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DEAN

M ackenna locks eyes with me as her soft fingers slide down my face while her hard nipples glide across my bicep. There's no way I can focus on prepping for tomorrow with her standing this close to me. All night working the bar with her has my mind reeling over what could have been.

Refusing to let the moment slip by, my hand slips behind her neck. I slide the band off her ponytail to let long locks of soft blonde hair fall over my wrist. When my fingertips move up to graze her scalp, soft mewlings of satisfaction rise from her throat just as softly as she rises onto her toes. I lower my face toward hers because of fucking course.

I may be grumpy, which she never fails to remind me of, but I’m not made of stone. My entire being comes alive with her proximity.

When our lips touch, gingerly at first, I want to pull back, but I don't. I won't … not this time.

Fuck it. Let's turn up the heat.

Primal possession takes over. Her mouth, the way her lips mold against mine, and even the way she tilts her head show how perfectly we fit together. A few passes of my tongue over hers have me wondering if her nipples are still hard because of the coldness in the kitchen or from the anticipation of what's to come. Or should I say, who's to come?

Only one way to find out.

Our kiss explodes into something passionate, and I grip the bottom of her shirt and tear it open. The flimsy fabric separates like a jacket, revealing perfect tits that fit into the palms of my hand.

"You've been slinging drinks all night without a bra on, daring me not to look," I snarl against her mouth, pulling her back and then yanking her body back into me. I want to touch every inch of her and carve every curve into my memory.

"It was better for tips," she says with a smile.

"I know something that's better for a tip." I pinch one of her nipples as my other hand dips inside her jeans and between her legs.

Our mouths crash back against each other. My finger dips inside of her walls and forces Mackenna to slide her pants down past her ass to give me more room. I coax an orgasm out of her. The way her wetness coats my finger makes me kick myself for not trying harder to get back to this level of intimacy sooner.

The raw emotion that exists between us is undeniable. But every time we get here, something comes up to keep us apart. Mackenna's shallow breaths of passion pull me deeper into this explosive reunion of our bodies. But the sudden realization of where we are pushes logic ahead of my lust.

The redness of her skin fades away, her lust deflating with mine. A simultaneous exhale draws laughter from us both. She fidgets with the shards of her shirt before laughing and giving up.

"I've missed you," I tell her as I walk toward the break room door.

There are lockers inside with a couch and bathroom. Most of us who work odd hours at Sweet's keep a few changes of clothes just in case things get too messy. When I toss her a new shirt, Mackenna smiles and lets her torn shirt fall to the floor.

"I remember this shirt," she replies, ignoring my sentiment.

I let it go, saying, "You were adamant about taking it off the last time you were here. It's clean."

She brings it up to her nose, inhaling deeply before slipping it over her head. "Thank you, Dean. You always seem to have a way to fix me."

"Help you, Mackenna. I've never tried to fix you."

She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and huffs out a breath through her flaring nostrils. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's easy to get the two notions mixed up when I feel like a failure."

"You're not a failure," I tell her, walking close to embrace her, but she puts her hands up to stop me.

"Let's just get started. What are we doing tonight?"

Opting not to pry into our can of emotional worms, I shift my focus to what needs to be done before I open in a few hours.

"Once I figure out my muffin of the day, I make a cookie pal for it. We only have to chop a few things to make the toppings."

"What are you going for?" She walks over to one of the three industrial refrigerators along the wall. On that side, there’s a walk-in freezer, and on the other side of the room, large ovens are across from them.

Sometimes, I get so lost in my work that I forget the joy my creations bring to customers. The smile of delight on Mackenna's face pours a lightness over me that makes these indecently long nights worth it.

"Is this ice cream cake?" she asks, her eyes widening like a child in a toy store.

"Pralines and cream ice cream is sandwiched between thin layers of pecan cake and a praline brittle dusting over the ice cream frosting. It's one of my best sellers."

"It sounds so good." She moans and licks her delectable lips while walking over to a sink to wash her hands. "A slice of that over some warm Snickerdoodle cookies or a blondie."

"That's not a bad idea. Maybe I can do something like a Snickerdoodle ice cream sandwich as my cookie pal."

"And for your muffin of the day?"

I shrug. "Maybe I can do a pecan streusel coffee cake muffin."

"Yes." Mackenna beams. "I'd inhale that with my hazelnut iced macchiato. Or maybe you can do a collab with On the Rocks?"

"What kind of collaboration do you have in mind?" I ask as curiosity sparks my imagination.

"One where you get an ice cream sandwich with some sort of mudslide. Or wait, is there a way to make a pralines and cream mudslide, or hazelnut? That would be so good if you don't make the muffin too sweet."

It's brilliant, but it's also too labor-intensive to perfect a mudslide drink recipe tonight. The more I think of the exhaustion looming over me, the less I want to stay in the bakery.

I find myself making excuses, telling her, "I never put much thought into a collaboration between them. The bakery takes up most of my day, and now that Hank quit on me, I think I should keep things simple. It's nearly two in the morning, and I don't feel like doing much prep work. How about you keep all the tips from the bar anyway and let me take you home?"

"You're going to regret not doing your prep work the same way you regret parking your car when it needs gas and promise to go in the morning. Let me help you, Dean. Please."

I relent, and we get to work. Once again, we find a rhythm after I take her through everything we have to do to make the muffins and cookies.

Mackenna's right, too. I would have had to come back and sleep on the couch in the break room to do all of this work before we opened. Thankfully, I can leave instructions for my staff and sleep in late. I'll figure out what to do about the bar later.

The drive to Mackenna's house is quiet, so it doesn’t surprise me that by the time I pull into her driveway, she’s sleeping against the window. I don’t want to wake her, but my car’s sudden stop forces her eyes open.

The soft moan and yawn purring from her throat has my imagination leaping to what it would be like waking up next to her in the morning.

"Thank you, Dean." Mackenna's voice is soft as she stretches and reaches across to wrap her arms around my neck. I lean into it, and she plants a soft kiss on my lips that wakes my cock, even though my body is begging for sleep.

While I can sense Mackenna's need, I can't be sure if rekindling our passion is from us working these past few hours together or if she genuinely wants to travel down this road with me. There are dozens of questions circling my mind, and I don't want to stop, but I pull away.

It's for our own good. I know what I want. I know who I want. I won't force her to choose me because we're in this bubble of bliss.

"It is way past my bedtime," she says lazily, bursting our bubble. "Thanks for the ride, Dean."

"Thanks for all your help, Mackenna. Really, I wouldn't have gotten through the night without you."

"It's only right I return the favor, finally." She pauses and lets out a sigh as she pulls her arms from around my neck. With some reluctance, she says, "You don't have to drive home if you're tired. I have a spare bedroom if you want to crash."

My emotions war against my desires. "I'm sorry. I have to get up early, and I don't want to throw your morning off. I'm already running down my list of things to do since I'm going to have to start interviewing folks to replace Hank."

Mackenna strokes the side of my face and lets her thumb run across my bottom lip. I fight the urge to suck on her finger before she offers me a timid smile and gets out of the car. It only takes me a second to get out myself and walk her to the door.

"You're always a fucking gentleman." She giggles as she heads inside.

"The fact that you're wearing a different shirt says I'm far from gentle."

"Far from gentle, indeed. Good night, Dean."

"Good night, Mackenna." I stand in front of the door, mentally kicking myself for not taking up her offer to go inside. If I didn't have to be up in five hours, I would have jumped at the chance, but I tend to put work first.

Instead of beating myself up over sex I'm not having, I head home to beat myself off to fantasies of what should have been. In another life where I didn't care about the health standards of my business, I'd fuck Mackenna all over the bakery and the bar. But no, I have to let my primitive urges subside and let memories of our passionate kisses lull me to sleep.

For now, at least.