Sweet Bliss Read online

  Tryst Books

  720 Bathurst Street, Suite 303

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5S 2R4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Helena Rac

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (except brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of the author or publisher.

  Front cover design: Ellen Yu

  Cover image: courtesy of Shutterstock.com

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Helena, Rac, author

  Sweet Bliss / Helena Rac.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-0-9940297-7-5 (paperback). ISBN 978-0-9940297-8-2 (epub). ISBN 978-0-9940297-9-9 (mobi).

  I. Title.

  PS8635.A238S84 2015 C813'.6 C2015-907122-4/C2015-907123-2

  This is the original electronic edition of Sweet Bliss.

  To life's sweet indulgences

  Chapter 1

  Fourteen months ago

  This is going to be so freaking good…

  Rich, creamy strawberry icing. Decadent chocolate cake. My mouth salivates and my stomach rumbles as I go for a bite of what is probably the worst breakfast choice ever – a cupcake, plucked fresh from the display case of my bakery, Lovely Cakes.

  I’m running late for a meeting with a potential client who wants to order a whole lot of cupcakes for a corporate gala. Of course that’s great for business, but running late, not so much. And honestly, I am never late, but this morning has turned out to be one I’d rather start over. After stumbling out of bed way too late courtesy of a late-night crazy-hot romance read and an alarm that never went off, I’ve spent exactly three minutes in the shower, two minutes frantically putting on clothes and makeup, and zero minutes drying my hair. To top things off, the elevator in my building was conveniently out of service and I had to race down seventeen flights instead. Mentally I give myself a high-five, pleased that I have made it this far in one piece. Hence my breakfast choice. Just something to hold me over during the meeting, I reason.

  I’m texting my client to let her know I’m running ever so slightly behind while I’m gobbling up the cupcake and power-walking in stilettos down the crowded streets of Chicago’s financial district. So of course it’s no surprise when I run straight into something. Someone, that is. A head-on collision.

  The cupcake ends up half in my mouth and half on my nose; the strawberry icing conveniently spreads in between. To add embarrassment to an already messy situation, my feet stumble back and I lose my footing, tripping backwards and landing on my ass. Awesome.

  This morning keeps getting worse. I’m beyond annoyed.

  “For the love of cupcakes, watch where you’re–” Going is what I’m about to say, but that’s before I lock eyes with the knee-wobbling, head-spinning, mischievous gaze of a man.

  Delicious.

  Sexy.

  Stranger.

  Honestly, the cupcake doesn’t even compare.

  I may be a closet romance junkie, but I’ve never been a believer in love at first sight. Until just now. Okay, fine – I know it can’t actually be love, but god, I’d like a bite of that. Or a few. Calm down, my rapidly beating heart; this must be an apparition. It’s not physically possible, but he is the most stunning man I have ever run into. Not that I’m in the habit of running into men, or people in general. Normally I am the epitome of grace. Except right now, it appears.

  “I am so sorry,” the sexy stranger says, and the sound of his husky voice does funny things to my body. “I shouldn’t have been texting and walking. Let me help you up,” he offers as he reaches down to me.

  “Umm … ouch. I’m … okay,” I stammer. So much for my usual suave self. Normally words come so easily to me, I swear. I must have a concussion from the fall; that’s it. Except I didn’t actually hit my head. Nope, I’m undone by his rugged face, his captivating eyes, and his apologetic smile.

  I reach out and take hold of his hand, and the soft yet firm touch of his fingers jolts me. As he pulls me up, I lose my balance again, and my body collides with his. As if instinctively, his arm reaches around my waist to steady me. Just as instinctively, my palm presses against his abdomen. Jesus, his abs are harder than the Rockies.

  Our faces are mere inches apart, our lips nearly touching, his breath of air mine, my breath of air his. Right now I can’t even spell the word “cupcake.” But I can with certainty spell out this: mischievous eyes gaze at me; dark, short-at-the-sides, messy-on-top hair tempts my fingers to play with it; just enough stubble, like he could do something about it but chooses not to, frames his square jaw; and those lips … that bottom lip, in fact, whispers “taste me.”

  I can’t help it. My thoughts impulsively wander to what he would look like naked, without his black suit and crisp shirt. His fresh, just-showered scent is intoxicating.

  He shifts awkwardly, and I realize a few things:

  First, I’m still clinging to a stranger I fell into like an idiot.

  Second, before he moved, I think I felt something hard. Down there. Maybe.

  Third, I have cupcake all over my face.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger asks with genuine concern.

  “Umm … hmm.” This is getting ridiculous. I can speak. Perfectly fine. Just apparently not right now.

  “Here.” A grin lights up his face as he pulls a tissue from his pocket and gently wipes the icing from around my lips, clutching the back of my neck to steady me. Which apparently has the opposite effect, since it weakens my knees. I have to remind myself to keep my eyes from closing and to not lean into the comfort of his hand.

  “There, much better,” he acknowledges, after taking what seem like a couple of very drawn out minutes to get me cleaned up. And then it feels like time stands still. He’s just smirking and staring. Blatantly. Like he’s absorbing me. Inhaling. Exhaling.

  “God, you smell like strawberries and chocolate. My favorite.” He grazes my lower lip with his finger, and I nearly tremble from the shivers that travel all the way down to my toes. If I was unable to move a moment ago, I am now barely able to breathe. I feel as though I’m about to melt like icing on top of a just-baked cupcake.

  Two things come to mind right then.

  One: Who says that to a complete stranger?

  And two: God, I want to hear him say things like that to me over and over again. Preferably while we’re naked.

  And so I don’t move at all, I don’t dare to blink. I just drink in this Prince Charming who appears to have become my whole world within a mere moment. He is absolutely stunning. No one in my fantasies has ever compared. No one has even come close. This moment – it is pure bliss.

  Just when I think nothing can ruin it, a car horn brings me back to reality. Client meeting!

  I pull from his hold and mumble, “Umm, thanks … gotta go … running late.” Really smooth.

  I turn swiftly, utterly embarrassed, and start to walk away, but all the while I have this strange feeling that his eyes are following me. Even his unseen stare is giving me goose bumps. I’m seriously contemplating sprinting so that I can get out of the bubble I suddenly feel trapped in.

  I’m not some swooning girly-girl, I swear. I’m a responsible adult who owns her own business and makes decisions based on logic and research and… Ugh! It’s just that no one has ever had this effect on me. Only this incredibly sexy, deliciously fuckable stranger. Clearly I need to get out more.

  “Hey, wait!�
� I hear him yell, and I turn back hesitantly. What could he possibly want now?

  “Don’t forget this.” He jogs toward me, holding my phone. “I guess I wasn’t the only one walking and texting,” he teases. His closeness, his scent, and that damn sexy smile overwhelm me once more.

  “Right … umm … thanks,” I mumble, again, and I feel my cheeks blush. By now they must be the color of ripe strawberries. I snatch my phone away less than gracefully and fumble with it between my fingers. No, this cannot possibly get any more embarrassing. “Later, stranger,” I blurt out, but I realize almost instantly the chances of seeing him again are pretty slim.

  “Later, cupcake,” he replies, still smirking, as he takes a few steps backwards before finally turning around and making his way back through the crowd. And I just stand there, frozen.

  Minutes pass before I finally manage to get a hold of myself. Well, probably not minutes exactly, but it sure seems like it. And then my phone buzzes, a meeting reminder confirming that I am now very, very late. I start jogging, a skill only black-belt stiletto-wearers like me have mastered, but as my steps take me farther away, I can’t stop thinking about those smoldering eyes and the delicious bottom lip that I really, really want to bite. The stranger’s face is embedded in my mind and I am … Smitten? Love-struck?

  Crazy.

  I may be in danger of losing a client this morning, but at least my fantasy life has taken a turn for the better. This delicious stranger has just shot up to the top of my book-boyfriend roster. Maybe I am a bit of a swooning girly-girl after all.

  Chapter 2

  Ten months ago

  It’s been a hectic summer at Lovely Cakes, and even though the wedding season is finally winding down, given it’s early September, we’re still going full steam. I have been on the go the entire day, finishing orders for the weekend, overseeing the deliveries, and meeting with clients to discuss their cake visions and timelines. I’m exhausted and have to recharge so that I’m ready to do it all again tomorrow. I absolutely love my career of choice and running my own business, so taking a break is something I have to force myself to do. Otherwise, I’d probably never see the light of day. I’d be holed up in my bakery, pretending that life is always perfectly sweet – just like the creations we design.

  There’s only one person who knows how to help me loosen up: my sister Clara. I stop by her place to hang out and unwind. One thing I can always count on is Clara’s relentless optimism and bright personality. She’s a happy-go-lucky kind of girl and knows just how to help me relax. Tonight’s no different.

  Clara’s loft is cozy and charming, except it’s just slightly overcrowded with all her … stuff. It’s not like she’s a hoarder, but she does have a thing for all sorts of unique items that would never catch my eye. Like weird art and peculiar little things that fill in all the nooks and crannies. And she very rarely manages to keep it neat and tidy. A perfect reflection of Clara. Fashionable, spontaneous, charismatic, and a bit scatter-brained. There are clothes hanging here and there, shoes everywhere, and magazines, makeup, hair accessories, and all things girly scattered around. Honestly, if a stranger were to walk in, they’d think she’d been robbed – it looks like someone’s had trouble finding whatever they were after. It’s not that she’s a slob; she just manages to not worry about the little things in life. She just lives it.

  Clara and I spend some time chatting and catching up on the week’s events. I may also spend some time tidying up as we talk. I can’t help it. The place looks a thousand times better by the time I’m done.

  “So what are you and Marcus up to tonight?” I’m referring to Clara’s boyfriend, who’s coming over shortly. The mere mention of his name makes Clara’s eyes light up.

  “I’m not sure yet. I think we may head out for dinner and a movie.”

  “Oh. That sounds like fun.” I’m glad to see her happy. She’s been in some messed up relationships over the years, yet, unlike me, she’s always been on the lookout for “The One.” It amazes me to see how resilient she is, even after the heart-shattering consequences she’s experienced in the past. When she met Marcus, however, something changed. I can’t help but think that maybe she’s finally found him.

  “He’s bringing a friend, you know.” She slides that in there, as if I should be intrigued.

  “Your point?”

  “Nothing. Just sayin’.”

  Clara’s always trying to set me up with random guys. I’m not really interested and haven’t been for a while. “Well, I’d better head home.” My to-do list for tonight includes trying out a new cake recipe, steeping a fresh blend of loose-leaf tea, and taste-testing the results during an orgy of soothing comfort, sugar, and Channing Tatum movies. Unlike Clara’s, my love life has been less than stellar. Instead, I live vicariously through fictional romances and dream of delicious sexy strangers who can never be mine.

  “Have fun tonight.” I give Clara a hug and make my way to the front door.

  “You know I will.” She winks, radiating the biggest I’m-crazy-about-this-guy smile.

  As I reach to open the door, Marcus beats me to it. He pops in, beaming from ear to ear, taking just enough time to say, “Hi, Tessa!” as he passes me. He proceeds to grab Clara like he hasn’t seen her in weeks, locks his lips on hers, and twirls her around, oblivious to anyone around them. Christ. Their cuteness makes me nauseous.

  “Hey Marcus,” I say and shake my head. Is that what love looks like? I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that way about a guy.

  Since the lovebirds appear to be completely disinterested in me, I turn to leave … and run straight into a wall of a man. Into a pair of bright eyes that meet mine with a flash of surprise. Captivating eyes that I remember instantly, even though my encounter with them months ago was all too brief. This cannot possibly be…

  Delicious.

  Sexy.

  Stranger.

  “Cupcake Girl?” the stranger asks uncertainly. Oh god, it definitely is. My fantasy seems to have materialized in front of me. Apparently fate can be your friend sometimes.

  My eyes widen; my mouth opens in shock, but nothing, absolutely nothing comes out. That’s it. I may officially be in need of an interpreter when faced with this guy.

  And did he just call me Cupcake Girl? Excuse me while I take a moment to collect myself. Because right now my brain is not quite sure what its intended purpose is, and my heart … my heart is busy swooning over the man who’s standing in front of me.

  My fantasies may have served me well, but they are nothing compared to seeing him in person again. Short, playful, messy hair that I have a sudden urge to run my fingers through. Just a hint of stubble. That same steady, mischievous gaze that weakened my knees the last time. And that bottom lip – the lip I can’t help but want to taste. God, he is too tempting to not touch, a picture-perfect blend of rugged and polished.

  He smiles, then reaches for my chin. I realize that I have not moved. At all. Or remembered how to use my mouth, it appears. Because it’s still open. He reaches for my lips and gently closes them. But his fingers linger on my bottom lip as if he’s remembering the moment we shared during our last encounter. The familiar rush of electricity zips through me, and I fight to stay composed and cool, because suddenly I feel a tad bit hot. I look down to break the eye contact, to break the hold he has on me. But he pushes my chin up, forcing me to look at him again. Oh boy.

  “Hi,” he whispers with a delicious smirk.

  “Um, hi,” I manage to say with a shaky voice.

  “You know each other?” Clara interrupts our little exchange, which is more than welcome. Otherwise, I’m not sure how long I would just stand here, staring at him.

  “Yes,” he says, still facing me.

  “No,” I say at the same time, and I take a step back, needing some space. I look toward Clara, hoping to clarify. “I mean, yes and no … um … not really.” Jesus, can I really not put a simple sentence together in his presence?

  “Okay, now I�
�m really confused,” Clara replies. Both she and Marcus look at us expectantly.

  “It’s a long story. We might have run into each other once,” I explain vaguely, with a tentative smile. I never cared to mention my sexy-stranger encounter to Clara. I just didn’t see how it was relevant or of any importance, other than to make her laugh at my clumsiness and tease me about my subsequent sexy-stranger fantasies.

  “So, does Cupcake Girl have a name?”

  “Um, it’s Tessa. Tessa Conte.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tessa.” He extends his hand in an invitation to formally meet me.

  To random onlookers, a.k.a. Clara and Marcus, our handshake probably appears nothing but formal. But when our palms connect, the feeling is anything but. It’s like the sparks of electricity that jump between us have found their home as they tingle through me all the way to my toes and right back up to my heart, to my lungs.

  Breathe, Tessa.

  I swallow deep. “Nice to meet you too … um…”

  “Luke. Luke Callaghan,” he says with a lot more confidence than I had when I was trying to remember my name.

  “Luke.” I stare at him with a lost-in-the-moment smile, and my heart constricts like it’s been punctured by an arrow. “Nice to meet you, Luke. Again.” I smile, he smiles back, and something I can’t quite put my fingers on passes between us.

  “This is your Cupcake Girl?” Marcus interrupts. “You have got to be kidding me!”

  Apparently Marcus has been informed of Luke’s encounter with a clumsy, inarticulate, strawberry-icing-covered brunette. I’m intrigued and embarrassed. And did he just refer to me as Luke’s Cupcake Girl? If hearts could melt, that’s what mine would be doing right now.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, hoping to figure out how the stars have aligned so seamlessly.

  “What are you doing here?” he answers with a question of his own. Seems he’s a bit of a smart mouth.