path. So he chucked the path. It was all new territory, and he was following his gut—into the unknown.
What the hell was he thinking?
He suspected he knew what he was thinking with.
It brought him back to his earlier solution, a plan that would wind up with both of them naked. Afterward, he’d bet his future empire on the fact that it would all become perfectly clear to them both—it was about heat. Not about heart.
He had a hunger that he was damned well determined to feed. To hell with the rest. The rest would sort itself out.
It always did.
To that end, he started lugging the remaining cartons containing the quick-pour fondant back to the coolers and sealed the rolled fondant in their tubs.
“What are you doing?”
“Do those finished cupcakes need to get stored in something to stay fresh until morning?”
“Do—what? Yes, but—why are you putting those back?”
“Go ahead and put them where they need to be.”
“I have to finish this cake.”
“Is that one for delivery to someone tomorrow?”
“No, it’s just for the front of—would you stop that?” She watched in disbelief as he rolled another cart to the cooler.
He paused long enough to look at her. For once, he let the walls drop completely away, let her see everything he was feeling, everything he was needing. “No,” was all he said.
“Griffin—”
“We’re going to stop playing baker for the time being.”
“What are you talking about?”
He slid the last carton in the cooler, then strode across the room, absolutely intent, knowing without a single doubt, exactly what he was going to do. His path, at least for the next few hours, was very, very clearly defined.
“The cakes can wait,” he told her. Then he yanked her into his arms and slid the pins from her hair. “This, on the other hand, canno’.”
8
He crushed his mouth to hers, and it only took the breadth of a single heartbeat for her to respond. She grabbed him right back…and took him on fully, willingly, and completely.
One of them growled. She didn’t know which end was up, or down, and in that moment, didn’t much care.
Far too many things had happened that day. The very last thing she needed to do was complicate an already seriously complicated situation by having anything more to do with him. Certainly that particular kind of anything.
Yet, it was the only thing she felt certain of. She wanted him. She might not be able to keep him, but with everything else she held dear up in the air…what she knew was that she wanted Griffin Gallagher. At that moment there wasn’t anything she could do about her shop, her future, or the choices that were to be made.
But there was most definitely something she could do about Griffin Gallagher. And, more to the point, with Griffin Gallagher.
He wasn’t the enemy any longer. He wasn’t her savior, either. She knew that. He was merely the harbinger of change. None of that mattered.
Melody couldn’t have described in any accurate detail how it was they managed to store cupcakes and cakes and get up the back stairs to her place over the shop.
She fully acknowledged the pure insanity of the moment. And simply didn’t care. Her whole life was on the brink of massive change. Again. Even if she decided to do nothing, her world was going to change. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to do, what she wanted to do.
And there was Griffin. The man who was both refined class and raw energy, who was presently all but carrying her up the stairs over his shoulder, caveman style.
She stopped thinking about tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that, and grinned when he slid her down the front of his body in front of the door leading to her personal rooms. “I’ll warn you,” she said a bit breathlessly, “I keep my kitchens and store immaculate, but my personal space, not so much.”
He was kissing the side of her neck, nibbling her earlobe, making her gasp. “I’m no’ findin’ the least bit of anything wrong with your personal space,” he murmured as he continued his delicious journey along the sensitive skin beneath her ear, trailing kisses and nips down the side of her neck, pushing the heavy, starched collar of her chef’s coat off her shoulders so he could continue his quest.
Melody fumbled with the door handle behind her. She always locked the door at the bottom of the stairs, so this one was usually left open. The door swung in rather abruptly beneath their weight, and the two of them stumbled inside.
Normally she’d have been a bit mortified for someone she was interested in to see her place in its current condition. But Griffin wasn’t someone she would be seeing again, so what did it matter?
He certainly didn’t seem to be noticing. “Bedroom?”
She grunted and nodded her head in the general direction, as he stripped off the light blue, long-sleeved Henley she wore under her white jacket. She was trying to do much the same with his pale green button-down shirt.
“Small space,” he managed, as they tripped past the orange suede ottoman that sat in front of her stuffed, chenille-covered chair, then banged chins and calves on the small, wrought-iron base of her glass-top coffee table. They managed to squeeze by the couch without further damage, leaving clothing behind on the lush, floral-print arm at one end.
“I’m not up here much. I don’t need much room,” she panted.
Griffin lifted his head long enough to shoot her the most wicked grin. “Oh, but I do, luv.” Then he pushed her backward through her bedroom door, and all the way to her brass four-poster.
“Stepping stool,” she cautioned. The antique bed frame held her deep pillow-top mattress high up off the floor.
“Right,” he said, then merely tossed her gently into the middle of it as if she was lighter than a feather.
She let out a surprised laugh, which ended on a indrawn breath of anticipation as Griffin stepped onto the stool, and loomed over her.
“You’re a beautiful, beautiful woman, Melody Duncastle,” he said, simply standing there, taking in his fill of her.
Rather than make her feel uncomfortable or self-conscious, his words had her all but quivering with the need for him to get off the damn stool and put his hands on her.
She was wearing nothing more than a bra, hot pink drawstring surgical pants, which were her preference when putting in long hours in the kitchen, and whatever panties she’d pulled out of the drawer in the dark that morning. She didn’t even bother to look down to find out. She didn’t care.
He raked his gaze over her like a man starved for days who’d just been shown
