Page 8 of Nothing to Fear

“Thank you, Cherry.”

Was that like—oh no. Whirling away from him, she meant to grab the counter to kill her momentum. But, of course, she overcorrected. Her hand sailed right past, sweeping cupcakes and cookies every which way.

“Damnit,” Celeste yapped. “That’s two hours work.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.”

“No, my son should apologize.” Alice’s amusement did nothing to quell her embarrassment. Dropping to a crouch, she gathered the mess into her apron. “Darroch, apologize.”

Oh, God, this was awful. Awful. Why did these things happen—she shouldn’t be allowed near people, definitely not near super-rich people. Why did she have to learn that today? And in front of the family who owned the company that employed her?

“He has nothing to apologize for,” Celeste said. “Savanna’s a walking calamity. This always happens. She’s a klutz.”

Yes, story of her life.

Reaching around, she scraped the crumbs into a pile, noting the line of overlapping cookies shooting out toward the feet behind her. Her weight shifted and her butt slipped from her heels, landing her knee square on one of the dark boots flanking the cookies.

Great job!

“Shit,” she hissed, cringing as she glanced upward to those same inscrutable eyes that wouldn’t cut her a break. “Sorry.”

“Don’t swear at him,” Celeste grumbled in a rush.

His large hand moved from his side toward her. What was she supposed to do? Not touch him probably, that would be the safest bet… Except, wouldn’t it be rude not to accept—her fingers slid over his and his hold closed around them. Sure, strong, oh her heart couldn’t take the pulse rate.

He yanked her to her feet, stealing her breath with his strength.

Better not to even try inhaling. Just stand there, Sav. Don’t move. Don’t breathe, just wait for him to let go.

“You’re wet,” he stated.

What the—her mouth dropped open and immediately closed again as—did he really just say—how did he know that? Was she? Oh, God, yes. Mmm, he was hot. All dark hair, definition, and casual gravity sucking women under. Bet every female near him was wet, that’s how he knew. Must happen every day, all the time. Women would be sliding off their seats left and right around him.

“I—” His chin rose in a gesture that took her gaze down to— “My apron.” Shit, that’s what he meant. “Yes! My apron is wet.”

Which he knew because he’d just said it. God, please, ground, open up and swallow her down.

“Can I have it?”

Could he—what the hell was—oh, fuck. He could have anything he damn well liked and knew it, that glint in his eye was way too astute.

“My… You want my apron?”

A smirk quirked his lips for the briefest second and he licked his lips to hide it. God, given half a chance she’d havedone that for him. Mmm, Mr. Breckenridge, that wide, dark pink enticement. Thank God he was so much taller than her or she’d be sucking on that like ice-cream from a spoon.

“The cherry.”

Fuck, where was her head? Right. Because he hadn’t—that would mean letting him go. Why was she still holding his hand? Let go, Savanna. Dropping one somehow released the other and the mess in her apron scattered on the floor again.

“Damnit.” Crouching, she grabbed a cherry and straightened up, headbutting his hand in the process, sending the cupcake flying in a new direction.

“This is an interesting group,” Alice said.

She couldn’t break the lock his eyes held on hers. Swaying from the lack of oxygen in her brain, she raised the fruit between them.

“You want my cherry?”

Fuck. Did she really just say that? There was that smirk again, and someone laughed. A male, but not the one distracting her.

---