“Oh good, there you are,” Xander said, his British accent affecting her the tiniest bit. She couldn’t be blamed for that, though. There wasn’t an American woman alive who didn’t get a little swoony over foreign accents.
Sophie smiled and folded her arms on the chest-high glass display case. “Where else would I be at this hour on a Sunday? Wait,” she said, noticing the clear water bottle he held. “You filled up your water bottle?”
“What?” He glanced down at it almost like he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh yeah, I guess I did. Listen—”
“With your own water,” she interrupted in disbelief. Something was wrong. Since moving to the area, Xander had come into the Sweet Spot every Sunday morning to have her fill his water bottle with her tap water, claiming that his side of the street got nothing but ‘mountain runoff shite’ while her side got the filtered good stuff. She knew it was nothing but an excuse to come in and flirt with her before his run—and she was certain he knew she knew—but it was always a fun banter session, so she overlooked the ridiculousness of it all.
Xander sighed and she noticed the muscle in his jaw tic. “Yes, with my own water, but I’ll let you dump it out and refill it if it means you’ll take a five-minute break so we can talk.”
She frowned. Ooookay. Maybe he didn’t want to flirt with her anymore. Wouldn’t be the first time a guy lost interest in her. But if that was the case, then what would he want to talk to her about? “Okay, sure, what’s up?”
He was about to answer when two of her regulars and friends of Grams walked in. Sophie gave him a look of apology, and he nodded his understanding and stepped back from the counter to make room for her customers. Now all she had to do was focus on pedaling her drugs of choice—sugar and caffeine—and not obsess about the pending ominous discussion with the eye crack standing a dozen feet away.
Piece of cake.
…
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, but Sophie Caldwelll was sex on a stick. More like two sticks since she always wore tall heels that were so skinny in the back, it amazed him that she managed to walk around in them as easily as he did his trainers.
Sophie’s long, wavy hair had always been some shade of green since he’d known her, ranging from pale pistachio to so dark it was almost black. Two weeks ago, she’d changed it to a jewel-toned jade that perfectly set off her dark chocolate eyes.
She had a silver ball stud just below the center of her full lower lip and another one nestled inside that sexy Cupid’s bow of her upper lip. Tattoos covered her right arm from shoulder to wrist in brightly colored cupcakes and candy. Thoughts of licking her skin to see if it tasted as sweet as it looked had consumed him more than he cared to admit. With her heavy eye makeup and bright red lips on a canvas of fair skin, she reminded him of a punked-out version of Snow White’s classic beauty.
Today she was wearing the hell out of a black lace tank top, skinny black jeans, and red-soled black heels. Usually he struggled not to picture what she wore underneath her clothes. Images like that would make for a very embarrassing and uncomfortable run. But with the threat to their businesses looming over his head, his brain was behaving itself. Mostly.
He took a beat to appreciate her smile and the way she positively glowed when talking to her customers, like she was lit up from the inside. An unfamiliar feeling curled deep in his chest, like a wisp of smoke on the edge of a breeze. Maybe it was respect for her as an independent businesswoman. Maybe it was admiration for how she treated the people who came into her shop like family. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
Sophie boxed up the various sugary baked goods—otherwise known to Xander as kryptonite since he wouldn’t let any of it near his mouth during training—and rang the ladies out with a smile and see-you-next-times. When they finally left, Xan breathed a sigh of relief.
He needed to talk to her about their impending evictions and find out where she stood. It’d kept him up last night, wondering if she was okay with it. If he were judging strictly by her mood when he first came in, he’d say she didn’t have much of a care in the world. And if that was the case, was the money she’d make from the sale easing her mind? He didn’t know her all that well, but from what little he did, Xan had thought she’d be more sentimental about the quaint shop her grandmother had started decades before.
There was only one way to find out. “I was hoping we could talk in your office.”
“I—”
The bells tinkled behind him as three older ladies and a gentleman dressed for church entered the shop, waving and calling out their hellos. She responded warmly in kind before turning back to him. “I can’t right now, Xander, I’m sorry. Kristin had to run out for a bit so I’m on my own until she gets back.”
“No worries,” he said, even though he hated the idea of waiting even longer. “I’ll just pop in after my run, then, yeah?”
“Yeah, that’ll be perfect.”
“Great, be back soon.” Gripping his water bottle tighter, Xan headed outside and started to run, welcoming the endorphin high that would empty his mind for the next two hours. By the time he got back to the Sweet Spot, whatever it was would be gone, and he could get down to the business of figuring out how to save his. And Sophie’s.
Chapter Three
Sophie gripped the back of her chair and did her damndest to keep it together. Her death grip on the chair perched in front of her desk and the long, deep breaths she forced herself to take were the only things holding her steady. Her uncle had called a half hour ago and told her he was stopping by for a visit to “give her a bit of news.” He’d downplayed the whole thing, acting like it was a casual social call, probably so she wouldn’t greet him with the largest kitchen knife she could find. Because the news wasn’t even remotely good. It was the very antithesis of good.
Sophie was going to lose her grandmother’s bakery.
“I can’t believe you would even consider this,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “And for a fucking mall. That’s just adding insult to injury. Grams would never want to sell the bakery, you know she wouldn’t. You grew up in this house, Richard. Our entire history is wrapped in this place.”
Richard shrugged, his mouth pursing like he was sucking on a sour lemon. “It hasn’t been the house I grew up in since she turned it into the bakery. Nothing about it resembles the home my brother—your father—grew up in. Now it’s just another faceless building, like any number of them in this town.”
Faceless? Was that bitterness in his tone? Did he resent Grams for going after her dream after Gramps died? If so, he could add “petty asshole” to his list of negative attributes.
“You’re going to sell the bakery just so you can line your pockets some more? When is enough, enough?”
“There’s no such thing as enough, Sophie. I don’t expect you to understand. People like you and my mother are content with your lot in life, whereas I strive to improve mine. Selling to this developer will bring in a lot of money to everyone involved, including you.”
“You mean you. The bakery isn’t technically mine yet.”
A fact that killed Sophie whenever she thought about it. It was always supposed to be hers, passed down to her from her grandmother. But then Grams was diagnosed with severe Alzheimer’s, and within months her mental health had deteriorated to the point she no longer recognized Sophie as her only grandchild, the girl she’d more or less raised.
Richard, their only other living relative, held power of attorney over Grams’s estate, including Sophie’s Sweet Spot, which was part of a trust that Grams had set up to revert to her at the age of thirty or when she married, whichever came first. Since she was only twenty-seven and had no plans on dating anyone, much less get married, she was pretty much screwed.
“I’m your uncle, Sophie,” he said with affection that rang about as true as a politician’s promises. “I’ll compensate you for more than fair market value. This developer wants this property and is offering top dollar. If your father was here,
he’d tell you we need to strike while the iron’s hot.”
Sophie winced at the mention of her dad. It was a low blow, and he knew it. Her dad had died almost fifteen years ago, and yet sometimes it still hurt like it’d been merely days. Sergeant Jerry Caldwell had been the polar opposite of his brother; humble and compassionate and a war hero. Tragically, he never saw his thirty-second birthday while his coldhearted, money-hungry brother was approaching fifty with no goals other than to grow his empire despite any hardships it caused for others. It’s what made her question if there was truly any balance in the universe. It sure as hell clinched the “life’s not fair” adage.
“Sophie,” he continued, “the bakery is struggling. This community has grown extensively over the last twenty-five years since it opened. The urban jungle and fast-pace living of Las Vegas continues to bleed farther and farther into the surrounding suburbs, and Rose Valley is no different. On top of that, people are trading in their daily sugar highs for healthier choices, something that the Sweet Spot doesn’t offer them.”
Sophie scoffed, unable to say anything to combat his statements. He was right. She’d watched as whole food stores replaced regular old grocery stores, fast food chains were run out in favor of the organic cafés, and a gym could be found in every square mile in the valley. She didn’t have anything against living a healthy lifestyle. It was just bad for business.
Still, despite her profits steadily decreasing year after year and being unable to replace her appliances and update the kitchen to run a better, more efficient store, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving this place; the only place that had ever been a constant in her life…the only place that had ever been home.
Besides, what about all the other tenants on the block? The stationery store, the daycare, the resale shop, plus so many more. Joe and Joyce, the owners of the little diner, Soup’s On, that had been a staple in the community since the early fifties. Audrey-Grace, the ex-ballerina turned Vegas showgirl who retired from the stage to finally pursue her dream of opening up a dance studio for children, was right around the corner. Xander’s gym—
Xander.
This must be what he wanted to talk to her about before. Did he think she was on board with this, or maybe hope she held sway with her uncle? She almost laughed out loud at that. The only person’s opinion he cared about was in a nursing home and unable to remember she was his mother. It was up to Sophie to change his mind somehow, otherwise they’d all have to relocate. Then again, some of them probably wouldn’t, like Joe and Joyce. They were in their seventies and still running the diner—it was their passion—but she doubted they’d have the kind of energy it took to start over somewhere new.
Richard was a shrewd businessman; he probably used a bunch of legal jargon and threats of siccing his attorneys on everyone, bullying them until they felt they had no other recourse than to agree to his terms. It was only speculation so far, but she’d bet that’s exactly how it all went down. Sophie didn’t think he had an ounce of compassion for anyone other than his mother, and even that was buried deep beneath the hard exterior. Some people built walls around themselves. Her uncle had surrounded himself with a twenty-foot fence of electrical razor wire on top of an island of impossible-to-breach craggy cliffs. His only relationships were business ones. The end.
Sighing inwardly, she sat in the guest chair across from him. Her legs didn’t feel all that stable at the moment, and the only thing worse than not holding up the appearance of authority in her own place, would be collapsing on the floor. Though it would burn like acid, if it had even the slightest chance of getting through to Richard’s speck of humanity, she needed to swallow her pride and plead for him to reconsider. Desperate times and all that, Sophie…
“Uncle, please, don’t do this. This was always supposed to be mine, to carry on Grams’s dream. She groomed me for it, and I’ve worked my ass off.” Sophie had learned how to run the bakery inside and out before she could legally drink, and though it’d taken forever, she’d taken both night and online classes and gotten her bachelor’s degree in Business Management like she’d promised her grandmother. “I know things have been rough lately, but I’ll figure out a way to fix it.”
Rolling his eyes, he said, “You’re being melodramatic and childish. I’m not taking anything from you except the physical house. You’ll be able to relocate the business to anywhere you want with plenty of money to spare for top-of-the-line equipment and a new place to live. This is what’s called an excellent opportunity if you could take the nostalgia blinders off for two damn seconds.”
Why couldn’t he see this wasn’t just about the bakery? “Forget it. I don’t know what made me think you’d give a damn. I’ll just call Jasper.” Jasper—their family lawyer—was just short of a saint and one of Grams’s oldest friends. He was also the one who drafted the trust contract years ago. “There has to be a way to stop you.”
Richard shrugged in a go right ahead manner as he rose to his feet. “You’re more than welcome to speak with Jasper, but the only way to acquire the trust is through a legitimate marriage.” Richard gathered his things together then gave her a snake-like smile. All the man lacked was the forked ribbon of a tongue flicking out to taste the fear of his prey in the air. “Considering your track record with men, I think we both know what the likelihood of that is.”
Sophie flinched. The verbal barb did its job, sinking in deep enough to draw blood. She had a trail of broken pieces of her heart churning in the wake of her bad breakups, including one chiseled off from an ex-fiancé.
But his insulting presumption set her skin on fire and pushed her to her feet to walk around the chair with every intention on letting Richard out. If she slammed the door a little too early and it smacked him in his bony ass in the process, oh damn well.
…
Xander leaned his head back against the wall just outside the door to Sophie’s office and gritted his teeth. He’d returned from his run, ready to speak to her about this sale issue with her uncle, only to realize the bastard was in there giving her the news for the first time. He must have waited to get everyone else situated before taking it to her so she wouldn’t be able to go around and talk the other business owners out of anything.
As he’d approached her office, Sophie’s voice—tight and distraught—seeped through the door and stopped him in his tracks.
“Uncle, please, don’t do this. This was always supposed to be mine, to carry on Grams’s dream. She groomed me for it, and I’ve worked my ass off. I know things have been rough lately, but I’ll figure out a way to fix it.”
Xan’s body had tensed more with every minute he listened. Then Caldwell insulted Sophie, making Xander’s blood boil and his fists curl tight. The only thing she could do to stop the sale was get married, and the snide bastard flat out told her he didn’t believe for a second it would ever happen, now or ever.
What a bunch of bullshit. Xan would bet Sophie had men panting after her on the regular, and if her relationships didn’t last, it was probably because they couldn’t hold a candle to her raging fire.
That wouldn’t be the case if they ever got together, at least not in the bedroom. He would match her flame for flame until they incinerated everything around them. He’d been on the verge of letting those torrid images get the best of him again when the cruel words of her uncle smacked him back to the present.
“…the only way to acquire the trust is through a legitimate marriage. Considering your track record with men, I think we both know what the likelihood of that is.”
Fucking hell! To hear him speak so callously to a woman—his own niece—brought back painful memories of growing up hearing his father berate and belittle Xander’s mother. It’s why he often got involved in situations that were none of his business. He couldn’t stomach witnessing a woman being bullied.
Xan was going to make the tosser choke on his own words.
He stalked out to the front door, reached up, and flicked the little bell to sig
nal his “arrival.” Turning around, he faced a perplexed Kristin who opened her mouth, presumably to ask if he’d fallen off his rocker. He held a finger up to his lips and shot her a look he hoped would brook no argument. She simply raised a single brow with interest.
Xan spoke loud enough for his voice to travel down the hallway to Sophie and her uncle. “Hello, Kristin, you’re looking lovely as ever,” he said, walking toward the hall. “Just popping in to see my girl after my run. Tell Billy I said hello, yeah?” Then he proceeded to eat up the short distance to reach the office.
Acting as though he had every right to barge in without knocking or asking for permission, he swung the door in wide just as she was approaching, hopefully to throw the asshole out of her office. Sophie’s chocolate eyes widened in surprise, her red-stained lips opening on a gasp.
“There you are, sweetheart.”
“Xander, what—”
That’s all she got out before his large hands took hold of her face and he slanted his mouth over hers for a claiming kiss. He wasn’t the sort of man to greet his woman with a chaste peck, but rather one of possession and ownership. One that marked her as his alone, without question, without challenge.
Only he hadn’t known that about himself until the moment his lips touched Sophie’s.
Mine. So fucking mine.
Unable to stop himself, Xan swept his tongue inside and laid siege with abandon and Christ Almighty he’d forgotten her tongue was pierced with a metal ball that was now massaging him in ways that should be illegal.
But that’s not what had him burning with desire. It was her. She tasted like sugar and fire with a hint of coffee. Xander hated the bitter brew, keeping to his English roots with his fondness for tea, but he’d switch in a heartbeat if it meant getting his daily shot of caffeine from sucking on her delicious tongue.