Fierce-Baker (Fierce Matchmaking #22)

Prologue

“Thanks for cooking dinner tonight, Shane,” Tasha Robinson murmured, still floating on the warmth of the evening and their time together.

He rolled toward her in the bed of the company-owned apartment. The one he only lived in for two weeks out of every month.

His arm slipped around her waist and hauled her against him, his body hot and solid at her back. For a moment, she let herself melt into it.

Into him.

Into the illusion that this was the world she’d been waiting for. One where coming home from wrangling phone-addicted preteens all day to a man who’d cooked for her, wanted her, and chose her could be her future.

“You know I love doing those things for you,” Shane whispered into her ear, his lips tracing a path along the sweat-damp skin from the workout they’d just had. He settled on her bare collarbone, his tongue licking its way back up.

“And I love when you do those things,” she giggled. God, she hated giggling. But he made her feel light. Free. Stupidly, wonderfully in love.

And tonight, she’d tell him. She’d finally say the words that had been clawing to break free of her chest.

Two months wasn’t long. And half of that time he’d been out of town. But last month he’d let her in more. He showed her the charming, considerate man she hadn’t believed existed. The man who noticed things. The man who made her feel appreciated.

He was real.

He was right here, naked beside her, ready to make her body sing for the second time.

He flipped her in one smooth motion, settling her on top of him, his hands sliding over every inch of exposed skin and touching her like she was something precious. Something he wanted to keep. Even her heart leaned toward him, falling some more.

Then his phone rang.

The moment zipped away in a flash. She exhaled and slid off of him. The phone came first. It always came first. She’d learned to accept that, even if it sometimes felt exactly like dealing with her fifth graders and their chronic inability to prioritize anything over TikTok.

“Sorry.” He tossed the covers back, grabbed his shorts, and lifted the phone at the same time. “Hey, give me a minute to find a quiet place,” he spoke into it.

She didn’t know why he always stepped away like she was some noisy distraction. She never interrupted his calls. She respected his work, even if she didn’t really understand much about his uncle’s company, the two plants he split his time overseeing, or why none of it was ever open for discussion.

He said it was temporary, so not worth going into details.

That just meant that one day she might have to choose between staying in Charlotte or moving to Atlanta where he had a home, if things continued on the course they were flying through with lightning speed.

Plenty of time before those conversations. Or so she was telling herself, even if she wanted to hit the gas harder.

She heard the apartment door open and close. As usual, he’d gone outside to pace the grounds while he talked.

She didn’t understand if his job made him that anxious, why he couldn’t open up with her. Maybe she could help him through, if he’d just let her.

The mood was long gone. With a small sigh, she reached for her clothes.

Might as well clean up dinner. The dinner he’d made, the dinner they hadn’t even gotten halfway through before he’d scooped her up and carried her to bed, frantic and eager to get her naked.

Just like it always happened the first time they saw each other after they’d been apart.

A low buzzing broke through the quiet of her pulling on her clothes. Like a phone message coming in.

She froze, scanning for the source until she realized it was coming from the dresser. Why would he shut a phone inside the dresser drawer?

Her stomach dropped as if it were a bomb ready to launch her in the air, blowing her pretty illusions to shreds.

She opened the top drawer and pushed aside neatly folded shirts rather than walking away. She just couldn’t.

A phone she’d never seen before lit up beneath her fingers. The blue glow spreading on the wood face down, as if it wasn’t bad enough to have it hidden in a drawer, but also turned away if it was ever noticed.

Her hand shook as she picked up the vibrating piece of metal. Her nerves screamed at her to stop.

Don’t look. Don’t do this. You already know you won’t like what you find.

But she turned the screen over anyway.

A picture filled the display. Shane with his arms wrapped around another woman. Two young kids smiling in front of them, the four of them crouched together like a perfect little family.

And the name of the caller flashing across the top:

“Wifey.”