Page 103 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

Sydney had to admit the man was trying, and that she was just too damned jumpy. They made small talk, but it was so very difficult for her to keep her attention focused on him. She needed to keep her attention on him because soon she was going to get him to reveal why he was in Harbor Falls and what he wanted with her and her bakery.

And her scones.

But the thought of running into Brad or Suzie out here on The Deck was making her extremely nervous. So much so that it was very difficult to concentrate on a single word Steve Gate was saying.

So, she decided to just drink wine. They had ordered dinner a few minutes earlier and Steve had ordered a bottle for the table. It was very good, and she’d already had one glass. The waiter poured a second.

“How do you like the Lodge?”

Discussing something neutral was a safe bet, she decided.

Steve glanced about.

“Very nice. The owner has done a great job with the renovation.”

“Brad is good at about anything he touches. He and Suzie have done wonders with this place. You know, Brad wanted to tear it down and build a new hotel on the premises. Suzie fought him tooth and nail and won. That was before they married.”

Suddenly, she had found her tongue and the words simply poured from her mouth. Did wine make her chatty? She’d never noticed that before.

“Brad and Suzie Matthews, right? The owners?”

“Yes. You know them?”

“Of course. Brad’s reputation as a chef is widely known in hotel circles. But Suzie, she is the one I’m most familiar with.”

Sydney smiled.

“The Matchmaking Chef on the Channeling Food network.”

“I’m addicted to Channeling Food.”

He leaned closer and whispered.

“I DVR The Matchmaking Chef every chance I get.”

Laughing, Sydney felt some of her jitters fall away.

“She’s good. You know she’s my cousin?”

His eyes widened.

“No. Really?”

Nodding, she added.

“In fact, do you remember that strawberry blonde in the bakery the other morning? You may have even seen her this morning, amongst the puppy menagerie and ensuring antics. That was Suzie. We work together sometimes.”

“Well, I’ll be.”

She could see wheels turning in his head. Perhaps he was thinking about the connections in the business.

“I didn’t recognize her.”

“No television makeup,”

she offered.

He nodded.

“Sydney, I’m glad you are more relaxed now. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Busted. It was showing.

What would she say?

“Steve, it’s just that…”

He leaned closer.

“I like you, Sydney. There is no need to be nervous.”

No need to be nervous. All was fine, right? Except that she couldn’t relax and have the conversation she wanted to have with the man because she was so worried about Brad or Suzie stepping around the corner.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. She’d heard that somewhere, sometime.

She leaned his way, too, and placed her fingertips in his open palm lying across the table and said.

“When you mentioned the Lodge, Steve, I was sort of hoping we would be someplace a little more…well, private.”

Steve sat back, and his left eyebrow arched. Without breaking eye contact, and with a flick of his wrist, he beckoned their waiter to the table. Steve crooked his finger and the waiter leaned closer to hear what he had to say.

But Sydney heard him very clearly. He said.

“That dinner we just ordered? Room service, please. I’m in the Chalet Suite. Make it happen.”

Next, he pulled a few bills out of his jacket pocket and slipped them to the man, rose and helped Sydney to her feet. He lifted her wine glass off the table and handed it to her, then grasped his own. She rather liked the way he held his hand at her lower back as they left The Deck.

She gulped, half relieved to be heading out of public eye, and was pretty darned nervous about what was going to happen next.

She tipped back the wine glass, emptied it, and set it on a tray in the hallway as they descended the stairs and toward the main rooms of the lodge.

****

Twenty minutes later, they were tucked into Steve’s suite, sharing a Surf & Turf platter and a salad like they were an old married couple. Steve had suggested the entree, a house special designed for two, so Sydney had gone with it as well. She knew anything on Brad’s menu would be excellent and she wasn’t disappointed.

Suddenly the entire scenario felt too much like a date, and to be honest, she was very confused. The fact that she very much enjoyed his company was the source of her confusion, and she had to remind herself constantly why she was there.

Why was she there? Oh, yeah, to get to the root of the reason why Steve was tailing her, and to move all this food biz discussion forward. Was he an editor? A foodie fan? What?

Time to get down to business.

She thought about what she’d blurted out in the car the other evening and decided to pick up that conversation right where they had left it.

“So, Steve, let’s talk about why you are here in Harbor Falls and...”

He interrupted.

“Yes, of course. But first, Sydney, I must tell you that I am in love with that orange scone of yours. You have to tell me more about it.”

Hells bells. More talk about the scone. Okay... We’ll talk scone first. Not a bad idea. Could lead right into the line of discussion I want to start.

“Well, Steve. It’s simple, really.”

He chuckled.

“Not simple. It has fabulous flavor. Very complex. And I love it with the coffee you served up.”

He noticed that. Hm. Good.

“I intentionally serve that coffee on orange scone day.”

“I figured as much.”

She leaned forward, loving this conversation. How often did she really get to talk about her scones? It made her almost orgasmic. No harm in a little food talk, right.

“It’s the flavor combination, you know? People don’t realize the subtleness of the intentional flavor combinations. All they know is they want to come back for more.”

“It’s brilliant, actually.”

Satisfied, Sydney sat back and took another sip of her wine.

“I thought so.”

“I get a hint of nut. It is subtle, but noticeable. Yet, the texture is not nut-like.”

She smiled. He was good.

“It’s the flour.”

His eyebrow peaked. “Oh?”

“It’s a nut flour.”

“Ah. Will you tell me what kind?”

Sorry, Buster, until I know more about you, that secret is safe with me. Grinning, she replied, “No.”

He grinned back.

“You are a sly one, Ms. Sydney Hart.”

“I’ve been told that.”

Her tummy did a little twitter.

He studied her for a moment.

“It’s macadamia nut flour, isn’t it?”

She tried very hard to keep a poker face and wondered if she had succeeded. How did he guess that.

“You are just thinking that because of the coffee. It’s Hawaiian, remember? It’s tricky. And I excel at the unexpected.”

It was his turn to sit back in his seat now.

“No. You’re trying to throw me off track. It’s macadamia nut flour. I’m certain. And I bet my bottom dollar that it’s Grand Marnier in the icing and not Cura?ao.”

“You’d lose that last dollar then,”

she countered.

“You’re certain about that?”

Leaning forward again now.

She did the same.

“Positive.”

For about ten long seconds, they sat there at the little table staring into each other’s eyes, and then finally Sydney said.

“Talking about food is a little like foreplay, isn’t it?”

Steve took a deep breath.

“I have to admit, I’m a little turned on here.”

“You, too?”

“Well, Ms. Sydney, I do recall thinking to myself the other day that eating your scone was something akin to hot, decadent sex on a plate.”

Glancing down at their table of barely touched food, and then back up again into Steve’s eyes, Sydney mustered up everything in her and quietly said, with a tart hint of wicked in her voice.

“Steve, eat my scone.”

In a flurry of clothing and dishes, they both bolted over the table, mouths fused and fingers fumbling until they finally tumbled into the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedclothes.

****

Sydney inhaled deeply for the first time in about three minutes. Steve’s kisses were intoxicating, and she needed to push him away to come up for air. His naked body blanketed hers, her long legs wrapped around his pelvis, and their bodies covered with a solid sheen of sweat. In a wild frenzy of coming together they groped and sucked and tasted and met each other thrust for thrust.

“My God you are as smooth as Red Velvet Cake. I love being inside of you,”

Steve mumbled in her ear.

He stroked, and her insides felt more like Molten Lava Cake, ready to erupt at a mere stabbing in the right place on her.

“Oh, God, my Ggggg...”

“Grand Marnier?”

“Nice try. No, G-Spot. My... Um, oh yeah... G-Spot. Don’t. Stop.”

“Never, my sweet.”

“My God, what a big spatula you have, Steve...”

“The better to please you with, my little Crumb Cake.”

“Oh yes, Steve. Talk food to me. Talk freakin’ dirty food to me.”

“Wicked, sloppy, oozy, food.”

“Chocolate. Yes... Sweet mother of chocolate...”

“Melt for me, baby.”

“Double-boiler me, hot stuff. Now. Oh, God. Now!”

Sydney grasped Steve by the shoulders and held on tight. As her body took over and commanded release, Steve’s ground into her like an unattended standing mixer run amok with the beaters flying. In seconds, they accelerated and erupted, and then finally, were spent. Both flopped onto their backs, breath after breath huffing out of their mouths.

“Yummy,”

Steve finally muttered.

“Ditto.”

“Totally satisfying.”

“Room for dessert?”

Sydney countered.

Steve groaned.

“I may need extra rising time.”

She turned on her side and looked him square in the eyes.

“Duly noted. An hour to rise before the second knead. I have things covered.”

He blew out a breath.

“My God, you certainly do.”