I know by the daily tallies that business is increasing, but seeing the evidence makes it even more real.
Great. Business is picking up, and I’m thrilled. But are Gage and I on the camera feed or what?
Continuing my search, my heart starts racing when I don’t find any evidence of the two of us, when really there should be. The camera system cost a bundle when we initially purchased it, but the monthly maintenance fee isn’t that bad and worth the expense. Though maybe I should reassess. Who really needs a camera on the kitchen? Really the only people who are in there are me and Gina and our handful of employees.
Right. And me and Gage last night . . .
Sitting up straight, I go to the kitchen camera feed, my head pounding as I scroll back to approximately ten o’clock last night. I start to fast-forward again, slower this time, until a horrified gasp escapes me.
Gage, with his back to the camera and still clad in his suit, his big hands holding my arms above my head as he kisses me senseless.
Arousal drips through me, slow as honey, and I lean my forearm on the edge of my desk. My mouth goes dry as I watch us. I feel like a voyeur even though I know it’s me. And Gage. I can almost feel his lips on mine, our tongues touching, my hand buried in his hair—
“You have a phone call.” Gina peeks her head around my office door, and I squeal, clicking out of the camera feed so quick I swear I strained my finger.
“Holy crap, you scared me.” I rest my hand against my chest, feeling my rapidly beating heart. If she’d come inside, she probably would’ve seen the footage. How could I explain that?
And how the hell do I get rid of it?
“Didn’t mean to.” She lingers in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Who is it?” I ask, breathing deep, smoothing a shaky hand over my hair as I try to gain some composure. Watching the video of Gage and me together has me rattled. And I didn’t even really get to see anything.
I saw enough, though, to remember just how good he made me feel.
“I don’t know. I happened to pick it up when I went out to the front and he didn’t leave a name. Just asked for you.” Gina leaves without saying anything else, and I reach for the phone.
“Hello, this is Marina.” The person on the other end is silent for so long I wonder if they’ve hung up. “Hello?”
“Hey,” the word is breathed out, the voice undeniably familiar.
“Gage?” I tighten my fingers around the receiver, startled he’s calling me. I thought he’d hate me, after what I did to him. “Um . . .”
“Yeah, this is awkward. Listen, I talked to Archer about you.”
I’m stunned. Why would he still talk to Archer about me? “You did?”
“He’s willing to meet with you sometime next week. He said for you to call his direct number at the office and you two can set up a meeting. You want the number?” Gage asks, sounding efficient. Very business as usual.
Nothing at all like the man who held me in his arms last night, murmuring filthy words in my ear while he pushed inside me so deep I thought I might splinter in two.
“Yes, I want it. Let me grab a pen.” I find a notepad and pen and jot down the number Gage rattles off, his deep voice sending tingles sweeping over my suddenly too-hot skin.
Just hearing him talk on the phone and I’m a goner. This is so ridiculous.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, clutching the phone so tight I know my knuckles are white. “I—”
“Treated me like crap last night? Yes, you did.” He pauses, as if struggling with whether he should say something or not, and I silently urge him to go ahead and just say it. I don’t care what it is. I might get angry but . . . I doubt it.
Or the anger will just be rapidly chased by arousal, so hey, that works too, right?
The man has turned me into a sick, twisted woman.
I want to apologize to him for being such a bitch last night and kicking him out, but I just can’t find it in me to say I’m sorry. And that makes me feel like an even bigger bitch. “I panicked,” I say instead.
“Because we had sex in the kitchen of your bakery?”
Closing my eyes, I let my head fall to my desk, thumping my forehead on the thick pile of papers. “Yes,” I agree weakly.
“I know. I did too.”
He didn’t seem panicked. He’d been really sweet and aggressive and sexy and gentle. I’ve never had sex against a wall in my life. I’ve never been touched, kissed, f**ked—yes definitely never f**ked—like that ever. Ever, ever, ever.
So it blows my mind that something so crazy, so absolutely, terrifyingly wonderful, happened with a man I don’t really like.
You like him when he has his hands all over your body and his tongue in your mouth.
Lifting my head, I open my eyes and scowl, banishing the nasty little voice inside my head and focus instead on the man I’m talking to.
“I know you regret what happened, and I feel bad for pushing myself on you,” he explains. “So I thought I’d call up Archer and get this handled for you. It’s the least I can do.”
I don’t regret what happened. Well, maybe I do a little, but who regrets great sex? “You didn’t really push yourself on me. And thank you,” I whisper, feeling a little choked up because really, the man could’ve told me to f**k off and die and I wouldn’t have blamed him. I would’ve deserved it.
“You’re welcome.” He pauses, again as if he’s struggling with what to say next, and I get it. I feel the same way. “I’ll uh, see you around.”