know this was true.

But he had a weakness for my cupcakes. And my cake cakes. And my cookies. In fact, anything that came out of my oven, he made no bones about liking it, liking it more than anything else that I’d noticed he liked and he didn’t do this by handing me flowery compliments. He did this by consuming them with relish.

And in that moment, I found I loved that.

On that thought, I heard Brock snarl, “You have got to be shitting me,” and my head snapped up.

“Who are you?”

At the sound of the familiar voice asking that question, my hands slid down the counter and curled tight around the edge as my chest compressed so deep it felt like I was being crushed.

Damian.