Seconds after the call ends, Sullivan West bursts through the back door, baseball bat at the ready. As though he means to take someone out with one hard swing. The sleeves of his flannel button up are rolled up, revealing deliciously hard, flexed muscle. My mouth waters.
The fact that this mancouldtake someone out with one hard swing makes my nipples instantly pebble.
Not the fucking time, ladies.
“What are you?—”
But he cuts me off, marching into the bakery as though he’s clearing the building. He scans the area with each deliberate step, assessing possible threats.
I’m forced to chase after him.
“Put that thing down!” I insist, grabbing for the bat before he accidentally swings it at Roxi. Not surprisingly, my little drunk friend has yet to stir. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of her very full belly, I’d think she perished.Thatwould not bode well for business.
“Where is he?” Sull growls. God he’s sexy when he’s pissed. The grumpy thingreallyworks for him.
Our fingers brush as he lowers the bat, and dammit if that familiar zing doesn’t shoot straight to my core. For a solitary, charged moment there is no bakery disaster. Hell, there’s no bakery. There’s only two people with enough electricity between them to power the entire town in a blackout.
“Lila?”
I tear my gaze away from his lips and force my hands to stay at my sides lest I try to comb them through his beard. Right. He’s not here forthat. With some effort, I’m able to refocus on the very real situation in front of me.
“If you use that bat on Roxi, we’re going to have a big problem,” I say.
“Roxi?”
I point to the raccoon passed out in front of my main display case. Sull turns, finally seeming to see the adorable little criminal with her frosting-smeared whiskers. If she weren’t a health hazard, I’d consider making her the new mascot ofThe Boozy Bakery.
Somehow, I don’t think Grandma Val would approve of that idea, though.
“A raccoon?”
“I mean, I’m not an animal scientist, but yes, I’m pretty sure that’s a raccoon.”
“Araccoonbroke into your bakery?”
“Yes. And as cute as she is, she can’t stay. The health inspector would shut me down in a heartbeat.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was a raccoon?” Sullivan grumbles, scrubbing a hand through his scruffy hair, drawing my attention back to those rolled up sleeves.
Dammit, this mountain man getup really suits him—the black and red flannel, the jeans, the scruffy beard. God, did he roll out of bed like this? No, this is not the type of man to sleepin lumberjack clothes. He’d definitely sleep in the nude, even if there wasn’t a naked woman in his bed beside.
Heat tangles between my thighs at the memory of that passionate night we shared. One where clothing was not onlynotoptional but forbidden.
“I sent you a picture,” I say, clearing my throat when the words come out a little high-pitched.
“When?”
“Right after I told you someone broke in.”
He pulls out his phone, as though he doesn’t believe me, and checks. “I was driving,” he says, unimpressed.
“You thought a burglar tried to break in?” I ask, a little touched by his overprotective nature. And turned on, of course. Because that seems to be a heavy theme this morning.
He looks away, as though he’s embarrassed.
“You thought I actually clocked a real-life burglar and refused to call the police?” I can’t help but laugh, which is refreshing considering my predicament.
“You could’ve called Chief Walker for this,” he says. “A break in is a break in.”