Sweet Thing / Make Me Want

CHAPTER TEN

Tanner

I KNEW THE second I opened my eyes she was gone.

I should’ve been ecstatic. I never let women stay over. In fact, I rarely brought women here. Over the years I’d been in Sydney I could count the number of dates I’d brought to my penthouse on one hand.

Then again, Abby hadn’t been a date.

She’d been...what? A one-night stand? A chance hook-up? A goddamn mistake? Technically, all of the above, which begged the question: Why the hell did I feel so disgruntled to find her gone?

That was another thing. I’d slept better last night than I had in years. Usually I liked the bed all to myself, hated having anyone encroach on my personal space. Yet after the fifth time we’d fucked she’d spooned me and I’d liked it, to the point I’d fallen into a deep slumber, so deep I hadn’t heard her leave.

Shit. Why did she have to sneak out of here like some damn fugitive?

Peeved, I pushed out of bed and headed for the shower. Alone, when I’d had grand plans for the two of us in my expansive double shower complete with rain head and angled jets. Lots of possibilities with those jets. Especially with how responsive she’d been... I could’ve turned her to face the back wall, where she would’ve braced. I could’ve bent her forward. Adjusted the jets to hit her sweet spot. Taken her from behind...

Swearing, I turned the taps to cold. Ice cold. Jerking off wouldn’t ease the desire pounding through my veins like the insistent beat of a drum. Burying myself in Abby would, but that wasn’t an option. Not now. Probably not ever again.

Last night had been an aberration. It had to be.

I’d vowed to not touch Remy’s protégé but that had shot to shit when she’d come on to me like an eager virgin. I should’ve had stronger willpower. I hadn’t. Not getting laid for months had short-circuited my brain. Both the big and little one.

A lousy excuse because I could’ve stopped her. I should’ve stopped her. But I hadn’t, and now I had to live with the consequences.

Namely seeing her every day at work and keeping my hands off her.

I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew we couldn’t have a repeat. That would be a disaster of monumental proportions.

Women like Abby didn’t do one-night stands. They did romance and bouquets and all that crap, no matter how much they protested to the contrary. Especially if she hadn’t been with a guy in a year.

That blew me away. How could a beautiful woman who’d come out of a shitty marriage not have wanted to purge her past? Then again, maybe her ex had done such a number on her that she’d sworn off men for a while? Whatever the reason, I’d been the beneficiary, because the way she’d reacted to my every touch had blown my mind.

That was what had me rattled the most. The flashbacks of what we’d done. Her on her front, me entering her from behind. Her with her legs spread, me eating her out. Her riding me like a cowgirl. Her clawing my back and biting my shoulder and tentatively licking my cock like it was the best damn popsicle she’d ever tasted.

‘Fuck,’ I muttered, towelling off and dressing in record time.

I couldn’t go to the patisserie, not today. Couldn’t face her. Not without my every erotic thought replaying like an X-rated flick on constant repeat.

She’d know. Then where would we be?

If my willpower had been at an all-time low last night, now that I knew how combustible we were between the sheets, would I be able to resist? Doubtful. Which meant I needed time and space between us to gain perspective.

That meant staying away from Le Miel.

I grabbed a bottled banana smoothie from the fridge and headed out. There’d been a shitload of work I could’ve done at Embue last night before I got distracted. In the best possible way. The way she’d come on to me in my private room...

Damn, I better hole away in my office and stay clear of that room. Having wavering willpower was one thing. Deliberately putting myself into a fraught situation another.

I’d try to do the right thing where Abby was concerned but I wasn’t a saint, and I knew that keeping her at arm’s length until Remy got back on his feet would slowly but surely kill me.

I arrived at Embue, parked in the private underground spot reserved for me and entered the club. All these years later it never failed to give me a thrill that I owned this place. That it flourished. That it continued to grow.

Despite dear old Dad’s many dire predictions I’d never amount to anything.

How many times had I listened to his snide comments, berating me, battering my self-esteem, while he deliberately praised Remy when he wasn’t around, knowing it would make me feel like shit? How many times had he served me the crusts off the fresh bread loaf while he got the thickest slices? How many times had he given me a shrivelled chicken wing while he ate the juicy breast?

After Mum died, on the rare occasions Remy was home he thought Dad was a mean prick too, but he’d excused his mood swings and anger as grief. But I knew better because Dad saved his own special brand of vitriol for me alone.

Even before Mum had died, I’d felt unworthy. That I was not good enough. That I couldn’t do anything right. He treated me like a second-class citizen but only when Mum and Remy couldn’t see.

I didn’t get it. Had always thought it was my fault, some inherent flaw only Dad could see. Until the day Mum died and I overheard the final argument that drove her to her death. The day the old bastard revealed the truth behind his hatred and I’d vowed to never let his insults or shoddy treatment hurt me ever again.

Because it wasn’t about me. It was about him. His ridiculous hang-ups and assumptions that had driven Mum to her death and driven me to be nothing like him.

I’d rejoiced the day the prick had died. I’d attended his funeral out of respect for my brother. Remy never understood my latent hatred of our father, and I’d never told him the truth. Better that one of us had good memories rather than none.

Then again, he’d been five years older than me and already holding down a part-time pastry chef apprenticeship while juggling school at fifteen, so he hadn’t been around to witness Dad’s ritualistic, systemic torture of me. The son he blamed for his entire miserable life.

It meant nothing now. He couldn’t hurt me any more. But every time I strode through one of my clubs I saluted him for giving me the drive, the ambition, to be so much better than he ever gave me credit for.

‘Hey, Tanner, didn’t expect to see you today.’ Hudson Watt, my manager and oldest friend, slapped me on the back as I entered the bar area. ‘Aren’t you meant to be making pastries or croissants or some other fancy-schmancy shit?’

‘Had a stack of stuff I wanted to check up on last night but didn’t get a chance so thought I’d spend the day here.’

Hudson grinned, the same smug grin he’d given me in high school when I’d tried to weasel out of a history assignment by devising an elaborate lie and he’d seen right through me.

‘Bit busy last night, huh?’ Hudson filled a glass with water and added a lime twist before sliding it along the bar towards me. ‘Here. You’re probably dehydrated after swapping spit with that hot blonde you had holed away in your private VIP room.’

‘What are you, twelve?’ I downed the water anyway. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Come on, man, don’t spin me some line.’ Hudson slugged me on the arm. ‘I’ve seen you sweet-talk more girls out of their panties than the number of mojitos I’ve served. And considering I’ve worked here for ten years and filled in on many occasions, that’s a shitload of mojitos.’

I chuckled. ‘I was giving Abby the grand tour, then I took her home.’

‘Her home or yours?’

I could’ve fobbed Hudson off but the guy was right. We’d been friends for a long time. If anyone knew me, faults and all, he did.

‘Mine.’ I pinched the bridge of my nose to ease some of the tension building behind my eyes. ‘Should never have happened.’

Hudson’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you express post-coital regret.’

‘Bullshit. Remember that time we double-dated those bogan twins from Bundaberg? Disastrous.’

Hudson laughed. ‘Don’t change the subject. From what I saw, this Abby chick had class stamped all over her. Too cool between the sheets, huh?’

Too hot, more like it. Scorching, soul-searing hot. The type of woman who got inside a guy’s head and wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard I tried. And I’d tried. Boy, had I tried. But she was there, every time I allowed my attention to wander for a moment. Front and centre. Naked. Wanton. Willing.

Fuck.

‘Abby’s Remy’s protégé and I shouldn’t have gone there.’

‘Why not?’ Hudson’s grin turned wicked. ‘From the way I saw her draped all over you as you left this place as fast as humanly possible, she was seriously into you.’

‘Still too complicated,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Anyway, what’s going on with you?’

‘You don’t get off that easy.’ Hudson glanced at his watch. ‘I was just heading down to Jim’s for a quick workout before coming back here to do the books. Want to join me so I can grill you some more?’

‘You’re still working out at Jim’s?’

That place had saved my life as a kid. I’d been fourteen when Hudson had taken me to the run-down gym on the outskirts of Kings Cross, where kids could box for recreation, sport or just to vent their frustration.

I’d done a lot of the latter.

When I couldn’t tell anyone about Dad’s crappy treatment at home, I’d take it out at Jim’s. First on a punching bag, later in sparring matches with other teens. It had been cathartic, being able to physically vent in a safe place, and I hadn’t been back in over a decade.

‘Yeah, no better place to spar.’ Hudson jabbed a left hook in my direction and feigned a dodge to the right. ‘Come on, will do you good. You’ve drifted off about five times in the last few minutes and that means you’ve got it bad for this new chick.’

If he only knew. Being with Abby hadn’t dampened my attraction to her. If anything it had intensified, and that wasn’t a good thing. ‘Don’t you ever stop with the bullshit?’

Hudson chuckled and this time jabbed me on the arm for real. ‘Let’s go, champ. It’ll be my pleasure to whip your ass.’

‘Dream on, dickhead.’

An hour later, Hudson had done exactly that but I felt so much better for the workout and being at Jim’s had a lot to do with my lift in mood.

Walking into Jim’s was like coming home. The pungent smell of sweat warred with liniment. Four boxing rings flooded with natural light from rows of windows set high in the walls. Free weights and punching bags in the far corner, with an old-fashioned juice bar next to it.

There weren’t many guys around this morning. Probably all at work. Where I should be, rather than running from my present into the past.

‘You’re rusty,’ Hudson said, draping a towel around his neck and handing me one.

‘And you’re soft in the middle,’ I said, socking a punch into his solar plexus. He dodged.

‘Bet that’s not what Abby says to you.’

This time, I aimed harder and he sidestepped easily, laughing so loud a trainer nearby grinned.

‘Seriously, dude, if you like her this much, do something about it.’

I hated the flare of hope his words elicited. ‘Like what, Einstein?’

‘Damned if I know. Do I look like an expert on women?’

‘Good point.’ I wiped the sweat off my face and towelled my torso. ‘Seeing anyone?’

‘Nah. Between managing the bar and doing part-time work at the theatre, I don’t have much time left for a relationship.’

‘Who said anything about the R word?’

He snorted. ‘I’m not like you. I like to date women for longer than five hours.’

‘I’ll have you know Abby stayed the night.’

The second the retort popped out I wished I could take it back.

‘And there you go, dude. Proof that she’s not like the rest.’

‘Back off, bozo.’ I advanced on him in mock anger so he’d do just that.

Predictably, Hudson just stood there like the big, blond lug he’d always been. Loyal to a fault. The kind of mate I could depend on.

‘Make me, squirt.’

Considering I towered over him by three inches, it was a hollow taunt, one he’d made many times as a kid, and we laughed.

‘Let’s get back to the club and you can show me proof you haven’t been embezzling me out of a fortune.’ I tugged on the end of a glove lace with my teeth, thinking I should do this more often.

Boxing worked off frustration of all varieties, including sexual, like nothing else could.

‘Sounds like a plan.’ As Hudson took off his gloves and helped me with mine, I knew he wanted to say more but was holding back.

‘What’s up?’

‘It’s this place.’ Hudson gestured around. ‘I don’t get back here as often as I like but whenever I do it’s like the past crashes over me and I wonder why I put myself through it.’

That was another thing that had bonded us, our crappy childhoods. His father had made mine look like a frigging saint.

‘Cut the heartstring crap, bozo, and let’s get back to work.’

Hudson blinked rapidly, as if coming back from a place of bad memories, before his signature grin made me sigh in relief. ‘After you, big guy.’

As we traded banter while changing, swapping the usual crap guys did, I knew I’d done the right thing in taking time away from the patisserie and Abby today.

But I couldn’t play chicken for ever, and come tomorrow I’d be back there, wishing I hadn’t complicated matters and wanting her more than ever.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Abby

AFTER MAKAYLA AND I locked up I’d intended on taking a hot bath and having an early night. But as I entered the small one-room apartment over the patisserie, it didn’t offer the comfort it usually did.

I’d never forget the first time Remy brought me up here and said I could stay as long as I liked. That had been over a year ago, the day I’d walked out on Bardley and into Le Miel. In search of comfort via the delicious pastries Remy made, I’d frequented the patisserie often during my marriage, using it as my go-to place to escape home. I’d spent many afternoons sitting at the small table near the counter, sipping at a latte and trying to stop at only one croissant while studying.

Remy would come out from the kitchen occasionally and he’d always stop to chat. As kind-hearted and generous with his time as he was with his magnificent pastries.

I’d never plucked up the courage to tell him that I also enjoyed baking and that to me he had my dream job. Instead, when he asked, I pretended to wax lyrical about my business degree and how happy I was juggling university with marriage.

If he saw through my brittle smile, he never said; that was the kind of man he was. And that fateful day when I’d found my backbone and had the guts to walk away from Bardley, he still hadn’t prodded for information despite me coming in here like I had a pack of wolves on my tail.

On impulse, I’d asked him for a job and once he’d heard my sob story he’d offered me the apartment too.

I’d taken one look at the cosy, light-filled space and fallen in love. Pockmarked mahogany floorboards covered in rugs in the most vibrant peacock blues and crimsons, a faded chintz sofa and chairs, a bookcase overflowing with classics and a kitchenette stocked with everything I’d need to whip up healthy meals for one.

The small bedroom and bathroom had been basic but I hadn’t cared. I’d never lived on my own, moving straight from my parents’ Double Bay mansion into Bardley’s Vaucluse monstrosity gifted to him by his folks when we married. Having the freedom to do whatever I liked in my own space had been heady stuff for a girl like me.

So I’d moved in with the few suitcases I’d packed when I’d walked away from my marriage, had paid Remy six months’ rent in advance—a pittance, really, considering the rental prices in this upmarket part of town—and settled into a routine.

Living the life I wanted.

But today, restlessness plagued me and after I’d done a quick circuit or ten of the apartment I decided to go for a drive. Another thing I liked doing that I’d never had much of a chance to do in my past: driving for leisure.

Dad had a chauffeur that had dropped me at school and picked me up, and Bardley roared around in his sports car when he wasn’t getting a private car to ferry him around. My narrow-minded husband had never understood my love of driving, had mocked me endlessly for wanting to drive out of the city on a weekend with no destination in my mind.

So I’d rarely done it; hadn’t been worth the angst. Besides, it had been difficult to squirrel away any me-time when Bardley demanded I keep up with his hectic social schedule and attend every boring polo party/sailing regatta/race carnival as his arm candy.