Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 21101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Does he have to be so big?
On television, he’s a large man. In person, he’s a tank. His suit does not make him look like a gentleman whatsoever. That black eye, his scruffy face and thick…everything screams that he’s a down and dirty bad boy. I’ve never been attracted to bad boys. In fact, I’ve pretty much steered clear of the entire male population my whole life. But on the odd times I let myself imagine who I could stand dating, it was a clean-cut, no drama type. Not Aiden Tulane.
Not this man who seems to be picturing me on a platter surrounded by baby carrots and a sprinkling of parsley. In other words, his next meal.
“Three minutes!” yells the host.
Three minutes?
What a bunch of boloney. Now I know the truth. They don’t just give bakers on reality shows difficult tasks, they condense the time down until the jobs are impossible. I’m not even that bad of a bad baker! The mean girls must have lied a little when they nominated me. Bottom line, though? No one can pull off a cake this size in two hours.
Hell if I’m not going to try, though.
I shake my first red velvet layer out onto the cooling rack and immediately start slathering it in buttercream. The sponge breaks apart, steam curling out of the crevices, but I merely brighten my smile, raise my chin and keep piling it on. When the going gets tough, dazzle the hell out of them, right? They can’t feel bad for me if I’m smiling.
A prickle on the back of my neck makes me lift my attention and I lock eyes with Aiden. He’s not grinning at me any longer. No, he looks like he’s…giving me a locker room pep talk.
“Come on, Lola,” he mouths. “Stop shaking and kick their asses.”
Shaking? Ooh, how dare he notice the tremble in my hands!
I make sure the camera isn’t trained on me, then I send him a scowl. “Drop dead.”
His masculine mouth spreads back into a smile, a gold tooth winking at me from where his incisor must have gotten knocked out on the ice. God, that shouldn’t be attractive. Why am I finding his black eye and the proof of his fighter status so…hot?
There’s no time to lament my bad judgment now. I have thirty seconds to finish this cake—and somehow I manage to cover it with frosting and place it on the presentation pedestal. The buzzer peals overhead and I slump forward against the counter. When I hear laughter over my shoulder, I turn and smile broadly at the mean girls, letting them know I’m having the time of my life. It visibly ruins their fun and they roll their eyes, going back to their phones.
That’ll teach you to try and rattle me.
Nothing rattles me.
Except, apparently, the swaggering giant of a hockey player that steps forward to taste my cake five minutes later. They’ve already tasted the other two cakes, though Aiden hasn’t taken his eyes off me the whole time.
The first contestant, a pretty blonde New Yorker type, totally bombed. Her cake kind of…oozes out onto the pedestal, drawing cackles from the audience. I feel pretty bad on her behalf and try to send her some non-verbal support, but she’s too busy making moon eyes at Sebastian, the British celebrity baker. The other contestant, a jolly, bearded fireman, holds his own with a halfway decent cake. Instead of worrying about the judge’s comments, however, he seems very interested in the way the female judge’s mouth moves when she chews.
Interesting.
When my turn for a taste test rolls around, Aiden makes no pretense of checking me out, scrubbing a hand along that bristly jaw that I am not imagining him rubbing all over my belly.
I’m not.
“Lola,” he greets me in a husky, male rasp. “Last but certainly not least.”
I shake my hair out and cock a hip at the camera. “We can agree on that.”
That gold tooth winks at me, but it’s more of a snarl than a smile. Aiden doesn’t like me flirting with the camera. That much is obvious. Well he’s going to have a heck of a time with me being a Las Vegas showgirl.
Wait. No. He’s not going to have a heck of a time with any part of my life.
This is the first and last time I’ll be seeing him.
Even if I was interested—and I’m not—I can’t be with anyone.
It’s way too dangerous, even for a man like Aiden who looks like he wouldn’t just take on a challenge, he would welcome it. Some problems can’t be solved with fists, though.
I clear my throat and hand out three forks to the judges. “Taste away.”
“Believe me, I’d love to,” Aiden says roughly, for my ears alone.
A hot shiver travels along my inner thighs and I squeeze them together, behind the table where no one can see. This close to the hockey enforcer, I have to tilt my head back to look at him, he’s so tall. And broad. And thick. Did I mention thick? Thick enough to bite and he probably wouldn’t even feel it. When did you become such a pervert?