Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
The look of surprise on Wilder’s face is almost comical. “That dude in the khakis is working with the Iron Kings? For real?”
“Surprised the hell out of me too, but it turns out the guy in charge, Nogales or Billy, is his brother-in-law.”
I watch Wilder carefully as he processes this information to see if he’s someone I can trust. Not fully, mind you, just a man who doesn’t go back on his word. While he takes in the information, I look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he first came into For Goodness Cakes.
Wilder is gorgeous. He’s got that exotic mixed-race thing going on with mocha skin, beautiful curls on his head, and the biggest, deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s tall and lean, and I know firsthand just how hard he is. Everywhere.
He is, without a doubt, a magnificent specimen of a man, at least, he would be if he wasn’t twenty-three years younger than my fifty years. And a biker.
“They must be getting desperate if they’re recruiting car salesmen,” he grumbles. “Does he have any special skills?”
I scoff. “Other than lying? Nope.”
Wilder smiles at my words, and hot damn, that’s the kind of smile that sends panties flying in the air. The kind of smile that makes a woman stupid and makes her start thinking very dirty things about a man half her age. And the accompanying laugh is rich and deep and well-used as if he’s a man who doesn’t take himself too seriously.
If I was just twenty years younger…
“You’re gonna be all right, Maven,” he says.
Something about the way he says the words makes me believe them.
“I’m always okay,” I tell him, or maybe I tell myself as a reminder that whatever I’m thinking about Wilder right now, it’s because I’m traumatized. He’s a biker and too damn young. “And with that Nogales man talking about war, I’ll have to be.”
“War?” Wilder’s expression is instantly serious again, and he takes a long slow look around my kitchen, assessing everything, and I don’t like it. What does he see when he looks at my little bakery? A shabby little place that needs more work?
“You need better security here.”
My shoulders sink in relief at his final words.
“Yeah, I know, and I’ll take care of it when money starts to grow on trees.”
He laughs, but there’s little humor behind it.
“Sorry to tell you, sweetheart, but war doesn’t wait until you can afford it. I know firsthand.”
There’s a look in his eyes I can’t quite figure out, and then I beat myself up mentally for even trying to figure it out.
“I’ll get it done when I can.”
He shakes his head, looking around as if he’s calculating what the place is worth. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You’ll take care of it? Yeah, I don’t think so.”
I can already imagine having a bunch of tatted-up bikers guarding the place and my business tanking because of it.
“No offense, but I don’t need armed thugs protecting my business.”
Those blue eyes settle on me for so long I start to squirm. Then Wilder laughs as if this is all some big joke.
“It’s not the nineties, Maven, and this isn’t a gangster movie.”
“What do you know about the nineties?”
He gives me a look. “I was alive for a few of those years,” he shoots back with a knowing grin.
That grin sends another spear of warmth through me, and I refuse to pay it any attention.
“Look, Wilder, I really appreciate you coming in here to check on me, for even giving a damn even if you do have ulterior motives, but I don’t need the kind of help you’re offering.”
His brows shoot upward. “And what kind of help is that?”
“The kind that comes with strings and paints a target on my back. I worked too hard to win the money that allowed me to open up this place in a nice town like Angel Harbor. If war is coming, I don’t want to be caught in the middle of it.” I can’t afford to be a pawn in someone else’s fight.
His tongue slips out and slicks against full pink lips. “You a gambler, Maven?”
“Hardly. I won the Amateur Baker’s Championship competition, and it came with a hefty cash prize. That’s how I was able to open this place, and I’m not losing it for anyone. Or anything.”
His gaze is gravely serious as he takes me in from head to toe. “That’s damned impressive, Maven. I can see why you won. Your food is addictive.”
“Thank you,” I answer uncomfortably. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
“I understand you,” he clarifies. “But what you don’t understand is that the protection I’m offering will help you in the long run.”
“Doubtful,” I snort.
“Really? Surveillance equipment will deter crimes like break-ins and robberies. You can watch if anyone is harassing your employees or make sure future employees don’t steal from you.” He folds his arms, and I can tell he’s feeling smug in the—completely logical—arguments he’s laying out for me. “And there’s the small fact that your insurance premiums will go down if you have crime prevention methods installed.”