Recipe for Love Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

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I nodded once, vaguely noting it was amusing and kind of adorable that a macho man construction guy was ordering an oat milk latte with caramel.

I made myself busy, putting their pastries into our signature pink and white striped boxes, taking a lot of extra care and time with the boxes and the bows I tied around them.

Unfortunately, no matter how long I took on their orders, I would actually have to give them to them at some point.

By the time I was done, Tina had already made their coffees, and both men’s hands were fastened around our pink takeout cups.

Rowan’s fingers were long, masculine. I wasn’t sure that fingers could actually be masculine until this moment. Those hands would look so large and rough against my pale skin.

Why I was thinking about those hands on me right then was anyone’s guess.

I shook myself out of it and slid the boxes across the counter toward the men, not wanting to risk any kind of brush with those hands.

Far too cowardly to look upward, I focused on the cash register, tapping at the screen with trembling fingers. No one spoke. Well, no one in the immediate vicinity spoke. Of course, people in the café spoke. Florence and the Machine played from the speakers, mocking me with all of her divine feminine strength, with her utter confidence and strong sexual energy.

I turned the screen to Rowan, my lips pursed together, my eyes downward again.

There was a visceral energy in the air, like the atmosphere carried an electric charge. It was quite possible I’d been imagining that... I had a very active imagination.

Instead of turning his attention to the screen as I was willing him telepathically to do, he kept staring at me, his eyes twinkling and penetrating at the same time. That same sexual interest that had dripped from his tone a few minutes ago leeched from those stunning eyes of his.

It was becoming increasingly hard to stand on account of my trembling knees. I hadn’t known that a stare could make my knees tremble. I hadn’t known knee trembling was an actual thing that happened in real life.

Yet there it was.

There I was. Trembling, sweating and almost fucking panting because of the way the man was staring at me.

It was different from the times I was brave enough to serve him before. Sure, he’d been polite and sexy, always making eye contact when I found enough courage to look up. But there hadn’t been any of the burning, twinkling thing. There hadn’t been any flirting.

But then again, before, I hadn’t rambled on about Yellowstone either.

Still, I knew this was different.

For a moment, a terrifying yet glorious moment, I thought he was going to say something else. Ask me something. Like on a date. Or to be his girlfriend… Like a fucking rugged, brooding, alpha male was really going to ask me to go steady when we’d barely interacted. It was completely wild and unrealistic, yet I thought it, nonetheless.

I held my breath.

But then he broke eye contact, moving his attention to the screen and tapping at it, no doubt giving me an unnecessary tip since he did every time.

“I’ll be seein’ you,” he promised, and then he and Kip—who winked at me—turned around and walked out.

I couldn’t be sure if I was disappointed or relieved.

Chapter

Three

Recipe: Santé Biscuits

ROWAN

“You gonna shoot your shot?” Kip asked as we exited the bakery, my entire body tightening up as the crisp air greeted us. There was no more smell of sugar, cinnamon… whatever the fuck the mix of shit was in there that made all my muscles relax, made my dick harden just a little.

Yes, I was a sick fucking fuck for getting hard at the smell of baked goods. But technically, it wasn’t the baked goods that got me hard. It was the woman doing the baking. The woman who from the first fucking moment I’d laid eyes on her had sparked something inside of me. And yes, it was my cock first because I had still yet to gain total control over my animal instincts. Though I think you would have to be fucking dead not to have a reaction to her.

She was drop dead gorgeous.

Dark ruby hair that was thick, long and always escaping from whatever bun she’d piled it up in. Peaches and cream skin that flushed pink whenever I was around. Freckles dusting across her delicate nose. Full red lips that made any man think about what they’d look like around his dick.

Eyes sharp, angular, strikingly green. So green they glowed. But only when she was having a good day. They fucking changed color. It sounded insane, but it was true. When she was happy, excited or whatever, they glowed a vibrant emerald. When she was having a bad day, when she wasn’t happy, they were duller, almost hazel.

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