Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I doubt what happened last night will ever occur again. You don’t need a fence.”
He leaned forward and kissed the end of my nose. “Not taking a chance.”
He was affectionate and sweet during breakfast. Relaxed. He touched me often, tutting when I didn’t finish my food, sliding his chair closer and hand-feeding me bites of omelet and adding jam to my croissant to tempt me. I felt his eyes on me, and every time I looked at him, his focus was on me.
“Do you regret last night?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“Not at all.”
“You’re uncomfortable with me this morning. No lip, no smiles.” He sat straighter. “Did I hurt you? Was it too much? You’re so small, and I got carried away—”
I cut him off. “No. I’m fine.” I sighed. “I feel different this morning. Last night was…intense. I’m not sure what it meant or if I should act differently. If you want it again…” I trailed off at the shocked look on his face.
He shifted closer, taking my hands. “Listen to me, Little Bee. Last night meant a great deal to me. I know it was your first time and you’re grappling with different emotions than I am, but trust me, I want you in my bed tonight. Tomorrow. As to how I want you to act, just be my little bee. Mouthy, funny, and sweet. I like it when you tell me off. Most people wouldn’t dare. I like everything about you, okay? So I just want you to be you.”
I stared at him.
“You’re the worst kidnapper in the entire world, you know that? You’re supposed to frighten me, keep me chained up, and order me around. Not say such sweet things to me and do what you did last night when we, ah, when we…”
He grinned. “When we what?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know. Made love? Had sex? Um, frolicked?”
He barked out a shout of laughter. “Frolicked? You mean fucked?”
“I don’t use that word.”
“It’s just a word.”
I shook my head.
“I’ll get you to say it, Bee.”
Gia walked in, interrupting us. “There is a delivery. A large one.”
Dante stood. “Your supplies are here.” He bent and cupped my face. “You light up my world, Little Bee. Is that what you need to hear?”
“It’ll do,” I whispered.
He kissed me, hard and deep, leaving me no doubt he meant what he said. “Now, plan today’s cake. I want a good one.”
He stopped and said something to Gia on his way to the door. I couldn’t understand what it was since he spoke so quickly in Italian, but they smiled in my direction and she nodded.
I finished my latte and stood.
Time to start baking.
I was in shock as I looked at the mountain of supplies Dante had ordered.
“How much flour is here?”
“I got three fifty-pound bags.”
“Dante, a fifty-pound bag has about two hundred cups in it. One would have been plenty.” I held up the sack of icing sugar. “Six of these?”
“I like frosting.”
“How much cream cheese did you get?”
“One hundred packages. I got the kind you said you like.”
“I would have to bake hundreds of cakes to use all this before it expires,” I muttered.
He shrugged. “Use what you need. The rest can be donated.”
But I heard him as he walked away. “Or stay and use it all. I’m good with that.”
Gia and I sorted the huge pile, filling a pantry in the kitchen where she kept staples. It hadn’t been used much, but once we were done, it was full. Everything I’d asked for had been ordered in bulk. And I had discovered one of the boxes upstairs contained my small airbrush set I always used, so I had everything I needed to create the beautiful cakes Dante wanted. I had bought a top-of-the-line one, and I was pleased to see it. I liked how well it worked.
Gia waved, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I dug the phone Dante had given me from my pocket, selected a playlist, and got to work.
I knew how much Dante loved the hummingbird cake, but it took a long time to make and cool, so I went with a simple vanilla one. I would do the hummingbird tomorrow. I tied on one of the new aprons and gathered my ingredients. As I measured and stirred, I began to hum. The kitchen was sun-filled and large. Lots of work spaces. The tile was warm under my bare feet. I could do exactly what I wanted. No MaryJo breathing down my neck, tracking how much time I used on her ovens, yelling at me to work faster, stop humming, or get more cupcakes done for her. None of the attitude to deal with from her children and no customers to attend to. It was tranquil and lovely. And I would never have a more appreciative customer than Dante. How I got here didn’t matter. Whatever deal we struck no longer concerned me. I loved it here, and I was going to enjoy every moment. Both in the kitchen and the bedroom.