Page 49 of Sweet Surrender

I rest my hand on his arm and squeeze. “I’m being ridiculous. I apologize. I’ll work on it.”

“It’s understandable, you’ve stepped into a huge role and I’m extremely appreciative. Yeah?” He waits for me to nod. “Okay. Good. We’ll probably leak the photos soon too. Just so you know.”

“I assumed as much. I planned on heading back to the bakery in the morning, if that’s okay? I know the plan was to make it look like we were on a honeymoon, but people know you’re out and about on your own so that kind of negates that. Plus, someone had to have seen you in Las Vegas and is bound to say something soon.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Regardless, we have a plan. So that big order is coming up?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you hire someone to help you? So you’re not so stressed about it? I can help out if you need it.”

I barely hold back my snort of humor. If the women, young and old, who were awestruck by him in Josie’s are any indication, there wouldn’t be much help happening. Imagine that in my tiny bakery.

“I’m fine. I’ve got it handled.”

“You should hire someone. To man the counter up front at least while you work in back?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” How do I explain to him that I don’t have a line of customers that goes out the door or the phone ringing off the hook with orders so I don’t need to hire anyone else? Pride has me making excuses. “My clients for the big order are big in the Bollywood scene. I had to sign all kinds of agreements about their privacy. They only wanted me working on their order.”

Yeah, that fib isn’t going to hold much water.

“They’d know if you didn’t ice cookie number five hundred and twenty-two versus if someone else did it?”

Case in point.

“You’re right. It sounds ridiculous. I’ll figure something out.” I lean my head back and close my eyes.

Jase shifts and moves off the chaise. I don’t want him to go. While I’ve enjoyed the quiet and time to myself, it’s also rather isolating when you’re in a place that’s not your own.

I open my eyes to see where he’s going and gasp softly when his face blocks the sun and narrows to be my entire field of vision. His hands are on both armrests and his body is leaning down over me.

“I get this feels awkward—the house not being yours and not having your everyday comforts—but use it like it is and let me know what you need so it does feel like yours. I know this ring feels heavy—mine does too—but it’s going to be okay. And, Cookie? When you look in the mirror later, try and see yourself through my eyes because you’re gorgeous.” His voice is back to that seductive silk, and I wonder why he chose being a drummer over lead singer because . . . damn.

My body heats and as much as I want to squirm in my seat to abate it, he’s so damn close. He’d know why I was doing it, and I don’t exactly want him to know that’s how I react to him.

“You better stop with all these compliments,” I say. “You keep proving to be the exact opposite of the public persona people say you are.”

“What’s that?”

“A good guy. A catch. Husband material.”

He quirks a brow. “We’ll keep this between us.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe you should let the world see this side of you and then Judge Righteous Prick might hear about it.”

“Nah. This isn’t for everyone to see. Just the people I care about.”

Well, that hits me squarely in the chest . . .

“I have to get back to work.”

“You’re leaving?”

“No.” Another flash of a smile that has me catching my breath. “Here. At the house. I’m going to work for a bit. Then hit the gym. Then probably back to writing.”

“Okay.” I infuse cheer into my voice. He wasn’t kidding about not impeding on my life. And while I am fine with that, a simple, “Hey, you want to eat dinner together?” would be nice.

But this is what I asked for, right?