Betrayal’s Reach (Crystal Lake Secrets #1)

Chapter 1

Hannah

Hannah pulled another tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. Steam curled up, carrying that perfect blend of butter and spice that always reminded her of home. Of everything good and safe in her world.

Including the man who was currently sprawled on his back under her kitchen sink.

"Jake?" She set the tray on the cooling rack, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Please tell me you've figured out what's making that awful noise."

A muffled curse, followed by the clang of metal on metal. "Almost got it, sweetheart. Though I'm starting to think your pipes just like the attention."

Hannah blushed, and didn't so much kick him, as nudge him slightly with her foot in rebuke. He wrapped one large hand around her ankle, and gave it a squeeze.

Early morning calm wrapped around them like a warm blanket, broken only by the gentle whir of industrial mixers and Jake's occasional muttering.

This was her favorite time of day—before Sugar & Spice opened its doors, before the morning rush of regulars seeking their caffeine fix.

Just her and Jake and the smell of fresh bread.

And okay, maybe a leaky pipe. But even that felt perfect somehow.

"You know," she said, beginning to pipe cream cheese frosting, "most girlfriends have to beg their boyfriends to do home repairs. I practically have to kick you out of here."

The pipes groaned. Another clang, louder this time.

"That's because most boyfriends don't get paid in fresh pastries." Jake's voice carried a smile she couldn't see. "Or get to watch their girlfriend dance around the kitchen in those shorts."

Heat crept up her neck. Six months together, and he could still make her blush like a teenager. "I do not dance."

"Sweetheart, you've been swaying to that oldies station for the past hour."

She glanced at the radio, currently playing something soft and sweet. Had she been moving to the music? Probably. She often did, especially during these quiet morning hours when it was just her and—

The pipe gave one final groan before falling silent.

"Ha!" Jake slid out from under the sink, his gray t-shirt pulled tight across his chest, smudged with whatever mysterious gunk lurked beneath her sink. A streak of something greasy marked his jaw, and his dark hair was rumpled in a way that made her fingers itch to touch it.

His body was flushed from exertion, skin warm, the heat of him radiating even from where she stood. His forearms flexed as he wiped his hands on a rag, muscles shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"Told you I'd fix it." His grin was cocky, teasing, the kind of smile that made her stomach flip.

Hannah swallowed hard, watching as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair, leaving streaks of grease at his temple. God, he was a mess. A gorgeous, sweaty, frustrating mess. And he was hers.

"You look entirely too pleased with yourself," she mused, crossing her arms, even as her heart pounded a little harder.

Jake chuckled, tossing the rag onto the counter. "Damn right I am. Saving you from plumbing disasters and looking good while doing it—it's a full-time job."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. Because the truth was, he did look good. Too good. And her fingers still itched to slide into his hair, to pull him close, to kiss away the smudge on his jaw.

Hannah raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. "You said that yesterday. And the day before."

"Third time's the charm." He crossed the kitchen in three long strides. His hands found her waist, warm and solid through her apron. "Don't I deserve a reward for my heroic efforts?"

She tilted her head back, studying him. "Heroic might be stretching it."

"Dedicated?" His thumb traced slow circles against her hip. "Persistent?"

"Stubborn," she decided, but she was already rising onto her toes, already melting into him as his lips found hers. He tasted like the coffee she'd handed him an hour ago, like the cherry Danish he'd stolen when he thought she wasn't looking. Like home and safety and forever.

Jake's grip tightened, just for a moment. Something flickered across his face—there and gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

"What?" she asked, pulling back just enough to see his eyes.

"Nothing." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, gentle enough to make her heart ache. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."

The words should have warmed her. They did warm her. But there was something in his voice, something that didn't quite—

The bell above the front door chimed.

"We're closed!" Hannah called, reluctantly stepping out of Jake's embrace. Who would be here this early?

"Since when has that ever stopped me?" Mary Peterson's voice carried from the front of the shop, followed by the tap of her cane against the hardwood floors. "I saw your lights on, dear. And I'm in desperate need of my morning sugar fix."

Hannah laughed, already reaching for a paper bag. Mary had been coming to Sugar & Spice every morning since Hannah's grandmother owned it. At eighty-two, she considered "closed" signs more like gentle suggestions.

"Good morning, Mary," Jake called, running a hand through his hair in a failed attempt to tame it. "How's that loose bannister treating you?"

"Much better since you fixed it, young man. Though I might need you to take a look at my kitchen cabinets next."

Hannah caught Jake's eye as she slipped past him, carrying Mary's usual order—one apple turnover and a cheese Danish. He winked, reaching for his toolbox.

This. This was everything she'd ever wanted. A man who looked at her like she hung the moon, who fixed her pipes and charmed her customers and made her feel like the luckiest woman in Crystal Lake.

The morning rush hit like a tidal wave, just as it did every day.

Hannah moved through her bakery in a familiar dance—pulling fresh croissants from the oven, restocking the display case, calling out orders to Sarah, her part-time helper.

The regulars filtered in and out, each greeting Jake with the easy familiarity that still made her heart squeeze.

He'd moved outside to work on the stubborn awning mechanism, rolling it in and out to test the gears. Every time he passed by the big front windows, she'd catch him watching her through the glass, his dark eyes tracking her movements with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

"Order up for table three!" Hannah called out, arranging a slice of her signature lavender honey cake on a vintage plate. She'd barely lifted the plate when Jake materialized beside her, his hand brushing the small of her back.

"I got it." He took the plate, but his fingers lingered against hers a moment too long. "Wouldn't want you to strain yourself, what with all that dancing."

"I hate you," she muttered, fighting back a smile as heat crept up her neck.

"No, you don't." He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "You like me just fine. Even Mary says so."

God help her, she liked him a lot. More than she'd ever thought possible.

And Jake—he'd never said the words. Never whispered I love you against her skin in the dark, never let them slip in the quiet moments between kisses.

But she knew. She felt it in the way he looked at her, in the way his hands lingered when he touched her, in the way he always—always—showed up.

And that was enough. For now. She could wait until he was ready to say it, because the truth was already there, wrapped around them like warmth, like certainty.

Jake delivered the cake with the kind of easy charm that had won over every customer in Crystal Lake. He'd been in town less than a year, but watching him chat with old Mr. Wilson about last night's game, you'd think he'd lived here his whole life.

"That boy's a keeper," Sarah whispered, appearing at Hannah's elbow with a fresh tray of scones. "The way he looks at you? Like you're something precious he can't quite believe is real."

Hannah's chest tightened. "I know."

"And those arms?" Sarah fanned herself dramatically. "If you ever get tired of him fixing things around here—"

"Not happening." Hannah hip-checked her friend toward the display case. "Go refill the coffee urns before I fire you."

Sarah's laugh carried across the bakery. "You'd never. I know all your secret recipes."

"Half of them," Hannah corrected, but she was smiling as she turned back to her work. The morning sunlight streamed through the front windows, catching on the copper wind chimes her mother had hung years ago. The whole bakery smelled like vanilla and coffee and possibility.

She was so caught up in the moment that she almost missed it—the way Jake's smile faltered when his phone buzzed, the slight frown as he read whatever message had come through. But then he was moving again, all easy grace and warm charm as he went back to work on the awning.

"Everything okay?" she asked when he passed by the counter again.

"Perfect." He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her flour-dusted knuckles. "Just like you."

But there was something in his eyes, something that made her stomach twist. Before she could ask, the bell chimed again, and a group of tourists spilled through the door, oohing and aahing over the display case.

"Welcome to Sugar & Spice!" Hannah called out, pushing down the nagging feeling in her chest. She was being silly. Everything was fine. Better than fine.

Jake had already disappeared into the back room, his phone pressed to his ear.

After all, what could possibly be wrong? She had everything she'd ever wanted—her grandmother's bakery, her small-town life, and a man who looked at her like she was magic.

The scent of cinnamon and sugar still clung to Hannah's skin as she backed through the door of her apartment, fingers tangled in Jake's shirt, pulling him with her.

His mouth was on hers before she could take another breath, hot and demanding, his hands framing her face like he was trying to hold her together—like he was trying to hold onto her.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he rasped against her lips, kicking the door shut behind them. "You're gonna ruin me."

She laughed, breathless, as his hands slid to her hips, lifting her off the floor like she weighed nothing. "I think we both know who's in charge here."

Jake groaned, carrying her toward the bedroom in long, purposeful strides. His lips trailed along the curve of her jaw, down the column of her throat, where he lingered.

His hands gripped her—fingers pressing into her thighs. The flex of his muscles beneath her palms had her melting.

He lowered her onto the bed, following her down, his weight pressing her into the mattress. "You're always running around, keeping busy," he murmured, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. "Always taking care of everyone else."

She arched against him, fingers pushing into his hair. "And you take care of me."

Something flickered behind his eyes—something raw—before he ducked his head and pressed his mouth to hers again, swallowing whatever words had just died on his lips.

It was different tonight.

Still hot, still hungry, but there was an edge to it. A kind of desperation. His hands weren't just exploring her skin—they were claiming it.

He kissed her like he was devouring her, like he needed to get inside her bones.

And Hannah—God help her—let him.

She wanted it. Welcomed it. Met him stroke for stroke, gasping his name as he stripped away her tank top, his mouth following the path of every bare inch of skin he exposed.

"You feel like heaven," he muttered, voice rough with want. His lips traced the edge of her collarbone, teeth scraping just enough to send a shiver through her. "You taste like honey."

She laughed, breathless. "Occupational hazard."

"Sweetheart," he growled, dragging his lips lower. "I want the taste of you all over my face."

A flush of heat surged through her as Jake kissed an achingly deliberate path down her stomach.

"Jake," she gasped, fingers gripping his shoulders.

He shushed her, gently, like she was something fragile. "Let me take my time with you."

And he did.