 
# **Contents**

Titlepage

Copyright

Also by S.G. Lovell

Title

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Excerpt: Second Time You

Excerpt: Hate To Love

Bio
**Big Sweet Love**

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**S.G. Lovell**

**Copyright**

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 Sandra Ghorbani

Cover Image Copyright © Dessert Table used under license from The Sweet Escape Sydney; konradbak used under license from stock.adobe.com

Cover Image Design © Sandra Ghorbani

First published in Sydney, Australia in 2015 by Sandra Ghorbani under the title 'Seasoned Sophomore'.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Warning:

This book is intended for adult readers, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. The author makes no representations that her titles are appropriate or available for use in their locations. Those who access or read the author's titles do so at their own volition and are responsible for compliance with local law.

ASIN: B00YTY7NPS

www.sglovell.com
**_Also in this series_**

_Second Time You_

_Hate To Love_
**Big Sweet Love**

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**S.G. Lovell**

**Chapter 1**

_Pick up your crap. Tonight._

Angie set her cup onto the rectangular saucer, covering the depiction of the tiny brown bean being ground into a heap of coffee—the logo of the coffee shop that had quickly become her Sunday afternoon hotspot—and stared at her cell phone as another message slid onto the screen.

_I need the space._

So much for Josh's promise to love her forever. In the end, "forever" had been another five weeks and two months later someone else was moving in.

Why else would he _need space_? Josh didn't have siblings. Or buddies, for that matter. He did, however, seem to have found a replacement for his ex.

Angie waited for the pang of hurt, disappointment, at least regret, to cut through the steady hum of Ground Bean customers chatting animatedly behind her. In reality she felt nothing. Nothing besides annoyance that he was putting her into a tight spot. _Again_.

Where was she supposed to find free storage space this late on a Sunday afternoon? Surely he didn't expect her to cram two hundred pounds of clutter into her new shoebox of an apartment that _she_ had to rent because _he_ refused to move out of their conveniently subsidized university accommodation.

Or maybe he presumed she would just load up one of her good old friends?

_Ha_. Perhaps if he hadn't been so hell-bent on taking up every last second of her time while they were together, she would actually _have_ good old friends in this strange city they called the Big Apple.

Knowing Josh, he hadn't even thought about the predicament he was putting her into when he made the request for her to clear out her stuff. Selfish and lazy were Josh's middle names.

His only redeeming quality was that he was an honest jerk. Angie had known exactly what she was getting herself into when she had agreed to go steady with him at the beginning of their undergraduate studies. Cooking, cleaning, on-demand sex. Josh liked the benefits a girlfriend came with. And Angie? Well, she had put up with everything from him just because he accepted her curves.

Angie popped another one of the mini macaroons that were sitting artfully arranged on a matching rectangular plate in front of her into her mouth and chewed the raspberry-flavored treat pensively. Thinking about her less-than-ideal weight always affected her appetite in a rather counterproductive way. It was a disposition that neither her parents, nor her previous boyfriends, had ever understood. Emotional eaters lived in a perpetual catch-22 situation.

Maybe she was too hard on Josh. At least _he_ had had the good grace to keep his mouth shut when she had emptied a full carton of chocolate-chip ice cream just because her favorite author had killed off her favorite hero in her favorite serial.

If she were literarily instead of artistically gifted, she'd probably say he had given her back her faith in mankind. There _were_ guys out there who preferred women with character rather than beauty. Especially if the woman in question knew how to use a feather duster and could be talked into wearing a French Maid costume on occasion—anything to cover her less than flattering love handles.

As it was, Angie was better with a paint brush than words.

Thankfully Josh didn't require her to wax poetic. A simple acknowledgement that she would be there tonight would do.

Angie sucked a bright pink spot that the raspberry filling had left on her finger and contemplated her options.

She _could_ temporarily cram the boxes into her apartment, if she could stomach crawling over an obstacle course on her way out the door, for the next few days. _Ugh._ Not her idea of a good morning. She would need to find something more permanent soon. Her parents' place was out of the question. All of her family lived back in her native Scotland. _Thank God._

Perhaps she could ask one of the pole dance girls to help her out.

The thought of the group of six that Angie had met during the _Beginners_ class at Crystal's pole dance studio over two months ago instantly lightened her unusually solemn mood.

The company of the girls was like a breath of fresh air after years of near isolation, acting as Josh's live-in housekeeper. They actually made working out fun, something Angie had never thought possible. Something she hadn't expected when she had followed up on the ad she had seen on TV.

Tired of punishing herself and her oversized hips in the gym every week—who wanted to don boring sneakers to run on a treadmill when she could wear glitzy high-heels climbing a pole?—she had signed up to try the fitness craze. After getting her first taste of pole teacher Ruby's special brand of warm-up, she had almost given up. But she had endured the first class, then braved the second, surprised that she was actually starting to enjoy herself. By the third class she had known she would stick around and had even managed to shed some weight. Unfortunately her high had lasted only until that night. Josh had broken up with her, and although Angie wasn't crying after their relationship, she hadn't dealt well with Josh's inflexibility that had threatened to land her on the street. By week eight—the end of their _Beginners_ course—she had managed to secure a tiny place in an apartment block not far from her university, but she had gained a whopping three pounds in the process. She had celebrated the sad realization that she had ruined yet another chance to become the slender beauty she had always dreamt of being with her first Sunday visit to the Ground Bean.

But even though pole dancing hadn't proved to be the magical solution to her weight problems Angie had hoped for, there had been no question whether she would sign up for the second level course at Crystal's. If swinging from a metal rod meant more liveliness and laughter with young women her age, she was going to class until she fell off the pole from arthritis. Especially if Lexa, a twenty-two-year-old, newly enamored dance student, organized more "after pole class get-togethers."

That reminded Angie, didn't Lexa move out of her roommate's apartment and didn't Molly refuse to let someone else move in? Something about not being compatible with other personalities. As far as Angie was concerned, Molly Rogers had too much money.

Good for Angie though, if Molly agreed to store Angie's mute and characterless boxes in Lexa's old room.

Angie pursed her lips. It didn't hurt to ask. Contrary to Molly, _she_ didn't have money to throw around. Not even for renting storage space.

Although Angie could rely on her parents to transfer a fairly large amount of cash to her bank account every month—a cash flow that would dry up as soon as she graduated, as her mother liked to remind her—she had always been conscious about saving where she could. Living in New York was expensive and there was no guarantee she would earn anything as an unestablished artist after she finished her studies. It was only prudent to accumulate a stash of monetary reserves now, in case she struggled to find a temporary job that covered all her expenses later.

Resolving to speak to Lexa first—it would probably be better to approach Molly through her long-time friend—Angie finally relaxed back in the comfortably worn leather seat.

She had a plan. And she didn't have to be at Josh's for another two hours. The second level, _Sophomore_ pole dance course started on Tuesday. All in all, life was good.

Especially when one gorged oneself on the near-perfect creations of The Dessert God.

Angie picked up another raspberry macaroon from her plate to nibble on and allowed her gaze to drift to the tall figure standing behind the counter of the coffee shop, serving customers with the ever-present smile on his handsome face.

Edward Daniels. Fantasy lover and drop-dead-gorgeous owner of the Ground Bean. Angie had developed somewhat of an obsession with the guy since the first time the pole girls had forced her into the little coffee shop to celebrate the successful completion of their _Beginners_ course. Nobody had needed to force her since. If the cupcake Edward had personally served her that day hadn't swayed her, and—who was she kidding?—she'd had the first chocogasm of her life, his voice alone could have done the trick. Smooth and rich, like the desserts he created, she'd been melting faster than butter in a pan.

Edward looked up at that moment and Angie gave him a wink, watching a familiar red flush creep into his cheeks. He was adorable to watch when he floundered. Even after three weeks of teasing him, she still couldn't believe that he could be flustered by her boldness. This Adonis who could snap his fingers and have women at his feet was clearly at a loss when it came to handling public flirting. The thought was puzzling and flattering at the same time. Did the women in this city have no sense for adventure? Surely one or two of them must have tried their luck before.

Over the rim of her coffee cup, Angie saw Edward motion for an employee to take over the counter and anticipation fluttered in her belly. In a minute or two he would amble over to her, taking the time to speak to regulars in passing. It was the first thing Angie had noticed about him. He always seemed to have an open ear for the wishes and concerns of the people around him. He was one of the most relatable business owners she had ever met. The more she got to know him, the more she admired him. And there was a whole lot to admire about Edward Daniels.

Her mouth went dry as he approached, his full lips tilted in a lopsided grin. His green apron with the coffee-shop logo hugged his lean hips and emphasized his broad-shouldered frame. His brown-blond hair, too long to defy gravity on its own, was mussed up just enough to look effortlessly sexy. His eyes were a color Angie had never seen in her life, a mottled combination of brown and blue. They were set off by two dark slashes of eyebrows and a designer stubble that covered his jawline, cheeks, and upper lip. He looked as delicious as anything he put on her plate. And just like the sweets he created for a living, he should be strictly off limits for Angie.

Guys like him didn't date girls like her, even if she had jokingly proclaimed during their first meeting that a woman was always in a relationship with her main chocolate provider.

He was too tall, too good-looking, too freaking lean. Jaguar, meet hippo. It would never work.

But Angie could dream, and dreamt she had. More nights than she could count or cared to admit. About his voice, his hands. His kissable mouth.

"Do you like my treats?" that same mouth inquired at this moment, the low timbre of his baritone voice sliding effortlessly under her skin.

Angie felt her insides clench in response.

She swallowed the last bit of her—his—macaroon and reminded herself that he wasn't flirting. He never did. Public space and all. His not-quite-innocent question was simply his way of making sure that she would come back a week from now. His business hinged on his good rapport with his customers. _All_ customers. That didn't mean _she_ should hold back.

Pushing his buttons was like an instant energy boost. A delicious zing that bounced around her body for hours. It was probably also as close as she would ever get to acting on her attraction to this man.

Deciding she deserved a little cheering up after the annoyance that had been Josh's texts, Angie smoothed her hair, exposing her neck where she had fantasized about feeling Edward's lips and looked at him from underneath her lashes. "If I say yes, will you treat me some more?"

His chuckle raised goose-bumps all over her skin. Then he surprised her by leaning in to whisper in her ear. "I'll treat you any way you like."

Angie sucked in a breath, his unique scent of sugar and orange peel tickling her nose. Her thighs pressed together. A shiver worked down her spine. "You're a bad boy," she breathed.

"You have no idea," Edward murmured, sending more delicious heat curling low in her belly. "I'll show you _how_ bad exactly. Just say the word, Angel."

_What the..._ Angie swiveled her head. Was he coming on to her?

But Edward had already straightened, looking once again perfectly innocent. "I'll get you some more macaroons on the house."

Angie watched him retreat and shook herself, wondering if she had imagined the whole exchange. Wondering who was floundering now.

So much for not flirting with her. After three weeks of letting her think _he_ was easily flustered, he had turned the tables on her with no effort at all. The man could _talk_.

She took a sip of cool water, suppressing the urge to fan herself.

_Just say the word, Angel._

Her nan was right. Silent waters _did_ run deep. And what was she supposed to do now? No way could she take him up on the offer. No way couldn't she.

Before Angie could come to a conclusion on how to deal with this new side of Edward—a side that she had never expected, but one that set her whole body to tingling—she saw a woman intercept Edward, her long-limbed shape punctuated by a tailored business suit. Her ash blond hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail. Her weight balanced out at an exact size zero. She looked perfectly proportioned. Perfectly put together. And one hundred percent perfectly boring.

Angie's eyes narrowed as Edward grabbed the woman's elbow and steered her past the crowd in front of the counter.

What did he want with little Miss Perfect? Surely the colorless stick wasn't his girlfriend. Not after the proposition he had just delivered. A proposition that had sounded an awful lot as if he would like to handle her in the most delicious sense of the word. The thought made Angie uncommonly giddy and way more excited than was warranted under the Jaguar-Hippo clause.

She shook herself again to wipe the stupid grin off her face and shifted surreptitiously to keep the couple in her sight as Edward steered them toward a quiet table not far from her own.

As always, Angie sat close to the kitchen door. She liked hearing the bustle of activity inside. She liked the smells of baking wafting in her direction. She most certainly liked Edward's deep voice as he gave instructions to his crew.

Right now, though, she most loved the fact that she must have become an accessory in his shop. Someone who could be trusted to overhear a business meeting. Because it _was_ business that had brought the walking ad of a slimming agent here. Of that Angie was certain as soon as the woman addressed him as _Mr. Daniels_.

Angie repositioned her chair to catch as much of the conversation as she could, while trying to appear immersed in the information scrolling on her cell phone's screen.

"I've put together a folder with 'possibles.'" The woman handed over a tablet and Angie thought she saw a flash of a model's face.

Edward swiped his finger over the touchscreen, his eyes studying the gallery of pictures intently. His brows drew together, his mouth set into a thin, flat line.

Angie's fingers curled with the urge to grab her sketching paper out of her bag. She had severely underestimated the man. There was so much more to Edward Daniels than she had suspected so far.

Gone was the easygoing people-pleaser who reeled all his customers in with his too-big heart. Gone was also the dirty-talking seducer, who had made Angie flush hot and cold while he had cleared her table as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

In his stead was a determined businessman with an implacable will, who obviously hadn't gotten what he had asked for.

There was a whole range of emotions buried under the imperturbable façade that Edward usually allowed people to see, and now that Angie knew what was bubbling under that calm surface of his, the painter in her itched to discover it all.

The woman in her was even more curious. But that was dangerous territory. So Angie focused back on safer ground. Like her year-end project for the university. A study of complex personalities in oil paintings would be perfect.

_The Hundred Faces of Edward Daniels_.

"They won't do." Edward shook his head, snapping Angie out of her runaway thoughts.

He handed back the device to Miss Perfect, who didn't look quite so perfect anymore with a harrowed brow.

The woman exhaled a panicked sigh. "This is the third time you are throwing back our choices."

"It is the third time you're suggesting a model with their hip-bones and spine sticking out can make people believe they're enjoying my desserts."

"But they could."

Angie snorted, then quickly coughed when both occupants shot her a glance.

"Sort it out," Edward growled, and that growl did something wicked to Angie's insides.

"Mr. Daniels," the woman said, sounding decidedly unsettled. "We've tried to _sort it out_ for the past two months. We have always worked so well together, but after losing Avery—" She twisted her hands when Edward flinched. "All I'm saying is that it seems particularly difficult this year."

"It's your job. You're telling me you can't find a single person people can actually relate to for my marketing campaign?" Edward asked incredulously, careful to keep his voice from rising. "Look at my customers." He waved a hand around the room. "How difficult can it be to find someone like them?"

The woman blinked before relief transformed her features. "This is a brilliant idea, Mr. Daniels. To search for the next face of the Ground Bean _right here_. A modeling contest among your customers will be great publicity. Ordinary people love to do extraordinary things."

"That's not what I meant." Edward shook his head, but the woman was clearly sold on the idea. Or maybe she was just sold on finding a solution before Edward threatened to terminate the contract.

"I can send you our specifications in terms of what we need for the photo shoot later this evening. Everyone meeting the criteria can sign up. We set up a panel and determine the person best suitable during a one-day audition. As a general rule of thumb, I'm thinking female, between five foot three and five foot seven. No more than a hundred and thirty pounds."

Angie rolled her eyes. Well, that ruled her out then. Not that she intended to sign up for this circus. There was a reason why artists flourished behind the scenes and left the limelight to their work. But was it too much to ask for a little bit more diversity in marketing campaigns?

Her phone chimed, reminding her that she needed to leave for Josh's. Just as well. Her close to one hundred and fifty pounds didn't need the extra calories she would ingest with all the on-the-house treats Edward had promised.

She grabbed her bag and took one last glance at the Dessert God.

_Just say the word, Angel._

Angie felt another flutter of excitement tightening her insides. Unless, of course, the treats were of a different variety altogether.

**Chapter 2**

_What a nightmare._

Edward stared at the email that had arrived in his inbox half an hour earlier with an attachment titled "Spec Sheet for Ground Bean Audition Applicants." His marketing expert, Cecily Jones, wasn't only a pain in the ass when it came to finding him the right model for his campaign, she was also an efficient pain in the ass. Which was worse, considering Edward did _not_ think turning his beloved coffee shop into a modeling agency, even for a day, was a good idea. He had hoped that this whole marketing hoopla would be dealt with swiftly and quietly. Preferably without much input from him. Instead he had been fighting disaster after disaster for the last two months. Ever since he got it into his head to shoot this year's marketing campaign early there'd been nothing but trouble. Wasted time. Wasted money. And now Cecily's crazy notion of a public audition.

It would be a logistical ordeal to organize all the bits and pieces that differentiated a successful event from a half-baked fiasco. The devil was in the details, as any small business owner was sure to agree. He needed to find the right date. Make certain he marketed the marketing event sufficiently to ensure a reasonable turnout. Edward huffed. The whole thing would disrupt his perfectly profitable routine flow of business. This was _not_ what he wanted.

Maybe he would feel differently if he had actually agreed to Cecily's ridiculous idea at some point during their meeting. As it was, Edward couldn't remember doing anything of the sort.

The marketing expert must have read acquiescence anyway. In his tone? In his demeanor? In the way he had knotted his fucking apron this morning? Who the hell knew? The only thing that Edward was certain about was the electronic communication glaring back at him from his laptop screen.

"You okay? I heard some, uh, groaning."

Edward looked up to find his pimple-faced trainee, Lucas, poking his head into the small office from the adjoining kitchen, his dark hair as always his most prominent feature. Edward suppressed a sigh. When would the guy learn that the pompadour hairstyle had died along with "the King" some thirty-odd years ago?

"Do I look like a yes man?"

Lucas laughed, probably as surprised by the question as Edward was about asking it. Edward employed a number of experienced staff, all of whom had been with him for at least two years. Each one of them was better placed to judge Edward's character than a wannabe impersonator who had met him a mere three months ago. But for some reason Edward knew he couldn't have chosen a better person to tell him the truth. For all his youth—and his misguided sense of fashion, or maybe because of it—Lucas had shown a number of times already that he had enough spine to speak his mind.

Lucas's next words cemented Edward's opinion of him.

"With the customers of the Ground Bean you try to be. But not when it comes to running the business." He shrugged, clearly uncertain where Edward was going with all this.

Edward frowned at the spreadsheet he had open on his desktop. "Then, tell me, why on earth I am considering this bullshit?"

Lucas sidled closer to take a look at the screen. "Ah, the marketing audition. You know it makes sense."

"I do?" Edward raised an eyebrow.

Lucas snorted. "You want me to believe you haven't told Cecily "no," because what? She steamrolled over you with all of her hundred pounds?"

The picture made Edward grin. "Of course not." But it was reassuring that his employees seemed to realize it too. "Tell me what you make of this." He leaned back and watched the younger man carefully.

"Are you trying to get me to think outside the box again?" Lucas asked.

"Paving your way to owning your own business one of these days," Edward confirmed.

Lucas rubbed his fingertips over his chin. "Cecily is clearly unable to find someone you approve of. Short of giving the contract to somebody else, something that I assume will blow this year's advertising budget out of the water, holding the audition is the only way to make sure we're not ending up with a bag of bones."

Concise and correct. "You're right." That didn't mean Edward had to be a fan of the plan. But it seemed he had to go along with it. "I'll need to brief the staff." He started a handwritten list on an empty piece of printer paper in front of him. "Let the customers know that we are having an event."

"We could use a flyer for the customers," Lucas suggested. "If we hang it on the billboard at the front of the shop, pedestrians can see it through the window. Some of them may be enticed to come in, buy a few desserts while they are here, even if they wouldn't otherwise."

Edward made a note. "Good idea." The trainee had good business acumen. It was the only reason why Edward even considered what he was about to do. "What else?"

"A runway. Hear me out," Lucas said, when Edward was about to refuse the idea outright. "The audition will be as much a spectacle for the audience as it is for the applicants. What better way to captivate the onlookers than to make sure they have plenty to look at? You'd want everyone to see the girls."

A touch of color rose into Lucas's cheeks during his speech, giving Edward the distinct impression that the prospect of beautiful women strutting between tables wouldn't be exciting only for Ground Bean _customers_.

"Alright then." He jotted down the last bullet point, then held out the piece of paper he had scribbled on for Lucas to take. "You seem to be quite passionate about this whole mess. You take charge."

His trainee stared at him. "Are you sure? I-I mean I'd love to, but—"

"Positive," Edward cut him off. "The less I see of this, the better." Especially, as something else had just caught his eye at the bottom of Cecily's email. A side note about the specs that he had overlooked earlier.

_I used Avery's measurements as a template for body mass and preferred stature of the applicants. Are you certain we can't get her back?_

Edward gritted his teeth. Yes, he was certain. It had finally sunk into his stubborn brain that his ex-girlfriend was _never_ coming back. The realization had taken long enough. Longer still, because he couldn't believe that the sweet young woman for whom he had single-handedly created a place in the tight job market as the face of the Ground Bean was the same person who dismissed his coffee shop—and their relationship—as beneath her a few years later. Even now, eleven months after she broke up with him, he still got angry thinking of how she had looked at him with tears in her eyes as he described the future he envisioned for the two of them, weeks before she turned around and destroyed his dreams as easily as if they were spun sugar.

She had used him as a stepping stone in her career and he hadn't realized it until it was too late. His city-wide advertising campaign had been the perfect opportunity for her to get noticed by "the big guys" in the industry. As soon as she had signed a lucrative modeling contract with a fashion label that focused on healthy-looking women, rather than the rail-thin figures that still dominated most of the front-pages in magazines, she had been out of his life faster than he could blink. But not before she had dragged their whole relationship through the dirt.

_"This can't be all I achieve in life." _

He still remembered the way she had waved her hand dismissively at the two little heart-shaped "his and hers" cupcakes that he had created specifically for her birthday because he had been stupid enough to try and be romantic. He had wanted her to eat "his," knowing that he was giving himself to her. Wholeheartedly. Forever, if she wanted him.

As she had searched the otherwise empty gift table with her eyes, Edward wondered if the symbolism was lost on her.

_"_ You _can't be all I achieve."_

_Yes, definitely lost on her._

There had been exasperation in her tone, as if her deserving better wasn't a concept that had just popped into her mind, but something that she had thought about often, and that she had finally found the courage to say out loud.

Edward didn't have to imagine the expression of mute shock on his face as he stared at her. The camera he had set up on a tripod to capture the moment had recorded his humiliation second by painful second. Worse still, he had watched the recording over and over until he knew every word, every gesture by heart.

Sometimes Edward wondered if he was angrier at Avery because he had loved her, or because she had shattered all that stupid hope he had carried in his heart.

Not that the reason really mattered all that much. The end result was the same. He was single, looking for a commitment most guys were still running from at thirty years of age. He didn't have anyone suitable to replace Avery to represent his brand. And to top it all off, Cecily was driving him to the brink of madness.

"I won't let you down, boss." Lucas's excitement pulled Edward back to reality.

At least he wouldn't have to deal with the marketing expert for that much longer.

Edward gave Lucas an encouraging nod. "I know you won't." Edward would make sure of it, keeping track of Lucas's progress every step of the way. He couldn't completely distance himself from the campaign, no matter how much he wished to do exactly that. To forget the memories it evoked.

He was all about providing opportunities for his staff. He wanted to give each one of the guys and girls who worked for him the chance to prove themselves. But the coffee shop and everything to do with it was ultimately his responsibility. A responsibility Edward cherished. One that he never took for granted.

He had worked too hard to make the Ground Bean into what it was today—a successful enterprise that catered to variety of customers. He had dodged many an uncomfortable discussion with his parents about why he wouldn't choose a corporate career like all three of his siblings.

He was a people person. He disliked suits. He hated answering to anybody but himself.

Edward huffed. Of course, life wasn't that simple. Not even the boss could do only as he pleased. He had obligations to fulfill. Promises to keep. Toward his customers. Toward his staff. Toward a certain cute eavesdropper.

For the first time since Cecily's email arrived in his inbox, Edward felt his lips kick up at the corner. Ever since the curvy pole dancer had started to frequent his coffee shop a few weeks ago, Edward's long-dormant libido had roared back to life. Her luscious body and obvious enjoyment of life had captivated him from the get-go. Her quirky personality and genuine nature had kept his interest alive. He was utterly fascinated by her and determined to find out if she could be equally fascinated by him.

Their foreplay was the longest Edward had ever participated in and he was ready—beyond ready—to take things to the next level.

He had intended to let her dictate the pace, to make her feel comfortable. Only, he had a feeling she had no intentions to follow up her sinful innuendos with actions. Ever. To her it was all just a game. Well, he was through playing.

She probably thought she was safe teasing him from a distance. She didn't know he had plans to get very close, very soon.

They had circled each other for weeks now. Weeks they could have spent wrapped in each other's arms.

She hadn't run the other way when he had turned the tables on her earlier today. In his world that made her fair game for his pursuit, until she told him otherwise.

For the first time in months, excitement pulsed within him at the prospect of spending time with someone of the opposite sex.

For the first time in a long time he could believe that there was a chance that the best was yet to, uh, come.

**Chapter 3**

Angie knocked on the door to Josh's apartment, a strange feeling in her gut. This had been her home for years. Now she was an intruder. A visitor who needed to be invited to come by. The label on the doorbell downstairs still read _Angie & Josh_ in her own generous handwriting, but if the high-pitched female voice coming from inside the apartment was any indication, the label would be changed the first time the newcomer forgot her keys.

The door swung open and Angie's smile froze on her face. Looking at the girl was like looking into a mirror. Long, blondish hair. Artsy dress code. Except, the young woman was about half of Angie's size. Stork meet buffalo, Angie thought, pulling her "devil may care" attitude tighter around herself. "Hi."

"You must be Josh's ex. Your stuff is over there." Dark-rimmed eyes roamed Angie's figure as the girl hitched a slender thumb over her shoulder. "Joshie-baby, your ex is here."

Angie winced at the supersonic yell. Obviously the size of the voice didn't have to fit the size of the person. _Classy. Very classy._ Now the whole block knew what was happening in apartment 6C.

She trudged past the welcome committee and halted in her tracks.

_No. Way._ Surely this couldn't _all_ be her stuff.

"I've added some things I need to get rid of."

Angie turned to see her ex-boyfriend standing in the kitchen doorway, the obligatory beer bottle dangling lazily from his left hand. His features were still as handsome as she remembered, although he seemed to have let himself slide otherwise.

Always on the chubby side, Josh's worn, white undershirt stretched just a tad too much over his belly. There were yellow stains under his arms. His trousers were squeezing his legs just a little too tightly. He must have passed "brawny" a few weeks ago.

"I'm not your errand girl any longer, Josh. It'll take me forever to move all this stuff."

"Now Ange, don't be difficult. I stored your crap here for months. It can't be such a biggie to make an extra trip to the dumping site for me. I told you, Babycakes here needs the space." He wrapped his free hand around the baby stork and Angie almost gagged at the woman's lovey-dovey eyes. "It's just another box or two."

"It's five boxes I own and seven you want me to throw away." Angie glanced up from examining the barely legible markings on the cardboard. "How do you expect me to transport all this?"

Josh shrugged his shoulders. "I thought you had a crew?"

"With what money were you thinking exactly? It's not like _I'm_ living in subsidized university accommodation." She pointedly looked around the spacious apartment.

Josh huffed a breath and Angie thought she heard a quiet _"Bitch!"_ from the girl.

Dammit. This certainly wasn't going as expected. Bummer was she kind of needed Josh's help. She closed her eyes and counted to five. She should have enough practice being the "bigger" person.

"I had hoped you could lend me your truck for the move." His parents' truck, really, but who differentiated? Certainly not her self-centered ex. "You told me yourself that there was nothing quite as safe to borrow from these corrupt car-rental shops. None of their second-hand cars has any accident avoidance technology. You know how we women are when it comes to driving. We need all the support we can get. I would really appreciate you helping me out."

Flattery had always worked best with Josh. His selfish ass liked to think that he was the one who was in control. Over the years Angie had learned to wheedle with the best of them.

Sure enough Josh's mulish expression smoothed out and he let go of Babycakes long enough to grab in his pockets.

"Alrighty then." Metal jingled as he dropped the keys into her palm. "You can have the truck. But only if you take _all_ the boxes."

_How generous._ "I won't be back until nine. At the earliest. That's three hours." Angie tried for her best "I don't want to piss you off because I need your freaking car, but are you out of your ever-loving mind" voice.

Babycakes whined. "But you promised to take me to a restaurant tonight."

Angie addressed the woman directly, hoping for an ally. "If I take only my boxes and I don't have to go all the way to the dumping site I could be back before seven and you can have your dinner." She looked at Josh. "If you help me move the boxes to the truck I'll be even quicker."

Josh shook his head. "We'll go to dinner another time. Babycakes here can fix up some food for us at home." He squeezed the girl's bottom. "Can't you, sweet thing?"

The woman pouted. Her eyes shot daggers in Angie's direction.

Angie shrugged her shoulders. It wasn't _her_ fault that her boyfriend was a jerk. "Will you at least help me load the truck?" she asked her ex, guessing the answer before Josh even opened his mouth.

"It's soccer on TV. I really can't miss that. I've already done you a favor dragging the bloody boxes all the way out here."

Angie widened her eyes in mock amazement. "You carried _your_ trash a whole of ten feet from the storage room to the entrance? My, Josh, you must be my ultimate hero."

"Don't talk to him like that." Babycakes bristled. "Haven't you done enough ruining our evening? He _promised_ to take me out tonight."

"Well, hon, get used to it. He's not good at keeping promises."

"Hey, I still can take back those keys," Josh warned.

Angie dropped the truck keys into her bra, pointing at her chest in invitation.

"Don't you dare," new girlfriend hissed at Josh, her eyes narrowing dangerously on Angie. "Touch her and we're over." She stormed off.

"I wasn't going to..." Josh weaseled after her.

Angie shook her head. There was a lesson for her right here. It seemed tantrums were the secret to having men chase after you. She clearly had been too forgiving during her and Josh's time together.

She hoisted the first box, her knees almost giving out. What kind of heavy clutter had she collected over the years?

She was panting by the time she made it to the underground parking garage and pushed her load onto the truck's open bed. One down. Eleven to go. She could really start to hate Josh. Freaking footie on TV. That man didn't even know the meaning of the word decency.

By box five Angie's whole body was pouring with sweat. She wiped her forehead on her sleeve. Not very ladylike, but neither was working like a dog.

The smell of dinner in Josh's apartment made her mouth water. Her stomach growled. She was _not_ going to count calories tonight.

Her heart sank when she saw that baby stork and Josh were emptying their plates in front of the TV. Really? They wouldn't even offer her a meal? Babycakes was obviously of the vengeful kind. No fancy restaurant dinner for her. No dinner at all for Angie in this house.

And Josh? He probably didn't even realize that other people got hungry too.

_Great._ Angie sank down onto box number six with a sigh and wondered if she should bother to at least ask for a glass of water. One look at Babycakes' face answered that unspoken question. The woman was undoubtedly out to make Angie's short stay as unpleasant as possible.

As if to prove her right, Babycakes wrapped an arm around her man. Her lovely face twisted into an ugly sneer. "At least now I know why Joshie here left you. You're so flabby, your shirt is drenched from the least bit of exercise. It's kind of gross to even watch."

Angie clamped her mouth shut against the urge to give the spiteful creature a good tongue lashing. She had stopped defending her own weight to others a long time ago. She certainly wouldn't make an exception for Josh's newest fizzling flame. No matter how much her jibe stung. Angie wouldn't let her ruin her night. She only needed to clarify one minor detail. "Josh didn't mind my curves. We drifted apart."

Stork snorted. "Is that what you told her, Joshie-baby?"

"I didn't tell her anything. We just called it quits," Josh mumbled around his last, oversized bite.

Angie narrowed her eyes. "But you _did_ tell me over the years that you liked my body."

His gaze shifted uncomfortably away from her.

A bad feeling settled in Angie's stomach. "You lied to me?"

"I didn't lie. I liked it well enough to, you know, fuck you."

Now _that_ hurt. "Fuck _you_."

"Now, Ange, you know I don't appreciate it when you use foul language."

"It's not something a lady does," Babycakes piped up.

"You would know," Angie huffed.

Babycakes pouted.

"Ange, please. Don't expose her to your needless sarcasm."

"Oh, but it's perfectly fine for you to expose _me_ to a lifetime of humiliation? Or did you think I would be able to simply forgive and forget?"

From the expression on his face it was exactly what he had assumed.

Angie stared at him. "Really?"

"What was I supposed to do, Ange? I'm a man. I have needs. You'd never have let me get close to your snatch ever again if I told you that you were fat." He shrugged, took another swig of beer. "At least I didn't use it as an excuse to cheat on you."

"Because you are too lazy to put any effort into landing a one-night stand."

She couldn't believe it. Her head was burning with mortification. Here she had thought that he was the one guy—the one _person_ —in the world who accepted her the way she was. Just to find out that he was even worse than the rest. To imagine how long she had stayed with him, so grateful that he didn't make her feel like an overgrown ogre.

How could he have fooled her so successfully for years?

Angie's chest constricted. Deep down, she feared she had wanted to be fooled. She had wanted to believe his—admittedly rare, and usually lust-fueled—declarations of love.

Angie hauled in a painful breath. "You know what? You can dump your bloody boxes yourself." At least she had loaded her own stuff first.

It wasn't much in terms of revenge, but it was better than nothing.

Angie stalked toward the front door.

"Hey, Ange," Josh called after her. "We had a deal. I'll lend you my truck, if you take _all_ the boxes."

Angie didn't even bother to slow down. "It's called lying, asshole. You've done it for years. Do you really think I give a shit? I have the keys." She jingled them in her hands. "I have my 'crap' out of your apartment. Now I'm going to take my fat ass out of your sight. Because clearly I have bothered you with it for far too long."

***

Hurt had given way to anger by the time Angie made it home to her apartment.

She would mail the truck keys back to Josh. Standard delivery. She never wanted to see that bastard again. To call her fat, while he was bursting at the seams. The man was a prick.

_A prick with a girlfriend._

Angie gritted her teeth, flinging her shoes into the corner. How was it that _he_ could find someone to love him, while _she_ was spending her Sunday night alone?

How was it that _any_ man could find a beautiful woman, while some women couldn't even find a mediocre man?

God, she was having a pity party tonight.

Angie dug in her freezer for her favorite chocolate chip ice cream and pulled on a pair of comfy pants. She was in the mood to finish this carton and nothing screamed overindulgence louder than having to open the button on her jeans halfway through.

She pulled a big spoon from her cutlery drawer—at least she had already decided earlier that she wasn't going to count calories tonight—and flicked on the TV, snuggling against her favorite pillow.

Seconds later, she growled at the blubbery couple on screen.

_This_. This was exactly what she was talking about.

Why was an oversized woman "unable to get her life together," while the obese man next to her was proudly labeled "the next CEO"? It wasn't fair.

_"Life isn't fair. It's just life_ , _"_ her nan's voice whispered in the back of her head. _"That's why He gave us sugar, so we can sweeten the hell out of it."_

Angie pushed the first bite of ice-cream into her mouth and closed her eyes as the initial rush of artificially induced endorphins hit her brain and she finally calmed down enough to have a rational thought.

She had always tried to live her life after her nan's advice. Her grandmother, who had passed away too early, was the only one who hadn't told Angie to lose her flab. She had always insisted that true love was blind and that the man who would want to spend the rest of his life with her wouldn't care how much she measured on a scale.

_"If he loves you enough he will love all of you,"_ she would say. " _And believe me, darling, there is heaps of you to love."_

"I think you were wrong, Nan," Angie whispered, moisture gathering in her eyes. "If I'm so loveable, then why am I still alone at twenty-five, with no romance in sight, and the only loyalty I get is from Bob, my trusty vibrator?"

She huffed when she realized what she had just told her dead grandmother, but the laugh soon turned into a quiet sob.

There was no denying that her life as it was sucked big time, and she was tired of pretending that she didn't want more. She wanted love, sex, and babies. Not necessarily in that order, but preferably before her biological clock stopped ticking.

Maybe it was time she lowered her expectations from a happy-ever-after to a happy-for-now. Wasn't she an artist, a supposed poster child for living the wild life? So far there had been nothing wild about her. Or her life. Who said that now wasn't as good a time as any to change that?

Who said that she had to be in a long-term relationship to get the affection she so longed for? Maybe a little push was enough to get her back on the right track. Or a slow grind. A fast fuck?

The possibilities were endless, if she stopped thinking of what she was losing out on and started thinking of what she could gain. If she was willing to start with a one-night stand.

Angie sniffed, dashing her tears away.

She had the perfect candidate in mind to pull her out of her misery.

**Chapter 4**

Edward watched her through the crush of Monday evening customers. Angelina Masterson, his secret delight. Her strawberry blond hair spilled in large waves over her back, framing her face with its huge, green-tinged eyes. Her lush body was wrapped in a fashionable coat jacket against the last of the spring chill outside. She had shoved her feet into flat-soled leather boots. Little silver chains dangled from an oversized skull ring on the middle finger of her right hand. That wide smile of hers that had been his undoing from the first moment they met was currently aimed at Lucas, who pointed her toward the back of the shop where old-fashioned Ms. Anders was clearing out. Angie said something that made Lucas laugh and Edward felt his own mouth quirk in response.

At first sight, she gave the impression of a carefree Bohemian, a free spirit who lived for the moment and without a thought for tomorrow, but he knew her bubbly personality hid a quick wit and an even quicker mind, combined with an adorable sense of humor. She passed the Ground Bean twice daily, Monday to Friday—Edward assumed on her way to university—but she usually came into the shop only on Sundays. It was then that he discreetly reserved _her_ spot.

His two brothers, Michael and Jack, would rib him mercilessly if they knew their business-savvy, no-nonsense brother turned into a sort of Secret Santa each weekend for the simple pleasure of seeing Angie's face light up when she realized her favorite, worn leather seat close to the kitchen door was still free for the taking. Good thing Edward had no intention of sharing this little tidbit of information during their occasional Daniels family dinners anytime soon.

As much as he loved his brothers, they had been pushing him too hard to get back on the dating circuit since the disaster with Avery last year. He could just imagine the interrogation that would ensue if he so much as hinted that there could be a new girl in his life he'd taken a liking to.

Edward watched as Angie dropped her handbag at the table Ms. Anders had just vacated and wondered what had sent her running to his coffee shop two days in a row. He wanted to believe that it was his presence, the electric charge that seemed to whip around them whenever their eyes connected across the room. In reality, he was more inclined to believe that she simply had a sudden craving for one of his desserts. Since their first encounter, it had become apparent very quickly that Angie had a whole row of sweet teeth in that pretty mouth of hers and Edward couldn't help himself trying to impress her anew every time she came in.

He contemplated his dessert collection that sat carefully arranged on the spring flower-decorated display shelves next to the counter and pondered what he should tempt her with today. Something sweet and refreshing, like the recipient of his attentions. His truffle collection caught his eye. _Perfect._ He had recently extended his range to include mango. Edward picked a half dozen of the gold-flecked treats that he filled with mango-flavored crème instead of the usual ganache and put them on a plate. Judging from the way Angie had devoured his raspberry macaroons the day before, Edward bet she would enjoy the fruity flavor. And he, in turn, would enjoy watching her eat.

Edward had always appreciated women who savored their food. In his opinion the whole fashion craze of size zero models was just that. A craze. Who wanted to hug sticks and bones when they could have soft, female flesh to cuddle up to each night? Certainly not him. He had always been partial to padded women. And Angie was padded in all the right places.

Unfortunately, he suspected, she didn't share his admiration for her body. The first time she had come to the Ground Bean with her pole dancing friends, she had balked at the entrance to his coffee shop, too worried about her figure.

Thankfully her friends had ignored her complaints and she had given in to peer pressure in the end. Unable to resist the challenge of such a stunning woman refusing his desserts, Edward had treated Angie to one of his specialties that day. A double dark chocolate cupcake with frosting that he had shaped to look like a blossoming black rose.

She had never hesitated to enter his coffee shop ever again. In fact she had snuck in the following Sunday and had come back to treat herself to his desserts ever since. One thing, however, had stayed the same. He could see the guilt in her eyes every time she left. She thought she shouldn't indulge the way she did.

Edward ached to tell her, she was perfect the way she was. Her hips, slightly wider than was fashionable, could be the perfect fit for the palm of his hand. Her arms, strong and toned from all those pole-dancing exercises flexed every time she lifted her cappuccino to her mouth. A drop clung to her lip after she set the cup back down and her pink tongue darted out to lick it away.

Edward's body tightened. She could turn him on in the blink of an eye and did so every time she visited his shop. Occasionally, it was an innocent gesture that she wasn't even aware of. But most of the time she provoked him on purpose.

Edward loved her calculated, flirtatious antics, although he doubted she knew the predicament she put him in whenever she employed one of her come-hither looks, or why he always took so long to get out from behind the counter. He ran a family-friendly coffee shop. He could hardly treat his customers to a spectacle below the belt line. Especially, as most of them sat with their eyes pretty much exactly at his crotch level.

His discomfort was made worse by the fact that it had been too long since he had last tasted a woman. It was something he intended to remedy soon.

"...and then the cat jumped out of the window."

Edward pulled himself out of his thoughts and arranged his face into a mask of disbelief. "Is the cat alright, Mrs. Jackson?" he asked, sliding the two dollars change over the counter at the old lady who was clearly in need of someone to talk to about her beloved feline's newest adventure.

"Garfield is fine." Mrs. Jackson waved him off with a wrinkled hand. "As agile as ever with his sixteen years. But he almost gave me a heart attack." She laid her trembling fingers against her chest. "That cat's going to be the death of me one day."

In all reality, Edward suspected the cat was what kept Mrs. Jackson alive. Garfield, and her daily visits to the Ground Bean. Edward's coffee shop had quickly become a hotspot for gossip in the area, and Mrs. Jackson wasn't the only one who felt a little bit less lonely in the familial atmosphere that was a rarity in a big city like New York. Edward's clientele ranged from high school kids to retirees, and he prided himself on knowing all of his regulars by name.

He watched Mrs. Jackson totter toward the exit, her favorite chocolate almond cake tucked safely into her antiquated clutch, and allowed the familiar feeling of contentment to settle in his chest.

It had taken time for him to remember this contentment after Avery's disapproval, after the way she had belittled his accomplishments, but in his heart Edward had always been proud of what he had achieved with his business venture. Listening to his customers' stories, knowing he could directly impact their lives, was a huge motivator to work harder than any corporate CEO.

And whatever he gave, he got back a thousand times. Because, despite his big family, he had felt rather isolated in recent months. He had become somewhat despondent since his younger brother Jack had found the love of his life. It was almost a relief to immerse himself daily in the social buzz that was the Ground Bean and forget that he had been ready to marry for years.

Eleven months ago, his dream had seemed just within reach. After four years with Avery, he had considered taking the leap. A ring on her finger had sounded just right. It had taken him many hours of research and a number of visits to different jewelers to find a wedding band that he deemed suitable for his fashion-conscious fiancée-to-be. The purchase had eaten up a healthy chunk of his Ground Bean profits, but he had been certain that their future together was worth every penny.

Edward swept a rag over the silver metal grill of the coffee machine where some of the dark liquid had spilled, his mouth set into a grim line.

Thank God he had found out what Avery really thought of him _before_ she took that first bite of "his" cupcake. He would have spent his whole life in misery.

By the time he had returned the ring and received his refund, last year's marketing material featuring his ex-almost-fiancée had been plastered all over the city. Refusing to let Avery hurt his business along with his feelings, Edward hadn't removed the material until the start of the new fiscal year. He had finally ordered the life-sized posters to be taken down two months ago and was now in desperate need to fill the empty advertising space. Hence why he had decided to launch a new marketing campaign. If only Cecily Jones would stop fucking around. First, she proposed models that looked like starved puppies desperately longing for their next meal. Now, she had latched onto the foolish idea of turning his coffee shop into a modeling agency. Marketing expert, his ass.

He had meant for her to find someone _like_ his customers, not one of his customers. Why have a modeling industry in the first place, when every ordinary person would do?

Who did Cecily intend to pick, anyway? Aging Mrs. Jackson? Or frumpy Ms. Anders? He doubted either of them could convey what a sensual experience it was to eat his desserts. His gaze drifted back to the table in the corner.

_She_ could.

She would close her eyes, and sink her teeth into one of his creations. There would be a smile blooming on her lips. She would make that skin-tightening tiny humming sound that told everyone without a doubt that what she was eating was the best thing she had ever tasted in her life. A light blush would stain her cheekbones as the endorphins hit her brain, and the dreamy look on her face as her lashes fluttered open would have people flocking to his coffee shop in thousands to taste his selection.

_No._ Edward shook his head to clear the arousing images from his brain. Angie didn't even fit Cecily's specifications. And Edward was damn glad for that. Because he knew one thing for sure.

He had been dreaming about putting his hands on her from the very first time he saw her, to shape her curves with the palms of his hands. He had told Angelina Masterson that he wanted her in his bed. More importantly—after feeding her need for sweets and banter for almost a month—he was pretty certain he also wanted her in his life.

He wanted to see what she looked like in the morning with pillow creases across her face. He wanted to make her breakfast. And lunch. And feed her dessert after dinner on a Friday night. He wanted to know what made her happy and what her dreams were for the future. And maybe, if things worked out, he could be in that future with her.

What he didn't want was for her to get anywhere near his marketing campaign or Cecily Jones. He had been burned before. He wasn't going to let history repeat itself.

**Chapter 5**

Angie flipped over the sketching paper in front of her, hiding the half-finished drawing of Edward in deep conversation with one of his staff, when a plate with sweets slid under her nose. Six perfectly bite-sized truffles. She had eaten the tiny chocolate balls before. But this was a new flavor. Minuscule mango pieces coated the outside and one truffle, cut in half for decoration, showed that the inside was filled with a rich, golden mango crème.

Saliva pooled in her mouth. He knew how to tempt the devil himself.

She had thought he wouldn't notice her, so far in the shadows, but of course there was nothing Edward missed going on in his shop.

"You ran out on me, yesterday," he said in lieu of a greeting, while she attempted to get her bearings.

Had he really implied he'd like to handle her?

She had wondered the same thing since she got out of bed in the morning. Maybe it had all been just a fanciful dream. With him standing so close to her it was almost unbelievable that this... hunk could be physically attracted to her.

But then he leaned in and excitement started thrumming in her blood.

"You're hiding from me today." He glanced in the direction of the kitchen, his eyes finding "her" table with unerring accuracy.

So he _had_ noticed that she always chose the same spot when she came in. Angie's mouth parted in breathless anticipation when he put his hands on the armrest on either side of her body, crowding into her personal space.

"You didn't demand my attention the way you normally do."

She licked her lips and saw his gaze follow the movement. Her stomach clenched with unfulfilled desire.

"But I have it anyway," she breathed, glad that his back shielded her from the dwindling number of late-evening customers.

His lips quirked inches from hers, and Angie curled her fingers in her lap to keep from pulling that perfect mouth against hers. His body heat scorched her skin. She was slowly losing control of the situation.

Up to now, it had always been her driving their banter. At least that's what Angie had fooled herself into thinking. After the ease with which he had gotten her all hot and bothered with nothing more than a few murmured words two days in a row, she wasn't quite so certain anymore. It felt as if he had held back on purpose, but for what reason she couldn't discern. Neither did she understand what had suddenly changed, only that their roles had irrevocably reversed.

"You always do." The quiet admission danced along her skin, causing all the hair on Angie's body to stand on end. The man was even more dangerous to her equilibrium than she had originally thought.

As if to prove her right, Edward picked up a truffle and brushed the morsel against her lips.

_Oh, God._ "I only want coffee." _After my sugar binge last night._ But like a well-trained puppy, Angie's mouth opened to receive the treat.

The chocolate made a cracking sound as she bit through the tempered outer layer and sensation exploded on her tongue. Her eyes fluttered shut and a small sound escaped her. But the instant satisfaction she felt was laced with regret. She hadn't come here for a slow and sensual seduction of her senses. She had intended to find out how far Edward was willing to go in the more down and dirty sense of the word.

After her encounter with Josh the night before, she desperately needed a pick-me-up and, although she doubted her fantasy man would be interested in a relationship with a buffalo, men usually weren't so picky when it came to one-night stands.

She had her assets. Namely, her boobs. No man had ever complained about _their_ size.

God, she was desperate. But she didn't want to spend another night feeling unwanted. To be desired—in any capacity—sounded damn good to her at the moment. Only, she was still struggling to come up with a way to deliver her blatantly sexual proposition without sounding like a complete dork. It was something altogether more difficult than her usual harmless flirting.

"You are frowning. You don't like the taste?" Edward's own brows drew together and Angie resisted the urge to smooth a finger over his forehead.

_No relationship, no emotions_ , she instructed herself. Just plain old sex. Just sex. Amazing sex. She doubted sex would ever be plain—or get old—with Edward.

"What's the word?" she whispered.

Edward's nostrils flared and a groan rumbled from his chest, sending a delicious thrill down Angie's spine. "I'm locking up in half an hour. Don't move."

Angie didn't think her muscles would have complied even if she tried.

He hadn't even tried to misunderstand. _Just say the word, Angel._

Angie exhaled a shuddering breath. She was going to have wild, wicked monkey sex with Edward Daniels. The thought was exhilarating and terrifying at once. Who knew if she would be brave enough to come back to his shop after what was about to happen?

One night with the man of her dreams for a lifetime of the best desserts under the sun.

She watched Edward's tight butt walk away. It was worth the trade-off. However, there was no sense in letting the remaining mango truffles go to waste.

Taking a quick look around, Angie slipped the two cut-up halves into her mouth before wrapping the remaining pieces up in a napkin and carefully slipping the small pack into her favorite boho-chic bag. At least this way—no matter what happened—she would be able to enjoy heaven one more time.

When Edward reappeared exactly thirty minutes later, Angie's nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

She had tried to add another drawing to her "personality art project" for university, but had given up when her gaze strayed toward the counter for the tenth time in as many minutes. There was just something about watching Edward work that shattered her concentration. She couldn't help but admire the ease with which he conversed with all of his customers, hitting the right topics with college students and pensioners alike. The way he played peek-a-boo with an infant who stared thumb-sucking over its mother's shoulder, making the young girl squeal with delight. How his gaze would sometimes stray to her table, his eyes so full of heat Angie felt as if she was burning up from the inside out.

His captivating character was as irresistible as his gorgeous body, and it made Angie wish that she had more than a single night to discover his secrets.

_Get real_ , she chided herself. This would be a one-time-only deal and one time more than she had ever thought she was going to have.

"You look deliciously fuckable." Edward's smooth voice close to her ear startled Angie out of her reverie, and sent a shiver all the way to her toes. The sexual energy that had been building over the last few weeks ratcheted up another notch, until it was almost palpable in the air around them.

She allowed him to grab her arm without another word and followed him out through the back entrance of the shop, grateful that the walk to his apartment was a short one even on foot.

His mouth started ravaging hers before the door fully closed behind them. His fingers tunneled into her hair and Angie lost all track of thought. Her hands roamed over his body, learning angles and planes as he walked her backward toward his bedroom. He slapped the light switch without looking, and Angie finally pulled back from the onslaught.

"This, uh, is a lights-out kind of arrangement," she panted. She wasn't going to take the chance that he could see her in all her flabby glory.

His eyes narrowed and for a second, she had the feeling he was going to protest. But then he plunged them back into darkness.

"Anything else I should know about?" he asked, letting her go momentarily.

Angie was glad he was giving her space to think. There was no way she could form a rational thought with his hard body pressed against hers.

She grabbed in her bag. "I brought condoms," she offered.

"A whole bouquet." His gaze flickered to her face. "Are you always this...prepared?" His form, now a shadowy outline against the window, stood still as he regarded her in the twilight.

Angie suddenly realized what it had to look like, her standing there with at least ten foil packets in her hand. She dropped half of them back into her bag. "I'm not. I mean, I may have hoped that you..." She cleared her throat. "We don't have to use all of them," she ended lamely.

His mouth quirked. "That's good to know. For a moment there, I was getting worried."

"That you wouldn't measure up to my standards, or that you might be the first one in a long list tonight?" she asked.

"Both?"

Angie threw the foil packets at him.

Edward dodged the missiles with a speed and accuracy that had Angie's breath whooshing from her lungs, then tackled her onto the bed, laughing. But his eyes were serious when he rose up on his knees in front of her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that women aren't allowed to have their fun. It's just," he said, shrugging his shoulders, almost helplessly. "I guess I wanted this to be special."

Angie's pulse jumped and she felt as if her heart was suddenly lodged in her throat. Why did he have to say such things? As if this actually _meant_ something to him.

Before she could come up with a suitable answer, Edward pulled at her pants and Angie squeaked. "What are you doing?"

"Undressing you."

"I know that." She huffed. "But—"

His mouth found the exposed strip of skin just below her navel.

Angie sucked in a surprised breath of air.

"I want to taste you." He pushed her gently until she lay back on his bed. His lips moved over her in the darkness. "You might love sugar." His voice dropped to a whisper as he spoke next to her ear. "I prefer cream."

Angie's cheeks flamed. How could she have thought the man was shy? He was burning her up with that dirty mouth of his.

She moaned as his beard stubble trailed her inner thigh.

Oh, God. Josh had never liked to give her oral. And over the years she had become self-conscious. She wiggled, trying to reverse their positions, but Edward pinned her down with a hand on her waist.

"Have you changed your mind?" he asked, his breath flowing over her heated center. Another tiny moan escaped Angie's throat. "I didn't think so." She could hear the smile in his voice before his head dipped low. His mouth closed over her sensitive flesh.

Angie's hips lifted off the bed, her vision blurred as she grabbed his hair, desperate to hold onto something—anything—in the storm of sensations that he unleashed. Within seconds her body started twisting frantically, trying to get closer, and seeking more of his talented tongue. He changed his angle slightly and Angie almost came off the bed. He grunted in satisfaction and doubled his efforts, licking and nibbling until Angie saw stars. Her breath seesawed in and out of her lungs. Her muscles tensed, as everything inside her coiled tight.

"Don't stop." It was the only thing she managed to say, before her breath seized and her world shattered. Pleasure burst through her in a million pieces.

***

The room was still dark when Angie opened her eyes. How long had she been passed out? She had no idea.

Edward was breathing softly beside her. One of his heavy arms was draped over her ribcage. The unmistakable length of his erection prodded her hip even through his jeans. Angie was still wearing her shirt, although she was naked from the waist down. They hadn't even taken the time to properly take off their clothes.

"What are you doing?" Edward mumbled when she willed her sluggish brain to figure out the buckle on his belt.

"Trying to undress _you_ ," she murmured, borrowing his punch line.

"Very funny, Angel." Edward grasped her hand and dropped a soft kiss on her knuckles, keeping their fingers tightly laced. The gesture was so at odds with the frantic energy from before, Angie felt a pang in her chest. This was something a lover would do. Or at least she thought it was. Josh had never been the romantic kind. His idea of post-coital affection was to grunt _"_ That took the edge of," before falling asleep. To have a near-stranger holding hands with her, after giving her the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life, was dangerous stuff indeed. She could much too easily get used to this treatment.

Angie carefully extracted her hand and went back to working on the stubborn leather. But Edward's voice stopped her a second time.

"Maybe next time."

Angie stilled. "You don't want me to...?" She gestured in the direction of his zipper. "But—"

Never in her life had someone—Josh—refused a blowjob. For men, he had explained, resisting the offer for oral sex was like Angie resisting a slice of fudge cake when she was famished. _Impossible._

And still, Edward seemed the exception to the rule, perfectly happy to forgo his own satisfaction. Angie wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation. This wasn't how she had envisaged their evening. She didn't like feeling...indebted to him.

She dragged her palm slowly along Edward's impressive length, thrilling at the small groan that escaped his throat. Maybe he just needed some extra incentive. A warm, wet...

He rolled farther away from her, turning on the bedside lamp on his bedside table with a quiet click.

"It's not that I don't want you to reciprocate." He looked back at her with hungry eyes, then ran a hand through his mussed-up hair. "I guess I'm just hoping that this way you won't treat me as a one-night stand." His expression was sheepish. The admission hesitant.

Angie felt her resolve waver. There it was again, that strange vulnerability that she found so appealing and yet so difficult to reconcile with the confident lover from minutes before. This was the second time he was implying he was interested in more than just a quick tumble between the sheets. Could it be true?

"What makes you think I was going to?" she asked.

"Lights out kind of gave me the hint. Was I wrong?"

"You weren't." Angie pulled the comforter tighter around her hips.

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, then trailed his thumb over her lips. "You shouldn't hide from me, you know? I like your curves"

"Uh-huh." Unease chased down Angie's spine at his words, but she determinedly ignored it. So what if Josh had liked to profess the exact same thing to keep her "snatch" available to him? The two scenarios hardly compared.

For one, Edward wasn't her boyfriend, just her chocolate provider with benefits. They both knew he was unlikely to tell her there was something wrong with her figure if he wanted her to continue to buy his high-calorie desserts in the future.

For another, Edward could have _any_ woman. But at least for tonight, it was _her_ he was watching through heavy-lidded eyes, his erection still pressing against the fly of his jeans. It was _her_ he wanted a second night with.

Angie exhaled on a silent sigh. She could so easily fall for him. This gorgeous hunk who was kind and romantic, and downright naughty when he hit the bedroom. He made her feel truly desired with his combination of urgency and self-consciousness. He gave her the feeling that _he_ was the lucky one.

But what would happen, once he slaked his sexual need? Would he, too, replace her with a prettier, thinner version? The stab of jealousy Angie felt at the thought surprised her, and she quickly pushed the image away. This was not good. She needed to keep her emotional distance. A night of fun, maybe two, was in the cards for them. Anything else would be a recipe for disaster. Men like Edward did _not_ fall for women like Angie. It was better to keep their acquaintance casual.

She nodded toward the discarded condoms on the floor. "I guess I've got you covered, if you want to get past third base next time," she joked, desperate to take them back to the easy banter they had shared for so many weeks.

But Edward refused to take the bait. His lips kicked up as he ran a finger softly over her cheek. "If you're worried about protection, Angel, don't be. You'll always be safe with me, no matter what. I promise."

How wrong he was. She was anything but safe with him when he talked like that. Alarm bells started to go off in Angie's head and she twisted away from his warm touch.

She needed to break away from this overwhelming intimacy he had created before she did something really stupid. Like kiss him just because she wanted to. Not because they were in a sexual frenzy.

A flyer with the coffee shop logo on the bedside table next to her caught her eye, and Angie leaned over to grab the professional looking ad. She had seen similar posters hanging on the billboard toward the front of the coffee shop earlier today, but had been too pre-occupied with her plan to seduce Edward to take proper notice.

"Is this for the model search you're advertising in the Ground Bean?" she asked, desperate to change the subject. "The one for your upcoming marketing campaign?"

His reaction to the innocent question took her entirely by surprise. She had expected him to be flattered—at least delighted—that she showed an interest in his business. Instead the sudden watchfulness in his eyes reminded her of someone worried that she might steal his favorite puppy.

"What if it is?" he asked warily, his body tense, his muscles bunched in an unconscious display of strength.

Despite his odd response, Angie found herself battling the ridiculous urge to sketch all that leashed power.

He was like a painting with a hundred layers, and his emotions shone like rays of light revealing different parts of his personality. She could spend hours trying to capture the essence of him and still feel as if she didn't do him justice.

"Are you thinking of participating?" he insisted, when she only kept staring at him. "You don't even fit the specifications."

_Wham._ The words hit her with the force of a sledgehammer, shattering the warmth and affection of the previous hour. Destroying all thoughts of magical art.

Angie blinked. So much for not insulting her to keep her as a customer. So much for liking her curves.

She had gotten what she had wished for—a rude awakening from her girlish dreams she had told herself she didn't harbor. Only she hadn't realized that the effect would leave her trembling with indignation.

"Too fat, huh?" She rolled out of bed and grabbed her pants from where he had dropped them on the floor earlier. The bedside lamp was dim, but no way was she allowing Mr.-Lean-turned-freaking-Mean- Sex-Machine to see her ass jiggle. "And there I thought they had invented the wide-angle lens for a reason."

"That's not what I meant." Edward pushed himself to a sitting position.

Angie rammed her feet into her boots. "Yeah? What did you mean?"

He just looked at her.

"Exactly."

"Angie. Wait."

She whirled on her heel. "Don't even _try_."

She'd always thought she had a balanced temper, but to have two different men insult her in the same way in the span of two short days was just too much. She slammed out of his apartment, her gaze dropping to the crumpled piece of paper she still clutched in her hand. One thing Edward was right about. She didn't fit the specifications for the marketing audition. That didn't mean she couldn't get there before the cut-off date in another four weeks' time. Angie did the math in her head. She would have to lose five pounds a week. Her outrage alone should burn three before the morning.

She might prefer to live in the shadow cast by her easel, but she _would_ step into the limelight this one time. She would show the weight haters where they could shove their snide remarks. When she was done, nobody would dare tell her what her body was and wasn't suitable for ever again. She would have men lining the street begging for a touch of her perfectly toned figure.

Angie huffed, her throat tight from too many suppressed emotions. _Yeah, right._ She was probably losing the plot here. But it was either do the crazy pep-talk or crumple into a miserable heap on the floor and cry. She refused to give in to the latter because deep down she knew she could hardly blame the people holding up the mirror in front of her. The flawed image it reflected was, after all, hers.

**Chapter 6**

Angie skipped through the half-hidden entrance of Crystal's pole studio and took the stairs two steps at a time. It was _the day after_. The first day of her _Sophomore_ level pole dance class. And officially the first day of her newfound resolve to finally shed the pounds and audition for the Ground Bean marketing campaign. She had sent off her email application, including a _slightly_ incorrect weight statement, to a certain Cecily Jones in the morning and she was revved and ready. She was running on more caffeine than she cared to admit. It had been the only way to get through the long hours at school without her usual sugar fix.

"Hi, Lexa." Angie kept bouncing on the spot when she caught up to the smartly dressed girl in front of the door that led to reception. "Are you ready for another warm-up of death à la Ruby Red?"

Lexa laughed at the reference to the most exhausting thirty minutes of their pole dance class. "You are, it seems. Me? Not so much. I think I'll have to fumble my way through Ruby's special brand of torture today." She pushed through the door and lowered her voice to keep the other waiting dance students from overhearing. "Jack wanted to try this new position last night."

Angie snorted. "From the Cheshire grin on your face, I assume the result was satisfactory."

"Mind-blowingly so." Lexa grinned over her shoulder. "Although my thighs are killing me today."

Despite her own disappointing end to the previous evening, Angie couldn't help but be happy for her friend.

Sporting two scars on her cheek from a violent attack during her freshman year at university and hampered by her natural wallflower attitude, Lexa had been terribly insecure about her ability to be sexy when she started pole dancing two and a half months ago. She had overcome her insecurities and even danced on national TV to prove her love to Jack, Edward's brother. Ever since, the two of them were going strong and it seemed stronger every day.

If only Angie could find a love like that. __ If only she could find someone to put a Cheshire grin on _her_ face.

An image of herself, blissed out after Edward had his wicked way with her, rose in her mind's eye, but she quickly pushed it away. That chapter of her life was closed. She had intended for Edward to be a one-night stand and that was exactly what he had turned out to be. If her pride smarted just a little at the thought of how they had parted ways, then she simply had to remind herself of the anger she had felt when he'd flung her supposedly enticing figure back in her face minutes after he had added her notch in his bedpost.

Anger was good. Oh, yes, she needed that anger. She had held onto it with an iron grip ever since she walked out of Edward's apartment the night before. That anger fueled her desire to prove them all wrong. Her family. Her exes. The whole world.

Big women _could_ get their lives together. She was going to do it. She was going to beat her weaker self into submission. _Pow, pow!_ Angie threw a couple of quick punches toward her shadow on the wall, jutting out her chin in defiance when the redheaded receptionist shot her a dubious look.

"I'm not even going to ask." Ginger scraped the remains of a chewing gum bubble from her lips with her teeth, careful not to get the sticky substance stuck in her braces. "Just let me know when to call the doctor."

"I'm good," Angie promised, her fingers itching to repeat the invigorating gesture. "Can you tick us off?"

"Your names on the attendance list, certainly." Ginger's assessing gaze fixated over Angie's shoulder. "Everything else I'll leave to Tracy."

"I can't wait to start." A slender English girl with a bored expression tapped her skillfully manicured fingernails against the crystal-studded sole of her professional pole dancing shoes that dangled from her ultra chic designer bag.

"To dance or to pick a fight," Gigi, another student piped up from where she had stuck her head out of the _Clubhouse_ , a predominately pink exercise room with twelve rotating brass poles.

Angie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Gigi Valentino was a contradiction in terms. Almost painfully shy, she was the only professional stripper in their little group...and seemingly determined to piss off their most contentious member.

Tracy O'Connor had been the pole group's troublemaker during their _Beginners_ class. She was slowly coming around since they had all learned the reason for her abrasive behavior in the weeks after a particularly explosive episode, where Tracy had fallen off the pole. Feeling guilty for killing her younger sister in a car accident, Tracy was hiding her vulnerable core behind a prickly exterior. A tough outer shell that was slowly cracking.

_Very slowly_ , Angie reminded herself, when Tracy glared at Gigi as only a Brit could.

"So you're allowed to crack a joke at my expense, but I'm not allowed to call you a slut?"

Angie opened her mouth to defend Gigi, something that had become somewhat of a habit, but Kaycee, usually the most reserved of the students, was faster.

"Slut is not strictly the correct term, unless she sleeps with them, too."

"I don't." Gigi dissolved into embarrassed giggles.

"Nobody thinks you are." Lizzie "the Enigma" Dalton, patted Gigi's arm comfortingly. "Tracy just wants to be a badass."

"You can kiss my ass," Tracy huffed.

"And what a nice ass it is," Lizzie shot back, making Angie wonder how much of it was ribbing and how much truth.

Tracy only shook her head in disgust. "I thought I wasn't your type."

"You aren't." Lizzie grinned like a shark. "But for some reason we all agreed that you're our friend. God knows what got into us. This is what friends do."

"Cracking jokes," Kaycee said, helpfully provided the defining term.

"What, are you a walking dictionary now?" Tracy grumbled.

"Inhuman," Emily, a level-headed anthropology student, mused, joining in the fun. "It's possible."

"It would certainly explain those perfect cheekbones," Lizzie pointed out.

"You are _all_ nuts." The "ts" sounded like a mini explosion as Ginger popped another chewing gum bubble behind the reception desk.

"I say it's worth a test." Angie shrugged as they all entered the _Clubhouse_ after Lexa. "We may have been infiltrated."

Emily nodded gravely. "Kaycee, three, no, four synonyms please."

"Jesting. Leg-pulling. Teasing. Wisecracking." Kaycee perfectly imitated the computerized voice online dictionaries used for their pronunciation feature.

"Using up oxygen for something other than working out."

They all turned toward the flamboyant woman who stood in front of the mirrored wall, taking over the whole room with her abundant energy. Ruby, with lips as red as her name, had been their pole teacher since day one of their _Beginners_ class. Close to her forties, she was a lot older than most of her students, but the girls saw in her more of a friend than a person of authority. Until Ruby laid down the warm-up law.

Ruby gave them a smirk that said she had more torture exercises up her sleeve and sashayed toward the sound system at the back of the room, looking effortlessly sexy in her seven-inch heels. Angie couldn't help but admire her figure.

Though not supermodel slim, there wasn't an ounce of fat on Ruby's body. Her stomach, currently covered by a sparkly, purple tank top, sported a well-defined four-pack, after two kids. Her butt was pert, her arms strong and muscular. If wishes came true, Angie wanted a body like hers.

Hearing the first few notes of Ruby's newest song compilation blast through the room, Angie dropped her workout bag next to the wall and briefly closed her eyes.

She _could_ have Ruby's killer body. Or at least a body like Ruby, if she stuck to her plan of losing weight.

_Step one. No more cheating your way through pole class._

It was easier thought than done. Ruby obviously didn't believe in starting them off slowly, after weeks of forced pole abstinence between courses. She ruthlessly put them through their paces. Aerobics, stretching, squats and lunges. Then more exercises for their abs.

Angie felt sweat gathering between her breasts, and running in rivulets down her back. They weren't even thirty minutes into their workout and she was close to passing out.

"Say something," she begged Lexa, who had ended up on the pole next to her, desperate to take her mind off the next set of leg lifts that Ruby had started demonstrating up front.

"I will never have sex the night before pole class ever again," Lexa wheezed, kneading her thigh and moaning in time with each firm stroke.

"If I wasn't looking, I'd think you're playing with yourself right now," Lizzie commented from behind. "I always wondered what you'd sound like."

"You what?" Gigi's expression was both scandalized and a little bit alarmed. "You wondered about Lexa doing...touching... Did you wonder about me, too?"

"Nope. She leaves that to the club full of men you strip for every night." Tracy was clearly not above payback.

"She doesn't learn." Angie shook her head sadly.

"I think you're doing something wrong," Lizzie turned to say to Lexa. "Sex is supposed to _loosen_ your muscles."

"Depends on how you do it. And how often," Kaycee surprised them by chipping in again.

"Oh, yes?" Lizzie drawled. "What's your record, K?"

"Thirty-five."

They all stared at Ruby, their mouths hanging open.

"Thirty-five orgasms?" Lizzie breathed reverently.

"No, push-ups." Ruby grinned at them. "One for each minute you wasted talking _._ "

"We haven't even been here that long." Lizzie squinted at the clock.

"Five times seven. She multiplied the minutes by the amount of students." Kaycee's voice.

"Looks and brains. Definitely avatar," Emily muttered, making Tracy huff and everyone else snort with breathless laughter.

"Thirty-seven."

They grumbled and groaned all the way to the floor, determined to pick up their conversation where they had left off later. But their determination didn't last long.

After their warm-up and a precisely timed "water break," as Ruby liked to call the ninety seconds she afforded them to chug down some much needed H2O, they repeated all the moves they had learned in their _Beginners_ class. And while the moves themselves weren't particularly challenging, the nonstop climbing and inverting on the pole had their arms quivering with the effort. Conversations died a painful death, as everyone desperately panted for air.

Angie pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and refused to give up when Ruby called for another round of repetitions. She had decided on this makeover plan for a reason and she was going to see it through. For the next four weeks she would give it her all. Then she would strut her stuff in the Ground Bean. And everyone could eat their heart out watching her.

"You go, girl."

Angie used her left hand against the ceiling to rotate her pole toward Lizzie, who was squinting up at her from where she had sunk to the floor in a boneless heap.

"You're the last one practicing. You're on fire today."

"My body most certainly is," Angie confirmed, pushing her pole into a quick spin to see that Lizzie was speaking the truth. Apart from Ruby, everyone had given in to exhaustion.

"No pain, no gain. Isn't that what they say?" Lexa had her arm thrown over her eyes on Angie's other side. Her chest was rising and falling in rapid succession.

Angie dismissed the idea as she whirled by. "Are you kidding me? I would be a lot lighter and my life would be a lot easier."

"Are you still trying to lose weight?" Lexa asked, incredulously. "I thought you loved the skin you're in."

"Oh, I do love my peach and alabaster skin," Angie agreed. "I just don't love what's under it."

"And what is that?" Lexa peered past her elbow as Angie twirled above her another time.

"Blubber currently travelling at speed."

Lexa frowned. "You're hardly fat, just well-rounded, and—anyway—you always seem so confident."

Angie shrugged. She knew it was the general perception that people had of her. A cheerful, self-assured free spirit who had found her calling in creating art and was happy with life as she lived it.

They were right for the most part. Angie had never attached much importance to forcing fate in one direction or another, but had always enjoyed the simplicity of going with the flow. Until her nan passed away and she realized that some missed opportunities were never coming back.

It was why she had started pole dancing when the fancy had struck her. It was why she had stopped investing in a relationship that was doomed from the start.

It was why _she_ thought she and Josh had drifted apart.

Angie lowered herself into a final fake split and flopped onto her back between the other girls. What a fool she had been. And now she was stuck living with two hundred pounds of clutter crammed into her apartment.

But not for much longer, if she could help it.

She rolled over to the next pole where Lexa had struggled into a sitting position to take a long pull from her water bottle and propped herself up on her elbows. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"I have a few boxes at home that I need to store somewhere. Do you think Molly would consider keeping them in your old room for me for a while? I can pay, of course." Not much. Preferably nothing. God, did that make her a user like Josh?

"Don't worry about the money." Lexa waved her off with a tired gesture of her hand. "Molly doesn't need it. I doubt she wants it. I'm catching up with her after pole class. I'll ask her about your boxes then."

This had been easier than expected. Angie gave Lexa a relieved smile. Friends were just invaluable.

Especially if the friend in question knew all about the need to save money. Lexa had started working during her studies, so she could self-finance her life. It was how she had met her university crush Jack again.

Maybe Angie should find a paid internship, too. Paint a nude. Get a little frisky with the tutor. The fantasy had potential. Unfortunately, all the famous painters she knew who could help her on her way to an outstanding career were well in their fifties, sixties, or seventies. Hardly soul-mate material, as far as Angie was concerned.

"Do you need help relocating the stuff?" Lexa's question pulled Angie back out of her musings. "I could probably get Jack's car next weekend."

"That would be great." Angie thought of the forty-seven missed calls on her cell. "My ex will be eternally in your debt."

Lexa's brows drew together in confusion and Angie couldn't help the small snigger that escaped her throat. "I should swing by the post office on my way home."

***

"What are you reading?"

Molly jumped, snapping the laptop shut before she could stop the instinctive reaction, and glared at her best friend. "Did you have to sneak up on me? You almost gave me a heart-attack."

"Hmm," Lexa regarded her with narrowed eyes. "I don't feel half as guilty as you look." She slid into the chair opposite Molly's, thanking Edward when he set her usual mocaccino in front of her not two minutes later. "It has its advantages to be considered family," she said with a grin once the owner of the coffee shop had moved on to the next customer. "Now tell me what you've been studying so intently when I came in."

"No."

"No?" Lexa raised her eyebrows, stirring the dark liquid in her cup.

Molly huffed. "Fine. It was an article about the company you work for."

"Corporate Calls? Another one? How could I miss it? Was it a favorable piece?"

Four questions in three seconds. Molly decided to answer the last one first. "Very." And just to stop the current conversation in its tracks she added, "You see, it was all quite innocent."

From the look on Lexa's face Molly could tell her friend didn't believe her. Lexa's next words confirmed Molly's suspicion. "Did the article include a picture?" She leaned across the table, lowering her voice. "Was it a picture of Michael?"

Dammit. The news reporter had indeed included a shot of Michael Daniels, Lexa's boyfriend's brother and the owner of Corporate Calls. But if Molly had stared at the photograph _slightly_ longer than was strictly necessary it was only because of the ridiculous necktie.

Lexa gave her a knowing look and Molly gritted her teeth.

"This topic is closed _._ "

Lexa gave a suppressed laugh. "If you say so, Ms. Lawyer-to-be. Then let's talk about the empty room in your apartment."

Molly groaned. She knew Lexa felt guilty for moving out and leaving Molly to spend her evenings alone. But did they have to do this _every_ time they met? "I don't want a roommate," she said.

"Just hear me out."

It seemed she didn't have another choice.

**Chapter 7**

Angie dropped her work-out bag onto the floor with a thud, squeezed her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder, and stared at the scribbled parcel tracking number in her hand.

"It's done."

She was absolutely exhausted. And starving. She had been forced to make a detour to mail back Josh's truck keys along with instructions on where to find the vehicle, and she had almost regretted her rash decision to not just drop off both on her way to university tomorrow. Only the thought of being confronted by Babycakes' supersonic whining as she blew a gasket over waiting for days to be taken out to dinner had kept Angie sticking with her original idea.

"I can't believe you did that. You're evil." Lexa didn't sound at all worried about Angie's possible descent into hell. She seemed rather delighted to have been let in on Angie's little plan of revenge.

Angie's lips kicked up as she made her way into the kitchen in search of something to eat. "He deserves much more than a pissed-off girlfriend."

"I second that," Lexa agreed. "So why not go all out and trash his truck?" she asked innocently. Too innocently. "You could make it look like an accident."

Angie paused with her hand on the fridge door to cluck her tongue. "Alexandra Harrington, pray tell me, am I detecting a little rebel streak under that wallflower attitude of yours?"

Lexa's snicker drifted over the line. "Jack says it's okay to be a rebel sometimes."

"I doubt he wants you to go out and slash the tires of his car the next time the two of you have an argument."

Lexa laughed. "Probably not. But we aren't talking about me here."

Angie shook her head, ignoring the fact that Lexa couldn't actually see her. "I don't want to mess up my karma."

"I didn't know you believed in that kind of stuff."

"Fate? Absolutely."

"And you are worried that one act of justifiable retribution will set you back on your good luck scale?"

"I don't think so. I know so. Kismet is already making me pay. I have to go shopping."

Lexa chuckled. "You call that a tragedy?"

Angie stared at the contents of her fridge in utter dismay. "Of epic proportions."

The seductive monster was filled from the bottom to the top with everything a notorious frustration eater could want. Cartons of takeout, bottles of soda. A freezer compartment full of boxes of ice cream. Her pantry wasn't much better, offering crisps and ready-made meals. She owned everything to inspire a sugar-and-salt-induced coma. No healthy stuff, though.

How had she never before realized that she was undoing all her efforts of losing weight by working out regularly with a single meal from her home supply?

Angie sighed.

The thought of spending ridiculous amounts of money on plain fruit and veg in the supermarket three blocks away didn't nearly inspire such a yearning reaction as a cheap takeaway pizza overloaded with carbs from around the corner did. But giving in now would only prove that she was truly the quitter her family had accused her of being when she decided years ago that the continuous weight-loss camps her mother sent her to reduced nothing but her enjoyment of life. Back then, teenager Angie had been in her own rebellious phase and hadn't cared a toss what her "well-meaning" parents and relatives thought. At the mature age of twenty-five, she couldn't discard their words so easily. Especially if she was going to give up on this latest quest. Which she _wasn't_. She was going straight to...

_Step two. No more crappy food._

Grabbing a banana milkshake—the only thing she could find with at least a reference to a fruit in the name—Angie was about to say a quick goodbye to Lexa, when she remembered why she had called the other girl in the first place.

"Did you speak with Molly?"

"I did. She has agreed to store your boxes for as long as you like. Fate can't be too mad at you, after all, huh?"

Angie grinned. "I guess not."

One and a half hours later, Angie's grin had long turned into a scowl as she sank against the elevator door, wheezing. At least now she knew why she bought so many ready-made meals. Wholesome groceries were freaking heavy. She looked down at the two huge bags and the scrunched-up handles she was worried would tear any minute and groaned as the elevator dinged its arrival at her floor.

She had resolved earlier that she would take the stairs from now on, but she wasn't suicidal carrying forty pounds of oranges and fennel up the escape route of her apartment building.

Hoisting the heavy bags one last time, Angie tripped along the hallway and into her apartment, her fingers numb from the hefty weight.

She managed to weave her way around moving boxes and carried the bags into the kitchen where...dammit, the handle of bag one decided to end its own life with a quiet, unassuming _pop_. Apples rolled under the counter, kiwi and celery everywhere.

She didn't even have space to store all the things.

Grumbling under her breath, Angie started to dump the contents of her fridge into the bin, but stopped before the first food item could drop. Her nan had raised her not to throw away food. She had also raised her to look out for her elderly neighbors. Something Angie had shamefully neglected to do since she moved into the housing complex two months ago.

Too busy sorting out her own life after Josh's announcement that they should call it quits, she hadn't even introduced herself to the roughly eighty-year-old lady she saw walking the hallways late some nights. Did old people eat crappy food?

Deciding that it didn't matter—the granny could feed her oversized cat with the supplies for all Angie cared—she filled bags of crisps and ready-made meals into a small container, but halted when she saw the carefully wrapped bundle of mango truffles sitting on her kitchen counter.

Reason dictated she should give those away, too, even if they reminded her of her evening with Edward. Especially _because_ they reminded her of her evening with Edward. Angie allowed her shoulders to slump. Everything reminded her of those few hours. The little patch of red skin on her inner thigh that she had discovered in the morning, where Edward's beard stubble had tickled her while he drove her out of her mind. Taking a different route to university to avoid passing by the Ground Bean, just because she hadn't trusted herself to look through the window, in case he looked out at exactly the same instant.

Meeting Lexa at Crystal's had been particularly hard, knowing that the other girl was lucky in love with Edward's brother, Jack. And now, even cleaning out her own fridge brought back memories.

As she so often had in the last twenty-four hours, Angie tried to focus on the insult that had been Edward's parting blow, but in the loneliness of her apartment, after hours of dancing around a pink exercise room in nothing but her workout bra and panties, all the anger seemed to have left her. The shield of annoyance that had kept her going throughout the day had dissipated, and instead of their embarrassing finale she was reminded of a whole different set of impressions. Edward watching her from behind the counter of his coffee shop, his eyes burning into her with blatant desire. His bodiless voice wrapping around her in the dark, and the moment when he told her she would always be safe with him. The way he had laced their fingers together, before gently brushing his lips over her knuckles. The vulnerable expression on his face, as he had asked her to give them one more night.

Something suspiciously like longing lodged in Angie's chest and she dumped the sweets into the food parcel to banish the sensation.

What was wrong with her that she could so easily dismiss Josh after years of living with him, but she couldn't seem to forget a few hours of no-strings fun with Edward? Could he have addicted her with a single touch?

_No._ She wouldn't allow it.

Mashing her lips together in determination, Angie packed the remaining contents from her fridge then went to knock on the old-fashioned door down the hall.

A cloud of musty air preceded the appearance of a wrinkled but friendly face. "Yes, dear?" The old lady squinted at Angie through glasses as thick as her arthritic thumb.

"I, uh, I'm Angelina. I've moved in down the hall, and I wanted to apologize for not introducing myself earlier." Angie thrust out the parcel in her hand, realizing too late that she had been so caught up in her thoughts about Edward that she had added the half-eaten boxes of take-away food. Before she could remedy her mistake, the granny had already grabbed the container and examined the contents with undisguised interest. Her faded blue eyes took on a suspicious sheen.

"Oh my, I haven't had food like this since my husband died three years ago." She reached under her bifocal lenses to dab at her lashes with an embroidered handkerchief and slowly shuffled toward the living room, motioning for Angie to follow. She set the food box on the wood carved living room table and kept mumbling as she rifled through the items. "Those meals on wheels deals, they keep me alive, but living life to the fullest is something else, I'm telling you. My taste buds would have given up many years ago if it wasn't for that young man and his coffee shop down on Fifth." She sighed the way a young girl would at the sight of her first love, clasping her handkerchief to her chest. "I even refuse to wear my spectacles when I call on him." She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I like to think my face looks prettier without them."

Angie's heart gave a thump. The granny couldn't be talking about Edward, could she?

A loud meow startled Angie at the same moment a huge, orange cat wound its body around her legs. Its tail swished, sweeping a number of letters off a stool. Angie bent to retrieve the correspondence, all of which was addressed to a Mrs. Jackson.

"Garfield, look what you've done now." The granny stopped her ruminations and wagged a gnarly finger at the cat. "Shame on you."

Garfield flicked his ear, his cat eyes daring the old lady to continue her tirade as he effortlessly leapt onto the now empty piece of furniture, and started grooming himself with the cool serenity of the eternally lazy.

Angie couldn't quite suppress her disbelief. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn the cat had cleared the stool on purpose.

The obviously well-rehearsed discussion between feline and owner kept going, until Mrs. Jackson halted mid-sentence, her scrutinizing gaze zeroing in on Angie's face once more.

"You can't be thinking of giving these away, dear." She extracted the wrapped mango truffles from the pack. "No sane person would voluntarily dispose of Ground Bean desserts."

So she _had_ been talking about Edward. Angie withstood the urge to snatch away the bundle of sweets. She didn't _want_ to give them away. It was the exact reason why she must.

Mrs. Jackson's brow furrowed before she pushed the thick glasses up on her head. Her unspectacled eyes lit up in recognition. "I knew you looked somewhat familiar—a little too sharp around the edges with these on. You are the one he keeps reserving the table for on Sundays. The one near the kitchen." She placed the bundle of sweets in Angie's hands and wrapped Angie's fingers tightly around it. "I can't take these. He'd never forgive me."

Angie stared at her hand in confusion. What was Mrs. Jackson talking about? Nobody reserved any tables for her...on Sundays.

A dangerous warmth spread in the vicinity of her heart. Her eyes flicked back to the granny's face.

"Oh, no," Mrs. Jackson exclaimed, her bony bosom heaving in dismay. "Oh, silly old me. You didn't know. Of course, you didn't know. He's a man, after all." She shook her head. "The stronger sex, supposedly, and yet so afraid to show they _care_. My George—God rest his soul—he was exactly the same pursuing me. Such a dearheart, but so hesitant to admit it. They don't like to feel vulnerable, I don't think. But we love them anyway." Her dentures sank into her soft bottom lip, her unseeing eyes cast toward an old, framed photograph.

"I think I better leave now," Angie muttered, not surprised when Mrs. Jackson didn't even turn, too lost in memories of a more desirable past.

Angie wished she could say the same, but _her_ last two days simply inspired a jumble of emotions that she didn't even begin to know how to sort through.

The conversation with Mrs. Jackson had chipped away another layer of irritation Angie still harbored for Edward, and she felt in danger of losing the last of her righteous fury. How could she go on hating the man when he continued to surprise her?

If only she could write off his dedication to reserve her favorite table as part of his outstanding customer service. Or maybe as part of his seduction technique? But wasn't the whole point of both to let the other party know about mindful gestures, to reap the fruits of one's labor? It certainly didn't make sense to be thoughtful in secret. Unless...

Angie leaned against the hallway wall and squeezed her eyes shut.

Could Mrs. Jackson be right? Did Edward care?

It was a dangerous thought. It was a ridiculous notion. Angie didn't usually inspire a yearning desire in men to cater to her every need. Certainly not men like Edward. And there was still the fact that he had called her fat.

Only that wasn't true. She had jumped to that conclusion herself, when he had simply stated the truth.

_You don't even fit the specifications._

It was a tactless comment, no doubt. But, thinking of it now, Angie couldn't remember any judgment in his voice as he flung the statement in her face. He had sounded more...panicked? Although, that didn't make sense. And was she truly trying to justify his cutting words?

Angie pushed away from the wall. Her hunger had to be making her delusional. It was time she got back to sorting out the mess in her kitchen. At least now she had enough space to fit all her new groceries into her fridge and tiny cupboards. That was exactly what she should be doing. Not standing here, mulling over a man she should have forgotten the minute she walked out of his apartment.

Whatever they had—whatever he felt—it was likely gone by now. Washed away like paint under a wave of turpentine.

Even if he had felt affection. She couldn't imagine _him_ agonizing over a casual one-night stand gone wrong. New York was big. The girls were hot. He had probably moved on already. She should do the same. She should get on with her life. Prepare a healthy plate of vegetables and continue to focus on her goal of losing weight. It should be a lot easier, now that all the temptations were gone from her reach.

All except for the carefully wrapped mango truffles that she still clutched in her hand. Truffles that would melt on her tongue. Beautiful creations that would taste so good. Delicacies that reminded her once again of the one man she tried so hard to forget.

Angie cursed and stomped down the hallway toward her apartment. She was _not_ going to do this. She was not going to continue to torture herself.

Neither was she going to give in to the promise of spending the rest of her evening on an endorphin high. She was going to be strong. She was going to resist. If she was already struggling to get through a single evening without trying to indulge her sweet tooth, then how was she supposed to keep her diet for another three weeks, six days and, she checked her watch, ninety-four minutes?

**Chapter 8**

"She did what?" Edward looked at Mrs. Jackson's old, familiar face and tried hard not to let his shock show on his face. His mood had been all over the place since Angie stormed out of his apartment the previous Monday. He knew he had been a Grade A jerk. Who could blame her for leaving him standing on the sidewalk every morning for half an hour, a gift box with all of her favorite desserts in hand?

His head said that after six days of waiting for her he had done his duty trying to apologize, but other parts of his body weren't so easily convinced to let her go. He _liked_ her. He wouldn't have fucked up, if he didn't. And now this current conversation was tying him up in new knots.

"She tried to give me these." Mrs. Jackson waved a hand at the mango truffles sitting on his tempered glass display shelves, then pulled her woolly wrap tighter around her thin frame. "I would have told you sooner, but I caught a chill. The doctor said not to leave the house until I felt better."

"I'm sorry to hear that you were unwell. Can I get you a lemon tea on the house to speed up your recovery?" It was an offer Edward made automatically, while his mind still reeled with the information that his long-standing customer had shared.

Mrs. Jackson shook her head, waving her hand again. "Some of these will do. Garfield was not too pleased to miss out on them."

"Mango truffles," Edward supplied absentmindedly, sorting a half-dozen of the golden sweets into a plain cardboard box and handing the thing over to the manipulative old bird.

Mrs. Jackson pursed her lips. "I sometimes let him have the filling. He likes to try the different flavors, you know. He has good taste, my Garfield does. Although, I never give him the chocolate anymore, since the vet told me it is bad for cats."

Edward was pretty certain the flavored crème filling wasn't a recommended part of the feline diet either, but he kept his mouth wisely shut. At least the cat didn't reject his desserts.

Edward huffed. He had felt so smug when he had realized that Angie had surreptitiously slipped the truffles into her bag while he finished his shift the previous Monday. He had enjoyed knowing that she couldn't get enough of him. Maybe he had enjoyed it a little bit too much. Because disappointment was too weak a word to describe the feeling that was now tightening his gut.

Her actions probably shouldn't upset him, considering, but for some reason they did. He didn't like the thought that she could so easily dismiss what they had shared. Even after what had happened. _He_ certainly remembered every single detail of their evening together with crystal clarity. The way she had been surprised—and turned on—when he had started talking dirty to her, the way he had dreamt of doing for weeks. How he had been unable to hold back, once he realized she actually _enjoyed_ it.

Avery had always preferred the clean way of making love. Missionary position and with as little noise as possible. She certainly hadn't approved of what Edward had to say. His crude words had made her feel cheap. Like a whore, not a cherished girlfriend, she had complained. Her misconception had stumped him in the beginning. But after trying for months to convince her that his words were in no way meant to disrespect her, their relationship, or her status in his life, he had given up. Their lovemaking going forward had been a lot smoother. It had been a lot more lackluster, too.

Not so with Angie. She had enjoyed every single, indecent thing he had whispered into her ear, and once he had gotten his mouth on her she had gone off like a cork from a fizzing champagne bottle. Edward groaned at the memory.

He had almost gone out of his mind these past few days, knowing he had blown his chances to touch her again with a few hastily spoken words. It had taken him forever to admit that he had panicked. He who cool-headedly met the challenge of starting up a small business in a cut-throat market like New York at a time when most people didn't dare risk their money on a loaf of bread let alone some self-proclaimed pastry chef's fancy desserts. He had shut up his critics one by one through determination and hard work, but he had been unable to control his anxiety at the thought of being branded a fool again, by a woman who wanted his connections more than she wanted him.

_Weak, Daniels._

His worries were pretty ludicrous, too. As he had so clumsily blurted out, Angie didn't even fit Cecily's specifications. Nor had she ever confirmed that she intended to take part in the marketing audition. She had just watched him warily as he went down his own, personal rabbit hole.

It was inexcusable how he had flung her weight in her face, knowing it was a delicate topic for her. And just after he had assured her he liked her body. He must have sounded like the biggest hypocrite.

Edward shoved a hand through his hair in frustration.

He had thought a box filled with her favorite desserts would be the perfect apology. What else could convey "your hips can afford it" and "I paid attention to your likes and dislikes" in one sweep?

He had never imagined that she would go as far as rejecting the one thing about him that he knew without a doubt she loved the most. Was there even still a chance to make things right between them?

His gaze strayed to Angie's usual spot next to the kitchen, his back teeth clenching at the sight of the dramatic sequence unfolding there.

Lucas stood next to the table, frowning at the reserved sign, while a flustered Ms. Anders gesticulated wildly at the empty leather seat, her clunky watch, then at Lucas's hair. Her mouth was set in a prim line.

"She is jealous of him for daring to be different...and young." Mrs. Jackson's usually muddled blue eyes seemed unusually sharp as she followed the direction of his gaze. She shook her head. "Probably never did a single outrageous thing in her life. Makes me feel almost embarrassed to be old like her." She looked back at Edward then. "Are you going to release that table? Your lady friend is two hours late. She must be terribly cross with you to not come in on a Sunday of all days?" She sighed in the way old folks did when mulling over the foolishness of the youth. "You must have hurt her tender feelings, and now she'll guard her heart and gird her loins."

Edward refrained from pointing out that it was already too late. At least for Angie's loins. But he didn't like the thought that Angie could be shoring up her defenses against him even now.

He caught himself before he could shove a hand through his hair again, changing the gesture to instruct Lucas to release the table to a still complaining Ms. Anders instead. He always made a point of looking as relaxed and in control as possible in front of his customers. Something that had been particularly hard in the last few days.

Mrs. Jackson sent him a knowing glance as she slipped the cardboard box he had handed her into her clutch and smacked her lips. "I guess I owe you, so I'll tell you this. She didn't look like she _wanted_ to give your desserts away. For a moment there, I was even worried she would rip those truffles out of my hand, before I told her that I wouldn't take them anyway."

That got Edward's attention. Ripping chocolate out of an elderly woman's hands didn't sound like the Angie he knew at all. Could Mrs. Jackson be right? Could the sweets have reminded Angie too much of what they had shared and that's why she had tried to give them away? Did she think she could get rid of the memory of him, if she purged her home of his desserts?

It was a laughably small hope to cling to, but Edward was desperate enough to hold onto it. Thankfully, he had always been a cautiously optimistic person. Not a trait that was necessarily conducive to business, as he had learned when Cecily had presented him with the third round of impossible "possibles." Of course money, or rather the potential loss of it, had played a significant role in that particular scenario.

Edward yanked his focus back from his digressing thoughts. He just prayed that it wasn't Angie's stomach, rather than her heart, that had been the catalyst for her changing her mind. In that case, it would probably be a lost cause trying to win her back. But Mrs. Jackson was right. He _had_ hurt Angie's feelings, and now he needed to do _something_ if he didn't want their encounter to be the best and worst one-night stand of his life.

Watching Mrs. Jackson carry her bribe out of his shop, Edward pulled his cell from his pocket.

First up, he needed to track Angie down.

The call was picked up on the first ring.

"Mr. Ground Bean, what an honor. What can I do for you today?"

Edward motioned for Lucas to take over the counter when another customer approached. "You can stop calling me that, smartass," he said to his younger brother, hoping his Plan B was going to work after the epic fail of his Plan A. "Otherwise I might change my mind about inviting you and Lexa over for dinner tonight."

"What about me?" Michael interrupted the conversation on the other end of the line before Jack could answer. "I assume you were about to call me next and invite me, too. Or text me?"

"Neither. I don't earn enough to feed your overgrown appetite. What are you two doing anyway, having a secret meeting without your favorite brother again?"

"Favorite brother. Very funny!" Jack mumbled in the background, interrupted by Michael's indelicate snort.

"Do I have to remind you who put down the deposit for that fancy coffee shop of yours?"

As if Edward needed the reminder. For Michael, lording his investment over Edward was simply a good-natured taunt between brothers. Especially as Michael had called them square years ago, when Edward had paid back the funds and Michael had refused to take a single cent of interest. But Edward knew exactly how much he owed to his brother. If it was up to him, Michael had earned free breakfast, lunch, and dinner at Edward's place for the rest of his life. Not that he ever intended to tell his brother that. There were just some powers that you never gave to an older sibling. "I guess you can tag along," he said instead. "I'm sure I have some old leftovers in the fridge for you. Shall we say eight?"

"Works for me," Michael confirmed.

Jack murmured affirmatively in the background. "Lexa's here, too. She's giving me a thumbs-up."

Edward felt his shoulders slowly relax. Lexa would know Angie's number. Maybe she would even give him her address.

He hadn't realized how much he had taken Angie's Sunday visits for granted until she didn't turn up today. He hadn't known how much he had fallen for her in a single night until she made it clear that there would be no further nights together for them.

His brothers were going to rib him mercilessly when they realized he was pumping Lexa for information on her friend, but Edward didn't care. He wanted another chance with the girl who had lured him with her open heart and bubbly personality. If he had to suffer his brothers' teasing comments to get that chance, he figured he deserved their mockery, and more, for breaking her trust the way he had.

***

He had been wrong, Edward thought hours later. He certainly didn't deserve _this_.

He had assumed it would be his own family that would be giving him a hard time. Michael and Jack had nothing on the supposedly meek girl who was his brother's girlfriend.

Edward had always gotten along great with Lexa, but it seemed all bets were off when it came to chicks versus dicks.

Edward winced. In this particular scenario he was the dick, and Lexa had turned into a protective mother hen as soon as she realized her friend's emotional equilibrium could be in danger.

"If you have to ask _me_ for Angie's number, then maybe that is because she didn't want to give it to you," she said, stonewalling his usually fail-safe negotiation skills.

Edward shot a pleading look at his younger brother, but Jack just shrugged his shoulders.

"Hey, you're not the one sleeping on the couch tonight if you piss her off," he mouthed, as Lexa helped herself to a second serving of her favorite dish—a ground beef casserole—that Edward had cooked in an attempt to mellow her out.

_Ha_ , if this was Lexa's mellow version, Edward didn't blame his brother for choosing his battles wisely.

"We weren't exactly thinking of exchanging numbers at the time," he confessed. He certainly hadn't considered that Angie would swear off her visits to the Ground Bean entirely if their night together didn't work out according to plan. He had counted on her love for his desserts to bring her back. Pride truly seemed to go before a fall.

Lexa's eyes narrowed and Edward forced himself to retract a step. No sense in making it sound like a simple _wham, bam, thank you ma'am_ scenario had landed him in this predicament. He cared for Angie. More than he had thought possible after such a short time. It was why he was currently humiliating himself in front of his brothers. Did the woman not realize that? "I want to apologize to her." There, it was out now.

"So you _did_ do something to her." Lexa nodded, as if pleased to finally get somewhere in this interrogation of hers. "What's the offense?"

Edward thought Lexa was spending too much time with her lawyer friend Molly. "I may have made a negative comment about her weight."

Next to him Michael groaned. "Pal, I thought I told you back in elementary school _never_ to say anything negative about a woman's weight. They go crazy about that shit." He turned to Lexa. "Do _not_ help him out. If he can't even get Women 101 right, he doesn't deserve a second chance."

"I know someone else who's struggling with that particular guide at times." Lexa pushed another bite into her mouth, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.

Michael snapped his mouth shut.

Edward coughed a laugh. Despite the almost physical pain he was in after being verbally poked and prodded for the last half hour, he couldn't help but admire Lexa for her dispassionate scolding of his brother. Too few people dared rebuke Michael with his natural aura of authority. Especially his employees usually scurried to do his bidding when the almighty company owner of Corporate Calls so much as hinted at a suggestion. But while Michael was Lexa's boss at work, at home she didn't take instructions from anybody. Especially when this somebody was on her shit list, too, for upsetting one of her friends.

Wallflower, his ass. The woman was tough as nails.

Lexa's gaze strayed back to him, and Edward quickly wiped the smirk off his face.

"As far as I'm concerned neither of you deserves to know the following," she continued. "But, if what Edward says is true, he does need to apologize. Helping me and Angie move some boxes to Molly's apartment will be a good start."

Edward suppressed a sigh of relief. He had finally gotten the when and where out of Lexa. Even better, Michael was now engaged in a battle of wits with her, trying to convince her to let him tag along.

Edward had no doubt who was going to win. His brother could be a tenacious bastard if he wanted something. And they all knew he wanted this particular something particularly bad. Even if Michael was too hardheaded to admit it. Even to himself.

Temporarily content that he was one step closer to seeing Angie again, Edward leaned back in his chair to observe the spectacle. "Are you coming along?" he asked Jack, as Michael and Lexa's discussion reached the boiling point.

"You can bet on it. I'm not going to miss out on both of my brothers making a fool of themselves on the same day," Jack said, his eyes never leaving Lexa, ready to jump in if Michael stepped out of line. Edward could have told Jack he needn't be concerned. For all of Michael's explosive nature, their older brother knew better than to mess with family and Lexa was just that.

Edward shot Jack a sideways glance. "Or are you trying to keep an eye on us?" _Again,_ he added quietly, when Jack didn't try to deny the accusation.

Although the youngest of the brothers in age, Jack had always been the most level-headed member of the family, and he regularly dug his two older siblings out of difficult situations that Edward and Michael's tempers landed them in, all the while acting as if he didn't have a care in the world.

" _Someone_ has to look out for the two of you," Jack said with a grin, just as Lexa finally gave up trying to change Michael's mind.

It was what Edward was worried about.

**Chapter 9**

Angie stared up at the façade of Crystal's pole studio and wondered where the week had gone. One week and she could barely remember any of it, except for the bland plates of food she forced down three times a day and her daily jogs through the nearby park.

At first she had hated the early morning workouts that she had added to her exercise routine to speed up her weight-loss plan after she realized that a once-a-week pole dance class wouldn't be enough to reach her goal of losing twenty pounds in four weeks. She had despised the shortness of breath and the strain in her legs that had started as soon as she rounded the first bend of the short track. But as she pushed herself past her endurance, she found that the running cleared her head.

She desperately needed the clearing, too, because she had refused to go to the Ground Bean on Sunday and yearning had warred with pride inside her.

As much as she had tried to keep her anger at Edward alive, after Mrs. Jackson's revelation that he was going out of his way to make her afternoons in his coffee shop special, outrage was no longer the most prevalent feeling when she thought of him. Nor was the only reason for her stringent workout regime her desperate need to prove her willpower to the world.

At some point over the last seven days, securing a place in the Ground Bean marketing audition had become synonymous with her being able to see Edward again, without admitting to herself that she might have been wrong about her ability to let this attraction between them go after just one night. It was something Angie longed for much more than she cared to admit in the harsh light of day.

She blew out a frustrated breath. How could she miss the man so much? She barely even knew him. Their occasional chats during her visits to his coffee shop certainly couldn't explain the hollow feeling in her chest whenever she thought she would never again share the easy banter with him that had been a bright spot in her otherwise dull weekends. She wasn't someone to fall head over heels. And still she couldn't deny the sadness that encompassed her whenever she saw the distinctive logo of the brown bean being ground into a heap of coffee in the distance and changed to the other side of the street to take a more indirect route to class to avoid a glimpse of the man who had become a part of her life long before their single night together. She was worried if she just saw him she wouldn't be able to keep away, when keeping away for as long as possible was paramount. It was her only hope that by the time of the audition, her ridiculous infatuation with him would have diminished enough for her to handle the encounter with dignity. Because one thing had not changed, even if her wayward feelings tried to convince her otherwise: Edward Daniels was not for her. Or rather, she wasn't for him.

He was destined for some gorgeous model. He was probably seeing one at this very moment. No way would he continue to moon over her the way she so foolishly mooned over him. He would have moved on by now. Lord knew he wouldn't have trouble finding someone else. With his body...

Angie growled. She was _not_ remembering his body. Or the woman who now had the right to run her palms over all that perfection. She refused to become the jealous one-night stand when she could be the hungry caterpillar turned svelte butterfly the next time Edward saw her.

Allowing a man to dictate her weight wasn't something her nan would have suggested. Especially if the man in question didn't know his own mind, complimenting her one minute then holding the very same thing against her the next. But then, Nan also swore to her dying day that Santa Claus was real. So maybe Nan hadn't possessed _all_ the wisdom in the world, the way she so easily conveyed to a young, wide-eyed Angie.

Angie shook her head to clear it. She was making herself dizzy with her spinning thoughts. It had to be the lack of sugar and carbs that had her mind racing a million miles an hour. She had been uncommonly distracted for days now. No wonder, when her stomach seemed continuously empty and not even her tumbling weight could fully compensate for the feeling of constant hunger that had wrapped around her tighter and tighter since the beginning of her diet.

The only time she forgot about her craving for food was when she lost herself in her personality art project that slowly took shape under the cover of long, lonely nights—a shape that had an all too familiar face.

_Dammit._ Angie gritted her teeth. Why did all of her thoughts have to always lead her back to _him_?

She finally ducked into the darkened stairwell of Crystal's and made her way to the third floor, glad that she had another pole class to attend. Exercising didn't leave much room for thought. Probably because she was way too busy trying to pump oxygen into her lungs.

"Hey there, looking good." Lizzie waggled her eyebrows appreciatively as she caught up to Angie between floors. "Did you lose weight?"

"A little." Angie shrugged her shoulders, still feeling off balance when she should be jumping for joy that someone was already noticing the difference.

"What's the matter?" Lizzie narrowed her eyes, obviously having picked up on Angie's unusually dark mood.

"Hard work and bland food."

Lizzie laughed. "Sounds awesome. Not. No wonder you look as miserable from the front as you look fabulous from the back."

"Gee, thanks!"

Lizzie winked. "Ask me why I don't diet."

"Because you don't need it?" It was the truth. Despite being even bigger than Angie, everyone knew Lizzie loved her weight. The slightly more voluptuous body shape worked wonders for the other girl. Where Angie seemed small and stodgy, Lizzie was seduction incarnate.

"That, too." Lizzie grinned. "I do need to tone up though." She smacked her butt with the palm of her hand, making the sound echo back from the walls around them. "Especially here. Sitting on my ass all day is flattening it out quite a bit."

Angie sighed. "I know what you're talking about." She, too, was struggling to keep her jiggling cheeks in check. But if the Internet was right, her running—if she kept it up—should at least solve that problem for her.

It seemed her daily workouts had other advantages, too. Angie basically flew through the warm-up, earning multiple admiring comments all around. Her crankiness slowly diminished under the praise, and she was actually looking forward to trying out a new move when Ruby announced that they were learning what experienced pole dancers called the left-leg-hang. The figure that required the dancer to dangle upside-down, holding on only with their left leg had been one of Angie's favorites while researching pole dance clips online. She had always thought the move looked beautifully sophisticated and flattering.

But contrary to the professional dancers, who had made the move look really easy, Angie found herself in somewhat of a predicament as soon as she inverted and hooked her leg around the pole. Clinging to the metal rod, she felt she could go neither forward nor back as cold sweat broke out on her forehead at the mere thought of letting go with her hands. The hardwood floor seemed terribly close from the position she was in, and yet far enough away to genuinely hurt should she fall. The unsteady grip she had on the brass with the hollow of her knee didn't feel secure enough to keep her hippo-sized hips hovering suspended in the air for much longer and her body continued to sag under the strain of holding on. Angie gasped and tightened her fingers, wondering how she was going to get out of the botched move, when a familiar face appeared in her vision.

"I'll spot you." Gigi, who had been hanging off her own pole like a fly caught in its death throes moments before, had obviously made it back onto the floor in one piece. Still, Angie couldn't help the huff escaping her throat.

" _You_ want to spot _me_? I'll crush you."

Gigi giggled. "I'm not as fragile as I look. People tend to make that mistake. Men in particular." The corners of her mouth turned down for a second, as if a memory had flashed through her mind without warning. But then she shook herself and hooked a surprisingly muscular arm around Angie's back. "Let go."

"I must be mad," Angie breathed, but loosened her grip, humming in agitation when her torso sagged before Gigi caught Angie's full weight and gently lowered her into a head-down position.

"Lock the pole between your upper arm and your back." Ruby had joined them, obviously realizing from Angie's panicked wheezing that some additional support was warranted.

Angie furrowed her brow, trying to remember which arm Ruby was talking about. She had seen this move carried out a hundred times. She knew what it was supposed to look like. Yet, everything seemed very different from her current perspective.

Who would have thought it was so much more difficult to tell which limb was supposed to go where when one dangled helplessly upside down.

Angie flailed her arms and connected nowhere. "I can't..."

Cool fingers wrapped around her right wrist. "She means this one." Emily pulled Angie's body into the correct position. Pressure built behind Angie's knee, hip, and shoulder blade. Her body locked onto the metal and Gigi's hands slid away.

"Oh my god," Angie breathed, too worried to destroy the magic with a single loud word. "I'm dangling hands-free, a foot above the floor."

"Well done," Kaycee called from the other side of the room. Applause from a dozen hands mingled with her words.

"Nobody clapped for me," Tracy sulked.

"You can share the title 'Seasoned Sophomore,'" Ruby decided.

"You know how to share, don't you Tracy?"

"Och, give her a break, Liz," Angie broke in good-naturedly. "This is bloody hard and Tracy managed the left-leg-hang without help."

"This is another thing friends do," Emily whispered at the troublemaker, as Angie caught Tracy's surprised expression in the mirror. "They have each other's back. You should try it sometime." She nudged the other girl.

Tracy scrunched up her forehead. "You look like you've lost five pounds in two seconds," she said to Angie.

"Not that I think you need to slim down," Lizzie prompted, rolling her eyes when Tracy only mashed her lips together.

"I'm not going to lie."

Angie snorted. How typical for Tracy to turn a compliment into an argument. The good thing though, Tracy was honest to a fault. Angie dipped her head back even further to observe her own body in the mirror and felt satisfaction buzz through her. Sure enough, the stretched out position gave her an uncommonly thin silhouette.

"I wish I could always look like this," she said wistfully.

Lexa stuck her cell into Angie's face. The unmistakable sound of a photo being taken was followed by Angie's cell vibrating in her workout bag.

"Here you go," Lexa said. "The wonders of modern technology. You can stick the picture to your fridge to remind yourself what you're working toward." She slid a sideways glance a Tracy. "Not that I think you need to slim down."

They all laughed and this time even Tracy couldn't help the twitching of her lips.

Angie grabbed back onto the pole with both hands and slid toward the floor in a rather clumsy move.

"Thanks, girlfriends." She beamed at her colleagues, her earlier annoyance completely forgotten. She was truly excited for the first time in days.

Lexa tossed her cell onto her pile of street clothes and hooked her arm through Angie's. "Now, about moving your stuff to Molly's. Shall we come by your place on Saturday? Say around one o'clock?" Lexa asked.

"Works for me." Angie hummed. "I should probably buy a little gift for Molly. And for Jack to say 'thank you' for lending me his car."

"There's no need to gift Jack anything." Lexa shook her head, the tone of her voice suddenly uneasy. "He's going to be handsomely compensated for the favor."

Angie contemplated her friend. "What did you promise him?" she asked, intrigued.

Lexa ducked to pick up her workout bag, avoiding looking Angie in the eye. "A lifetime of ammunition to tease his brothers."

**Chapter 10**

On Saturday, Angie thought that Lexa hadn't defined the "we" nearly enough when she saw Jack, Lexa's boyfriend, his brother Michael, who Angie recognized from the time Lexa had danced on national TV, and— _be still my heart_ —Edward follow Lexa up the stairs toward the front door of Angie's apartment complex.

Damn, she should have expected that her friend would bring backup. But three guys to move five cardboard boxes? It seemed a little over the top.

Jack she could understand. It was his car that they would use to relocate Angie's stuff. Michael she could forgive, even if his attendance was somewhat unexpected. But Edward? What was he doing here?

Angie hadn't told Lexa about her and Edward's little secret. So it must have been Edward's own idea to orchestrate this meeting. How had he convinced Lexa to let him come along?

Lexa's parting words from their last pole dance class came back to Angie, and she cursed under her breath. It seemed the cat was out of the bag and now it was her who was left to deal with the fallout.

As if she didn't have enough troubles keeping the memories of their night together at bay without the visual reminder of what she was missing out on. More of his wicked mouth whispering dirty things in her ear. More of his skilled tongue driving her out of her mind.

Angie's thighs clenched together. Had she really acted as uninhibited as she remembered? Had he truly liked it enough to propose another night together?

A vision of herself on her knees in front of Edward, driving _him_ completely out of _his_ mind, rose before her eyes, and she shook herself to dislodge the image.

_Cut it out, girl._ This was hardly appropriate under the circumstances. A guy didn't join a moving party to make a booty call. He was probably just trying for a more sincere apology than the botched one he had employed last time.

Angie let out a frustrated groan. Of course he had to turn up on the one day when she was wearing her oldest and therefore tightest clothes, because everyone knew that moving was an inherently sweaty job and it would be madness to spruce up in her newly purchased "fuck you, I look great" shapewear instead. The slimming garment that had more resemblance with a fashionable, little black dress than the old people's version of skin-colored panties that Angie had always associated with shapewear before did an outstanding job of keeping her figure at a lovely ninety-nine, eighty-five-and-a-half, nin— oh, who was she kidding? But the silicon trimming that kept the bottom from riding up and flashing her privates to everyone made it a nightmare to pull the thing up her thighs.

Still, she would have gladly gone through the torture if she had so much as suspected that Mr. Sex Machine himself would be showing up at her doorstep.

Angie wondered if she had enough time to dash into the bedroom to rectify the issue when the doorbell rang.

She clenched her hands to keep herself from smoothing her hair. Shapewear, she might be able to pull off as a big "fuck you." No frizz, on the other hand, just screamed, "Please fuck me, again." Not the desperate message Angie wanted to convey.

She took a deep breath and opened the door, hoping her face showed nothing of her inner turmoil as she focused solely on her friend. "I can't believe you didn't tell me you were bringing an army." She waved over Lexa's shoulder at the guys. "It's only five boxes. I'm sure we could have managed on our own."

Lexa looked suitably contrite but stepped aside to make space for the brothers anyway. "Just hear him out."

Angie didn't have to ask who Lexa was talking about. There was only one brother who had some serious apologizing to do, and when Angie finally allowed herself to acknowledge him she could have sworn her heart skipped a beat. The man was pure eye candy she couldn't help but eat up. Every. Single. Delicious. Inch.

For days, she had tried to convince herself that he couldn't actually look as perfect as she had pictured him in her memories. In reality he looked even better.

Lean muscles shifted under a light grey T-shirt that should have been way too cold for the chilly weather outside, but sure did wonders heating Angie up from the inside out. The slight tan that made him look like he spent his days lazing at the beach, rather than working his very delectable butt off in his own, successful coffee shop, set off his beard stubble that she remembered so fondly. He was wearing the same belt Angie had had trouble unbuckling last week—a worn, black, leather piece with metal studs. And wasn't it ridiculous for her to notice such a thing?

Angie lifted her gaze to keep her fingers from running over the stubborn belt buckle, only to regret her rash decision a moment later. Because now she was looking at his eyes. His _intense_ eyes. God, the man didn't even have to touch her and she felt devoured. Owned.

Against her better judgment, Angie wished they were anywhere but here in front of her friend and his brothers. She wanted to be alone with him again. Preferably with a lot of time on their hands and no clothes on their bodies.

Without conscious thought she swayed toward him. To do what exactly she didn't know, but getting close to him seemed like the best idea she'd had in days.

***

Edward sidestepped Angie's swaying body at the last second, feeling the flash of hurt in her eyes like a hot skewer through his insides.

_Fuck._

He couldn't do this. He couldn't think when she was looking at him as if he had already blown his chances to apologize before he even opened his mouth. But why on earth did she have to open the door in such a tight outfit that hugged her delicious curves? Why did she have to sway toward him and act as if she wanted to eat him up, bite by tiny, delicious bite?

If she had touched him, he wouldn't have stood a chance to do this right.

At once, he wished he had stuck with the gift box of desserts as an apology. Instead he had prepared a speech. A carefully rehearsed string of sentences...of which he couldn't remember a single word now. He, who always knew what to say in any situation, was struck speechless when it mattered most.

Edward fisted his hands at his sides, stomping past Angie into the apartment, trying to put some space between them. Trying to regain a measure of control.

It wasn't easy. Angie's living space was tiny. Within three steps he found himself standing in front of her stove looking like an idiot. He blew out a frustrated breath and turned around.

_Dammit._ She had crossed her arms in front of her chest and was now pushing up her cleavage as if she wanted to offer him a taste.

God, he hadn't taken nearly enough time to worship this particular part of her anatomy during their single night together.

Edward forced his gaze away from the generous swell of Angie's breasts that her well-worn clothes were unable to conceal. The edge of black lace under her T-shirt teased his imagination and made him wonder if matching panties covered her heat lower down.

_Oh, fuck. Again. Yes, please._ _Shit._

Maybe he could ask her to change into something more concealing. Like a turtleneck sweater. Or a potato sack.

Edward snorted.

That would certainly go over well. Not.

In any case, it would be a wasted effort on Angie's part. Nothing could erase the arousing images from Edward's mind that had haunted him for days now. He had made love to Angie with his mouth exactly once. But the feeling of Angie's naked flesh under his lips, her taste, was forever burned into Edward's brain and not even the distance she had so carefully kept over the last week had dulled the impact of the memories that he had replayed in his dreams countless times.

He _needed_ Angie back in his arms. Something that was unlikely to happen if he couldn't get his shit together. If only he could remember the damned speech. He was pretty certain it had started with "I'm sorry."

Edward was about to try and stammer his way back into Angie's good graces, when something familiar caught his eye. He grabbed the bundle of mango truffles from the counter. Here was something he could talk about without problems no matter the circumstances. He could handle a conversation about desserts in his sleep.

Edward turned to stalk toward the siren, who was still following his every move with narrowed eyes, and heard his brothers' barely suppressed laughter.

Oh, they liked to see him struggle like this, did they? Maybe he should cancel the weekly dinners at his place for a month or two and see who laughed then.

"Uh, why don't we start loading the cars?" Lexa nudged Michael before turning to her boyfriend. "Jack?"

"Come on, Lexa, this is just getting good," his younger brother complained, but gave in when Lexa surreptitiously shook her head.

Still sniggering, he moved toward the cardboard boxes, giving Edward a good shoulder-check in the process.

"Take it back a notch," he whispered for Edward's ears only. "You might scare her away, as ferocious as you look."

Easy for Jack to say, Edward thought. He wasn't the one who was trying to hold an important conversation when every single decent word seemed to have fled his brain.

Edward ignored the brotherly advice as he continued to advance on the woman before him.

"You didn't eat any of them." He held up the mango truffles for her inspection, as if she hadn't seen them the moment he picked them up.

Her eyebrows shot up at his accusatory tone, but Edward figured anything was better than continuing to ignore her. He was acting like a lunatic. He knew it and still he couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to devour her soft lips that she had pursed in a display of irritation.

Angie jutted her chin out at him. "Do you visit all of your customers at home to see if they've finished your desserts?" she asked, every line of her body braced for confrontation. The little vixen knew exactly how much he was out of line.

Edward doubted she also knew that he was about three seconds flat from crushing her to him, before crowding her against the wall and showing her exactly how much he had missed her. No matter their audience.

"Only the shoplifters."

He saw a blush rising into her cheeks and couldn't help but take another step closer. Her sweet scent beckoned him as he leaned in next to her ear. "I usually bring handcuffs, too."

She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes flare for a second. God help him. She liked the thought.

Edward bit back a groan. His body tensed and it was all he could do not to pick her up, carry her to her bedroom and make love to her until she forgot that he had made her feel less than perfect during their last encounter.

But she was already pulling back. Her expression smoothed out as she inhaled a second, slower breath, and Edward wanted to howl in denial. She was putting distance between them once more.

"You had your chance," she said with a calm that belied her initial reaction and made a muscle tick in Edward's jaw.

"Am I not worth a second?" he asked, cursing himself as soon as the words left his lips. He hadn't meant to reveal this much. He hadn't intended to hand her his heart on a platter when she was just as likely to crush it.

But instead of blowing him off the way he feared, her expression went at once vulnerable.

"I don't dare," she whispered, before quickly brushing past him to escape out the door, leaving Edward to deal with the sudden tightness in his chest alone. Did she really think he would walk away from her a second time? Did she truly believe he would allow _her_ to walk away from him again?

He had no idea how he had fallen for her so quickly. So completely. But there was no denying that the thought of letting her go felt as if his insides were tearing apart.

Loosening his fingers around the truffles he had almost squashed in his hands, Edward sat the sweets back on the counter and hauled in a deep breath.

If she would just give him another chance to explain, then he could prove to her how good they could be together. If only he could reel in his hunger for her long enough to say the right words.

Edward shoved a hand through his hair and looked around.

The boxes were gone, as were Lexa and his brothers. Which meant they must have finished loading the cars. There was nothing left for him to do but to follow them downstairs and write off another attempt to win Angie back.

At least now he knew he wasn't the only one who was emotionally invested in this non-relationship of theirs.

It had to be enough until he could get her alone again. Until he could finally make this _right_.

***

"This wasn't how I envisaged our reunion." Angie fastened her seatbelt as Lexa maneuvered Jack's black sedan out of the parking spot in front of Angie's apartment and shot her friend a sideways look.

At least she had a few minutes' reprieve from having to pretend that she was okay. All three brothers were riding in Edward's car, giving Angie the opportunity to talk openly with her friend.

Lexa bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Angie. I didn't expect it to play out this way."

Neither had Angie. She had thought the next time she saw Edward it would be on _her_ terms, with her showing him the cold shoulder. She had wanted to be slim and toned and _unaffected_ by his charm when she walked into the Ground Bean for her audition. Instead he had turned up unannounced, weeks too early. Not only that, but the way he had looked at her as if she was more important than his next freaking breath... "I wish you had told me," she said.

Lexa ducked her head. "I wanted to. But I didn't want to give you the chance to say no. I thought I was helping. I thought—"

"You thought because you and Jack are happy everyone else should be happy, too."

"He said he wanted to apologize." Lexa defended her actions.

Angie exhaled a silent sigh. There was no point in keeping on hammering her friend. Lexa couldn't have known how precarious Angie's resolve was to stay away from the man. Or how she had forgiven Edward his crash-and-burn offense long before he had turned up at her doorstep today...to propose to handcuff her.

Angie's gaze fell to her wrists and a shuddering breath escaped her lungs. Why did the thought of being at Edward's mercy make her feel all flushed and ready? Why hadn't she immediately put him in his place when he had made the suggestion?

It clearly wasn't only her emotions that were in turmoil. Her libido seemed to be running haywire, too.

She was a modern woman. She wasn't supposed to get excited when a man threatened to bind her for his pleasure. Still, when Edward had stalked toward her and uttered the challenge, Angie hadn't felt annoyance or anger. All she had felt was absurdly turned on that she could incite this kind of reaction in a man.

Josh had always been carefully blasé about her and their relationship. The longer Angie thought about it, the more she realized that there had never been a spark. They hadn't argued, hadn't fought. They had simply lived next to each other like two strangers in the same house.

Not so with Edward. Although Angie had seen the façade of the easy-going people-pleaser he kept up with the customers in his coffee shop, today's interaction had proven that he had no filter when it came to handling her. He wasn't subdued like Josh had been. His emotions weren't muted. They stood right there at the forefront of his being, like splashes of vivid color against a white canvas.

The fact that Angie had managed to get this far under his skin was a heady feeling. It was damn sexy. And it didn't help her one bit to see the man in a less flattering light.

Angie wondered if there was anything that could still achieve this seemingly impossible feat.

"I can ask Jack to tell Edward to back off, you know."

Angie's gaze shot up to meet Lexa's at the sudden interruption of her thoughts. "Wouldn't that go against Jack's sibling code?"

Lexa shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sure Jack would understand. We both recently learned that men don't always see things too clearly when it comes to the woman they want." A self-deprecating grin broke out on her face. "And vice versa."

Angie shook her head. "No more interference, please." Deep down she was rather certain she didn't actually _want_ Edward to back off, regardless of what she had told him in her kitchen.

It wasn't as if she enjoyed stringing him along, but it sure had done wonders for her bruised ego to find out that he still wanted her. Especially because she still wanted him.

Unfortunately, allowing him to pursue her further would be as dangerous as exposing herself long-term to paint thinner fumes. As much as Angie wanted that second night with him, she now realized the error in judgment she had made the first time around.

She had thought that one time with Edward would be all the experience she would need to get rid of her infatuation with the Dessert God. She had never expected that it would make her craving for him a hundred times worse. She didn't even want to guess what he could do to her body and especially her heart, if she agreed to an encore performance. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be crushed when he finally walked away for good.

Angie sighed and buried her head in her hands.

_"You can't have the cake and eat it, too_ , _"_ her nan used to say, whenever Angie felt torn between choices as a child.

Angie huffed a laugh. _Who would have thought, Nan, that I'm still having troubles with the concept two decades later?_

**Chapter 11**

"What is he doing here?" Molly pushed her golden locks out of her face, annoyed that she had spent twenty minutes making sure they lay perfectly in place only to find that _he_ hadn't given her a single cursory glance since he carried one of Angie's boxes through her front door. Michael, the oldest of the Daniels brothers, was her constant source of irritation.

Ten years her senior, he was senior partner at his own company, and he usually exuded authority like other men exuded body odor. At the moment, however, he projected only reluctance to be here in her apartment. In her _presence_.

Then why on earth had he gone to the trouble of helping Angie relocate her stuff? Surely Jack and Edward could have managed five boxes by themselves.

Molly huffed, willing herself to ignore the man. She didn't even like the guy. He was testy at best, obnoxious at worst, and he had made it clear on more than one occasion that he didn't think too highly of her. To him it didn't matter that she came from one of the most influential families in the United States, that she could compete with any of the recent beauty queens—not her own opinion either, and that she was on the verge of finishing her law degree summa cum laude. He still looked at her as if she was a bug that had dared crawl into his perfect Sunday morning coffee. If he even spared her a glance.

It was ridiculous that she, on the other hand, couldn't seem to disregard him. From the moment Lexa had texted her that Michael would be part of the moving party, Molly's heart had beaten faster. With vexation, she told herself. She was _not_ attracted to the guy.

From the safety of her kitchen, Molly snuck another glance at Michael as he set the last cardboard box down in Lexa's old room, his thick neck straining against the collar of his boring, white shirt.

He wasn't at all her type with his shaggy hair and solid body. She preferred the buff fitness type. Guys her own age, who enjoyed having a good time.

With Michael everything screamed "grown-up" and "responsibility." Both of which Molly had enough of in her life already. With two high-profile parents, she had been fed _duty_ and _obligation_ with her mother's milk. She didn't need any more of that crap.

Then why was she stupid enough to want—no, _need_ —to draw Michael's attention when he so clearly didn't intend to give her the time of day?

Annoyed at herself, Molly turned from the irritating sight to narrow her eyes at Lexa and lifted an inquiring brow. "Explain."

Lexa shrugged her shoulders. "He wanted to tag along."

"And you let him? You know I can't stand him."

"I know you _say_ you can't stand him."

Molly's lips pinched delicately. Her long-time friend was in serious danger of becoming un-friended right this very second.

"He certainly can't stand me," she said, twisting to pull the grill mesh out of the oven with enough force to make her most recent attempt at baking jump in alarm.

Lexa hummed noncommittally under her breath.

Molly threw her arms into the air in exasperation. "Fine. He can stay. But if he so much as looks at me wrong..." She poked a bemittened hand in Lexa's direction.

"Don't worry, Princess, I have no intention to look at you at all."

Molly whirled around at the sound of Michael's gravelly voice coming from the entrance to her kitchen. Her back teeth clenched as they had a habit of doing in his presence. "You—" she warned.

"Chocolate fudge cake," Jack declared at that moment, having followed behind his brother. "My favorite." He pushed Michael out of the way.

Lexa stepped aside to let her boyfriend take a look, but was pulled back against Jack's body a moment later. Molly ignored the tightening in her chest at the easy display of affection and belatedly remembered her manners.

Keeping her gaze carefully averted from the maddening male whose eyes she could feel resting on her with disconcerting intensity—of course, _now_ he would be staring at her—Molly stabbed the steaming brown shape in front of her with a cake tester. "I'm certain it's nowhere near as good as any of Edward's," she said to Jack, determined not to let Michael ruin this afternoon the way he had ruined every one of their meetings so far. "I hope he'll go easy on me with his verdict."

"Don't be modest." Edward, who joined them just in time to catch the tail end of her little speech, removed the cake from the tin with a few expert motions and carried it toward the dining table, giving Molly an excuse to escape in the same direction. "It's going to taste great. Lexa told me you once dreamt of becoming a pastry chef."

"When I was about five years old, yes. My parents almost had a heart attack. No offense."

"None taken. But I'm sure you make a fantastic hobby cook." He threw a look over his shoulder that invited her to agree.

Molly shrugged and stopped to pull the oven glove off her hand. "Dreaming of doing something doesn't mean you know how to handle it."

"Or her," Michael mumbled under his breath.

Edward coughed.

Molly shot Michael a withering glance that seemed to bounce off him without effect.

For the second time, Jack swept in to defuse the situation. "Let's give this creation of yours a try. First slice for the expert," he said, pointing at Edward as Molly sunk the knife into the spongy mass.

Edward didn't waste time examining the fudge cake for flaws. "It's delicious," he declared around his first mouthful, then dug in for a bigger bite.

Molly felt her lips twitch at the corner. "You're a sweet-talker," she said, sliding the next slice of cake in front of Angie who followed the exchange with narrowed eyes. _Interesting._

"And a liar," Michael grumbled quietly at his brother, as he folded his large frame into the remaining chair in the little dining nook, looking ridiculously out of place sitting on one of her pink, heart-shaped seat cushions. A wolf in the sheep's den. "Even I have learned enough from you over the years to see that this cake hasn't risen in the mold as it should, Ed, so quit the charade. Flirting with Molly isn't going to earn you brownie points with Angie."

Edward's eyes flickered in Molly's direction before he growled at his brother. "It's called tact, pal. You should try it sometime."

"Buttering up people is your bailiwick."

"Guys," Molly cut in, tired of pretending she couldn't hear Michael deliberately making a scene once again. The man lived to provoke her.

"I have a few pieces of leftover peach tart in the fridge that Lexa brought home from the Ground Bean the other day. Michael can have them if he wants to." She looked at the brothers calmly, acting as if insulting the host was a common occurrence in her world and no big deal. She would be damned if she played into Michael's hands again like the first time they met a few months ago. Back then he had ridiculed her and managed to reduce her to tears. He was not going to succeed a second time. Criticizing her baking skills was really only the icing on the cake.

"Great." Michael avoided her gaze, instead tapping the rim of his cup with one blunt fingertip.

He didn't even have the grace to apologize, now that he knew she had overheard. Oh, the nerve.

Molly stalked into the kitchen and pulled the dratted tart from the fridge.

"You okay?" She turned to see Lexa striding in after her, gently closing the door.

"Peachy." She lifted the tart in mockery.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it the way it sounded."

Molly rolled her eyes and sniffed. "Oh believe me, he meant it exactly that way." She exhaled an exasperated breath. It wasn't as if she had hoped for Michael's appraisal, but couldn't he have at least pretended indifference _?_ "It doesn't matter. I'm fine." Maybe if she said it often enough she would truly believe it by the time she had to face the disagreeable man again.

"Mol—"

The clearing of someone else's throat behind them had Molly turning from Lexa's sympathetic gaze toward the kitchen entrance to see Angie, too, had fled the guys.

Her attitude had lost the standoffish edge Molly assumed had been suppressed jealousy, and she was now looking at Molly with a combination of curiosity and compassion. _Great._ Just what she needed.

_A Rogers doesn't mope in public._

Molly grabbed a fresh fork and pushed the cutlery drawer closed with her hip, cutting off her mother's chiding voice in her head. She wasn't in the mood to deal with one more disapproving person today.

"Would you prefer a tart, too?" she asked slightly harsher than intended, having seen the reluctant way Angie had taken a bite of her cake.

Angie's smile didn't falter. "I wouldn't dare. I think your cake is fabulous. But I'm on a diet."

Of course. Angie was always on a diet. How could Molly have forgotten? "I'm sorry. I—"

Angie waved her off. "We're even."

"And hiding. Both of you," Lexa pointed out. "Do you want me to take the guys home?"

"All three of them?" Angie deadpanned.

Molly's lips twitched, glad for the change in subject. "What will Jack say?"

Lexa blushed. "You know I didn't mean it that way."

"Uh-huh," Angie agreed, lowering her voice. "But just in case, we better grab one brother each before you do something rash. What do you say, Molly? You take Michael, I take Edward?"

So this was why Angie had followed them in. Molly opened her mouth to politely decline, but thought better of it. "Done." She didn't have any intention of going anywhere near the oldest Daniels brother after she delivered his tart, but this wasn't about her. This was about putting Angie at ease.

Putting Angie at ease wasn't just an excuse.

***

Michael stared at the peach tart in front of him, willing his fists to unclench and take the fork. Willing his eyes not to stray upward over that perfectly shaped body, to her perfectly formed face with its perfectly emotionless eyes and up to her hair that was lying fucking perfectly in place. He might just fucking kill her. Or maybe he would kill to fuck her. At the moment he wasn't so sure.

Although he was pretty certain she wouldn't approve of either choice. If their previous encounters were any indication, she would probably prefer instant death to joining him on a ride into total oblivion anytime this century.

She couldn't have made it any clearer if she had tried, calling him an asshole the first time she met him and pretty much ignoring him ever since. To flirt with his brothers instead.

Michael's fingers clenched tighter and he forced himself to release a slow breath through his nose.

He shouldn't have come here. He had known it would end in another disaster. But as soon as he heard about Angie moving some stuff into Molly's apartment and his brothers helping her, he just couldn't keep away. Some insane urge compelled him to come along. To torture himself with the sight of her again. Even knowing she despised him.

Now he was sitting on her fluffy pink pillow in her brightly lit dining nook, feeling as if he sucked the light right out of her apartment. He couldn't help it. He was furious.

Furious about the ease with which she allowed his brothers into her life. Furious about his inability to stay civil in her company. Most of all, however, he was furious about his own perception that he should stay the hell away from her. She was just too fucking perfect to ever be with someone like him.

Bright and bubbly—unless she was forced to deal with him—she clearly loved life. And why shouldn't she?

She was from a wealthy background. Both her parents were big shots. Just as she would be in a few years when she put that law degree of hers to good use and married an equal overachiever from her own class, as rich folks always did. Her future looked bright.

She didn't need him to darken it for her. He might own a small company, but his family was from a middle class background. All his profits went toward his family's well-being and although he could afford to keep them living in comfort, especially now that his siblings were out of college, they would probably never reach the status that Molly was accustomed to since birth.

Even if she, for some reason, agreed to take a ride on the wild side with him—something she had made abundantly clear would never happen—he couldn't take her up on the offer. He didn't think he would be able to let her go once he had her. He knew himself. He would smother her with attention until she felt as if she couldn't breathe, until she would hate him.

No, he was better off letting her be. For both their sakes. He would end up destroying her. And that was the one thing that was worse than not having her at all.

**Chapter 12**

She had given in.

Angie pushed another fork-full of the chocolate fudge cake into her mouth, feeding the guilty feeling in her gut. She had told herself she would only have a bite or two, a compromise between her strict diet and her duty as a friend, to show that at least _someone_ appreciated Molly's cake.

_Yeah, right. Bullshit._ She was just making an excuse to stuff her mouth with sweets again.

She was still unsettled by the events that had taken place at her apartment earlier in the day, and sugar, as always, calmed her nerves. Or it would if she hadn't somehow ended up next to Edward on the little, wooden bench in Molly's dining nook when this was the one spot she had tried so hard to avoid.

Angie stole a glance at the subject of her thoughts. She had fooled herself into believing that she had regained a measure of her resolve to withstand the force that was Edward Daniels during the short drive from her apartment to Molly's, but Edward had shot it all to hell the minute he had grabbed a cardboard box from her hands when she'd tried to lift it out of the car by herself and carried the thing up six flights of stairs with the ease of someone who shifted heavy bags of coffee beans and dessert ingredients on a regular basis.

His shirt had pulled tight over his bulging biceps and, despite calling herself a fool, Angie had been unable to stop herself from admiring his backside as she climbed the old-fashioned staircase at a much slower pace behind him.

She still couldn't believe that two short weeks ago she had been able to touch all his fascinating muscles, to run her hands over his whole body as he devoured her mouth in a hungry kiss. Because now, even though she sat less than a foot away from him, a whole continent could have separated them for all the ease with which she could cross that distance.

It was her own doing, this separation that she could feel stretching between them. She had drawn the line when he had meant to reconcile. But despite her claiming to be unaffected by his charm, she couldn't deny the hyperawareness that she had of his large body, or the low level hum that seemed to race under her skin every time he was close.

"I prefer cream."

Angie jolted at the words as Edward waved off Molly's offer of milk for his coffee and wondered if he remembered the last time he had used that exact same phrase. In bed with her.

He had been seconds away from burying his tongue deep inside of her. His arm had been a steel-band around her hips. Her eyes had gone blind, as he had taken control and given her the best experience of her life.

The reminder of their night together had heat pooling between Angie's thighs. She shifted to alleviate the sudden ache and brushed against Edward's muscular arm.

"You have chocolate..." His deep voice wrapped around her like an intimate hug as he motioned toward her face. His hand only hesitated for a second before his thumb brushed under her lip, sending another electric spark straight to Angie's core. "There." His gaze dropped to the pad of his finger, as if considering what to do next, before he licked the brown smudge off with a quick flick of his tongue. "I like your taste."

Angie clutched her cutlery tighter and prayed for the heat in her body to subside. She was acutely aware of the others chatting around the table, the ease with which they could overhear their conversation. Thank God nobody seemed to pay them any particular attention.

"Not sure I like yours."

She had meant the words as a reminder of what he had missed out on during their single night together. Instead they sounded like a challenge.

Edward didn't waste the chance to understand them as such. "We can easily rectify that, Angel."

The use of the nickname he had given her did funny things to Angie's insides, and it took all of her effort to shake her head "no" when her body screamed "yes" so loud she could barely hear herself think. Her body was stupid. It clearly didn't care about its most vital organ. Her heart.

Angie had always prided herself on her logical mind. Despite her artistic nature she had always possessed the ability to see things for what they were. Insignificant—mostly, in the grand scheme of life. Few decisions were as important as people made them out to be. Who cared if she became a doctor at twenty-five or a painter at thirty? Nobody was going to die if she stripped down to her underwear and twirled around a pole for fun.

It was only now that she realized not all questions were so easily discarded. Matters of the heart weren't always black and white. There were at least forty shades of gray in between to consider, and although she could name them all and could use them to her advantage on a piece of canvas, Angie had no idea how to apply them to her life. To this situation that had her torn between plunging headlong into a second night with Edward and running away from him as far and as fast as she possibly could.

Just an hour ago she had decided that giving in to her foolish desire could lead to nothing but heartbreak. But one flirtatious comment from Molly had been enough and Angie had completely disregarded that the other girl was doing her a favor. Instead she had turned into a green-eyed harpy who had stalked Molly into her own kitchen to stake her claim on Edward, for God's sake.

She hadn't even known she was about to hang a big "no-trespassing" sign around Edward's neck until the words came out of her mouth. What did she intend to do? Warn everyone away from Edward. Including herself? How ridiculous was that?

Angie focused back on her dessert and wondered how one of her favorite cakes could taste so unsatisfyingly bland when there was nothing wrong with the way it was made. Sweet and gooey. Molly had done an outstanding job baking the thing close to perfection. Although Molly didn't have the experience that made Edward's chocolate fudge cake rise just a little bit higher, or the eye for detail that meant the rich brown of the cake was balanced with the colors of fresh fruits of the season in the Ground Bean, there was no way anyone—except for Michael—could call the cake anything less than amazing.

Still, Angie found herself pushing the last few bites around on her plate.

She wished she could blame her lack of appetite on finally getting used to the healthy meals she was eating at home, on having taught her body a new habit in the span of two short weeks.

In reality, she worried the reason was an entirely different one.

She glanced over at Edward, who had once more joined the general conversation, and swallowed hard.

She worried she was being stupidly hung up on a man she had sworn she was over.

***

So she was on a diet.

Edward watched out of the corner of his eye as Angie picked at the dessert in front of her, her usually radiant enjoyment dimmed.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop when she had confessed the ridiculousness to her friends, but her voice had carried into the dining nook and Edward had barely held himself in check. He had wanted to stomp into the kitchen and demand she stop her stupid endeavor, right now. She didn't need to lose weight. She was perfect the way she was. Only two things had held him back when his teeth gritted so hard he was worried they would crack.

Stomping, he had realized, didn't work too well with Angie, and who was he to berate her for her intentions when his callous words were most likely responsible for putting the idea of a diet in her head in the first place?

The knowledge that he had hurt her badly enough for her to want to change the way she looked, who she was, was enough to make him want to put his fist through a wall. He wasn't normally this clumsy when it came to _not_ offending his lovers. _Ex-lover_ , he reminded himself. She had made that perfectly clear. Edward's chest squeezed.

He was usually very good at being tactful, even when he disagreed with someone. It was an indispensable skill in his line of business. Hell, he hadn't even lost his temper when Lucas had dropped and shattered three of Edward's best plates on his first day as a trainee.

But for all his smooth-talking skills, he didn't seem to be able to say a single thing right in Angie's presence. Every time he opened his mouth something entirely inappropriate slipped out. He just couldn't seem to help himself. Her nearness was driving him crazy. The fact that he was not allowed to touch her, crazier. He needed to get his hands on her for longer than to rub a smudge of chocolate from her face. Maybe once he was worn out from making love to her, he would be able to think clearly again.

He could probably make her forget her anger long enough to let him back into her bed, too. She might not want to want him. But even Angie couldn't deny that the insistent spark between them was still alive.

Unfortunately, a quick tryst between the sheets wasn't what Edward was looking for. He wanted her back in his life, in his coffee shop, at ease with him. He wanted her for longer than just "one more night." So, he needed to repair the rift between them instead of simply seducing her. And he needed to do it soon. Every day he waited was one more day of forgotten memories. He needed Angie to remember how good they were together and how much she enjoyed his company in bed and out if he wanted to stand the slightest chance of winning her back.

He checked again to see that Angie was still discussing something she called a _left-leg-hang_ with her friend Lexa—a twisty, turn-y pole dance move that Edward couldn't even begin to understand—and sidled closer to Jack.

"I need Angie in my car on the ride back home. Alone. Can you do that for me?"

Jack scrutinized Edward's face for a second before answering. "You sure you know what you're doing, bro?" His brother's expression stayed uncommonly serious as he posed the question too quietly for anyone else to overhear. "She clearly likes you, but from where I stand it doesn't look like she's too keen to rekindle your relationship. What happened in her apartment after we left?"

"None of your business."

"Fair enough," Jack dismissed Edward's biting tone with the ease of a younger sibling. "But maybe it would be better to just let her go? For your own sake."

"Would you let Lexa go without a fight?"

Jack reaching for his girlfriend's hand was all the answer Edward needed. "Just leave quickly once we're done here and please," he implored Jack, "drag Michael with you if you must."

His older brother was bound to try and linger as long as possible in Molly's company. Even if he had to start another fight with the stunning blonde to do so.

Jack nodded. "Okay. I got it." Then after a moment, "Want some advice from your younger brother?"

Edward shrugged. At this point he would take advice from a spinster.

"Try telling her the truth. It's the only way she'll forgive you."

"Speaking from experience, are you?"

It was Jack's turn to shrug. "I'm not too proud to learn from my mistakes." He dropped a kiss on the back of Lexa's hand. "Especially, when it comes to the woman I love."

**Chapter 13**

Angie watched as the city lights sped past the passenger side window of Edward's car and wished she had forgone the lengthy speech of gratitude that she'd felt compelled to give to Molly just before they left, to make up for her irrational bout of jealousy earlier. Maybe if she had thrown a simple "thank you" over her shoulder as she scurried out the door, she would be ensconced in the front seat of Jack's car once again, talking to Lexa—the traitor, instead of trying to ignore the huge pink elephant that was currently perched uncomfortably on the console between her and Edward's seat and that was seriously cramping her usually carefree style. _Temptation._

Angie couldn't seem to draw a single breath without inhaling a lungful of Edward's unique orange peel and sugar scent. And with every mile they got closer to her apartment, she found it harder not to give in to the fierce attraction that had begged her all afternoon to stop punishing them both and allow Edward to take her, emotional hazard or not.

"Is the temperature alright?"

Angie turned at the quiet question. What a ridiculously mundane thing to ask under the circumstances. Surely he realized that the blistering heat between them had nothing to do with the actual climate control in the car. She nodded anyway.

"It's good. Thank you. And thanks for helping." There. She could make small talk, if she tried. Even if what she really wanted to do was to ask him to pull the car over so she could crawl into his lap and ride him until they both forgot their names.

God, she had never even _thought_ anything like this before, let alone seriously considered it.

It was an entirely bad idea. Yet it sounded so good, with the afternoon light waning and the night looming dark and lonely ahead of her. Could giving them both what they wanted one more time really be such a big mistake?

Angie snuck another glance at Edward's profile as he navigated the car through the dense city traffic with an ease that Angie couldn't help but admire. Just as she couldn't help her gaze lingering on his face long after she had told herself to look away. There was just something about him that drew her eye.

For all the times that she had seen him, she had never actually had a chance to properly study him. Not in as much detail as the painter in her craved.

She knew the color of his hair, the fullness of his lips. But she also wanted to learn the shape of his jawline, the curl of his ears. The few times she had visited his coffee shop he had been in constant motion, and back at Molly's apartment their recent history had ensured that Angie carefully avoided directly looking at him for any length of time. Even when she had been as close to him as any woman could get, she had insisted on a lights-out session, depriving herself of his image. Here, with his focus on the traffic, nothing disturbed her from indulging her curiosity. What she saw sent another punch to her gut.

She had known that Edward was attractive in a way few men could claim. She had even captured some of his most remarkable features in her sketches. But so far her drawings of him had been powered by the energy that seemed to blur the edges of his physical appearance. The coffee shop owner laughing with his customers. The lover regarding his one-night stand. It had always been the vivid foreground action that had captured her interest. In this moment of stillness, however, she finally got a chance to see his base color. The one thing that was the very essence of a person's makeup.

Some people were inherently optimistic. No matter how many times fate knocked them down, they found a way to get back up and bounce back stronger than before. Others were predominately narcissistic. They couldn't care for someone else if they tried.

Edward was quietly determined. Angie bet it was what had made him so successful in his business. It certainly was what attracted her to him, even though she had never consciously noticed before. While others had to push themselves constantly to become the best they could be, Angie included, with Edward ambition seemed to be woven into his very being. She could see it in the stubborn line of his chin, in the coiled tension of his muscles. Most people waited a lifetime for the stars to align just right. Edward gave the impression he could realign the stars the way they suited him.

"My ex used my marketing campaign to launch a modeling career."

Angie's head snapped up at the unexpected confession. She had been lost in her own thoughts and hadn't even noticed that he had finally worked through whatever had kept him quiet for the last few minutes to start the conversation she had felt coming from the moment she got into his car.

Edward pushed a hand through his already mussed hair. "She left me, as soon as she signed the contract."

"What a bitch."

Edward's lips curled into a wry smile. "She was that. It doesn't excuse what I said to you the other night, though."

Angie felt her forehead scrunch up. "What does one..."

"...have to do with the other?" he asked quietly. "When you picked up the ad for the audition, I couldn't help but feel that the past was repeating itself."

"Hold on. You were worried I had plans to use you to become America's next top model?" A snort of laughter escaped Angie. She couldn't help it. "That's ridiculous."

"Why?"

"Look at me."

"Why?" he repeated.

"Because I'm hardly the right size for that particular career path." Angie picked an imaginary piece of fluff from her arm. Admitting her flaw out loud to the one person she wanted more than anyone to see her as perfect made her feel uncommonly vulnerable. "You said it yourself."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Edward's eyes flash with remorse. "Angie, I'm sorry. I—"

Angie held up a hand to stop his tumble of words. "You were lashing out because you were hurt. I get it." Probably better than he thought. It was exactly the same reason why she had reacted the way she had. "Your comment was just the final straw." She flopped back in her seat. If he was straightforward with her, maybe she owed the same to him. "Do you know why I picked you up that evening in the coffee shop?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. "I needed to feel desired. My ex had told me the day before that he only stayed with me for years, because I was a willing hole for his pole."

She saw a muscle tick in his jaw. His knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. "Do you want me to beat him up for you?" he asked.

Never before had the promise of violence given Angie a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest. "He's not worth the trouble you could get into."

Edward shot her a glance. "You are."

Angie felt her heart thump painfully against her ribcage. "You say these things and I can't help falling in love with you a little bit more."

_Oh, God._ She clapped a hand in front of her mouth. What had she done?

The car jolted to a halt in front of her apartment and Edward turned, his eyes searching her face. "What did you just say?"

Angie shook her head. This was the moment when he would hightail it out of her life.

Unless she left him first.

"Forget what I said." She tried to open the car door, but he caught her arm, rotating her back to him. A second later his mouth crushed hers.

"I couldn't forget it if I tried," he whispered. "I'd rather stop breathing than even try."

Angie stared at him. This couldn't be happening. Men didn't say these things to her. She pushed a hand against his chest to get her bearings. "You never react the way I expect you to."

Edward huffed, but he kept holding on to her. "Is that good or bad?" he asked.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Why me?" Angie glanced back at him, knowing how exposed she left herself with the question. She didn't care. This was her life on the line and she had to know. "There must be hundreds of women willing to jump at the chance of a night with you."

He silenced her with another kiss. "I don't want another woman."

"And I don't want to go back to being an unpaid hooker."

Edward's hand tightened on her shoulder. "Maybe I should beat this ex of yours up, after all. Where did you say he lived again?"

She shook her head. "Nice try. Don't distract from the subject."

"I'm not." He exhaled a sigh. "I'm not good at this." He motioned between them. "Talking to you. I look at you and I can't even remember my own name."

"Edward," she said, waiting until he lifted his gaze. "Give it your best shot."

"You want the truth, huh. Jack was right." He let his forehead fall against hers. "Look, I could probably find someone else to spend the night with." He winced when she flinched. "What I want to say is I'm not _settling_ for you, if that's what you're worried about. I _chose_ you, above everyone else. Because while some women may want to fuck me—hell, they would fuck any man with a business and the right equipment between his legs—they would just as easily fuck me over. I'm not in the market for a one-night stand or a gold digger, Angie. I'm not looking for a hooker. I'm looking for a partner. Always have. From the moment I saw you I was thinking about you _by my side_. Because of the way you are. Not the way you look. That doesn't mean you're not sexy as hell," he added quickly, closing his eyes in desperation. "God, I'm making a mess out of this again."

"You are." Angie laid her fingers against his mouth when he would have spoken. "This was probably the worst apology anyone has ever delivered and I loved every single word."

"You did?" The hopeful look on his face made her chest squeeze with suppressed emotion and she nodded, desperate to lighten the mood.

"Just don't repeat it where anyone else can hear you, okay?"

His lips tilted in a lopsided grin. "Okay." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close as the car console between them would allow.

"It's amazing how you manage to hide your atrocious communication skills from you customers." Angie's voice sounded muffled against his chest as she snuggled even closer.

She could feel his smile on her temple. "I'm good at faking it."

"As am I. Want to see?"

He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing. "What are you offering exactly? I don't want to misinterpret—"

"Make-up sex." She said the words quickly, not allowing her brain to think too much about the implications of not only accepting his apology, but accepting him back into her bed. "I need to burn off the calories from that chocolate fudge cake."

Edward's chuckle sounded easy, but his eyes were serious when he said, "That's not why I apologized." He shook his head with a rueful expression. "Maybe I was hoping... I was definitely hoping. I'm not going to lie. But... I missed you. I mean in the coffee shop. I enjoy your company, even if we're not having sex. I just thought I should let you know."

Angie pressed a kiss to his lips. "I missed you, too."

Edward nuzzled her neck. "In this case, I don't want you to fake it. Come to think of it, I don't want to have sex with you either. Let me make love to you instead."

Angie's breath caught. There it was again, that avalanche of emotion that she didn't know how to handle. If she had trouble overcoming the frantic coupling from last time, then the sweet togetherness he proposed would be her complete undoing.

But she was tired of fighting the intimacy, didn't want to deny him any more than she wanted to deny herself. She _wanted_ him to make love to her.

Her hands trembled as she unlocked the door to her apartment and showed Edward to her tiny bedroom.

Without her prompting, he left the light off. "Come here, Angel."

She swayed toward him, her lips finding his once more. He hummed his appreciation in the back of his throat. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as his tongue stroked her own. He shaped her body, allowing his palms to travel over her hips, then slipped under her shirt to discover naked skin. Angie sucked in a breath.

"I love your hands on me," she whispered.

"I love my hands on you, too." The shameless grin he gave her elicited an answering smile from Angie and she helped him pull her shirt over her head.

Her arms came down to wind around his neck. His muscles moved sensuously against her skin.

Her bra released with a flick of his fingers and Angie reluctantly let go of Edward long enough to shake the garment to the floor. She pulled off his shirt, loving the way his chest flexed and shifted as he flung the cotton toward a chair in the corner.

A groan escaped him, when she trailed her hand over his abdomen and further down, to run her nails lightly over the bulge in his pants. "All of this for me," she marveled.

"I can't wait to be inside of you."

Edward's hot mouth brushed over her cheek, making Angie shiver. Her fingers worked to free the button on his jeans. Savoring every second. Every touch.

They undressed each other completely, petting and kissing, coming back together without missing a beat.

Their bodies seemed to melt into each other as Edward carried her to her bed and came down on top of her, still moving slowly.

Angie heard a foil packet rip and watched in the twilight as Edward sheathed himself. He pushed inside her then, taking her with excruciating slowness, the slide of their bodies against each other almost too much to bear.

He held himself on his elbows above her, raining kisses all over her face.

"I missed you so much. I don't know how I could miss you so much," he told her over and over, until there could be no doubt about his sincerity in Angie's mind. She clung to him as they rode the wave of ecstasy together, coming apart in each other's arms.

***

"The contents of your fridge are every chef's dream." Edward extracted a number of vegetables from the cooling unit and set to slicing them up on the chopping board he had found in one of the drawers.

They had finally made it out of Angie's bedroom and into the kitchen when the rumbling of their stomachs had become louder than the moans they drew from each other.

Edward felt his lips kick up. He had had her every which way and still he wanted more.

The picture she made, sitting at her kitchen island—the only flat surface big enough to hold two plates of food in her tiny, one-bedroom apartment—threatened to undo his resolve to feed them both.

Her lips looked bee-stung from his kisses, and her hair hung in a tangled mess around her face. Her eyes still regarded him with a dreamlike quality. She looked well-loved and he felt relaxed for the first time in weeks.

Only her insistence to put on a complete outfit of concealing clothes before joining him in the kitchen put a little dampener on this perfect evening. She might have forgiven him for his slip of the tongue two weeks ago, but that didn't mean she felt comfortable enough in her own body to show it to him in the light.

If it was up to Edward, he would have preferred her in his own thin shirt. And nothing else. Although that would have been even more dangerous to his resolve. He didn't know if he could have kept from dragging her back into the bedroom if she had walked up to him with only his shirt falling just below her bottom. It would have ridden up even further as she sat in front of the kitchen island. And the knowledge that she wasn't wearing anything underneath... Edward blew out a breath. Maybe it was a good thing that she had insisted on a more conservative getup.

"You think?" Angie's beautiful forehead furrowed and Edward struggled to remember what they had been talking about. Her fridge, of course.

"You have more stock than the local vegetable market," he pointed out.

"I'm trying to change my eating habits. I want to slim down." She motioned toward a picture of herself hanging upside down from a pole that was stuck to one side of the fridge. "This, right there, is my goal. I want to have a figure like this right side up. If only "healthy" wouldn't taste so awfully bland."

Edward studied the photo, trying to see beyond the almost indecent amount of cleavage Angie's skimpy outfit revealed in the portrayed position. It was hard. Very hard.

He was about to tell her exactly how much he liked the way she looked in any position when he remembered what she had told him about her ex-boyfriend. And he finally realized that a simple compliment from him wasn't going to have any impact on how she perceived her body.

All he had seen since she first came into his coffee shop was a beautiful, young woman who felt the usual, _unfounded_ pressure to lose a few pounds because the general perception of society was that all men preferred their women super slim. In reality, Angie's struggle with her body shape ran much deeper. She had been bullied about her figure. Probably for a long time. After her confession, Edward would bet that Angie's ex-boyfriend hadn't been the first one to give her a hard time.

_Dammit._ He hadn't even realized how much he had fucked up with his callous comment the other night.

He contemplated the ingredients in front of him. Judging from the variety of groceries she bought, it didn't look like Angie was mindlessly starving herself in an effort to lose weight fast. Her approach to dieting seemed rather sensible. So what if she had seemed less than enthusiastic about eating Molly's cake. Even as a pastry chef he couldn't earnestly proclaim that chocolate fudge cake was an essential nutritional need.

"It's all about the ingredients," he said, determined to make up for his stupid behavior by helping her achieve something he thought was much more important than a fashion ideal: self-worth. If that meant teaching her about cooking healthy meals, then so be it.

"That's what _I_ thought," she said. "Guess what? Whole-grain mac and low-fat cheese just doesn't taste the same." She wrinkled her nose, looking so put out he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Forget mac and cheese. I was talking about seasoning your food. The right herbs and spices can turn a plain vegetable dish into the most delicious stew." He looked around the kitchen and saw a surprisingly well-stocked spice rack shoved into one corner of the counter. "Here, I'll show you."

Angie regarded the rack dubiously. "My mum bought that when she came over last year."

"From Scotland, was it?" He could hear the faintest trace of an accent in Angie's voice.

Angie nodded. "It's funny, you know? We always butt heads when we see each other, but when she's gone I still miss her."

"That's why you keep the spice rack on display, even though you don't use it," Edward guessed.

"It reminds me of her." Angie jutted her chin forward, as if she was embarrassed to admit such a weakness.

Edward gently cupped her cheek. "My sister moved overseas three years ago. I'm still selling her favorite hazelnut brownies."

"You do?"

"I miss her every day." He cleared his throat.

Angie slid her hand into his open palm. "Your sister is lucky to have a brother like you."

"I could say the same about you and your mum."

Angie's mouth curled at the corner. "Point taken." She pulled the spice rack closer. "So, how do I use this thing?"

Edward selected a number of jars. "It's all about the balance of flavors." He slid a handful of carrots over to her, stealing a kiss in the process.

"I thought you were a pastry chef," she said as the metallic sound of her knife hitting the board started to ring through the tiny space.

"It just means I appreciate sweet flavors more."

Her blade froze mid-cut and he could see the faint blush staining her cheeks. Edward couldn't help but smirk.

He loved the way her mind worked, right alongside his. Deep down in the gutter.

It made him want to pick her up and...

Edward decided to pull them back to safer ground, before his imagination could run away with him.

"Everyone is allowed to indulge in sweets every once in a while, you know," he said, carefully, hoping that she would understand that he wasn't trying to undermine her effort to have a healthy lifestyle. "If you deny yourself completely, whatever you've denied yourself just becomes that much more tempting."

"Tell me about it." She blew a strand of hair off her forehead, her gaze flicking to him, then to the mango truffles that were still sitting on her counter.

"How about I show you how to make your own truffles?" he asked. "If you put the effort in, you're more likely to savor them. It's all about savoring treats."

"Is that what you've been doing?" she asked, her blush deepening.

"I've been savoring every minute." He stirred the right amount of spices into the pot on the stove, then ladled a generous spoonful of the stew onto her plate. "But when it comes to you, I don't intend to hold back. I'm going to overindulge for as long as you let me."

"For as long as you'll have me," Angie mumbled, then quickly shoved a bite into her mouth. "This is delicious." A hum escaped her and her eyes fluttered closed.

Edward sighed. Yes, he had a lot of convincing to do before she believed that he would always want her. Whoever had berated her about her weight, they had left deep scars on her soul. Scars she usually hid so well behind her happy-go-lucky façade nobody would ever guess.

Edward decided to bide his time and hope that she realized through his actions that he was going nowhere. He hadn't been lying when he told Angie he wasn't good at discussing them. He would _show_ her how beautiful she was in his eyes, every day. For as long as she needed to believe him. It would be his pleasure.

He watched her scoop up the last of the stew with a slice of bread and felt a smile tug at his lips. "I see you liked it."

"Way too much. Oh God, the hours of exercise I will have to put in to make up for the amount of calories I just consumed," Angie groaned.

"Why exercise when you can sexercise?" Edward picked her up, marveling at her thighs clenching around his hips, the squeak that escaped her pretty mouth.

"You can't be serious. Again? Let me down. I'm way too heavy."

That was his cue.

He carried her to her bedroom and laid her onto her bed. "You're perfect," he said, making sure she could see the truth in his eyes. "To me you're perfect." And he sealed her mouth with a kiss, before she could protest.

**Chapter 14**

Angie stared at the Ground Bean logo that loomed large above her head. It felt like forever since she had last inhaled the faint aroma of coffee and cakes that emanated from the shop onto the street.

She couldn't believe that she had agreed to accompany Edward. It didn't fit in with her diet plan. Then again, her whole plan had kind of gone out the window since the move of her boxes the day before. She had indulged in chocolate fudge cake, had eaten a huge portion of the delicious stew Edward had cooked up for her and was now on her way to make her own truffles under Edward's supervision.

The only reason her weight scale hadn't screamed bloody murder at her in the morning was the amount of calories she had burned during the night.

The thought of what Edward had done to her, of what he suggested she do to him, had a blush staining Angie's cheekbones and her rummaging in her bag to hide her red face.

"A chocolate cupcake for the thought that just went through your head." Edward's low voice rumbled next to her ear, sending a frisson of heat to her core.

Oh, he could do that so easily. Turn her on. A single word. A gentle touch.

Angie looked up, opening her mouth.

"No, don't tell me." He cut her off. "Let me guess. The third time, when I made you—"

"Shh!" Angie batted at him without conviction. "In case you hadn't noticed, there are people around."

"They might appreciate the suggestion." He waggled his eyebrows.

Angie bit her lip, a giggle bubbling in her throat. "You're very sure of yourself."

"Who wouldn't be? After so much praise." He mimicked her considerably higher voice. "Oh yes, Edward. Don't stop." His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Angie laughed. "You can stop now."

"I could, but do you want me to?" he asked, spinning her into the tight circle of his arms as the bell above the entrance of the Ground Bean chimed to announce their arrival.

_No_ , Angie thought. No, she didn't want him to stop teasing her. She wanted this moment to last forever.

The silence in the coffee shop registered at once and Angie looked around, confused.

Where customers usually chattered and cutlery clanged, an almost eerie quiet filled the room. Tables and stools were as empty as the display shelves, and the polished counter looked as if nobody had touched it all day.

Angie twisted her head to look up at Edward. "You closed the Ground Bean. For me?"

The sheepish smile he gave her was simply adorable. "I wanted to have you all to myself? I hope you like the surprise."

"I do." She felt unexpected moisture gathering in her eyes. God, she was emotional today. "Won't you take a huge loss?" she asked.

"Not as much as I intend to gain by spending the afternoon with you."

There he went again, destroying her good intentions of being sensible about this, about _them_ , with a few well-spoken words. Angie inhaled a shaky breath and surreptitiously swiped at her eyes. "You're dangerous."

"And you're sexy." He let his hands glide to her butt and gave her a squeeze.

Angie squeaked, jumped back and waggled a warning finger at him, ignoring the lump of emotions that was still lodged firmly in her throat. "I thought we're here to make truffles, Mr. Dessert God."

"Hmm, I like it when you call me that." He stalked her into the kitchen. "Want to bet that I can make you scream it, too?"

A snort escaped Angie, but she couldn't help the breathless excitement that mixed with the overwhelming realization that she had irrevocably fallen for the man. How was she ever going to let him go?

He caught her again, slinging an arm around her middle, and walked her toward the counter, rubbing his erection against her butt, effectively pulling her back to the present.

"What's your favorite flavor?" he asked as he placed a number of dishes in front of her in preparation for her "lesson." His lips trailed over the slope of her neck until Angie's fingers curled into the counter.

"You," she confessed.

A startled huff escaped him.

"You smell of orange peel," she explained.

"It's part of my signature dish. Orange Cranberry Muffins. I make them fresh every morning."

The scent had to be quite strong if it clung to him all day.

"Orange it is," he said, pulling a small container out of a cupboard over her head before wrapping his arms around her to pour the mixture.

Angie was trapped between his hard body and the cold stone, while his warm breath flowed softly along her cheek, and despite her conflicting feelings she allowed herself to sink back into his strength. There was enough time to think about all this later.

He nipped at her ear.

"You're not paying attention."

"A-Attention?"

How was she supposed to pay attention when he was pressed up against her, his beard rubbing against the side of her head?

"I said we'll make a traditional ganache." He handed her the mixer, then trailed a slow finger along the waistband of her trousers.

"Turned on."

Angie moaned and could feel his smile against her temple.

"The mixer has to be turned on to work," he said, and Angie belatedly remembered the tool in her hand.

She hit the switch with trembling fingers, glad when Edward temporarily stopped his sweet torture.

"What do you think?" Edward asked, once the mixture was viscid. He held a spoonful to her lips.

Angie took the chocolate-cream-flavor blend into her mouth, trying to catch every last drop. "It tastes like heaven."

She scooped up another bite of the mixture and turned to Edward. He took the spoon out of her hand and dipped her index finger into the bowl instead. Then he brought the digit to his mouth, sucking it clean until Angie's breath caught in her throat.

"Fit for an Angel." His voice rumbled in his chest and wound around her body to settle heavily in her belly.

He lifted her up onto the counter, dipping his own finger into the mixture. "I feel like a second taste is definitely warranted." He painted her lips with the orange ganache, his tongue lapping at her in tiny strokes.

Angie's own tongue flicked out to meet his and he growled. His teeth nipped at her and Angie couldn't hold back a moan. His body pushed between her open thighs.

"I'd love to undress you and lick chocolate from all over your body."

The mental image sent heat flaring in Angie's stomach, until she realized the questioning expression on his face.

"It's bright in here," he murmured.

How could she have forgotten? More importantly, how could she forget her reservations and let him see her in broad daylight? What if he didn't like what he saw?

"It will be fine." He held her gaze. "I love your body."

Angie blew out a breath. Could it be? Could he truly approve of something people had told her all her life was flawed?

She pulled her shirt over her head, her eyes shifting away in embarrassment. God, this was worse than having an art project dismissed without consideration by her university professor.

Edward tipped her head back to him, forcing her to watch as he scrutinized her nakedness. "I love your body," he repeated. "I'll say it as often as you need me to for you to believe it."

At his insistence, Angie felt something releasing inside of her. It wasn't quite acceptance, but it was close.

She didn't protest when he laid her back on the marble counter, the cold against her skin so different from the heat swirling inside her that it made Angie gasp, then moan when he removed her bra and started painting her body with the chocolate. His tongue followed his fingers wherever they went—a hot, wet trail along her body.

Angie realized distantly that he had taken off her trousers and was placing her legs over his shoulders. She tried to stop him, but then he licked her _there_ and she couldn't have protested for the life of her.

She clutched at his head, as he drove her higher and higher until she exploded, the clatter of the mixing bowl on the floor punctuating her scream.

She was still floating down from her high when they heard the bell chiming in the other room and realized with alarm that they had forgotten to lock the door.

"Hello?"

A muffled, female voice drifted their way and Angie frantically scrambled to sit up.

"Go," she mouthed at Edward, who looked torn between cleaning up the mess on the floor, waiting for her to get dressed, and greeting the customer. "I'll fix the kitchen," she promised, already pulling her clothes over her body.

Edward nodded once, dropping a quick kiss on her mouth. "Join us as soon as you can. I miss you already."

***

Edward walked toward the front of the shop, trying to adjust himself in his pants, unwilling to give the wrong impression to the new arrival. He shouldn't have worried. At the sight of who had entered the Ground Bean, Edward's arousal died a rapid death.

"Avery?"

"Edward." His ex-girlfriend's smile looked strained in her too-thin face. Her cheekbones pushed sharply against her skin. Her clothes hung loosely around her tiny frame. She must have lost at least twenty pounds. She had also lost most of the radiance that had once attracted him to her.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

He was painfully aware of Angie moving around in the kitchen, his request that she rush to the front of the shop as quickly as possible still ringing in his ears. Her taste was still on his tongue as Avery approached and Edward stumbled back a step, ignoring the flash of hurt in Avery's eyes. It was a fraction of what she had done to him when she walked out.

"I was in the area and thought I should say hello." She looked around. "I didn't know you were closed for the day."

"I'm trying out something...new in the back."

She nodded slowly. "I didn't want to keep you too long. I just wanted to give you this."

She handed him an application form for the audition to his marketing campaign. Edward tried hard not to tear up the paper on sight.

"I thought you had cast your net wider than my little coffee shop," he said, unable to fully keep the derision out of his voice.

Avery slid her gaze away. "Business has been a little bit slow recently." She picked at her finger, a nervous trait that he had always hated. "I'm not sure why they don't book me anymore."

Edward was pretty certain it had to do with her losing all of her personality along with her weight. Judging from her new body shape, she hadn't been able to withstand the pressure of the industry to be always thinner. She had clearly strived to be like all the other models. She seemed to have succeeded. There was nothing setting her apart from any of the faces in popular magazines anymore. She had gone from being an individual to being just like the others. He didn't say any of it as her eyes filled with tears and a single drop rolled over her cheek.

Tears had always been Avery's way to garner attention. But while she had succeeded to reel him in so many times before, he now felt nothing but sorry for her that she had destroyed her own spirit. The Avery he had dated for years was gone. In front of him stood an empty shell.

At the realization that she didn't have any more power over him, Edward's anger diminished. "I'm sorry to hear you're struggling Avery, but there is no place for you in my marketing campaign."

Her lips thinned as he handed her back the application form, but she couldn't seem to help but try one more time. She sashayed closer in a fashion Edward assumed he must have once found appealing and trailed a finger down his chest.

"I hoped we could start over again," she said. "As lovers. Maybe that will open up a spot?"

The idea alone sent ice down Edward's back.

He grabbed her arms to set her away from him. "You used me once. It won't happen again."

He heard footsteps coming up behind him at that moment and knew Angie had come out of the kitchen. He didn't need to turn to know one look at her would tell Avery exactly what they had been up to. Angie after sex was radiant.

Sure enough Avery's mouth formed a silent "oh." Her formerly lovely face pinched.

"I see you're already fucking my replacement," she said. "Let's see how long _she_ can stand you before she realizes that there are bigger fish to fry out there."

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw Angie's brows shoot up to her hairline. "I don't even like fish." She shook herself in disgust. "Too slippery for my taste, as are those who go fishing."

Edward could have kissed her at that moment. And then he _did_ drop a kiss square on her mouth, because why the hell not, as Avery stomped out of his coffee shop.

He pulled Angie into a hug. "I'm so glad you are nothing like her." He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. "I was stupid to think you'd even consider taking part in the marketing audition."

**Chapter 15**

Angie sat on her bed listening to the pinched voice at the other end of the line as the first rays of the Monday morning sun announced that she was late for class. She had been on a call with Cecily's assistant for the last half hour. Thirty minutes in which she had accomplished nothing. Nothing, except for a headache that was slowly building behind her temples.

"Ms. Masterson," the assistant said again. "I already told you that my boss is currently out of the country. I don't have access to the list of candidates for the Ground Bean marketing audition. What would you have me do?"

_Try_ to be helpful, at least. Angie rubbed her fingers against her pounding forehead. "Is there nobody else at the agency who has access? Surely _someone_ is managing Cecily's clients in her absence."

"I'm afraid not. Ms. Jones likes to be involved in all business dealings. She's a very conscientious business owner. Our client information is on a strict need-to-know basis. Of course, I would be happy to relay a message if you would tell me what you wish to discuss with her?"

Angie blew out a breath. It wasn't what she had planned. Relayed messages could be forgotten, lost, or misinterpreted. She wanted to personally make sure that her name would be removed from the audition list.

_I was stupid to think you'd even consider taking part in the marketing audition._

She could still hear Edward's voice hours after she had fled their half-baked truffle making session.

Neither of them had been in the mood to continue after Avery's interruption. Angie was certain they each had their own reasons—hers no doubt more selfish than Edward's.

_Dammit._ Why had she sent off the stupid application form in a huff? She could have just lost the weight without going the extra mile.

But she hadn't wanted to because, back then, she hadn't known the real reason behind Edward's anger. She hadn't realized that him lashing out at her had nothing to do with Angie and everything to do with his ex-girlfriend, Avery.

He had caught her at a bad time, when she was still raw from Josh's admission that she was just a willing fuck-buddy and she had been adamant about not letting another man take advantage of her.

Then Edward had told her about his history with Avery during their car ride yesterday and Angie had been too shortsighted to understand the implications. She had simply dismissed his worries. Of course she wasn't going to use his marketing campaign to launch a modeling career. Who would book her anyway? Betty Big?

She hadn't realized that her participation in the audition alone would have the potential to break up her and Edward's involvement. The truth had only hit home when she had heard the barely suppressed ice in Edward's voice as he sent Avery on her way.

If Edward could blow off his gorgeous, supermodel-slim ex-girlfriend without a second thought, Angie wouldn't stand a chance to convince him that this whole mess had been nothing but a stupid mistake. She just couldn't imagine him being reasonable about her decision to use the audition as a sort of ego boost if he found out what she had done. No, she had to make sure he would never find out. Not now. Not when they had finally worked out their earlier misunderstanding. Not after the night they had spent together.

Not after she had gone and fallen in love with him.

Angie buried her head in her hands.

God. This was supposed to be an unemotional fling. A no-strings sex affair. Why did she have to go and complicate things with her stupid emotions?

"Ms. Masterson? Did you want to leave a message?"

The impatient voice on the other end of the line reminded Angie that Cecily's assistant was still waiting for her answer.

"I do. Do you have a pen and paper ready?"

"I have my computer in front of me. Ours may be a small company, but Ms. Jones prides herself on our cutting-edge equipment."

Angie wondered if Cecily also prided herself on the cutting-remarks staff she employed.

She bit her tongue on the question and got straight to the point. "I'd like to withdraw my application from the Ground Bean marketing audition. Could you please ask Ms. Jones to send a confirmation to this number once she has fulfilled the request?"

She heard the assistant mumble something about an "insult" and "such a simple request," but chose to ignore both. Desperate to have this conversation over with, Angie waited only long enough to hear a haughty "Of course, Ms. Masterson" drift over the line before she hung up the call, staring at the cell phone in her hand.

Now she would have to wait and hope that fate, the one thing she had believed in all her life, was on her side. Because she had never wanted anything the way she wanted Edward Daniels.

For once Angie wished she could align the stars.

***

"I didn't know."

Angie watched as Lexa slithered down the pole in a move that looked only half-intentional, and put her own feet back on the ground.

"What did you not know?" she asked, glad that despite the upheaval of the last few days there was at least one positive development happening in her life. Her stamina continued to grow, her waist was shrinking. She was making slow but steady progress.

She had upped her daily morning runs to two full laps on her usual track and was easily keeping up with Ruby's demanding workout. She had managed to perform the left-leg-hang without anybody spotting her and was now officially top of the _Sophomore_ class, along with Tracy.

"You and Edward." Lexa waggled her eyebrows, oblivious to the fact that the name alone caused a barrage of emotions to cascade through Angie's body.

Longing. Hope. _Guilt._

"I wouldn't have put him through the wringer if I'd known you are in love."

Angie narrowed her eyes at her friend. "Who said I am in love?"

She had only figured it out for herself the day before and Lexa acted as if it was the most glaringly obvious thing in the world.

Lexa held onto the pole as Ruby put them through their cooling down routine. "Puh-leeze. Everyone saw you could barely keep your hands off each other at Molly's place."

Angie thought she had hardly touched Edward while they were at Molly's. Afterward, of course, had been a whole different story. Once they arrived at her apartment, she hadn't seemed to be able to _stop_ touching him. Neither had he. The man had very dexterous hands.

Blood rushed to Angie's cheeks. She had never thought of herself as the bashful type. Hell, at the beginning of their acquaintance it had seemed as if Edward was the shy one—always one wink away from blushing. Knowing what she knew now, Angie thought the blush he had regularly sported when she flirted with him in the Ground Bean had rather been a flush of excitement than self-consciousness on his part. Because Edward did not have a shy bone in his body.

"So tell me what happened after he took you home. I want all the juicy details."

Out of the corner of her eyes, Angie saw Lizzie creep closer at the phrase "juicy details," Gigi and Emily stopped their stretching to watch them curiously, while Kaycee sent them furtive glances. Only Tracy didn't seem to care. Angie wasn't fooled.

She bent at the hip to stretch out her thighs and pursed her lips. She wasn't sure if she wanted to share anything about her and Edward's relationship. For all their explosive chemistry, thanks to Angie's insistence to get back at him and the world for implying that she was overweight, their future hung precariously in the balance. Cecily still hadn't gotten back to her about the marketing audition, and the possibility of Edward finding out that Angie had intended to take part sat like a leaden weight in her gut.

"Come on. I won't tell Jack. Word of honor." Lexa lifted the fingers of her left hand and put the right one over her heart in a solemn vow.

Angie righted herself, snorting at Lexa's silly gesture. "You're truly spending too much time with Molly."

Still, somehow the ridiculous ritual worked. The thought of confiding her constant worries to a friend—Angie looked around. _Friends._ It was more tempting than Angie had anticipated. Maybe they could help straighten out Angie's jumbled thoughts. One of them was bound to have experienced a similar situation, right?

Lexa was dating Edward's brother and despite their seemingly unbreakable bond, their relationship hadn't always been this strong. They had hit a rough patch somewhere along the way, had even broken up briefly, before they had managed to work out their differences. Angie didn't know much about the love life of the other girls, but they were girls after all.

Angie heaved a sigh. "I made a stupid mistake," she said, recounting the events of the last few days. At least most of them, minus the more _juicy details_ , as Lexa had put it. No matter how much Lexa and the rest of the eavesdropping gang wanted to know everything, there were just some things Angie would never share with another soul. Some of the memories belonged to her and Edward alone.

"I think you are making another mistake right now," Emily said, the first one to voice her opinion when Angie finished speaking. Her expression was serious as she studied Angie's face. "You should tell Edward about the application. It's not like you were trying to hurt him on purpose. You didn't know how strongly he felt about his girlfriend not taking part in the audition until after you signed up."

Angie bit her lip. She had thought of telling him. She wanted to. If only she wasn't so worried that he would use it as an excuse to break up with her.

Angie didn't know how she had come to be so lucky to date the one person she thought she would always only be able to dream about, but she knew that she wanted to keep doing it. "I can't risk it. He wouldn't understand."

"You think he will understand you lying to him better?" Lizzie shook her head. "The truth will come out eventually."

It wasn't what Angie wanted to hear. "I have withdrawn my application," she said.

"And that makes you not telling him better, how?" Tracy asked, dropping all pretense of ignorance.

Angie's chin set in a stubborn line. Maybe talking to her friends hadn't been such a good idea, after all.

"Just think about it, okay?" Gigi suggested, as the music from the stereo sound system in the corner cut off.

"You can't build a lasting relationship on a lie," Lexa agreed with the others, following Angie toward her workout bag.

"I'm not lying to him."

Was that pity on her friend's face?

Angie pulled her cell phone from her bag, air rushing out of her lungs when she saw the text that had come in half an hour earlier.

"I'm not lying to him," she repeated and turned the face of the phone triumphantly in Lexa's direction.

_I marked your application as withdrawn. CJ_

Cecily had done as Angie had asked and Angie was no longer taking part in the audition.

"It doesn't change anything." Lexa pressed her lips together.

"It changes everything," Angie said, about to put the phone back into the small side pocket of her bag, then thinking better of it and opening a new message.

_Missing you_ , she wrote.

The answer came a few minutes later, as Angie exited onto the street.

_Watching you._

Angie looked up and felt liberating laughter bubble in her throat. "How did you get here so quickly?"

"Motivation," Edward answered, pulling her into his warm embrace.

Angie shuddered with the rightness of it. This was where she belonged. This was where she wanted to stay.

Contrary to what the girls thought, she had done the right thing and skirted disaster by an inch. It had been a valuable lesson. Never again would she do something as foolish as put their relationship at risk.

She looped her arms around Edward's back and saw raw tenderness reflected in his gaze.

"Come home with me, Angel," he murmured against her hair.

Angie burrowed deeper into his body. "I _am_ home."

**Chapter 16**

"Coffee or tea?" Edward dropped a kiss at the top of Angie's head, unable to contain the goofy smile that kept slipping his composure every time he walked past her almost-finished university art project that had somehow found its way into his apartment over the last few days.

At first, he had been almost embarrassed to find out that he was the topic of her year-end project. Especially as the title hadn't seemed particularly complimentary: _The Hundred Faces of Edward Daniels_. But as he surveyed Angie's work, as he realized what he looked like through her eyes—a Dessert God, to use her words for lack of any better explanation—he couldn't help but feel flattered.

Every single one of her paintings was outstanding. The emotions she managed to catch with each stroke of her brush were astounding. The whole process reminded him of his own passion for creating desserts. They had this much in common. They both expressed themselves through their work.

He watched as she mixed another batch of the purple color that he couldn't associate with any part of his body, but that he was certain was going to look just right once the painting was done, and hummed under his breath. "Angel?"

The befuddled look she gave him was simply adorable and Edward couldn't help but nuzzle the spot on her neck that he had found out the previous night she liked to have touched. She was so cute when she got lost in that headspace of hers. So thoroughly focused on him, and at the same time completely forgetting the world around her.

Her breathing grew ragged as he dragged his lips from her shoulder to her ear. "Coffee it is." He tugged playfully on one of her strawberry blond curls when she glared at him for teasing her, for teasing them both, and set the already prepared mug in front of her before leaning back against the dining room table to take a sip from his own cup.

He would have to leave to open the coffee shop in just a few minutes but, like every morning since Angie had started to spend the night at his apartment four days ago, he took these precious moments before he had to rush out the door to just soak up her presence.

He still couldn't believe that she was here. In his apartment. In his life.

The sun streaming into his dining room window set the highlights in her hair to dancing, making her look even more like the angel he called her.

He watched as she tilted her head to determine the best way to draw a particularly difficult part of his anatomy. The way her forehead furrowed when it didn't turn out just right. She tried again, pulling her lower lip between her teeth, and Edward couldn't help but smile.

A wave of tenderness swamped him, so unexpectedly he barely knew what to do with himself. This feeling of affection that grew stronger and stronger each day. Not even at his most infatuated with Avery had he felt even a sliver of this all-consuming devotion that held him in an almost breathless grip.

_Love._ The knowledge hit him.

He loved Angie. He had never understood the concept, he realized. Until now.

The urge to keep Angie in his life had become a driving force inside of him, and every piece of her personal belongings that made its way into his apartment felt like a personal victory.

A second toothbrush in his bathroom had been the first item to appear, closely followed by some frilly girly stuff in his shower. He loved it. He wanted her to make his whole space her own. He wanted her to make _him_ her own.

Edward curled his fingers tighter around the cup to keep himself from touching her again. She tended to get annoyed when he distracted her too often. And he even loved that, because it gave him a reason to apologize with a couple of long, slow kisses.

Edward felt a smile tug at his lips as he set the porcelain behind him on the table. Maybe he would distract her after all.

He slipped his arms around her body, careful not to disturb the curl of his ear she was painting from memory. She had an outstanding memory he had discovered. She _was_ outstanding. And she was his.

His to hug. His to love. His to take care of.

Edward thought of the lunch box he would pack for her as soon as he arrived at the coffee shop. A little enticement that gave her a reason to stop by on her way to class and him an excuse to see her. He liked knowing that she had to inevitably think of him when she unwrapped the food after her morning lectures. Liked knowing that her eyes would light up when she found the little treat that he always sneaked in with the healthy stuff. He spent hours going over meal choices and imagining the sounds she made when she bit into her dessert. The way her body would shiver delicately as the flavors hit her tongue.

Despite the variety of sounds Edward managed to draw from Angie every night, Angie eating a dessert was still one of his favorites.

He pushed his nose into her hair to hide his grin at the ridiculousness of the thought and inhaled the scent of her shampoo.

"Rush to see me?" he asked, missing her already. The depth of emotion he felt after such a short time with her was almost frightening. Bliss and agony combined.

Bliss, because he couldn't imagine anything better than to spend his days—and nights—with Angie by his side.

Agony, because it opened him up, made him vulnerable in a way he had sworn he would never be vulnerable again. After the disaster with Avery, he hadn't intended to fall hard and fast for anyone. He had planned to have a sensible, mutually beneficial relationship with the next woman he felt compatible with, not a head over heels love affair turned passionate relationship with a girl who made his blood boil with _want_. He had never imagined Angie would slip past his defenses so quickly, so completely he didn't know what hit him until it was too late.

Now he was all caught up in her and would no doubt be a broken man if she ever decided to walk out on him the way she had walked out after their first night together. The way Avery had walked out after so many nights together.

Edward pushed the rising panic to the back of his mind. She had said she loved him. He would cling to that.

As if she sensed his disquiet, Angie looked away from the easel in front of her then, lifting her paint-covered hand to run her fingers along the side of his face. The simple gesture vibrated into every last cell of Edward's body. Only she could do this to him. Make him feel so much with the faintest touch.

"Always," she said, and Edward couldn't help that huge well of emotion opening up in his chest again.

He wanted to do it. He wanted to serve her his heart on a platter. _I love you, Angel_ , hovered on the tip of his tongue, but something held him back from saying it. He pressed a kiss to her mouth instead.

A smile bloomed on her lips. "I love you," she whispered.

Edward's arms banded even tighter around her. She had said it again and, in this moment, he could almost believe that he would never feel the sharp edge of betrayal again.

***

She had ripped his heart right out of him.

Edward looked at the list in his hand and felt as if the rug had been pulled out from underneath his feet. Her name was on it. He checked again, but the letters didn't magically disappear. Her name stared back at him from the printout Lucas had handed him, before his trainee ducked back out into the main service area and left Edward to contemplate the magnitude of the three simple words all by himself. Her name had jumped out at him right away because it was the only one that had been struck through.

_Withdrawn_ , said the comment next to it, as if that would make it being there in the first place any better.

Hurt slowly replaced his shock as his hands that had been wrapped so tenderly around her not an hour ago crushed the fragile paper between his fingers.

How could she do this to him, after the way he had opened up to her? After he had told her only days ago that he knew she would never betray him like this.

How could she not tell him that she had indeed planned to audition for his marketing campaign, when he stood in front of her at his most vulnerable?

What did it mean, the fact that she had kept her intentions secret? Had she thought that changing her mind, withdrawing her application, would make it all okay?

It was not okay. She had _lied_ to him. And now he felt as if everything was crumbling around him. All his hopes, all his dreams that had soared since the night of his confession in the car, lay shattered at his feet.

He had felt unburdened when he had told her about his past. He had been so happy to have finally found someone who his heart said he could trust again.

Edward huffed. His heart was obviously a very bad judge. And now he paid the price.

He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the familiar jingling of the doorbell outside, knowing it was her. She always slipped in to pick up her lunch just before he officially opened the shop for the day.

In just a few seconds she would stand in his little office located off the side of the kitchen and he would have to look at her, knowing what she had done. He couldn't bear it.

"Edward?"

His hand froze, shoved halfway through his already mussed-up hair, before his arm dropped weakly to his side.

She looked so beautiful with her hair fanning out in large waves around her head. Like a halo.

His Angel. The thought choked him and he had to hold onto his desk to fight the tightness in his chest.

She wasn't really an Angel, was she? Angels didn't lie when it suited their agenda.

He saw her gaze drop to the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, saw the instant knowledge dawned.

"I... Oh, God."

He didn't know what he had expected. For her to deny everything? How could she, when he held the proof of her betrayal in his hands.

As the last of his hopes shattered like glass under a heavy tray of baked goods, he couldn't do anything but stare at her.

Her beloved face, frozen with shock, her whole body tense, she waited for him to say something.

"You could have told me. Why didn't you tell me?" The words came out rusty, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. They must have come out harsh, too, because Angie flinched before her spine straightened and her chin came up.

The simple gesture hurt so bad Edward had to look away. Why did she feel as if she had to put on a mask when he sat all open and unguarded before her? Why couldn't she just be honest? _God, just let her be honest with me._

"I withdrew. My name shouldn't even be on there," she said finally, as if the problem was her bloody name on the list and not what it represented.

As if she wasn't sorry for lying to him in the first place, only for him finding out that she had.

She was just like Avery. Plotting and scheming, without any regard for his feelings.

"Why didn't you trust me?" __ he demanded. Because that was the real question. Her trust in him should have been implicit. Who could truly build a relationship without trust?

"I didn't want to upset you."

Edward huffed a laugh. "So you'd rather try to sort things out behind my back?"

"That's not... I heard what you said to Avery."

Edward ran a hand over his face. "So you knew how I felt about the whole situation and you still decided to lie to me?"

"I wasn't lying..." She took a deep breath, started again. "I worried you wouldn't hear me out. That you would let a memory stand in the way of listening to my explanation."

"Which is?"

"I applied after our one-night stand. I was hurt. I wanted to finally be considered normal."

"You will never be normal," he grated. "You will always be extraordinary. And I never asked you to lose weight. So don't put this on me. I told you a hundred times I love your curves."

"So has my ex," she interrupted. "Only to admit after we broke up that he just wanted to keep fucking me."

Edward growled. "Who's letting memories stand in their way now? I'm not your ex. And if you haven't noticed, this is us breaking up and I still love your body."

He saw her go quiet and heard his own words ringing in his ears.

_If you haven't noticed. This is us breaking up._

No, what had he done?

He wanted to take back the words. Collect them like some unwanted pieces of flaked almonds that had accidentally spilled out of the bag and onto the counter. But it was already too late. The damage was done. He could see it in the storm brewing behind Angie's eyes.

"Maybe I'm not the only liar then," she said, her voice quieter than he had ever heard her speak, but no less forceful for it. "You say you're looking for a partner, that you want me by your side, but you throw me away at the first sign of difficulty. How do you explain that? I may have made a mistake not trusting you. But I did what I did because you are important to me. Because I couldn't imagine living a day without you. I would have done _anything_ to keep you. And I would do it again. Because, you know what? You are the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life. What's your excuse?"

Edward thought he had already reached his pain threshold five times over, but at her words another white-hot knife slid into his gut. Because he had no excuse. What he had said had been his half-assed attempt to save them both from any more hurt. Judging from the look on her face he should have foregone the trouble.

Edward willed himself to get up, walk up to her and wrap his arms around her the way he ached to do, but his legs seemed to have lost all their strength and after a moment she turned to walk out into the kitchen.

"Good-bye, Edward." The finality of the two words shattered his heart.

**Chapter 17**

Angie cried.

She cried like she had never cried in her life. Not when her best friend in high school had told her she was fat. Not when a slew of boyfriends and family members told her the same a few years later. Not even when Josh and his baby stork had double-teamed up on her had the waterworks been this spectacular.

But she cried now. Big, ugly tears that were so alien to her she felt like she was having an out-of-body experience watching the miserable figure lying on her bed.

Who was this girl, Angie wondered, as more tears cascaded down her cheeks. This broken person, who couldn't even work up the energy to go to the kitchen and open one of the chocolate bars sitting in her secret stash? The one who felt so numb inside, she worried she might never be able to paint again.

She had gone from an energetic young woman to a lethargic shell in the span of two short days. She had barely been able to eat since the blowup with Edward. For the first time in her life, it was almost too easy to lose weight. She just didn't have any appetite. But despite her slimming figure, she felt heavier than she ever had. It was as if someone had sucked the life right out of her.

She was supposed to be the carefree one, the one who always made a joke. Even if she felt like shit on the inside, to the world she was the happy-go-lucky girl.

Not anymore.

Over the last few weeks, Edward had chipped away at her façade, had looked behind the mask at the real person. For the first time in her life, Angie had felt as if someone truly saw her. Not just her big personality, or her too big body, but a girl who wanted to be loved and could give a whole lot of love in return.

It had been a freeing experience not to have to pretend for once and she had slowly lowered her emotional walls. Until her feelings, her entire being was exposed, hoping against hope that what she had with Edward was going to last. That, against the odds, she had found _the one_.

Instead Edward had discarded her like an expired batch of coffee beans at the first sign of trouble.

Angie didn't blame him. Their breakup was her fault. All this time, she had been convinced that he would get tired of her curves, that she was just not slim enough. And in some way it _had_ been her weight that had come back to bite her in her oversized ass. Just not in the way she had expected it to.

Instead of the pounds on her hips that she had been fighting all her life, it had been her inability to brush off an offhand comment as irrelevant that had started this whole mess. A comment that Edward had thrown at her in the heat of the moment, for reasons she should have questioned rather than stomping out of his apartment with self-righteous fury and a half-baked plan to make over her life.

She should have listened to his explanation. Then again, she should have listened to a lot of things. Her nan's advice, for example. Her grandmother, who had _told_ her that the right man wouldn't care about her weight. Wasn't that what Edward had tried to prove to her so many times? Her nan had been right. Just like Angie's pole dancing friends had been right when they implored her to go and tell Edward the truth about the audition. The end did not justify the means.

But Angie hadn't listened. Oh, no. To get her way, to hold on to Edward, she had bent the truth to her liking. Just like Josh had done to keep fucking her. She was no better than her ex. The realization jolted Angie out of her misery. When had she sunk so low?

Another sob shook her and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

They were such thin arms. She had never before realized. She had always thought them too big. But slung around her middle, as they were now, they seemed entirely powerless, unable to hold in all the pain that ripped her apart.

She needed much stronger arms for that. Wide hands capable of shifting large bags of ingredients. Muscular arms that took the weight of a cardboard box, just to show that they cared.

But they didn't care anymore, did they? Not for her. She had lost the man she loved. And for what? A stupid marketing audition that she had never meant to attend in the first place. Had she truly believed that the approval of a hundred people frequenting a coffee shop could finally make her feel whole? Had she not realized that only one opinion really mattered?

Angie stared at the sketch of Edward that sat in a small silver frame on her bedside table. It was meant to be another addition to her personality art project. Only she hadn't been able to bring herself to share this one with the world.

It was the look on Edward's face when he had told her that she was perfect. She hadn't believed him back then, too blinded by her past experiences to trust his word. But she had needed to capture the moment anyway. Because, truth or not, nobody had ever told her she was perfect before.

Her hand reached out, her fingers curling back in on themselves before they could make contact with the glass pane covering the sketching paper as another tear slid down her cheek.

She should have understood that he would never lie to her. She should have had the confidence to not lie to _him_.

Now it was too late. He had broken up with her and her chance of making things right between them was gone.

_"It is never too late to right a wrong."_ Her nan's voice, silent for so long, rang again in the back of her mind.

Angie's breath hitched in her throat. _I'll listen to you this time, Nan._ If nothing else, Edward deserved at least an apology.

Angie looked at the calendar. Today was the day of the audition. He would be most certainly at the coffee shop overseeing things. She pushed herself up, off the bed. It would be agony to stand in front of him and break herself open all over again, not knowing if he would even listen to her. But she had to at least try. She wasn't too proud to grovel for his forgiveness. It was no more than what he deserved.

***

Edward rubbed at his eyes with a weary hand.

"You look like shit."

Trust Jack not to cut him any slack. The lucky-in-love idiot must have realized that Edward didn't have the energy to fight back and—in true sibling fashion—didn't miss a beat to rub salt into the wound.

Edward set the last of his freshly baked macaroons on the display shelf and ignored his brother. What did it matter if he looked like death warmed over? He felt a little bit like the Grim Reaper, too. No Dessert God today.

Edward's chest squeezed at the memory.

He'd love nothing better than to go back home and close himself in. But today was the day of the audition and he was supposed to at least pretend that he cared.

He let his gaze sweep across the room, taking everything in, like he did a hundred times a day. Lucas had done a great job organizing the event.

Everyone around Edward seemed excited. Both his brothers had turned up, as had the whole group of pole dance girls—minus Angie, courtesy of Lexa organizing another "fun" get-together. Frumpy Ms. Anders was fussing in the corner, trying to flash a little bit of ankle at one of the young male students who didn't even notice the elderly woman's antics, his eyes glued to the runway that they had set up in the middle of the room. Mrs. Jackson had her old-fashioned clutch set on the table in front of her and, oh my God, was that large thing draped across the chair next to her Garfield? Her _cat_?

Any other day, Edward would have worried about the food safety implication of having a huge, orange tabby in his main service area, but today he didn't seem to be able to dredge up even a sliver of worry.

He hadn't been able to dredge up a sliver of _anything_ since Angie walked out of his life a second time. No, that wasn't right. She hadn't walked out. He had thrown her out.

God, what was wrong with him to get rid of the best thing that had ever happened to him?

"I heard the applicants are stunning," Jack's voice broke into his thoughts again, this time accompanied by a sharp jab to his ribs.

Edward absently rubbed his painful side. "Or so Cecily says." He didn't believe anything that came out of the marketing expert's mouth. Cecily would put lipstick on a pig and call it a model if it suited her agenda. But some of the make-up artists working their magic in his kitchen, of all places, had backed the opinion.

Edward couldn't care less. He was not at all in the mood for watching a selection of thirty would-be models waltz through his coffee-shop in the hopes of becoming the next face of the Ground Bean. He wouldn't like any of them. He hadn't even seen them and already he knew that none of them would be good enough. There was only one face he wanted to represent his coffee shop, and it was the only one he could not have.

God, he didn't even make sense to himself anymore. Hadn't he lamented for weeks that he _didn't_ want Angie to become the face of his marketing campaign? Hadn't all their misunderstandings started and ended with exactly this topic? Hadn't he _broken up_ with her because of her desire to audition?

Then why was he sitting here wishing she would walk in the door and demand that he put her back on the list of applicants. Why was he pulling out his cell phone every five minutes, tempted to just call her and... tell her what?

_I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. Please come back to me._

How often could a man apologize for something he said before it became ridiculous?

"You don't seem very excited," Jack remarked beside him, and Edward finally managed to scrape together enough energy to glare at him.

"Are you going to keep bugging me all night?"

"If it helps to save your business." Jack shrugged. "People are starting to wonder what's wrong. You keep glowering at them. Smile, man. It's supposed to be a happy occasion."

"I don't feel very happy."

Jack snorted. "You don't say. Did Angie make you sleep on the couch?"

The mentioning of her name sent another sharp pain through Edward's insides. "I made her sleep in her own bed. Permanently."

At the confession, Jack turned to fully look at him. "Are you insane?"

Yes, in the last two days Edward had felt just a little bit like it.

"After all the trouble you've gone through to win her back. Why would you break up with her?"

Yes, why would he? Sitting here, aching for her, Edward couldn't even remember the reason. He loved her, and still he had given up on her—on them—over another misunderstanding.

Hadn't she told him that she was worried he wouldn't hear her out? And he had gone and done exactly that. Instead of talking to her, reassuring her that they could work through anything as long as they were together, he had allowed his hair-trigger temper to take over. All because he was afraid to be burnt again when he knew better than anyone that burn marks were inevitable in the quest to create something outstanding.

How often had he been singed by a pot or a pan or, hell, even an open fire in his first few attempts to make a dessert? It hadn't made him give up. He had only worked that much harder. Because he knew that becoming a pastry chef was what he wanted. It was his passion. His future.

Just like Angie was his future. Then why had he not been willing to put the same amount of effort into making their relationship work?

This wasn't right. It didn't matter what had happened between them. One didn't just throw away a relationship without trying to work through the difficulties first. Wasn't that what it meant to be partners? To be willing to listen and forgive from time to time. They had both made mistakes. Who was he to decide that her mistakes weighed heavier than his own?

Edward's chair scraped across the hardwood floor as he pushed back with more force than necessary and past his brother with a single goal in mind.

"Hey, where are you going?" Jack's voice trailed after him.

Edward didn't waste the time to slow down. "I have to find Cecily. I have to find her _now_."

**Chapter 18**

"What do you mean the audition is cancelled?" Angie stared dumbfounded at the empty runway in the middle of the Ground Bean, then at Edward's trainee whose pompadour seemed the only unruffled thing in the entire freaking coffee shop. Lucas's eyes darted restlessly to the side, where a whole slew of dressed-up women looked as if they had lost their puppies. Clearly candidates who had been cheated out of their chance to become the next Miss Ground Bean. Angie tried hard not to feel too relieved that Edward wouldn't work with any of the stunners. Jealousy was no longer her prerogative.

Not that her heart cared much about such technicalities.

"The boss decided that we wouldn't host the event after all." From the look on Lucas's face, he was as irritated about the decision as the audience who had turned up in numbers to watch a spectacle that wasn't going to happen. He handed another coconut macaroon to a frumpy looking lady. "Our apologies."

So, Lucas was left to pick up the pieces and distribute free desserts to slighted customers to make sure they would come back a day from now. Angie frowned. How unlike Edward to make himself scarce at such an important time. How unlike him to do something as drastic as cancel the audition in the first place. This change of plans wasn't beneficial to his business and if Angie had learned one thing about the man during their time together, it was that Edward lived and breathed the success of his coffee shop. It didn't make sense that he would jeopardize his livelihood—his passion—in such a fashion.

"Is he cancelling the campaign as well?" Angie asked, still unable to reconcile the events unfolding before her eyes with the driven businessman she had gotten to know so intimately over the last few weeks.

Lucas's expression got even darker. "I don't think so. Rumor has it that he has found a model." He waited until the latest customer to claim a free dessert was out of earshot. "Couldn't have told me that before I rented the runway. He wouldn't even confirm who she is."

An image of gorgeous, long-limbed Avery popped into Angie's mind. Could Edward have taken up his ex on her offer despite what had transpired between them? The thought threatened to squeeze the air from Angie's lungs. But no, Edward wasn't someone to take the easy way out. Nor did he seem impressed when Avery offered her body in exchange for a spot in his campaign. Furious would be the better word to describe the impression Angie had gotten of Edward's frame of mind at the time.

So who was this mystery woman who had suddenly popped up out of nowhere and who was worth cancelling a critical promotional event on such short notice? When had Edward met her? And did she mean more to him than just a pretty face to boost customer numbers?

_None of your business._ Angie gave herself a hard mental shake. She had come here to apologize, not to make another scene. She would stick with her plan.

"Is he here?" She watched as Lucas set one empty glass tray down to pick up another one layered with mini desserts ready to be handed out to more customers queuing and grumbling about the cancelled audition. He nodded in the general direction of the kitchen.

"He was talking to Cecily in his office earlier. Looks like he has just come back out."

Angie steeled herself as she followed his gaze. She needn't have bothered. She had no defense when it came to Edward.

At the sight of his broad-shouldered back, Angie's heart gave a painful thump in her chest. Why did he have to look so gorgeous? Her fingers itched to stroke all that male perfection, so she shoved her hands into her pockets. How was she supposed to talk to him without flinging her arms around his neck, holding onto him until he promised to never let her go?

Angie blew a strand of hair out of her face. Time to put her big-girl panties on and face up to her mistakes.

She started in his direction, belatedly realizing that he was standing right next to _her_ table. How ironic that it all started and ended in this one spot. But her steps faltered when she recognized the cluster of girls that surrounded him. What were her pole dancing friends doing here? Had Lexa invited them to watch the audition without telling Angie? And who were they staring at so intently? Was it the new Ground Bean model that was hidden by Edward's large frame that had captured the girls' undivided attention?

Angie lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave when Lizzi spotted her, torn between approaching the group and sliding into the chair next to Mrs. Jackson, pretending that she had only turned up to keep the old lady company. She didn't need Edward's choice of model to witness the drama as Angie laid her heart bare in front of the Dessert God.

But the chair she eyed was already occupied. Angie did a double take. Yes, it was Garfield purring over a slice of apple crumble.

In the end, curiosity propelled Angie forward to within hearing range of whatever was keeping the pole girls' rapt attention.

"...need you to call Angie. Ask her to come over."

Angie's heart started to flutter as she came to a slow halt. She saw Lexa's eyes flick over Edward's shoulder to rest on her for a moment before she focused back on him. "And why is that?"

Edward shoved his fingers through his hair. "Damn it, Lexa. For once, can you not give me grief?"

"Don't swear at her, man." Jack appeared out of nowhere to sling an arm around Lexa's waist and glower at his brother.

"Sorry." Edward dropped his hand. "It's just. I've blown off every single candidate I had. I may have even scared away half of my customers. I _need_ Angie. I've needed her since the day I met her. I was stupid to let her go." He blew out a breath, his shoulders hunching. "I love her so much, and I know it's so damn easy to say that but I can prove it. I want to prove it. If you just make the call. Get her here. I don't care what you have to do. Bribe her if you must. Promise her a three-tiered cake or an orange cranberry muffin. She likes orange. I would do it myself, but she's unlikely to listen to me at the moment."

Angie's fingers flew to her mouth. Oh, how wrong he was. She would listen to him all day long professing his love for her. _He loved her._

Angie started forward, ready to put Edward out of his misery. Ready to put them both out of their misery, but Lexa's warning look froze her mid-step.

"Prove it how?" her friend asked, giving Angie a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest.

Her friend was looking out for her, albeit in vain. It was Angie who was in the wrong here.

"What?" Edward frowned.

Lexa shrugged. "You said you wanted to prove your love. How?"

Edward shifted his weight and Angie felt goosebumps break out all over her skin. "I want her to become the next face of the Ground Bean."

Angie sucked in a breath. Had she heard correctly? "But I don't even fit the specifications." The words—true despite her recent weight loss—were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Edward whipped around, his mouth opening, his eyes latching onto her like a starving man would latch onto the idea of an unexpected feast. Angie hadn't been the only one who had suffered since their breakup.

She felt her heart go out to Edward. They had hurt each other, as only two people in love could hurt one another. Her gaze never left Edward's face as he walked toward her, words pouring from his mouth. The words she had longed to hear for so long. The ones he had struggled to find the first time around.

"I should never have said that. They were Cecily's specifications, not mine. I know a lot of things that need to be measured on a scale. Your body is not one of them. I love you the way you are. I'm so sorry I fucked up. Please, Angel, give me another chance and I'll prove to you that your happiness is the most important thing to me. I need you in my life and for my campaign. I can't think of anybody better suited to represent my brand. I always wanted someone to advertise for me who truly savors my desserts. You do." Edward spread out his arms, looking utterly vulnerable. "What do you say?"

Angie pressed her trembling fingers to her lips. "Yes, oh yes. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about my application. I came here to apologize. I was wrong to keep something so important a secret. Even to save our relationship. I made a mistake. Will you forgive me?"

He pulled her into his arms. "I already have." The tender kiss he gave her brought tears to her eyes, and Angie knew then and there that she had found the love of her life.

Gigi squealed in the background. Emily surreptitiously wiped her eyes, while Lexa did a little victory dance off to the side. Lizzy and Kaycee spontaneously hugged one another. Only Tracy flicked through her phone looking bored. Angie didn't care. She held everything that mattered right here against her heart.

Customers started to clap and cheer, reconciled now that they got to witness a spectacle after all. Even the other candidates for the audition looked reluctantly impressed by the soap-opera style happy ending to the day. One particularly stunning brunette broke away from the group to saunter over to Lucas, who stood off to the side still looking upset. Until the girl laid a hand on his chest. "This must have been the most romantic thing ever. The staff say you organized this?"

Lucas hesitated, but Edward called out. "He did. Wouldn't have happened without him." He winked at Lucas as the brunette's gaze swung back to the trainee.

"Sick. Can I touch your hair?"

A slow grin spread on Lucas's face. "Go for it."

When the commotion finally died down, Edward tucked Angie against his side. "Now I just need a photographer who can shoot the campaign on short notice," he said. "Cecily has taken all her crew with her when I told her that I had found a model without her help."

That finally got Tracy's attention. "I know someone who may be able to do it."

Everyone turned in her direction. Tracy wasn't known for her readiness to help others. Only herself.

"From your blog?" Lexa asked, referring to the hugely popular website Tracy had built from scratch.

"Does it matter?" Tracy lifted one perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"Not at all," Edward assured her. "As long as they're willing to show us some sample works."

"I'll ask him." Tracy shrugged a shoulder. "Although he may tell you to just do a search online."

"He's that famous, huh?" Angie hooked her arm through Tracy's. "Who is he?"

Tracy gave her a look, as if to decide whether to divulge the information.

"Hon, we'll find out anyway," Lizzie pointed out.

"Liam Richards."

Emily gasped. " _The_ Liam Richards? The one all the papers are raving about?"

Tracy shrugged. "I don't think there is another one."

"How do you know him?" Kaycee asked.

"Does it matter?" Tracy repeated. "I can get him if you want him," she told Edward.

Emily almost swooned. "Everyone wants him."

Edward stepped forward. "Absolutely—no sample works required. But he'll charge a fortune."

"He may give you a discount."

"Oh my, this keeps getting better and better." Gigi giggled.

Tracy tried her best to look unmoved by the sudden outpouring of excitement, but Angie got the impression she was distinctly uncomfortable, probably even regretting her rash decision to speak up. There was definitely something more going on here than Tracy let on. Or maybe Angie was seeing the whole world slightly pink-tinged now that she and Edward were back together.

Color blindness didn't bode well for her future paintings.

Angie couldn't help the laughter bubbling in her throat at the thought of handing in her personality art project at university with a little rosy hue. Let the professors figure out what was up with her. She wasn't going to complain that the happy-go-lucky girl she had thought forever lost had reappeared stronger than before. She was going to hold onto the feeling of contentment with both hands and so tightly that nothing had space to come between her and Edward again.

**Chapter 19**

Angie studied the poster that had appeared two days ago in the window of Edward's coffee shop, at multiple prominent locations around the city, but most importantly hanging on the wall in the living room of Edward's apartment where she currently sat.

_Work your body, nourish your soul_ , read the slogan. Underneath was a picture of Angie sitting daintily on top of a pole, nibbling on one of her favorite mango truffles.

The poster was only one in a number of marketing initiatives that stemmed directly from the photo shoot Angie had done with Liam Richards. Another one was a short video clip of Angie that was now available to watch on the Ground Bean website. In it, Angie was showing off different pole dance moves, including the newly mastered left-leg-hang, while wearing a form-fitting catsuit.

The outfit had turned out to be the biggest topic of discussion, with Edward balking at the idea of showing off Angie in a bra, panties, and stripper heels. He insisted he wanted to share her new acceptance of her body with the people of New York. Not the actual body itself.

As exasperating as the outfit negotiations had been, Angie couldn't help but feel a tiny bit smug that Edward wanted to keep something for himself, not to mention relieved. Although she had put on a brave face and even tried to push Edward on the bra issue—there was no sense in letting the man have too much say in how she dressed for certain occasions—she had been rather glad that he had insisted on a more concealing outfit. A girl just couldn't so easily dismiss twenty-five years of hiding her body. Even if Edward left no doubt that her body was hugely desirable to him.

Angie bit into another one of Edward's creations that she had smuggled from the coffee shop earlier in the day, musing how she could get him to show her again how desirable exactly he found her body, when Edward's deep voice broke into her thoughts.

"Have you stolen my desserts again, Angel? People go to prison for less."

Angie lifted her gaze, ready to quip back, but the words got stuck in her throat when she saw the fluffy, pink fur cuffs dangling from Edward's index finger.

"You can't be serious," she said around the chocolate in her mouth.

"I am. And at the risk of sounding cliché: I told you so."

Angie swallowed hard. "Is this the part where I plead humbly for your forgiveness and beg you to remember how much you like vanilla?" She eyed the back and forth of the swinging cuffs. "Because I may be too intrigued for that."

Edward laughed. "In this case." He slowly stalked toward her, each step deliberate, until he could look down at her from his towering height.

Angie felt her heart fluttering in her chest. He looked more threatening than she had ever thought possible. When he grabbed her wrists, she felt a shiver chasing down her spine.

"We can stop anytime you want," he whispered close to her ear, just as the first cuff snapped shut with a quiet click. He tugged lightly and Angie moved off the couch to follow him into the bedroom.

"Edward?"

He lifted a brow over his shoulder at the way his name rolled off her tongue.

"Am I not supposed to call you something... else in a situation like this?" she asked.

"Like?"

She shrugged. "Something more deferential is common for this kind of thing, I understand."

Edward hummed under his breath. "I'm not going to ask you how you know that, but I think I stick with your usual," he said finally. " _Oh my god, yes_ seems deferential enough to me."

Angie felt her lips curl and she tried to thump his arm for his presumptuousness, but he simply tugged on the cuff again and she fell against his hard chest instead.

His arms wrapped around her, his lips brushing her mouth. "You're killing the vibe with your giggles, Angel."

His words made Angie snigger even more. "I can't help it. You're so fierce."

She felt his smile against her mouth. "On the bed with you," he commanded, giving her butt a light swat that vibrated through her whole body.

Angie shook her head, prancing out of reach.

"I don't think you have grasped the concept," Edward pointed out.

"You'll enjoy what I have in mind better," Angie promised, as she turned on a soft bedside table light. She had considered turning on the overhead light to make her intentions more clear, but she doubted even supermodels wanted to have a spotlight shining on them as they got down and dirty with the love of their life.

She pulled Edward to a stop close to the foot of the bed and began stripping in front of him, her hips swaying to the soft beat she imagined in her head.

His breath left his lungs in a rush when first her shirt, then her bra fell to the floor, quickly followed by the rest of her clothes. She stood there completely naked before him, feeling embarrassed and emboldened at the same time.

Then she sank to her knees in front of Edward and a groan rumbled through his chest.

"You can call me goddess Angelina now," Angie said with a wink and then she took him into her mouth.

**Epilogue**

Angie set the sweets selection on the table and wiped her hands on the green apron with the Ground Bean logo that Edward had ordered just for her.

She had gained back a little bit of her weight since the photo shoot for the Ground Bean marketing campaign, although she was still working out every day.

The reason for the extra pounds was her boyfriend, who just loved to bring home his newest creations from the Ground Bean to feed to her. His enjoyment in watching her eat was unmistakable, and Angie wondered how she could have ever missed it.

She had also come to terms with her body. How could she not when Edward proved to her every night exactly how much he loved her curves. She was still trying to keep a balanced diet. No way did she want to become as big as she was during her fast food days. But her view toward her own weight had relaxed considerably. Not least because of the outpouring of support and the success of the Ground Bean marketing campaign.

She had been right. Nobody's opinion mattered like her own, but it _was_ flattering to have people say that she was their role model when it came to adopting a healthy life style.

She also enjoyed helping out in the Ground Bean and earning money toward her dream of becoming an independent artist. If Edward had anything to say about it, her paintings would be a roaring success. He had already promised to display some of her works right here in his coffee shop. Customers could then buy select pieces that they liked.

Edward's support in everything she did was one of the most beautiful aspects of their relationship, and Angie worked hard to try and give back as much as she got.

The distinct chime of the bell as someone opened the door to the coffee shop caused Angie to look up from where she had studied _her_ sweets table with something close to fondness, and a wide smile broke out on her face. "Right on time, girls... and guys," she added, when Edward's brothers and Liam Richards filed into the shop behind the pole girls and Molly.

"Gigi is a tyrant," Lizzie complained, making Angie laugh at the absurdity of the statement.

"I just like to be punctual," Gigi pointed out. "Where is Edward?"

"In the kitchen. Working on a secret project that I have been banned from seeing." Angie pursed her lips. He had been in there forever.

"I can't believe we've progressed to VIP treatment." Emily turned in a slow circle to indicate the otherwise empty coffee shop just as Edward appeared from the back. "You closed the Ground Bean just to celebrate our progression to the _Intermediate_ course?" Emily asked.

"I close the Ground Bean for different reasons." Edward winked at Angie, who promptly blushed. "I just felt your progression and the success of the marketing campaign warranted some celebration. After all, you were all crucial in getting us here." He pointed at Jack and Michael. "My brothers for supporting me when I had the crazy idea of opening a coffee shop in the middle of New York City. You," he motioned at the pole girls, "for helping with the photo shoot. Liam for shooting the best marketing pictures in the entire city."

The photographer shot a look at Tracy, who stared back at him with her jaw set. "I had a debt to settle."

Angie wondered what debt that could have been, but Molly interrupted her thoughts. "What did I do?"

"You stored my moving boxes." Angie replied.

"Which, by the way, will soon be out of your hair," Edward added.

"What? Why?" Angie looked at Edward, confused, but he just smiled and disappeared into the kitchen.

When he came back he held a rectangular plate in his hand. On it he had assembled a gingerbread house. In a cradle of hardened sugar lay a key.

"Will you move in with me, Angelina Masterson? Permanently?" he asked.

Lexa squealed.

Angie launched herself at him. "I will." She eyed the key suspiciously. "Your door has a key pad," she said, keeping her voice low so as to not embarrass him in front of the others.

Edward smiled and dropped what he had been holding in his other hand between them and in front of his chest. A pair of pink fur cuffs dangled from his fingers. "But how were you planning on getting out of these if you steal my mango truffles again?"

Angie tucked the key into a pocket of Edward's trousers. "Who says I even want to get out of them?" she asked. "In fact, I have a feeling Fifth Avenue's crime rate is on the rise."
**Excerpt: Second Time You**

**(Pole Dance 1)**

**Chapter 1**

This was what she wanted.

Lexa stared at the dark-haired woman undulating her body against the pole in the darkened _Showroom_ of Crystal's pole studio located off a busy shopping street in New York City, her eyes closed in sensuous abandon.

Allure. Beauty. Confidence. This woman possessed the ABC of sexiness.

Something Lexa had always hoped would prove rather insignificant compared to, say, brains, until her eighteen-year-old bombshell cousin, Jenny, had marched a new boyfriend – a Hollywood A-lister lookalike with a heart and wallet of gold – into her parents' house for Christmas dinner, two months ago.

_The full package_ , Aunt Celia had whispered awestruck at the end of the evening, the direction of her gaze speaking louder than her words.

Even the men in the family had approved of the poor soul, after grilling him for hours.

Lexa had felt sorry for the guy and she had felt sorry for herself. Because at twenty-two she hadn't even come close to fondling a _full package_ , much less enjoyed the package as intended.

Sure, she'd shared a few kisses, had even managed to get groped in the backseat of a car – an experience she didn't intend to repeat. Ever. Yet she still had to go the full length, so to speak.

Her roommate and best friend, Molly, ascribed Lexa's lack of luck with men to the 'sensible' vibe she exuded 'like perfume'. In Molly's elaborate opinion, _sensible_ was a close second to _boring_ , and both character traits cock-blocked even the most daring specimen of the male population.

For Lexa, Molly saying 'cock-blocked' without blushing proved that Molly had experience with matters south of the belt-line and was probably speaking the truth.

But even if Lexa hadn't believed in the Molly-ism, the dancer now dangling head-first from the top of the pole seemed to support the theory that attitude was more important than looks or wardrobe. Although attractive, the woman was by no means a stunner. Nor could her simple black outfit and bare feet hold a candle to the sparkling hot pants and six inch stripper heels of the other senior pole-students showing off their skill during the late evening open house show at Crystal's. Still, the audience was spellbound.

Lexa was endlessly grateful for the knowledge.

Plastic surgery wasn't something she wanted to consider and her meager monetary reserves didn't extend to 'barely there' scraps of fabric.

She could, however, afford the course fee for an eight-week _Beginners_ class here at the studio, if she was willing to forgo her daily Belgian waffles for at least a month.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Lexa watched the woman's navel piercing gleam dully in the soft-pink light, as she swung higher into the air, her legs releasing the metal rod, back arching in an upside down move that defied gravity and had the audience grabbing the edge of their seats.

If this was the end result, Lexa would probably have someone buying waffles _for_ her.

The woman finally sank to the floor, her head bent gracefully towards her shoulder as the last few notes sounding from the stereo system's speakers in the corner echoed through the dimly lit room.

Applause and shouts erupted, as the audience rose from their seats in excitement.

The woman gave a brief, impersonal smile before venturing off to the side to vacate the stage for the next dancer, a chubby blonde with a sparkle in her eyes.

Gaze still lingering on the dark-haired woman who had retreated towards a gathering of clothes and bags at the back of the room, Lexa watched her slip back into the wrinkle-free white blouse and navy blue pencil skirt she had arrived in earlier. The woman's careless shrug into the corresponding suit jacket completed the transformation from sexy dancer to attractive business woman and was one more bullet point on the pro side of Lexa's mental list.

Pole dancing and a professional career outside a strip club were not mutually exclusive.

Pole dancing and ongoing health, on the other hand, was a much trickier combination. The blonde, who had taken the stage, dove head-first down the pole at break-neck speed.

Lexa's fear must have shown on her face, because the female host of the evening chose that moment to walk her tiny black spandex ensemble over to her.

"Don't worry," she said, a smile curving her ruby red lips. "Sophie has been a student in our _Advanced_ class for the last year and a half. Beginners kick off with really easy moves. Our new term starts next week. You can sign up and pay at reception if you're up for it. You'll have to be quick, though. I think we have only one spot left."

Nodding her thanks, Lexa cursed the carrying voice of the host when Barbie Doll from the fifth row grabbed her gigantuan designer bag complete with yapping Chihuahua, and started towards the door.

Bumping knees and whispering apologies, Lexa made it to reception first. Her sensible sneakers had given her the seconds' advantage.

A ginger-haired girl standing behind the reception desk looked up as Lexa approached, her jaw rotating lazily in the fashion of a seasoned gum-chewing addict.

"I'd like to sign up for the new term _Beginners_ class, please."

"Sure thing." The girl popped a bubble and beamed at Lexa, exposing a row of pearly whites caged by the stainless steel of fixed braces.

Lexa tried not to stare. Even harboring half of the country's metal supply in her mouth, the girl lacked no self-esteem. Her grin seemed to widen as she brought up the schedule on the flat-screen computer in front of her.

Lexa ran the tip of her tongue over the inside of her lips where her own braces had cut into the soft tissue four years ago. Maybe Big Billie Joe wouldn't have laughed at Lexa when she asked him out for prom if she had been a little less self-conscious and a little more like the bundle of energy she was currently talking to. Maybe then Lexa wouldn't have cried for hours when, after a game of spin-the-bottle, Big Billie Joe's best friend had told her that kissing her was like licking a bunch of railroad tracks.

Lexa shook herself to get rid of the unwelcome blast from the past and focused back on the girl in front of her. It had to be the atmosphere here at Crystal's that had everyone brimming with aplomb. Lexa decided, more determined than ever, that she was going to immerse herself in it until it rubbed off on her.

"How did you hear about us?" Braces asked at that moment.

"There was a brief coverage of the studio on The Celebrity news two nights ago." It had introduced pole dancing as the hip thing to do. Gyms were out. Running was yesterday. Swinging from a metal rod was the newest fashion.

Not someone to jump on the bandwagon normally, something about the sport had appealed to Lexa. It was...different. Unconventional. It was perfect for someone who had learned that 'ordinary' failed to live up to expectations time and time again.

Braces bobbed her head in satisfaction. "Oh yes. We shot that about a month ago. Crystal will be pleased to hear that the marketing strategy is working." She gave a decisive click with her finger on the mouse. "You're lucky, too. I have one spot left in the seven o'clock class on Thursdays. Shall I book you in?"

Barbie Doll behind Lexa sniffed loudly in affront. Lexa ignored the bad-tempered blonde. "That should work. Can I pay by card?"

"Sure can," Braces said.

Lexa felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. She was really going to do this.

She could just imagine what her parents would say.

They'd probably make the two-thousand miles trip from Salt Lake to New York just to give her a lecture.

At least they could no longer check her spending habits now that she was self-financing her life.

Lexa bit her lip as she, once again, thought of the quickly disappearing amount of credit in her bank account. The money had been compensation for injuries she had suffered during a violent attack nearly four years ago. The payout had been laughable compared to the physical and emotional pain she had had to go through, recovering from the two jagged scars on her cheek. Just when her braces were being removed and Lexa thought she may finally have a shot at making a good impression on the male population, fate had decided differently.

Lexa huffed a sigh. At least the money had given her some freedom. Only now, the savings were running low. She needed to get a job and soon. Otherwise she would have to go back to using her parents' money and that was the one thing she refused to do. It had been a major achievement to finally convince them that she needed to become financially independent. Not that they had really understood the need. Her mother had fought the request tooth and nail until Lexa's father had pointed out that upsetting their emotionally fragile daughter was probably not the best of ideas.

His comment had its desired effect. Lexa's mother backed off immediately, even while Lexa had barely kept from cringing. She wished they would finally stop their coddling.

She loved her parents. She truly did. On her good days she could even understand their overprotectiveness. They had all suffered after the attack. Still, at twenty-two Lexa needed some space. And that meant more than physical distance. She needed to make her own decisions. She needed to break out of her safety routine. Most of all, she needed to stop being her parents' little girl and start being a woman if she really wanted to one day have her own hot date for Christmas dinner. Even if embracing her sexuality meant flouncing half naked around a stripper prop. It was all for a good cause. The Rescue Lexa Foundation.

Determined to go through with this idea, morals be damned, Lexa handed her credit card over to Braces.

***

"I want my whiskey neat."

Jack Daniels lifted his gaze and studied his newest client over the width of the restaurant table, keeping his expression carefully bland.

Thirty-three, beach blonde and with a body that at least half of the office at Corporate Calls would die for to touch, he didn't doubt Mrs. Marie-Lou Garnett was used to getting what she wanted. Like this lunch meeting in the romantic pizzeria around the corner instead of the cool conference rooms back at his office.

He also didn't doubt that there was at least one thing Marie-Lou wanted that she wouldn't get. Jack Daniels. Neat or otherwise.

Ignoring Marie-Lou's eyes lingering on his suit instead of the whiskey she was complaining about, Jack waited until the waiter, a middle-aged man, had apologized profusely to Marie-Lou's cleavage and swept the drink on the rocks away to get a fresh one according to order, before meeting his client's gaze. "Mrs. Garnett—"

"Marie-Lou, Jack. Please." She batted her darker-than-midnight lashes one time too many. "After all, we're about to get much better acquainted."

_Acquainted_ was what Jack was worried about. He sighed surreptitiously, wondering for the hundredth time since seeing Marie-Lou Garnett sashaying into the restaurant what had ridden him to say 'yes' when his brother Michael had asked Jack to take over the kick-off meeting for the _Dancing Bear_ project. _Ambition_ , Jack reminded himself _._ The devil that had gotten him his PhD two years before everyone else. Unfortunately, ambition could sometimes be a bitch. And in this case her name was..."Marie-Lou, your husband wasn't quite clear on the project requirements when he called earlier this morning."

"Teddy," Marie-Lou laughed. A guttural sound that Jack found as appealing as he would the scrape of her sharp, red-tipped nails across a chalk-board. "He isn't very good at explaining things, I'm afraid."

Jack begged to disagree. He thought Theodore 'Teddy' Garnett – one of the richest media moguls in the United States and main sponsor of _The Great American Dance Off_ – had managed to explain the most important thing in seconds. His trophy wife's happiness was the ticket to securing Corporate Calls's financial future within a year of its inception. Treating her right – or wrong, Jack wondered – would ensure their ongoing cooperation with the biggest franchise of dancing shows for years to come.

Recognizing a cash bear when he saw one, Michael – as the older brother and senior partner of the company – had decided that this meeting was too important to be led by one of their two managers. Tied up himself, he had thrown Jack to the pussy-cat.

Jack suppressed a wince. The nickname mentioned by Teddy on the phone still had the power to make him cringe, especially as _pussy-cat_ had turned into a cougar the minute Mr. Garnett dropped her off and left the building for another meeting. Of course, only after dutifully carrying Mary-Lou's project bag into the restaurant.

Jack wondered if this was karma. The chance he had pounced on so eagerly to show his brother that he was worthy of the junior partner position he'd received six months ago, was now pouncing on him in return.

He had never considered himself easy prey, but Mary-Lou took the term 'on the prowl' to a whole new level.

Jack resisted the urge to drag a weary hand over his face and focused on re-routing Mary-Lou's seduction attempts to project planning. Something that seemed more and more impossible by the second.

"Maybe you can shed some light on what it is exactly you're looking for?" he prompted her, feeling his gut tightening with dread when the comment brought a sensual smile to Mary-Lou's perfectly painted lips.

"I can most certainly do that, Jack," she purred, her gaze still fastened on his body, as if what she was looking for was indeed what she was looking at.

Jack swallowed another sigh. The woman was a lost cause.

As if to prove him right, Mary-Lou seductively fluttered her lashes once more, arching one eyebrow in expectation.

Jack looked back at her with stoic calm.

He could tell the exact moment she realized he wasn't going to take her up on her silent offer. Her smile turned forced around the edges before she slid smoothly into the professional persona that everyone knew from their late-night TV screen. To regroup, Jack was certain. Cougars didn't know how to yield.

" _The Great American Dance Off,_ or TGADO as our viewers like to call it, is looking to catch up with the rest of the planet." She was all business – for now. Mary-Lou extracted a binder out of the project bag and, in a move that Jack believed was so ingrained it had become unconscious, tilted her head until her wavy hair spilled over her shoulder and curled into her cleavage.

Jack kept his gaze fixated on her face.

Mary-Lou tapped the first page of the binder, where a bar chart displayed the number of participants on the show.

"Set up as a dance-off between individuals, the show features a knock-out system. The competitors are divided into pairs and fight for survival against their partner. The winner of each duel progresses to the next round, the loser leaves the show as soon as the votes are in. The prize money and a contract with one of the biggest dance studios in New York attracts hundreds of people to audition every year. As per our rules, only individuals with an online following of at least one thousand fans are entitled to enter the competition. Just last fall, we've worked with OnComm to upgrade the way we determine the eligibility of new applicants."

At the mention of their biggest competitor, Jack perked up. Much bigger than Corporate Calls, OnComm had been around for years, but was slowly losing its market share.

"What happened?" Jack asked, trying to glean where their rival had messed up so they could avoid making the same mistake.

Mary-Lou waved a dismissive hand in the air. "The attendance they gave to the project was sub-standard."

Or was it the lack of attendance they gave to the project liaison, Jack wondered, hoping he would never have to actually find out.

"In any case," Mary-Lou continued, clearly eager to move on, "we have terminated our contract with them, but are now left in a lurch for the second phase of the project."

"Which includes?"

"The live-show voting." Mary-Lou turned the page on the binder to show him another chart. "We're still running an old-fashioned call center, when barely anyone wants to take the time or spend the money involved in picking up a phone. We're planning for a new getup. An app to vote on mobile devices. A website with a voting feature. We hoped you could design both and the backend software with it, in a way that allows the results to be displayed in real time. The instant decision will cater to our viewers' appetite for immediacy. I know that Corporate Calls is focusing on application and software development, not websites, but Michael promised you are well versed in both areas." She held out the binder for Jack to take. "Our specifications are in the back."

Jack stretched out his hand to grab the thin binder and felt Mary-Lou's claws rake over his skin. He did a quick double take to see if the contact had been intentional, but Mary-Lou's professional persona stayed firmly in place.

Choosing to ignore the contact, Jack flicked through the pages.

"How much has your previous project partner done to develop this idea?"

He set the binder on the table next to him. He and Michael would go through the documents in detail later. Even if Michael took over the project lead role, he always tried to include Jack in the decision making process. Jack had a feeling his brother was nudging him slowly in the direction of independently overseeing his own projects. Something Jack had managed to dodge for too long, considering his new position in the company.

But all of that was secondary at the moment. Right now, it was important for Jack to wrap up this meeting successfully and show his brother that it had been worth giving up his own dream of a university degree to pay for Jack's education.

At the same time, he needed to find out how deeply involved Mary-Lou had been in the initial project development and how much she wanted to be involved going forward.

All the way it seemed, Jack thought when Mary-Lou gave him a detailed run-down of the few points OnComm had dealt with in the second project phase.

"However," she said, resolutely dismissing OnComm's work, "we're looking to start over completely new. I wasn't happy with the original ideas and would like to see where your imagination takes us." She waited a beat until it was clear he couldn't have missed the double-entendre. "I do assume you'll be my liaison?"

Jack cringed when he saw Mary-Lou's eyes light up at the possibility. He had been right. Her earlier defeat had been merely a retreat, to better gather momentum before she tried again. "The final decision has yet to be made." He had no intention to be _her_ anything. Jack was keen on proving his worth to his brother, but he'd prefer it was not at the expense of his dignity. "In any case, the day-to-day development of the application will rest with our very capable development team."

"I see." Mary-Lou tapped a slender finger thoughtfully against the tabletop. "I will have a conversation with your brother regarding who I deem to be the best project lead for this project."

Which meant, unless she had the hots for Michael, too, Jack was going to be fucked.

At the thought, his manly bits tucked closer to his body in sheer self-preservation.

He was in for a long two months.

***

"You owe me," Jack told Michael an hour later, in the privacy of their shared office.

"Wouldn't that be: _you_ owe _me_?" Michael asked dryly, taking in the red smudge on his brother's cheek.

Jack simply gave him an incredulous look. "You cannot honestly believe I would thank you for this opportunity. Christ, Michael. She's a man-eater. And married. And at least five years older than me."

Michael shrugged. "She also looks like every man's wet dream. What's wrong with you, Jack? Don't fancy being a toy boy? The title's very popular this year."

Jack shook his head. "Do you _want_ Teddy to shut down our business?"

Michael barely smothered a grin. "Don't be melodramatic now. I know you would never get it on with a wife. But maybe she can at least fuel some of your fantasies? You've been worryingly uninterested in chasing women for much too long now. I was trying to do you a favor here."

"Don't bother," Jack grumbled. "If she's in my dreams then only my nightmares."

That made Michael laugh out loud. He had made close acquaintance with Mary-Lou's unshakable belief in her own irresistibility during the tender process for the _Dancing Bear_ project. "You're too picky, brother. I found her advances most entertaining." Entertaining and repulsive. But he kept that part to himself.

Mary-Lou might be stunning, and if she had been single Michael may have entertained the idea of taking what she offered, but he drew the line at marriage. In his opinion, no married woman should go out advertising their body the way Mary-Lou did. Nor should any man, for that fact. Thankfully, Michael could be a master at civility, when the stakes were important enough. He doubted Mary-Lou had noticed any of his disdain. If the binder Jack was putting on the desk was any indication, his brother possessed a similar talent.

Michael felt almost sorry for having put Jack through the experience – as sorry as he had been as a kid, pushing his brother into the icy water of the stream behind their parents' house, watching him from the riverbank like a hawk ready to swoop to the rescue. Back then he had wanted Jack to learn how to swim, after reading about a boy who had drowned in the neighborhood. He was doing the same again, now. Most people would call his methods unconventional. But nobody could argue they weren't effective.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck with a weary hand. "How did you get rid of her?" he asked, sounding desperate.

Michael gave a nonchalant shrug. "I found her someone else to lust after."

"Who?"

"You."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Thanks, pal."

Michael laughed. "What do you want for your services rendered?"

"Please." Jack winced. "Don't mention services rendered when talking about Mary-Lou."

"Mary-Lou, huh?" Michael interjected. "We never got past the _Mrs. Garnett_ stage. I trust the meeting went well?"

That earned him another black stare.

Michael chuckled.

"I've sent you an email," Jack finally said.

Michael opened the attachment with a click on the file. "Alexandra Harrington. Who's she?"

"My payment for services rendered." Jack groaned, when he realized how that had just sounded. "A girl from university. A friend," he added when Michael just cocked a brow.

"You've finished studying three years ago. And she looks like a woman to me." Michael studied the headshot attached to the CV. The young woman was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, with her soft features and brown-ish hair. She smiled openly into the camera, but there was a vulnerability in her blue eyes.

Too young. Too troubled for Michael's taste. He looked back at his brother and found Jack staring at the picture with an odd look on his face.

The girl was obviously more than a friend. Although, how much more Michael didn't dare guess.

He rubbed his chin with one hand, realizing distantly that his five o'clock shadow had made an early appearance.

If the girl was important enough for his brother to send her CV to Michael there was a story Michael needed to know.

Jack's graduation had been the trigger for Michael, who was seven years older, to try and set up his own business. It had taken two years before they had the money and the knowledge necessary. Two years that Jack had used well, gaining experience in a global software company. When they had finally opened the doors of Corporate Calls they had been well prepared and – contrary to the fear of many of their friends – had gotten off to a brilliant start. Michael thanked his good fortunes every day that he didn't have to worry about the company going bust, but a financial and social boost from Theodore Garnett would catapult them from a small start-up company straight into specialized boutique stratosphere. Something he was going to make damned sure would happen within the next two months.

This company, as far as Michael was concerned, was their future retirement plan. He was putting eighty plus hour weeks in every week to make sure the company was a success. As the first born, it had become his responsibility to secure his family's financial future when his father became permanently unable to work at the age of fifty.

Michael hadn't even thought twice about giving up his own university degree to pay for his three younger siblings' education and their success was the only payback he ever needed.

Since then, he hadn't allowed himself to slack. He couldn't. Especially not now, when no amount of sugarcoating could conceal the fact that their beloved parents were getting older and would eventually need someone to look after them in the big, old house they so cherished. The fact that they kept complaining about wanting to have grandchildren more than they wanted to have money didn't faze Michael. He didn't have time for marriage at this point. Something that, for him, was an unsurmountable stepping stone on the way to having kids. At some point, yes. But it wouldn't be a head over heels in love decision. Michael had enough experience to know that love didn't last. No, what he wanted was a partner. Someone he shared mutual goals with. Someone who wouldn't complain when he had to work late or wasn't around too often. He needed someone who was happy with the money he could provide and in return would know how to be a successful businessman's wife and a mother. Elegant, serene and confident in every social situation. Someone like Mary-Lou, but without the need to find sexual release with someone other than her husband. Once Michael married, he would be the only one providing that type of satisfaction. But that was far in the future. In the meantime it would have to be Jack who took care of the grandchildren part, while Michael focused on keeping them living in comfort. Which was why he was particularly interested in this email his brother had sent.

"She started her Bachelor's when I finished my PhD," Jack said at that moment. "She's now looking for an internship."

"We don't do internships." As Jack well knew. Just as Michael knew he would end up inventing one for his twenty-people-sized company by the morning. For some reason his brother thought this girl was special. And if there was one thing even more important to Michael than the company, it was the happiness of his family.

As far as Michael was concerned, an older brother had the right to nudge fate along a little when his perfectly healthy and – so Michael was told – rather attractive younger brother didn't seem to have any relationships worth talking about in more than three years.

He studied the girl again, wondering if she was the one who would finally fulfill Jack's private life the way Corporate Calls seemed to fulfill his professional one. If there was even the slightest possibility, then the next few weeks at Corporate Calls were going to become very interesting indeed.

"We don't do website development either," Jack answered.

Michael grinned at his brother's biting – and accurate – comeback. Just like all Daniels, he appreciated a good argument.

"Her CV looks impressive enough." He leaned back to study Jack. "I'll give her the internship if you take over the _Dancing Bear_ project. Lead, day-to-day management, and liaison."

He had made the decision the night before and it had been one of the reasons why he had sent Jack to the kick-off meeting. It had been the truth that he was tied up with other meetings, but Michael was the company owner, at the end of the day. As such, he could have easily rescheduled. Especially for an important client like the Garnetts. He hadn't wanted to, though. Because his brother was finally ready to navigate the deep end without supervision. _If_ he was willing to take on the challenge.

Usually Jack preferred technically complex, non-managerial roles. Michael knew this was because Jack was worried about letting Michael down. About proving unworthy of the sacrifices Michael had made for the family and for Jack.

Michael figured he could tell Jack that he was worrying without cause. Or he could give Jack a project to manage and let him prove the same to himself.

Unfortunately, Michael had a feeling that Mary-Lou had left a less than stellar impression on his younger brother, so he figured a bit of extra incentive wouldn't be amiss. He just hoped Jack wouldn't call his bluff. Even if Jack wouldn't work with Mary-Lou, Michael had a vested interest in offering the internship anyway.

One day, Michael was certain, Jack would thank him for the opportunity. Just like Michael thanked Jack every day for making the most of the chance Michael had already given him and finished his studies. Because when push came to shove, their clients were snobs, drawn by the fancy letters after Jack's name, not the close to fifteen years of hard work under Michael's belt.

Jack rolled his eyes, and Michael felt a grin tugging at his lips, knowing he had won.

"Sometimes it sucks that you're the boss."
**Excerpt: Hate to Love**

**(Pole Dance 3)**

**Chapter 1**

"I can't believe Edward proposed." Molly caught Angie's hand and studied the radiant-cut diamond in the bright lights in front of New York's hottest strip club, Jewel's. "Did you know about this?" She looked at her former roommate Lexa, who was dating Edward's brother Jack.

"I heard a rumor." Lexa leaned in to sneak a glance at the ring. "No hard facts. Until now."

"Wait, what? Engaged?" Kaycee sidled closer. "Are you saying this is your _bachelorette_ party and you didn't tell us?"

" _Someone_ didn't want to wear the standard inflatable pecker on their head." Lizzie waggled her eyebrows.

"That's not it." Angie had the decency to look sheepish. "I was going to tell you about the wedding. Truly, I was. See, here?" She dug in her handbag to pull out a stack of embossed invitations and started handing them out one by one. "Things just happened so quickly."

"No shit." Tracy slid the white card with bold black and gold writing into her bag. "I'll check my calendar when I get home."

"I'm sure it's packed with social engagements." Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Can I bring a second plus one if Tracy RSVPs 'with regrets'?"

"She won't." Lexa sent Tracy a warning glance, who stared back with a defiant gleam in her eyes.

"I just think it's ridiculous to hook up, get engaged, then get married in such short succession."

"Forget timelines." Emily stared longingly at the gemstone on Angie's hand. "When you know, you know. And what _I_ want to know is how he proposed? Did he kneel? Was there champagne? Oh, oh, oh, don't tell me. I bet he baked this fantastic cake."

"Actually—"

"Molly, hide. Now!" Kaycee's sudden outcry was almost lost over the excitement that had gripped their little group, but Molly had been waiting for exactly such a warning since she stepped out of her two-bedroom apartment less than an hour ago.

She slid behind Lizzie's voluptuous figure, pulling the designer hair piece slash hat that she couldn't pass up while out shopping on Fifth Avenue last month because it worked perfectly with her honey-blond curls further over her eyes.

"Smooth move." Angie, aspiring painter by passion, well of motivational encouragement by natural aptitude and _fiancée_ by evidence of the beautiful sparkler on her fourth finger, nodded appreciatively. "I knew there was a reason why you kept shunning our pole dance classes. You know how to work your body, no lessons required. Good reaction time, too." She gave Molly a thumbs-up, but was interrupted by Lexa.

"Not good enough." Lexa studied the narrow-eyed male who tried to stare a hole through Lizzie's body. The worried expression on her face said it all. "I think he recognized you, Mol. Dammit. This was supposed to be a relaxing, _anonymous_ evening."

Molly shot her friend a surprised look. It wasn't often that she heard Lexa swearing out loud, a single character trait they shared although the reasons for their reserve were vastly different.

While Molly had been drilled by her mother from a young age to watch her tongue—a survival skill on the political parquet that was Molly's nursery and one that she seemed to forget only in the presence of a single obnoxious male, Lexa was simply too self-conscious to raise her voice much.

Until she met the love of her life, Jack Daniels, earlier in the year, Lexa had been the epitome of an introvert personality with the social skills of a hermit. Since then, she had learned to resort to stronger language when the occasion called for it, had taken to dressing more sexily and had generally come out of her wallflower-y shell. All signs of her budding self-confidence. Molly was happy for her friend. Even if all the changes in Lexa's life had meant that she had moved out of their shared apartment to live with her new boyfriend.

Molly missed having Lexa as a roommate. Phone calls and the occasional Sunday morning coffee catch-up just didn't cut it when life called for an emergency BFF session.

Molly blew out a breath to shake off the feeling of melancholy that tried to grip her at the thought and instead stole another look at the guy Kaycee had spotted first.

"Any chance he will go away quietly?" she asked.

Tracy didn't waste a second to share her gloomy two cents worth. "Nah! He'll definitely call it in."

Molly ignored their little group's perpetual troublemaker in favor of the quiet anthropology student to her right. "Emily?"

"Sorry, Molly, he looks like a geek. Persistent, too."

"Not that we're judging him or anything." Lizzie snorted.

Emily shrugged her shoulders. "He has 'political activist' basically tattooed on his forehead. I can't believe you spotted him before I did." She pushed her glasses further up on her nose and regarded Kaycee with new admiration. "How did you know?"

"Takes one to know one, I guess." Kaycee's lips tilted in a lopsided grin.

"You're a political activist?" Angie whistled. "Looks _and_ brains. Are you sure you're still single?"

"'Fraid so." Kaycee went on tiptoe to look over Lizzie's shoulder at Molly. "I concur with Emily. He's not going anywhere. He'll want to make sure he gets his fifteen minutes of fame. He'll call the papers as soon as we're out of sight. I assume he'll even feel proud doing his part keeping the public informed of where their tax dollar is going. The potential to earn a little cash on the side for a newsworthy story won't make him change his mind. Tomorrow the whole nation will know that Molly Rogers, lawyer-to-be and daughter of Joana and Harold Rogers, political powerhouse couple of the new millennium, has visited a strip club."

Molly groaned.

"Look at the bright side." Lizzie turned to give Molly an encouraging smile." At least we're not wearing penis headpieces to match."

"That could actually have been an advantage," Lexa mused. "Bachelorette gear would have made it clear we _are_ visiting, not working,"

_Sheesh_. Worse and worse. Molly had to make sure they at least got that part right.

Even without the ridiculous exaggeration, the headlines would no doubt be scathing.

If past experiences were anything to go by, the scandal sheets would first speculate if she was finally going off the deep end like so many of her rich kid peers. The opinions on whether her Friday night extravaganza was going to hurt her career going forward would pour in soon thereafter. As would the questions on how her parents could claim to lobby for the empowerment of the female sex when their own and only daughter visited an establishment that went against everything that the emancipated modern woman strived for?

Of course, none of this would be a problem if Molly wasn't missing one crucial part of her anatomy that could be blamed for nearly every salacious impulse known to mankind and that—no matter how insignificant in some individuals—somehow safeguarded the bearer from public scrutiny through its existence alone. Men were almost _expected_ to spend their last day of the week staring at a naked piece of ass. Talk about gender equality.

Not that Molly was a stickler for the buzz phrase. She had accepted a long time ago that she had to work harder than her XY counterparts to be afforded the same respect.

There was a crossroads to consider for every woman, where to focus her efforts in life. For Molly, keeping bad people off the street had taken precedence over the fight for the right to pay for her half of the bill. Sure, she hoped the scales would balance out eventually. In the meantime she wasn't going to sweat it if her future boyfriend slash husband insisted on forking out for dinner. She was going to earn comparatively less than the man anyway.

Not that Molly could _ever_ voice this opinion anywhere near her parents' supporters. They would immediately label her as the ignorant brat that they had suspected her to be for years. According to their secret—not so secret—opinion, she enjoyed the easy life living off her family's considerable fortune and connections. Little did they know that Molly's parents were determined to make Molly earn her own place in the world and that Molly was contending against people on a daily basis who thought that she had already been handed that place on a silver platter and threw obstacles her way just to 'make her feel some of the pain that everyone else went through.'

Molly liked to think that she was a better person for not holding _their_ ignorance against them, or pointing out that they were wasting precious resources meddling with the fairly unimportant life of a young woman rather than using their time and energy to make the world a better place. But it was hard to bite her tongue, to turn a deaf ear when hateful comments were hurled her way and spiteful interference messed with her right to live a quiet life.

It was the kind of judgmental prejudice she had experienced before when dealing with political activists before. Only the lawyer in her was reluctant to throw the young man Kaycee had spotted into the same "jerkist" category, until she had undeniable proof. To obtain that proof, however, meant to risk her good name and that of her family.

Molly weighed her options. She could run right now, act as if she had met her friends in passing and never had any intention entering the club. Or, she could go ahead with the night as planned and deal with a potential fallout later.

Personally, she couldn't care less what any self-righteous prick thought of her. Or what the entire nation would think of her if the news hit. The only opinion she cared about was her parents' who, thanks to their political influence, had a professional obligation to care about polls and votes. Which meant there was really no escape for Molly from the consequences of her actions tonight and she would feel the full force of her mother's disappointment come morning.

Molly mashed her lips together. Well, she could at least make it worth her while, because she was not missing out on this evening with her friends. Political activist or not.

Stepping out from behind the relative shield of Lizzie's back, Molly cut through the queue to the entrance of the club, causing the clatter of twelve high-heeled feet to scurry after her, one pair faster than the rest.

"You really want to do this?" Lexa caught up with her in time to watch Molly flash her ID card at the bouncer who, after a quick double take, lifted the red cutoff rope to let them into the hallowed halls of Jewel's, one of New York's most sought after, and if rumor was to be believed, most refined strip clubs.

Molly shrugged. Refined or not, she had just blown every chance to safeguard her reputation by refusing to mislead the young man who was still watching her with undue interest from the sidelines as to her intended destination.

"You said he wasn't going to go away. What do you want me to do?"

"We could have tried to sneak you in," Lexa suggested.

Molly tilted her head at the curious glances their group received from the predominantly male clientele. "Not a chance. Apart from the strippers, we are the only women in this place."

Lexa faltered at the truth in Molly's statement.

"So, what?" Emily asked. "Keep calm and carry on?"

"Exactly that." Molly blew out a breath, counseling herself to take her own advice. "Anyone have an idea how to blend in here?"

"I do." Angie pointed at a medium-sized reception desk where a scantily clad woman sold wads of flashy paper money to new arrivals.

"What on earth?" Lizzie plucked a colorful note from the back pocket of a guy standing close.

Emily slapped a hand in front of her mouth. "I can't believe you just stole a stripper dollar."

" _Borrowed._ And how do you know what these are called?"

Red swept up Emily's neck. "I did some research."

"Yet you have the audacity to lecture me on doing the same?" Lizzie raised a brow.

" _Internet_ research," Emily murmured, embarrassed.

"Pha! Who wants to ask a search engine for answers when the hands-on approach is so much more preferable?" Lizzie asked, returning the dollar to its owner, but not without patting the guy's backside and copping a feel. "Tight," she whispered.

Emily buried her face in her hands. "Theft and a sexual harassment charge."

"He didn't mind." Lizzie flashed a brilliant smile at her victim, who had turned and was hesitantly returning the favor. "I wonder what he's doing here. With a face like his _I_ wouldn't make him pay."

"Don't even think about it," Lexa warned, hooking an arm through Lizzie's. "We're trying to blend in, remember?"

" _You_ are trying to blend in," Lizzie said. "I'm simply trying to enjoy myself."

"Not with the clientele."

"But—"

"No but."

"And obviously also no 'butt.'" Lizzie sighed, giving the tight behind a last appreciative glance. "So you want to buy fake money?" she asked Angie. "Why?"

"It's the only currency allowed in the club."

"Like the tokens in a casino?" Kaycee was catching on quick.

"Exactly right." Angie pointed at one of the strippers. Multiple dollar notes were sticking out of her G-string. "Tipping the dancers is appreciated by Jewel's staff and management," she explained. "More important, it's our only way to help Gigi out tonight."

"Done." At the mention of their friend's name, Molly slapped a wad of cash into Angie's palm.

She didn't usually throw money around. Well, maybe for clothes. And shoes. And accessories, at times. But she _tried_ to live a modest lifestyle despite her parents' immodest wealth. Only sometimes, like today, in situations like this one was she willing to splash out.

Because Molly, Tracy, Kaycee, Angie, Lexa, Emily and Lizzie weren't here just for fun. They had actual work to do. They were acting as the unwavering support group for Gigi Valentino, shy mouse and stripping novice. What a combination.

Gigi, like the rest of the group except for Molly, had been taking pole dancing lessons at New York's hip pole dance studio Crystal's for the past six month. Unlike the rest of the girls, the lessons had been business for Gigi, rather than pleasure. Because the strip club's management had threatened her with dismissal if she didn't learn how to work a rod.

Today was Gigi's stripping debut and considering their friend's timid nature, Gigi was going to need all the help she could get. Emotional and monetary. Hence seven girls and stripper dollars.

"Awesome." Angie added up the collective sum before handing it over to the receptionist. "Maybe I'll top up my share and get a couple dollars extra to give to Edward, to slip into my panties on our wedding night when we—"

"TMI." Emily covered her ears and mumbled under her breath when heads swiveled to openly stare in their direction, more than one dropping in the general vicinity of Angie's crotch. "Gosh, this is so embarrassing."

Molly felt her lips twitch. Her decision to let fun rule this night rather than reason was growing on her. It wasn't often that she pushed the unspoken boundaries of society. Other than indulging in the odd one-night stand, she usually barely nudged at them. Even that little bit of freedom had lost its attraction in recent months for reasons she didn't want to examine too closely.

It felt good to take a break from being "Molly Goody Two Shoes" and be "Molly Good Times" instead. She was going out tonight. _All out_. She had earned this celebration after finishing her law degree summa cum laude. The serious side of life would have to wait for once. It was going to catch up with her again soon enough.

"Oh my God. You're here."

At the squeaky squeal behind them, Molly turned to see Gigi—their charge for the evening—teeter toward them in a pair of fuchsia and black stripper heels, her long-limbed figure highlighted by some sexy négligée ensemble, temporarily made half-decent by a wide fur stole wrapped around her neck that dropped halfway down her thighs.

"Of course we are." Lexa moved to wrap her arms around the slim girl in a comforting hug, careful not to disturb the shiny mass of dark brown hair that looked sleek and chic and not at all like it belonged to a girl whose lap dance services could be bought for the night. "We wouldn't miss your debut for the world."

"Debut?" Tracy frowned, taking a second to process the unsurprised expressions around her. "I'm the only one who doesn't know?"

"Are you surprised, Grouchy?" Lizzie jumped to Gigi's rescue.

Only Molly saw the fractional tightening of Tracy's jaw at the unflattering nickname. After a moment, the European shrugged. "Just curious. I thought you'd been employed here for months."

Gigi blushed. "I never made it out from behind the bar."

"Stage fright?" Emily guessed, laying a comforting hand on Gigi's arm.

"Stage terror, more like. That's why I started taking the classes. To get used to dancing in front of people. Today's my last chance."

"You'll do great." Kaycee squeezed Gigi's shoulder.

Gigi twisted her hands in front of her body. "I hope so."

Molly considered the girl. How the timid mouse thought she was going to drop her clothes in front of a bunch of strange men was beyond her.

"Just imagine them naked," Tracy suggested, earning more than one outraged glance.

"Not while she's giving them a lap dance." Emily glared. "There has to be a better strategy. How do _you_ cope with scrutiny from strangers, Molly? You're used to being in the limelight."

"Uh, I'm not sure that's quite the same." Molly saw Gigi's hopeful expression falter. "Then again, I guess it's worth a shot. I usually look for an audience member who gives me positive vibes. You know, the cute guy in the front row who's smiling. A nice gentleman who keeps nodding. Anybody who makes you feel more comfortable. Speak, uh, dance for them and forget the rest of the crowd."

"You're right. It's not quite the same." Gigi nibbled on her lip. "It's not even the dancing that worries me most. After my set is up, I'm supposed to work the floor, talk to the guys to get them to book me for a private performance." Gigi stared at the tips of her shoes, her voice shaking. "I'm not good at talking, girls. How am I ever going to make enough money for the club to keep me on?"

"Don't worry. We've got you covered." Angie waved a fistful of the dollars she had just exchanged. "You're going to make a killing tonight."

Gigi's eyes widened, her smile tremulous but genuine. "You are the best friends in the world, you know that right?"

"Sure we do," Lizzie patted Gigi's mostly uncovered butt. "Now off with you. I, for one, want to see a proper show for my money." She winked.

Half an hour later, Lizzie's request was being fulfilled as Gigi twirled like a pro on the pole. Molly didn't have much experience except for what Lexa had told her about the classes, but compared to the other strippers in the club, Gigi sure rocked the metal. It didn't hurt that she had a killer body.

Molly could barely believe that the seductress on stage was the same girl who could barely string three sentences together in front of strangers.

Gigi was definitely going to make a killing. Even without their help and her lack of conversational skills she was going to be busy private dancing for the rest of the night.

Molly narrowed her eyes.

If the guy clenching and unclenching his fists in the shadowed corner of the club had anything to say about it, it would probably be with him.

Molly let her eyes drift across the room. He would have a lot of competition. There wasn't a man at the club who wasn't eating Gigi up with his eyes.

_No. Wrong._ There were a couple of guys sitting with their backs to the stage. Molly snorted when she recognized their faces. She leaned across the table to shout over the beat of the music. "Lexa. Angie. Did you know Jack and Edward are here?"

Two pairs of eyes snapped away from Gigi's performance toward her, then followed her gaze. Her friends' mouths dropped open.

"They didn't..." Lexa growled.

"They did," Angie huffed. "They better have a good explanation." She jumped up when a dancer off stage approached the table. "If she touches him—"

"Calm down, girlfriend." Lizzie patted Angie's arm. "He's blown off the last three who tried to strike up a conversation." She looked at Lexa. "As did Jack. From what I can see, they are here for you. They haven't let you out of their sight since we arrived. Haven't even looked once at all the naked woman-flesh prancing around here."

"Woman-flesh? Ew." Tracy wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"You knew?" Lexa asked, outraged, as Angie slowly sank back into her chair.

Lizzie lifted her eyebrows. "You mean, did I notice their presence when every guy who tries to approach our table swerves past us at the last moment and quickly heads in a different direction? I was hoping to get lucky tonight, you know."

Emily groaned. "Oh no, Liz. Not in a strip club."

"Why not?"

" _Because._ "

Gigi's set came to an end at that moment and Molly's attention was diverted away from her bickering friends toward the good-looking stranger who had been holding on to his temper through sheer force of will. He peeled away from the wall to stalk toward the back of the round stage where Gigi was descending a couple of stairs, her head bent until the guy grabbed her arm.

"Hey!"

It was the first time Molly heard Gigi squeak above a whisper.

A security guard materialized from the shadows with impressive speed, but Gigi didn't look frightened. Her expression was one of...anger? Molly did a double-take. Could the timid girl indeed be furious?

Gigi was full of surprises tonight. She told the security guard to stand down with an almost imperceptible shake of her hand, before very deliberately extracting her wrist from the possessive clasp of the stranger, who reluctantly let her go. But only after Gigi indicated that they were going to continue their conversation in a slightly more private area of the room.

Molly craned her neck to see whether Gigi was truly okay, or if she needed an intervention from her friends. But a cone of light settling on the next dancer climbing the stage blinded her momentarily before it swung toward the audience over the heads of Jack and Edward, who were cracking jokes at a third man who had arrived from the bar and who was setting down drinks at their table. For an instant, Molly's gaze lingered on the broad back, the strange familiarity of the man's movement.

His thick hair was just long enough to curl at his nape and Molly thought she could make out the distinct shape of a strong nose and full lips.

Molly sucked in a breath.

It couldn't be. Life couldn't be this cruel to allow _him_ to choose the same night to accompany his brothers that Molly was here too.

She pushed back in her chair, then thought better of it and chugged the rest of the frilly, neon green cocktail that the well-endowed waitress had delivered to their table some time ago. Her eyes were stuck like glue to what simply couldn't be the profile of someone whose profile she had no business remembering.

_Michael Daniels._ Her arch enemy and the one man who certainly _wasn't_ making all her lady parts sit up and take notice.

Molly watched as he turned toward the stage, his head moving in the distinct fashion that all men seemed to adopt whenever they followed a nice piece of ass with their eyes.

Molly told herself she didn't care. She didn't care that he liked what he saw. She _didn't_ care that he was salivating after a nameless stripper.

She repeated the words right up to the point where jealousy sucker punched her in the gut and she fled to the bar to escape the infuriating sight.

***

Thank god the performance was over.

Michael set down the two beers and one soda that he had ordered at the bar rather than instructing the waitress servicing their table and watched as a new dancer climbed the stage.

_Nothing._ His brow furrowed in annoyance when the traitor below his belt didn't even give a twitch of appreciation for the seriously attractive redhead. She was exactly his type. Curvaceous...

Michael huffed. Wasn't it just a sad reflection of his state of mind that he could still think in politically correct terms sitting in a strip club on a Friday night?

"Let me guess. From the lack of excitement on your face, she's not a blonde."

His brother Edward grinned as Michael pushed one of the beer glasses in his direction forcefully enough to make the frothy liquid slosh over the rim.

"Aw, not the right eye color either?" Jack, his other brother, chimed in.

"Fuck off." Michael growled. "The woman's fine."

At least Michael would be able to watch this one dance without feeling like a dirty bastard. Something he hadn't been able to do with Gigi Valentino. Not because he was a good person, or because he didn't like strippers as much as the next guy. Hell, he wouldn't be here if he hadn't at least at some point enjoyed the chance to stare at tits and ass all night.

No, watching Lexa's friend perform her sexy routine had felt wrong for other reasons. Not only was Lexa practically family, but how was Michael supposed to look Gigi in the eye the next time they happened to cross paths, knowing he had seen her flash her barely clad crotch at a roomful of blue-balled men? Knowing she _knew_ he had seen her flash her crotch. But that wasn't the only reason. The girl reminded him too much of his younger sister, Sophie. Long-limbed. Delicate. _Vulnerable._

Not the manufactured vulnerability that some strippers seemed to cultivate to try and deceive men into thinking they were watching a virgin perform instead of a master manipulator, but the vulnerability that came from being too young, too sheltered. And wasn't that a contradiction in terms for someone who worked in this profession?

It begged the question of what Gigi was doing here. And did _she_ even know what she was doing here? Did she know that her innocence stood out in this dimly lit room like a beacon of light? And like moths to the light Gigi had drawn way more than her fair share of looks. Good for business. Troublesome for the slender beauty, who Michael couldn't help but worry about in an entirely big-brotherly kind of way and who he suspected was further out of her element than even she realized.

Knowing it was none of his business but unable to shake the feeling that Gigi wasn't half as confident as she wanted everyone to believe, Michael had found himself hard-pressed not to climb the stage and wrap his suit jacket around the girl when she had dropped that fur thing that had served as a half-assed cover-up at the beginning of her set. It was only after he realized that he was halfway out of his seat that he had used his brothers' comments about another round of drinks as an excuse to escape the unsettling view.

At the bar, he had spent his waiting time trying to come up with a way to suggest a different kind of profession to the girl. If it was money that Gigi needed, a paid internship at his own company, Corporate Calls, could tide her over until she found a job she wanted to stick with long term. He had once before taken a chance on one of her friends. Lexa had gone on to become a permanent employee. With such a great success to look back upon, he was more than willing to take another chance on an inexperienced candidate.

But when he returned to the table, drinks in hand, he realized that his intervention would not be needed. Someone else had already taken over the task of rescuing the girl.

Michael shot another look at the very tall, very pissed-off male who had snagged Gigi's arm as soon as the girl stepped off the stage and who was currently staring down the six-foot-plus security guard without even looking at the man. Talk about skill. Of course, security would have to take him on anyway, if it wasn't for the almost imperceptible shake of Gigi's head. She obviously knew the guy well enough to allow him to manhandle her. And she knew enough about the club's policies to realize that making a scene—even one that wasn't her fault—would mean the end of her stint at Jewel's.

Men didn't come here for drama. They came here for the illusion of willing and able women. They thought it was their prerogative to treat the strippers like objects of desire that could star in their dirtiest, filthiest fantasies, if they just had the right amount of cash in their wallets.

Michael should know. He was a regular. Or at least he had been until a few months ago, because recently he could barely dredge up the motivation to come to his favorite strip club on his usual Friday night.

Ever since he first saw _her—_ a fuck-up of epic proportions—he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. And the only fantasies he had starred a certain blonde bombshell. Damn it all to hell.

The woman who his brothers were talking about was irritating as all get out. And that was as politically correct as he was going to get about Molly Rogers.

Michael's mouth set into a thin, flat line as the thought of her name alone made excitement pump through his blood without warning. Excitement that had persistently eluded him over the last half hour.

He didn't _want_ his body to react this way. Nothing would ever come from lusting after the woman. He was as likely to get his hands on her as he was to catch a puff of the special-effect smoke that rolled around the stripper stage and that was part of the club's carefully crafted reality of haze, low lighting and significant amounts of alcohol that was supposed to turn the ordinary into extraordinary and loosen the male clientele's inhibitions along with their wallets. Too bad Michael was stone-cold sober. Another epic fail. One he had brought on himself.

Who in their right mind took their car to a strip club? Only him. Only because he hated commuting in overcrowded subways, was successful enough as senior partner of his own company to not have to settle for public transportation, and didn't actually plan to spend his Friday night in this fine establishment, until he learned of his brothers' plan for the evening. Car or no car, Michael couldn't pass up the opportunity to watch his brothers explain to their girlfriends what they were doing in a strip club. The fireworks were going to be epic.

Ready to pour some oil onto the kindling and hopefully distract himself from the one face that stuck in his mind like glue, he let his gaze stray back to the dancer on stage. He gave the curvy redhead in her minuscule baby-doll dress a lingering look he didn't feel. "I changed my mind. She's actually pretty fucking amazing. As you would see for yourself if you weren't too chickenshit to turn around."

Edward gave a laugh. "Forget it, man. I know you. I'm not going to fall for that. Much better view from this angle."

"Safer, you mean," Michael needled him, not bothering to follow Edward's gaze. He could hear the female party at his back in all its noisy glory. They had arrived at some point after Michael and his brothers and their laughter was piercing the music that was pumping around them at regular intervals. It seemed that Lexa, Angie and their pole-dancing friends were enjoying the night of their lives.

Edward shrugged his shoulders. "That, too."

"You know what you two are, right?" Michael tilted the neck of his soda bottle in a silent toast. "Pussy-whipped."

Neither of his brothers dignified him with a response. As if either of them could dispute the fact. _Ha._ The only reason Edward and Jack had even dared to set foot in the strip club was to keep an eye on their girlfriends. And Michael understood the sentiment behind the move—any woman entering a strip club was likely to be subjected to a lot of unwanted scrutiny, not something Jack and Edward wanted to let happen. But the fact that they kept their backs turned toward the stage and their eyes firmly away from the dancers spoke volumes about who was wearing the pants in their relationships.

"I feel sorry for you." Michael sighed.

"No need," Edward drawled. "At least we weren't too _chickenshit_ to go after what we wanted."

Michael tried hard not to glare. His brother had it all wrong. He did _not_ want Molly Rogers. His body just hadn't gotten the memo yet.

He decided to play dumb. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Oh, good." Edward leaned back, steepling his fingers over his stomach. "Then you won't be interested that _you don't know who I'm talking about_ is part of the girls group and currently being propositioned by two guys at the bar."

Michael didn't even hear his brother's laugh, or Jack's _must have forgotten the coasters_ , until he was already halfway to said bar.
S.G. Lovell lives in Queensland, Australia with her family and their two dogs. She spends her days reading, writing, and enjoys connecting with her fans online.

Visit S.G. Lovell on the web at:

www.sglovell.com
