"If you drop this cake, I'll strangle you!"
Bree Lafitte grimaced. Jean-Pierre could be very touchy when it came to his creations, especially his specialty birthday cakes. "You just make sure you're holding on to your end," Bree said as they placed Jean-Pierre's masterpiece on a cart. Crazy frickin' Frenchman.
"I'm sorry to scream at you, mon amie. The Silvers have paid a lot of money for this cake."
They'd met in Paris, France, in culinary art school where her grandmother had sent her when she graduated from high school.
"Apology accepted." She couldn't stay angry at the adorable baker for long. It would be bad for business, plus she loved his accent.
Jean-Pierre walked backwards while she steered the cart from behind. They were at some rich person's house in Upper Westside Manhattan near Columbia University. She couldn't help but notice how well-maintained most of the yards were, or the fact that someone in almost every house in the neighborhood had already begun putting up Christmas decorations. But pretty as the landscape might be, she was freezing her ass off on one of the coldest days in December.
Bree grew up in the south where snow only appeared in holiday movies. What the hell was I thinking moving to New York? They'd just made it to the front door when it opened, and suddenly, a man came bounding out, accompanied by a big dog. "Look out," she shouted.
Jean-Pierre moved quickly, like he had eyes at the back of his head. He dragged the cart to the right, saving the cake, but leaving her to receive the impact of the dog.
"Oof." That sound came out of her as she hit the ground. A hundred pound dog sat atop her, and two guys stared down in her face.
"Are you okay?" The white guy speaking to her had intense green eyes with golden flecks. Thick, black hair stuck out from beneath the knit hat on his head.
"I will be as soon as you get your dog off me."
"Come here, boy," the guy ordered. "Get off her. I just groomed you."
The dog actually moved on the first order.
Mr. Green Eyes held out a leather gloved hand to help her up.
Bree accepted it. He yanked her up so rapidly it made her dizzy. "Ooh." He caught her and pulled her into his arms. Her head barely reached his chest. And he smelled so good. The dizziness left and horniness followed. Bree moved away from him and crossed her legs to get the thumping inside her cunt to stop. "Thank you." That's when she finally got a good look at him. Damn, he's hot.
"You're quite welcome," he said with a smile.
She wondered if he'd just read her mind.
Jean-Pierre carefully stepped between them. "We need to get this cake delivered. We're supposed to meet Imogene."
Party poop. Just when she was having fun with the sexiest man she'd come across in a long time.
"She's in the kitchen," the guy with the dog said. "Just go through the foyer, then down the hall to your left." He kept staring at her.
Bree stared back, feeling all warm and tingly inside. She must have looked quite the sight in her delivery uniform with her white chef's hat all askew.
Jean-Pierre got the cart back on the sidewalk, she got in place, and they rolled the cart into the mansion door without any further interruptions.