Semi-Sweet On You (Hot Cakes #4) - Erin Nicholas Page 0,80

thank you.”

“I mean it.”

“I believe you. It means a lot from you.”

“Because I’ve been an ass to you for ten years over other decisions you’ve made?”

She snorted. “Something like that.”

He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Well, it’s come to my attention that I was angry at someone who… isn’t real.”

She felt her eyes widen.

“I thought I knew you, Whit. But I’m learning that I don’t. I knew the eighteen-year-old you. And I’m not sure I even knew her that well.”

He was right, of course. It had been a long time since they’d known each other and how well did two eighteen-year-olds really know one another? Or themselves for that matter? Especially when at least half of their time had been spent making out. They’d had to sneak around because of their families’ animosity toward one another, so she’d never seen him with his grandmother or gone to the movies with him or… anything else. Their time together had always been alone and it had been stolen, hidden time.

“You have a point,” she said. “We’re just getting to know each other. Like new acquaintances.”

“Well…” He gave her a slow smile. “We know a few things about each other. I mean… I do know that you’re ticklish behind your left knee and that tequila and Jason Aldean songs make you horny and you love when I kiss your—”

She stepped forward, slapping her hand over his mouth.

He lifted a brow and she felt his mouth curve behind her palm.

“If I was taller, I would have kissed you to shut you up too because, yeah, the hand over the mouth is a little aggressive.”

He nodded.

She let her hand drop away. “But yeah, you need to shut up. That’s not stuff friends talk about.” The heat was still swirling through her body and she could hear Jason Aldean’s “Crazy Town” playing in her head.

He held up a hand. “You’re right. Sorry.”

She nodded. “Okay. So… friends.”

“Friends.”

She glanced at the cake pan on the counter. “And you didn’t make those bars to use the way you’d suggested using the cookie dough the other night then?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, no. They’re for Didi actually.”

“You made my grandmother bars?”

“Letty’s recipe. Something she never made for the bakery. Only family and close friends ever got those bars. Didi mentioned to me that she missed Letty’s baking and cooking all these years. Thought she’d enjoy tasting some of it again.”

Wow. That was pretty sweet. Nice even.

“What?” he asked when she didn’t react.

“You’re doing all of this, with my grandma and the bars and the support at work, and you’re actually insisting that we not sleep together.”

He cleared his throat again. “Right.”

“Huh.” She believed him. And that actually did make her relax a little. “Well, save me a bar? To eat.”

“Sure.”

She gave him a smile and turned to head upstairs.

“Hey, Whit?”

She turned back. “Yeah?”

“Just out of curiosity… if I had made the bars for that purpose…”

She grinned and her eyes went to the stool where she’d been very happily shirtless and he’d been the one to pull back. “Totally would have worked.”

He grinned. “Good to know.”

And even though they were talking about putting chocolate cookie dough on nipples, she felt a warm surge of happiness. Friendliness even.

Friends. Just friends. With Camden McCaffery.

Well, stranger things had happened.

Probably.

15

She was so fucking gorgeous.

Cam had always enjoyed the morning meetings of Fluke, Inc., but he’d never been hard and aching in the middle of one.

He was sure his friends and partners would be glad to know that.

But he was stunned by what a turn on it was to watch Whitney during the meeting a week later.

She was freaking glowing.

He knew he was staring at her like a lovesick idiot. He also knew that Aiden, Dax, and Grant had noticed. They kept casting glances in his direction. He felt their eyes on him. But he wasn’t looking at them.

He was looking at Whitney. The way her eyes were sparkling, the faint flush to her cheeks, the smile that was so easy and genuine. He was even appreciating the way she looked in the boring-as-hell navy-blue pencil skirt and ivory blouse she wore. Hot. She looked hot. He still hated those skirts, but today the damned thing made her look hot. Of course, she could have been wearing a sack and he would have thought she looked hot, because it wasn’t about the skirt. It was about how she was standing there, excited, confident, and she hadn’t once lifted her chin in the way she did when