Cream and Punishment (Smitten in the Mitten #1)

1. Chapter 1

one

Pro tip: make sure your ancient relic of a car still has some life left in it before moving out of your sister’s apartment.

Ultra super pro tip: don’t pack your panties and bras in a clear tub when you move, even if it’s the perfect size.

Trust me on that one. The Uber driver had now seen some granny panty monstrosities he could never unsee.

I heaved a sigh, trying not to think about the hit my passenger rating probably took from enlisting my poor, unsuspecting driver to be my personal mover.

And then blinding him with my ratty underthings clearly visible in their tub of shame.

Surely, the job warned him about the Crazies.

The problem was the real danger came from the Desperates.

And boy, was I desperate.

I squared my shoulders, clutching the little key to my new place like it would sprout legs and run for the hills if I let it. And who knows? It might. Better to be safe than sorry. I didn’t risk it as I wheeled my suitcases past the boxes of my belongings clogging the sidewalk.

This was my fresh start. Again. At this point, it only felt as “fresh” as a bag of semi-stale Cheetos, but no matter.

I wasn’t sure true fresh starts existed when you were dangerously close to your thirtieth birthday, anyway.

Nothing feels fresh after you pass twenty-six—especially not your joints.

My back was testament enough as it creaked its way up the flight of stairs.

Whoever invented elevators should be given a shrine, that’s all I’m saying.

This building had to have one, right? Sure, the apartments already came furnished, but maybe someone on the second floor needed to transport their pet elephant every once in a while.

Apartment buildings should plan for those kinds of things.

Or, you know, gasping bakers who would rather walk across a hotbed of Legos than exercise.

Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything.

Somehow, I managed to make it to my door without experiencing a heart attack or losing all will to live.

I deposited the suitcases inside, barely looking over the place before turning back to collect the next load of boxes.

As long as there wasn’t any asbestos, bedbugs, or roaches, I’d be fine.

I’d make it work. And if there was? Well, I needed to make more friends, anyway.

Maybe I could convince the roaches to help with the rent.

Thankfully, no one had stolen any of my boxes. In fact, the street was fairly empty for rush hour, and the sidewalks and parking lot were, too, save for one guy.

I cocked my head to the side, squinting against the mid-May sunlight dipping closer to the horizon.

Why did that guy look familiar? His short, black hair was kept neat and his face clean shaven.

Dark eyes and prominent brows were the only features I could make out from here.

He tossed his keys up and down as he walked, his pace steady and his posture relaxed.

Was he a customer at the bakery or something? No, I didn’t know him from the bakery. I’d have to actually interact with customers for that to be the case.

The bookstore? No, though I did spend enough time there.

What about the arcade where my sister and I hosted girls night? And by “night,” I meant “five o’clock” so I was home and in bed by eight.

Living on the wild side, this one.

No, I’d remember running into someone like him at the arcade. And now, I was out of options.

My lack of a social life was why it was so strange the guy walking toward my building was so familiar. Tall, broad shoulders, tan skin. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think he looked like—

Oh.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Oh, sweet turkey and swiss on rye . It couldn’t be him. My luck couldn’t possibly be that bad.

It was. It was totally that bad.

Max freaking Fuentes. The man whose life I ruined. The man who undoubtedly hated my guts with a burning passion and put a picture of my face on the dartboard for target practice.

And he was walking straight toward me.

I had to hide.

Ideally, I’d sink into a hole and never come out, but that wasn’t an option. I could run into the building and wait him out, but then my boxes would be left unattended and defenseless. Just because no one had stolen them yet didn’t mean they wouldn’t.

The last time I’d had the misfortune of running into Max, I’d disguised myself until I could make a run for it. But would that work this time? All my hats and scarves were either in the suitcases I’d just dropped inside or buried deep in one of the many boxes stacked out here.

Awesome. Just super-duper awesome.

He was almost close enough that spotting me was unavoidable, if he hadn’t already. Quick! I had to do something— anything —to get out of sight.

I ducked behind the largest stack of boxes and tubs, hoping beyond hope that Max would continue on his merry way without giving my stuff a second glance.

Sure, it was probably odd to see a bunch of boxes on a sidewalk, but this was Detroit.

Weirder things have happened. Maybe he’d think it was a secretive yard sale?

I forced myself to count to one hundred as slowly as I could and give him ample time to pass before I peeked around the edge of the stack.

Score! He was gone.

Hallelujah.

I breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to feel the ache in my knees and thighs from squatting so long. Nicely done, me. Maybe my sister wasn’t the only one in the family who’d gotten the super-spy genes after all.

“What are you doing?” a semi-familiar voice asked from behind me.

I yelped, jumping and falling back on my butt. You know, gracefully . Sort of. If fainting goats were considered graceful, that is, because I just gave every fainting goat in a two-mile radius a run for their goat money.

“Don’t scare me like that!” I protested, holding a hand to my chest. “You could’ve given me a heart attack.”

I looked up at the source of my cardiac arrest, dread already sinking deep into my bones. There was only one person who it could logically be. The one person I was trying to avoid.

Yep. My heart flipped as I met Max’s eyes.

Whether it was from nerves, guilt, embarrassment, the urge to flee, or his strikingly handsome features; I couldn’t say.

Too many options to choose from. The early evening sun cast shadows over him from the boxes, but left his eyes in a patch of light that made them glow an almost butterscotch color.

His lips were pulled into an amused smirk, a hand extending to help me up. “I’ll try to be more careful next time I find someone hiding from me. Can’t have a heart attack on my conscience.”

I stared dumbly at his hand, mind whirring like a KitchenAid. He was offering to help me up? After what I’d put him through? It was probably just to drop me all over again when I was unbalanced. I’d deserve it.

Nice try, buddy.

When I didn’t accept his offer, he crouched next to me, eyebrows raised in question. “Is there a particular reason you want to stay down here, Dekker?”

My name on his lips finally kicked my two remaining brain cells into gear.

“I wasn’t hiding from you.” That was a lie. A big, fat, juicy lie. “I was…”

What was I doing? What could possibly be a good enough explanation?

“I was inspecting my boxes, that’s all. I thought one of them broke.”

Uh-huh. Because that was believable. And normal.

His eyes drifted over to the stack in front of me, lingering on a tub in the middle. A clear tub. Where both cups of a hot-pink leopard-print bra smooshed unmistakably against the plastic.

Kill. Me. Now.

Blinding my Uber driver had been bad enough. But now Max? The man who didn’t need any more ammo against me? Not to mention the fact he was basically a Greek god dressed to kill in that suit he wore, and I was still flat on my butt next to a tub of unmentionables.

I shot back onto my haunches and pretended to lean oh-so-nonchalantly against the clear tub until my elbow obscured what was easily my most risqué undergarment.

“Obviously, they’re fine after all, so it was a false alarm.

What, uh, what brings you here, Max? I mean, what a surprise!

” Understatement of the century. “I didn’t even see you coming. ”

Man, I was racking up the lies. Would the powers that be make allowances for when you were surprised by the man who wants you shipped off to Timbuktu forever? Probably not. But a girl could hope.

He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips into a tight line, accentuating the dimple in his left cheek. “So, that wasn’t you I saw duck behind these boxes when you saw me headed this way?”

The blood drained from my face, only to shoot back up with a vengeance to splatter a blush across my cheeks. So, he saw that. All of it. Awesome. Was there any possible way to salvage my dignity?

Ha! Bold of me to assume I had any dignity left to salvage.

“Nope.” I smiled tightly. “I mean, it was me, but for completely unrelated reasons. Box security reasons.”

Good gravy , why was I still lying? He was an FBI agent on my sister’s squad—he could smell lies miles away.

I wasn’t even a good liar! I was easily one of the worst. My lies didn’t make sense, for one.

And for two, I wasn’t convincing at all.

My palms sweated and my heart raced, and I couldn’t breathe.

Fortunately, for me, those things already happened in his presence. So…yay?

“Uh-huh, okay. And that’s why you were counting to one-hundred? ‘Box security reasons’?”

Ah. Apparently I’d been counting louder than I thought. This day just kept getting better and better.

I groaned and sank into a puddle on the pavement. “I hope you’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face as if it could block out both him and my consuming embarrassment. He knew my name. Which meant he’d figured out who I was, despite my best attempts to avoid him since our fateful meet-ugly last year. “Why are you here, Max?”