Page 5 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
Yani is Quinten.
She chuckled to herself. Not that she thought she lived among werewolves, but the physical descriptions and the background. Yeah, that was Quinten Carrington all right.
She saved her work, closed her laptop, and pushed back her chair. Raisa rubbed her upper legs while attempting to ignore the throbbing in her core. She rose and tried to walk off the tension, but it was hopeless.
Resigned, she went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The pipes in the old house came groaning and clanking to life while she hastily undressed.
By the time she stepped under the sputtering spray, the temperature was only lukewarm. She took her favorite white-peach-and-jasmine body wash and squirted a small dollop on her loofah. She sidestepped the water for a moment as the flow became ice-cold, and the showerhead sputtered.
After a few moments, the stream became steadier, and steam started to waft toward the ceiling. Stepping under the stream, Raisa ran the coarse material over her neck and shoulders, down her arms and up and over her breasts. As the loofah stroked over her sensitive aureola, her nipples tightened to hard, almost painful points. Teasingly, she ran the soapy loofah over her breast, circling and teasing the peaks.
Between her legs, she moistened in a way that had nothing to do with the shower. Knowing she didn’t have long before the water would turn cold again, she dropped the sponge and stroked her soapy hands over her belly and down between her legs. She braced herself against the tiled wall and widened her stance as she delved a hand between her legs and found her pleasure spot.
She let her head drop back and connect with the unforgiving tiles but ignored the sting as her body wound tighter and tighter. Her stomach muscles cramped, and she pressed her knees together, trapping her now frantically rubbing hand. Although it hampered the friction somewhat, she didn’t relent until an orgasm tore through her with the power of a tornado, and she sluggishly slid down the wall as her legs refused to hold her weight.
While she caught her breath and told herself to get up and finish showering, she couldn’t ignore the little voice in the back of her head that told her she was an ugly, stupid, silly girl for having eyes for Quinten.
It wasn’t a huge surprise that the voice sounded unerringly like a certain person Raisa would rather forget.
The coffee shop had become a routine. No, scratch that—it had become a necessity. Each day, as Quinten worked to untangle the disaster that was Carrington Construction’s finances, he found himself drawn back to Raisa’s shop. It was stupid. Pointless. He wasn’t a masochist, but apparently, he didn’t mind walking around half the day with a chubby and a head full of complicated numbers.
The soft tinkle of the old-fashioned bell above the door, now so familiar, stirred a Pavlovian reaction in his loins, the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods wrapping around him like a warm embrace. The shop was busy enough to feel alive, but quiet enough to offer sanctuary from the chaos of spreadsheets and invoices.
Raisa worked behind the counter, deftly handling an espresso machine that whirred and hissed. She wore the same casual outfits every day, usually jeans, sneakers, and a sweater or T-shirt. They suited her in a way that was almost maddening. Her every movement was unassuming, efficient, yet impossibly alluring. In short, she was his living wet dream.
Quinten let his gaze linger on her a beat too long before he forced himself to focus. He had no business getting tangled up in a crush—or whatever the hell this was—while he was trying to save his family’s company from another financial tailspin.
His father had been a damn fine builder, one of the best in the county, but numbers weren’t his strong suit. After the accident left him with a broken back and a lifetime of pain, keeping the books had become even more of an afterthought. Twice before, Quinten had stepped in to fix things. The first time had been manageable. The second… not so much.
Five years ago, he’d discovered a six-figure hole in the company’s accounts—courtesy of sloppy bookkeeping and missed deadlines with the IRS. Cleaning that up had cost more than a hundred grand and had nearly driven him to theedge. After that clusterfuck, Quinten had hired a bookkeeper—someone who was supposed to be excellent—and had handed off the responsibility with strict instructions to never let it happen again.
But here he was, back in Cedarburg, staring at another mess. For the past eight months, things hadn’t been adding up. Payments were late. Balances didn’t make sense. And no one seemed to have any answers.
“Hey there, stranger. The usual?”
Raisa’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was smiling at him now, her expression open but professional.
He nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah, thanks. A latte, please, but can you add a pastry of your choice?”
“A latte and a cheesecake coming right up.”
As she turned to the espresso machine, he leaned on the counter, pretending to read the daily specials written in chalk. In truth, he was watching her—the curve of her neck, the way a loose strand of hair fell across her cheek. She wasn’t glamorous in an obvious way—not the type of woman he usually gravitated toward—but there was something about her that made it impossible to look away.
Every day he told himself, it would be the last time he came in. And every day, he found an excuse to walk through those doors. Who was he trying to kid? He wasn’t there for the coffee, and he damn well knew it.
When she handed him the mug, their fingers brushed, and the jolt of warmth that shot through him was almost enough to make him drop it. She turned and bent to pull the cheesecake from the display case, giving him an excellent view of rounded hips and a heart-shaped ass filling her jeans. Using his free hand, he adjusted himself behind his zipper and was just in time to accept the plate with his cake. He managed a muttered “thanks” before retreating to his usual table near the window.
The shop had convenient outlets near the tables, and he usually brought his laptop to sort through the never-ending stack of spreadsheets and invoices. Today, though, he stared out the window and scanned the café and bookshop, the steam rising from his coffee blurring the bookcases in the background.
With a sigh, he opened his laptop, forcing himself to focus. Costs had almost doubled over the past few months, but their income had stayed closely the same. He rubbed his hands over his face, as if it would clear his mind. He was trying to connect the dots in the numbers that refused to make sense—but his thoughts kept drifting back to Raisa. Numbers didn’t lie, but they weren’t giving him the answers he needed, either. And until he figured out what was going on at Carrington Construction, he had no business thinking about anything—or anyone—else.
Chapter Five
The jingle of the bell as the door opened and shut stirred anticipation and unease as Quinten left after taking his sweet time savoring his coffee, and Raisa exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Relief washed over her, the tension in her shoulders easing as she turned back to the counter. But even as she started wiping down the surface, she darted her gaze toward the door. She couldn’t stop herself from stealing one last look at him to admire his straight posture and long, determined stride.
As he sauntered out, his broad shoulders swayed confidently beneath his leather jacket, and darn it, that epic butt. It was almost unfair how good he looked in those jeans. Raisa rolled her eyes at herself, shaking her head. “Get it together,” she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to focus on cleaning the counter.
The hour before the lunch rush was always her favorite—a calm before the storm. She used the time to organize things while Lila restocked the pastries and prepped the coffee station. The pair worked in easy silence, occasionally sharing a word ortwo about upcoming orders. Raisa liked the rhythm of it, the predictable flow of tasks that kept her mind occupied.
