Chapter 7 Hairy Fucking Larry
Hairy Fucking Larry
Deacon
I’d spent the last ten years of my life either following or giving orders, planning missions, and collaborating rescues.
I’d given each one my all, planned as best I could, and left the rest up to God or the fates, whoever was in charge that day.
There was no letting go with this one. It had a chokehold on my heart and soul.
I had no plan in place. Instead, the draw to be close to her drove me forward. Especially now that I’d touched her again.
Absorbed her pain.
Breathed in her fear.
Every atom in my body yearned to protect her.
And I craved her like a drug.
I could still feel her sweet face in my hands, her soft skin under my lips, the tension in her body under my hands, and the silken curtain of her dark hair.
Known for my iron will and unshakeable control, if my military brothers could see me now, I’d never hear the end of it.
Charlie, especially, would have gotten a kick out of my downfall.
I locked that pain away and made my way across the icy street, my heavy boots leaving craters in the freshly fallen snow.
The plows had been through this morning but already needed to come again.
Making a mental note to check the state of Jenny’s stairs and the walkway leading to the parking lot, I stepped inside her bakery.
Inhaling deeply, I took in the smell of freshly baked bread that reminded me of the home we’d shared for far too short a time. I’d give or do anything to have that again.
This time, I took in her space. She’d renovated the bakery in much the same way she brightened up the apartment upstairs. Down here it was shades of muted green and some shade of pink that reminded me of her cheeks when she blushed.
Soft, sweet, and alluring.
Like her, it oozed femininity.
To have her back, I’d gladly live in a pink house. I huffed out a soft laugh.
I had no idea what to expect from her today. Would she send me away? Give me an inch? Throw her walls up even higher?
Pulling in my emotions, I locked down my fears.
Jenny emerged from the kitchen, the door behind her swinging shut as she stepped up to the counter, falsely bright blue eyes dimming, her practiced smile disappearing as she took me in.
Her throat bobbed. “Hi.”
One corner of my mouth tipped up at the sight of her. Even her less than enthusiastic response couldn’t take away that sudden surge of happiness. “Hi, beautiful.”
She stepped back and dropped her gaze to the floor. Flushing, she tipped her chin up and asked, “Is there something you needed?”
Just you.
I unzipped my coat and shoved my fingers into the front pockets of my jeans as I shrugged. “Mostly I wanted to see you, but I also wanted to check out your place. The last time I was here, I was distracted.” I looked around. “It’s pretty. Feminine,” I commented. “Suits you.”
“Thank you,” she blushed further, twisting her hands together at her waist before crossing them over her chest.
Which did marvelous things for her cleavage.
A vivid flashback of my face buried between her berry-tipped breasts as her lovely body arched beneath me stole my breath.
She chewed on her bottom lip; a sure sign she had something else to say.
Forcing my eyes to stay above her neck, I waited. With the memory of her taste in my mouth, I couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to.
“I did most of the renovations myself,” she offered, dropping her gaze once more.
“Yeah?” I raised my eyebrows. “That’s impressive.”
She stood a little taller.
“You didn’t have a contractor?”
She shook her head, her eyes flitting up to mine before skittering away.
Then she smirked. “Considering the only contractor around here was Baxter’s father, it wasn’t an option.”
She schooled her face.
What was that about?
Clearing her throat, she continued, “Miller and his wife Maxine helped me a lot. Eric and John kicked in for some of the bigger items like the floor and,” she knocked on the marble-topped display case, “this.”
“Good friends,” I murmured, jealous I wasn’t also here to help her. Like I should have been.
She hummed, hugging herself tighter. “I still have a few things to fix out here.”
With my first cursory glance, I noted the baseboards needed replacing, as did the frame around the front window. “Like what?”
She waved a hand nonchalantly but didn’t answer.
I frowned. She didn’t want help from me. Or maybe she didn’t want to ask?
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, I’m good. Baxter is going to fix the baseboards…” Her eyes widened as she raised them to meet mine.
I gave her what I fucking hoped was an encouraging nod. “Go on. Baxter is going to fix the baseboards and what else?”
She swallowed but continued, her voice hoarse. “The window frame, and the grease trap needs replaced.”
I nodded. “You guys are friends again?”
She wagged her head back and forth then focussed on my face. “Maybe. Kind of. I don’t think we’ll ever be like we were, but things are better.” She cleared her throat and met my eyes. “I want peace and part of that means being friends with Baxter and Maggie.”
“Then you should be friends with Baxter and Maggie.”
She narrowed her gaze. “It doesn’t bother you?”
As soon as the words passed her lips, she realized her mistake. “Um—"
Triumph blasted through my chest. Because if we weren’t planning on moving forward together, my feelings wouldn’t matter.
My lips twisted to the side. “I think my jealousy has caused enough problems,” I murmured as I pulled a stool away from the counter and sat down.
Other than a few cinnamon rolls and a handful of dinner rolls, the case was empty.
Those cinnamon buns were one of the first things Jenny learned to make on her own. She spent weeks perfecting the recipe before presenting it to Ansel.
Late one Sunday morning, frustrated to the point of tears, she set the third batch of freshly rolled buns to rise in hopes this one would produce the results she wanted.
I stood behind her in our tiny kitchen, lifting her silky hair off her neck and kissing the tender spot behind her ear as she fretted.
I remembered the delicious shudder followed by the soft moan inviting more.
Minutes later, I took her down to the kitchen floor, cinnamon buns abandoned and left to rise for double the time as I licked sugar and cinnamon off her flat stomach before wrapping her beautiful body around mine.
That batch became the prototype for the ones in the case before me. Those fucking things haunted my dreams, the faintest hint of sugar and cinnamon dragging me down memory lane no matter where I was or what I was doing.
It was fucking dangerous.
“Can I treat you to a cinnamon bun?” I asked gruffly.
She snorted, a small smile curving her pretty mouth.
It wasn’t a laugh, but it was close.
“How about I spot you this one time,” she replied softly. “There’s no reason we can’t be civil.”
“Civil?”
She nodded sharply then dipped down to move two cinnamon rolls from the case onto a plate.
Hope surged within me as I tried not to stare at her too hard.
The last ten years had wrought changes in her face and her body. She’d been tall and slender with a perfect hourglass figure when I left, but it was her face that was truly stunning. Now she boasted fuller curves and fascinating crinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.
The Jenny that existed in my mind did not quite match the one standing in front of me, and my brain and heart struggled to reconcile the two.
My heart grieved the evidence of the years I missed.
But the changes enthralled me.
Ignoring her comment for the moment, I asked, “Are you going to warm them up?”
She smiled, her eyes crinkling. “I know how you like them.”
The smile dropped off her face. Her hold on the plate faltered, and it clattered to the floor. “Oh no!” she gasped, crouching to pick it up. “I’m so sorry!”
Before I could think twice, I was around the counter and crouched down beside her. Taking the plate from her shaking hands, I rose and put it back on the counter as she backed away from me as far as she could.
“It didn’t break, and nothing fell.” I ventured a smile. “Those sticky bottoms glued them to the plate.”
She nodded and pressed her fingers to her lips. “I, uh, have things I need to do in the kitchen. Can I pack them up to go?”
I watched her for a moment, realizing once more just how far we had to go. She had every right not to trust me.
“You do that,” I murmured. “I have to step out for a few minutes, but I’ll be back to pick them up.”
She wrapped her arms around her ribs, her gaze drifting away. “No problem.”
I stalked out the door and down the street toward the hardware store ready to rip the head off the first person who pissed me off.
Yanking the door open, I plowed straight into Baxter fucking Martin.
I stepped back and dragged my hand through my hair before locking it down and turning back to him.
Standing at his full height, he watched me with knowing eyes.
I grit my teeth together. “Baxter.”
“Deacon.”
Looking past him, I noted no less than three sets of curious eyes unashamedly trained on us.
“Want to step outside for a moment?” I growled.
He nodded, his lips tipping up slightly. “You going to take a swing at me?”
I shook my head. “I know what happened.”
He nodded, eyes steady on mine. “You believe her?”
I growled and pinned him with my glare. “Any reason why I shouldn’t?”
His mouth firmed as he stared right back at me. “None at all, but folks around here tend to think the worst of her.”
“Good thing I’m not from around here,” I snapped.
“Nothing ever happened between Jenny and me,” he advised softly. “She only had eyes for you, and I only ever wanted Maggie.”
My heart thundered in my chest.
Over a decade of hatred for this man and what I thought he’d done wouldn’t shift overnight. I gave him a sharp nod.
“We good?” he asked.
I swallowed, my throat tightening because when it came to Jenny, I was a possessive bastard.
“We’re good.” I stuck out my hand.
He shook it and smiled. “What are you doing here?”