Chapter Sixteen

The bakery was quiet, the ovens cooled, the front lights dimmed. Kaelani sat at the desk in the small office tucked in the back, receipts and order slips spread out before her. The calculator clicked beneath her fingers, but the numbers blurred on the page, her mind circling elsewhere no matter how hard she tried to focus.

The nerve of him—walking into her bakery, into her space—with that perfect face, like he owned the air she breathed. Those stupid amber eyes of his, burning like molten honey.

And his stupid jaw. Sharp enough to cut glass, set in permanent command, like the world was built to obey him. And his body—broad shoulders stuffed into that stupid plain white tee, muscles flexing like a damn Greek statue that had stepped out of marble just to annoy her.

And his stupid hair. That sandy-colored mess that always managed to fall just right, like the universe itself made sure every strand framed his flawless face.

And then to sit there, with all that perfection, telling her what to do with her body? As if his stupid muscles and stupid face somehow gave him the authority to decide her life.

Did he even know what those suppressants did to a woman’s body? The mood swings, the bone-deep fatigue, the headaches that felt like your skull was cracking in two? Probably not. And even if he did—why the hell would he care?

The pen clattered from Kaelani’s hand to the desk, her jaw tight, the rant in her head looping like a broken record.

The office door creaked open. Tessa leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a careful look on her face. “I’m about to head out. Anything else you need me to do before I go?”

Kaelani shook her head, rubbing her temples. “No. Go on home. I’m almost finished here.”

Tessa hesitated, biting her lip. “You’ve been quiet all day. I didn’t want to pry, but…” She shifted, eyes glinting with mischief. “Am I allowed to ask what Mr. Fancy Pants wanted?”

A sigh broke from Kaelani, heavy and sharp. “I guess to tie up loose ends. Make sure I didn’t get knocked up.” She dropped her gaze to the scattered slips on the desk, her voice flattening. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

For a long beat, Tessa just stared at her, then shook her head with a little scoff. “For what it’s worth, any man who can’t see what’s right in front of him isn’t just blind—he’s brain-dead. Because if I were him, I’d be crawling across broken glass just to earn the honor of breathing the same air as you.”

Kaelani huffed, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, a slight sting rising behind her eyes. “Thanks, Tess.”

“See you in the morning,” Tessa said, softer now, before she slipped out and left Kaelani alone with the echo of her words.

—-

Miles away, the packhouse had gone still, its corridors dark, its voices silenced for the night. Yet Julian’s office still burned with lamplight, papers stacked neatly across his desk. Numbers bled together on the reports, his eyes scanning columns he wasn’t truly reading.

He had come here to work, to impose order where he could, but her voice clung like smoke in his head. ‘None of your concern,’ she said. The words cut sharper than he’d expected, replaying every time his gaze passed a line of ink.

Julian leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning beneath him. His hand pressed against his jaw, dragging down over his mouth. The clock ticked, the silence stretched. His thoughts circled endlessly.

The page in front of him doubled, then blurred completely. His lids grew heavy despite his will, the glow of the desk lamp hazing into gold. His shoulders sank into the chair, exhaustion prying past his defenses.

And when his eyes finally closed, it wasn’t columns or numbers that followed him into sleep.

It was her.

Julian blinked, disoriented. The soft glow of lamplight was gone, replaced by the golden warmth of another place entirely. The scent of sugar, spice and everything fucking nice filled the air, the faint hum of ovens still warm.

Her bakery.

He frowned, confusion flickering. He didn’t remember leaving his office, let alone making the drive back here. Yet the room was vivid—every chair in place, the display case gleaming, the scent of fresh bread wrapping around him like it was real.

And then he saw her.

Kaelani stood behind the counter, her gray eyes widening the moment they met his. She looked startled, like she hadn’t expected him, like she wasn’t sure if she should run or stay frozen.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was hushed, uncertain, cutting through the quiet.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His feet carried him forward on their own, slow, deliberate, as if some invisible tether pulled him closer. Moth to flame.

His gaze dragged lower—and stilled.

She wasn’t in her usual apron and jeans. No, she stood there in that thin, silk nighty of hers, the kind that barely skimmed her thighs, pale straps slipping over her shoulders. It clung to her body in ways that made his chest tighten, his breath roughen.

“You wore this for me?” His voice came out low, reverent, like a man who had just been handed something he didn’t deserve but would never let go of.

Her eyes dropped down, realization dawning, horror flashing across her face as if only just now aware of her own state of undress. She gasped, arms crossing her chest, tugging at the flimsy fabric in a desperate attempt to shield herself.

He closed the distance in two strides, the air between them snapping taut. Her arms came up against his chest, palms pressing firmly as if to hold him back.

“You should leave,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.

His breath caught, the words slamming through him like a blade. Instantly, she saw it—the flicker of hurt in his amber eyes, so stark it stole the strength from her push.

“I can’t,” he rasped, his voice rough, raw. “Every moment away from you feels like dying.”

Her lips parted, a shiver racing through her. “But you don’t want me.”

His gaze darkened, cutting through her like fire through frost. “I do,” he said, each word a vow. “I want you more than you’ll ever know.”

His hands rose, deliberate, brushing her trembling arms aside. Fingers found the delicate straps of her nighty and slipped them down, the fabric gliding over her skin until it slid uselessly to the floor. Her breasts spilled free, rising and falling with every ragged breath.

Julian’s throat worked, admiration and hunger colliding in his gaze. “So fucking beautiful…” His hand cupped the soft swell, thumb grazing over her peaked nipple. “…so perfect.”

Julian dipped his head, his mouth closing over her nipple, hot and insistent, sucking until she gasped, her back arching into him. The needy sound shot straight through him, spurring him on as his tongue lashed, teeth tugging lightly before soothing the sting with another pull.

His hand swept down her stomach, fingers hooking beneath the thin band of her panties. He slipped inside, palm cupping her heat, and groaned low against her breast as his fingertips slid between her folds, stroking the wetness that betrayed her. He lifted his head just enough to meet her wide, stormy eyes.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “Tell me this is for me.”

Julian’s hand curled around the waistband of her panties. With one sharp tug, he peeled them down her thighs, letting the flimsy fabric pool at her ankles. His breath came rough, strained, as his palms smoothed up the curve of her hips.

“I need to taste you,” he rasped, voice raw with longing.

Before she could answer, he turned her in his grip, pressing her chest to the counter’s edge. Her palms flattened against the cool surface as he bent her forward, her silky hair cascading down her back, the front pieces loose around her face. The sight of her spread for him, trembling but yielding, nearly undid him.

He stripped his shirt off, the fabric hitting the floor without a care, and dropped to his knees behind her. His hands parted her, spreading her open as his breath ghosted over her slick heat.

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in for a taste.