Tied with Me (With Me in Seattle, #6)(11)

She quickly recovers and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, Matt, it’s called stalking now.”

I grin and offer her a fresh bottle of water, which she accepts, unscrews the cap and takes a sip.

Fuck, she has beautiful lips. Lips that look amazing wrapped around the head of my cock.

“It’s not a crime to belong to a gym,” I reply.

“My gym?”

“Do you own it?” I ask with a grin.

She laughs and shakes her head. “No.”

“It’s not far from my apartment, and it’s convenient to work, too, so here I am.”

She nods and glances down, not sure what to say next.

“The cake was delicious today,” I comment casually, giving her the opportunity to talk about her work.

“Oh, good!” She grins and joins me as I walk toward the smoothie bar, pull out a chair for her to drop into at one of the tiny two-person tables and sit opposite her. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You do good work. Leo and Sam are always talking about your cupcakes.”

“Leo and Sam keep me in business, I swear.” She laughs, sending electricity down my spine. “They’re very good customers.”

I nod, watching her.

“I like your shorter hair,” I murmur and reach out to brush the ends with my finger, enjoying the softness.

“Most men like long hair,” she replies softly.

“I like long hair, too. You look beautiful in both.”

She frowns and glances away from me.

“Why did you cut your hair, Nic?”

She shrugs and won’t meet my gaze. “It was time for a change.”

“Try again,” I reply.

She turns her eyes to mine and squares her shoulders, firms her chin. “It was time for a change.”

That’s a lie.

I cross my arms over my naked chest and drag my finger over my lip, watching her squirm.

She isn’t a good liar.

Good.

“Okay.”

She sighs, relieved, before I continue.

“For now.”

She scowls at me, making me laugh. “Friends don’t lie to each other, little one. The sooner you remember that, the better.”


“You’ve known me for three minutes, Matt. Don’t assume you know all there is to know about me.”

“You know what they say about assuming,” I murmur with a grin.

“Well, you are an ass,” she replies and then giggles.

I lean in and rest my mouth next to her ear. “This ass would love to smack your pretty little ass until it glows,” I whisper so only she can hear.

She gasps and pulls back so she can look me in the eye, and I see it. The hunger. The lust. The awareness.

“Friends don’t usually threaten to spank each other’s asses,” she murmurs softly.

I lean back in my chair, not answering her, and cross my arms again as she pulls herself together.

“I should head home,” she says finally and stands. “I have to be in the shop early tomorrow.”

“It was good to see you, Nic,” I reply, allowing her to run. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She looks like she wants to say something more, probably to tell me not to bother coming into her shop, but she just shrugs and offers me a half smile before turning and walking away.

Yes, I’ll definitely be seeing you tomorrow.





Chapter Three


Nicole



This ass would love to smack your pretty little ass until it glows.

Christ on a crutch, who in the bloody hell says something like that?

I turn onto my side and stare at my alarm clock. 4:43. My alarm is going to go off in seventeen minutes, and I haven’t slept a wink. Not even after a three-mile run and a hot, hot shower.

Instead, all I could hear was Matt’s deep voice running through my head. His ice-blue eyes haunted me, the way they shine when he’s happy and darken when he’s turned on.

And they darken a lot when he looks at me.

I’d like to lick him.

Except, he would rather tie me up.

And the part that scares me is, I’d like for him to tie me up, too.

Dear God, what is wrong with me?

I sit up and turn off my alarm before trudging into the bathroom to begin getting ready for my day. When I go down to the shop in the mornings to bake the cupcakes for the day, I forgo any makeup in favor of comfort, then run upstairs about thirty minutes before we open to primp and be presentable for the clients. So it only takes a few minutes to pull on clothes, push my hair back with a headband—the one reason that I regret cutting my hair is no more ponytails—and I’m on my way down to the kitchen.

My work space is my pride and joy. I attended countless used commercial kitchen auctions, biding my time until I found the perfect equipment for just the right price. The stainless steel counters gleam under the fluorescent lights. My ovens are almost orgasm-inducing.

I love this place.

The front of the house was designed with the same care. I have a long glass display case that can hold roughly fifty dozen cupcakes at any time. I have an industrial espresso machine that would make Starbucks proud.

The color scheme is red, white and black. The floor is covered in black and white tile. The tables are little black wrought iron bistro tables for two covered in red tablecloths, and there is a long pub-height table by the front windows where people can stand with their treats and watch the traffic or the many musicians who come and go out of the nondescript recording studio across the street.