Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Durban
Outside Iverson’s pickup window, puffy, white cumulus clouds float across the sky.
With the Baldwins out of town, Kacey’s with her grandparents and Jamison’s resting while we meet.
So Iverson is driving us to town. Instead of meeting with the guys at the distillery, we’re getting out for the afternoon.
Normally, we’d do this Monday when we’re closed, but Elodie also closes the bakery on Monday and we have to talk to her about some collaboration ideas.
My gaze keeps snagging on the clouds. Plump, just like Campbell’s lips after she got done coming. Hot blood starts pumping lower in my body. Her breathy moans kept me up all night. I jacked off in the shower last night, and then I had to do it again this morning.
I’m not looking for another relationship, but I’m beyond ready for exploring Campbell.
There are no wedding activities until next Thursday. The luncheon. It’s taking place in the pavilion if the weather holds out. How am I going to get Campbell alone to take the edge off?
Did what happened in my office help her get through the rest of the tasting?
Haven said the group was uptight as hell until he got some drinks flowing through them. Then they were just obnoxious. He also cited some tension between the couple when Stanford kept glancing at the spot Campbell vacated when I dragged her upstairs and settled myself between her thighs.
A guy could live his entire life in that paradise.
“Hey, buddy.” Iverson squints at me before shifting his attention back to the road. “You still with me?”
“I’m right here.”
“In body only. Where’s your mind been?”
“Lots of stuff in the works.” I let him fill in the details so I don’t have to lie to him. I’m dreaming of stripping down his sister-in-law and burying myself inside of her.
“The rafting thing?”
“That and the wedding.” And how I’m going to get Campbell to myself. Should I tell her to skip underwear before the luncheon?
“Hell of a thing, but I hate to say Campbell might be onto something. William said he hears Stanford and January bickering more.”
“How so?”
“Jamison talked to her mom last night, and Christine heard January snap at Stanford. She demanded to know why Campbell has to be at all the events.”
“She’s the one organizing what they want to do.” As angry as I want to be toward January, a chuckle still bubbles up. “Nothing’s even gone wrong.”
“All except for a few rain delays that make Stanford scramble to figure out what the hell to do to get close to Campbell.”
I sit straighter. We’re almost to town, but I need to finish this conversation now. “You don’t think she would get back together with him? If he and January don’t make it to the altar?”
“Nah. She has more sense than that. More than anyone gives her credit for.” He gives me a sidelong glance.
“I give her credit.”
“Sure.”
I give her more credit now. I want to give her a whole lot more. “Fine. I’ve seen how hard she works, but you can’t blame me for judging her based on some earlier interactions.” I blame myself.
“You wouldn’t have written off someone you considered more cerebral. You didn’t write off Natalie.”
“She’s older, for one. Finishing her second PhD.” She might be done. What do I know about graduate school timelines? The thought tastes bitter on my tongue.
“I know she is. You want to know how I know?”
I shake my head.
“You’ll tell me. And if you don’t, I’m sure she will.”
I kick up an eyebrow. He’s never said a disparaging word about Natalie before, and it’s not like he’s seen her for the last four years. “I knew you didn’t like her.”
“When you first started seeing her, she was, shit, she was intolerable. So were you.”
“Fuck, Iverson. Lay it all out there.”
He drives past the businesses on the edge of town. The mechanic shop across from the small car sales lot. A massage and tanning place. A gas station with a small laundromat attached. We’ll be at Dee’s Sweets soon.
“Just sayin’. You aren’t yourself when you’re with her.”
I haven’t been with her in a long time, and I won’t be. I still haven’t told Iverson about the breakup and I won’t now. He’ll be less likely to think I’m messing around with his sister-in-law, and I’ll have Campbell to myself.
Of course, I’ll also get more time to dwell on what he said. Intolerable? Maybe I was. Having someone like Natalie interested in me after how I was raised? Yeah, I might’ve overlooked a little. After hearing Iverson, maybe I overlooked a lot.
Maybe that’s why I like being around Campbell. We’ve been underestimated in our lives, and together, we can just . . . be.
When I don’t respond after a minute, he only grunts and pulls into a spot in front of the bakery.
A familiar blue SUV is parked off to the side.
Is Campbell here? I can’t see her through the big bakery windows.
Lane and Haven are already at a table, a mug of something in their hands.
I crane my head to look up and down the street.
Is she at Bryce’s downtown office?
“Whatcha looking for?” Iverson kills the engine, peering out the windshield to find out for himself.
“No one.”
He cocks a brow.
“Nothing,” I amend.
He doesn’t make a move to get out. “You’ve been acting weird lately.”
I screw my face up. “You just said I act like an ass around Natalie, and now I’m weird with you. What the hell, Ivy?”
He holds up his hands. “Got it. Just sayin’. I’m here if you need to talk.”
And what would I say? That I don’t think about Natalie much because not only does she not want to talk to me, but I’m focused on gray eyes, a husky voice, and plump pink lips?
By the way, all I can think about is when I can taste Campbell’s soaked pussy again?
I’m thinking of naming a single barrel after her hot wet cunt because she’s that sweet and addicting, and if I could capture her essence in a spirit, we could make a lot of money, except I’d keep every bottle for myself?
No. A conversation like that would give Iverson a heart attack before he beat the shit out of me for fucking around with his sister-in-law while his wife is trying to finish her at-risk pregnancy.
Iverson considers Campbell family, and since he does, so does Haven.
I would’ve been better off thinking of her that way too.
I don’t.
With one last glance at her car, I get out. There’s no pretty woman with silky chestnut hair anywhere in the bakery. All the rest of the women inside could have pillow lips and I wouldn’t notice.
I aim for the counter. A big dose of caffeine might dull the edge my mood is on.
Cruz is at the cash register. I stop behind him in line while Iverson hangs back at the table.
A red-faced Elodie is looking anywhere but at Cruz.
Her dark hair is gathered back into a loose twist, and she’s wearing a frosting-stained apron.
Cruz’s stance is wide, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, but he still towers over her.
He’s got a black puffy vest on over his long-sleeved yellow shirt.
“So what’s the difference between angel food cake and devil’s food?” he asks.
Elodie blinks at him like she can’t tell if he’s speaking the same language as her. Then she turns around to study the menu mounted over the counter behind her.
“I-I don’t have angel food.” Utter confusion fills her voice.
“You have a devil’s food cupcake. Why not angel food?” I can hear the grin in his voice, but Elodie doesn’t know him well enough to decide if his teasing is good-natured.
“Angel food is a white cake, but devil’s food has chocolate,” she finally answers.
“Then why call it devil’s food? Why not just call it chocolate?”
I’m about to break in and tell him to order and let her get back to work, but she pushes up her thick-framed glasses.
“Um, devil’s food is richer than plain chocolate.
Along with using cocoa powder for the flavor, I add a pinch of coffee to mine.
Increased baking soda makes it fluffier.
I don’t offer angel food cake unless the strawberries are excellent, and even then, I’d rather make shortcake. ”
“Why’s that?” Cruz asks.
She blinks again. “I like it more.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. I’ll take a devil’s food cupcake and a lemon-lime soda.”
“Put mine on his tab,” I joke from behind him.
“We don’t do tabs,” she says quietly in her firm Elodie way.
“He’s being cheap,” Cruz says. “Double it and he can have what I’m having, since I’ve got such good taste.”
The guy would flirt with a rock, but he seems unrepentant around Elodie Palmer. He doesn’t tease her sister, Clem, quite as unrepentantly, but then Clem is more relaxed around him than Elodie. A brushfire blazes across the baker’s cheeks. She rings up his order and serves us the food.
“You’ve gotta leave her alone,” I murmur to him as we cross to the booth the others are in. “She’s going to combust or implode.”
“I’m going to crack that shell.” He gestures for me to slide in beside Haven and grabs a chair from an empty table nearby. “Just watch. Campbell said she’d be right back, and Elodie will talk a mile a minute to her.”
I ignore everything he said but one thing. “Campbell was here?” Damn, I missed her?
“For a minute,” he says. “She’s gotta talk about wedding catering or something.”
Lane swipes his finger through the rippled frosting on Cruz’s cupcake. Cruz lunges for him, but Lane gets out of the way fast enough.
Lane licks the chocolate off and grins. “Is he still cranking about how he can’t wrap Elodie around his finger?”
“Again?” Haven asks.
Cruz scowls and peels his cupcake open. The apples of his cheeks flush. Damn. Does he have a thing for the shy baker, or does his pride just hurt?
“He’s charmed the whole damn town,” Lane says. “But Elodie gives him the side-eye.”
“Smart girl,” Haven says and grins when the frown is aimed his way.
“I learn shit when she talks, but she barely speaks around me,” Cruz complains.