Page 11 of Prayers for the Prickly

August

“Welcome to the Bountiful Baking Experience. They specialize in offering a trio of different breakfast sandwiches every day of the week, as well as every type of bread and pastry you can dream up, and a few they dreamed up themselves, as a twist on old favorites,” I said as we stepped inside my family’s bakery.

“What do you do, write their advertisements for them?” Gregor asked, but there was no heat to his voice, only amusement.

“Write them, no, but I rave about them whenever possible because my aunts and cousins own and run the place.”

I didn’t tell him aboutowningthe candy shop, just left it at what I’d said on the beach. That I made candy. Even when his eyes darted toward the closed door with all the colorful confections on the other side, I kept quiet. I watched his eyes widen, then the sea salt and driftwood scent of him got another layer.

Arousal.

Sweet candy gods from on high, when Olly said Gregor had a sweet tooth, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would go so far. My shorts suddenly felt damp as my face heated up at the realization that my body had started producing slick in response to his change in scent.

“You smell like sex and candy,” he snarled, drawing me out of my thoughts by the rough, near wrecked sound of his voice.

I hadn’t even done anything.

His eyes had narrowed, his bushy eyebrows drawn into a pinched frown as he studied me. He looked pissed. My gut clenched at the fierceness of that look and the slick I’d been producing immediately dried up.

Holy shit, he looked upset.

“I-I don’t mean to.”

“Fuck mean to, it’s the best scent I’ve ever smelled.”

Wait.

What?

That wasn’t his pissed off face?

Holy shit, if that wasn’t fury, I was scared to think about what anger would look like on that grumpy face because damn. He inhaled deeply, sighed and flashed a hint of a fanged grin just as my Aunty Clara came over to take our orders.

“So, this is why you’re not back there in your kitchen dreaming up new flavors of taffy to mix up,” she said, her bright, cheerful grin growing even more when Gregor perked up and raised an eyebrow.

“You make taffy?” he asked.

“Our August makesallthe candy in the shop,” she declared, winking at me. “He’s a wiz when it comes to sugar, especially pulling those long, thick taffy pieces until the flavors have swirled beautifully and are shiny and smooth.”

My jaw about hit the ground at how lewd she sounded while describing my candy making skills. “Aunty Clara,” I hissed, feeling my face heat up, especially when Gregor chuckled, the sound just as raw and rough with desire as I’d felt before I’d feared I’d angered him.

“What?” she replied, turning to me with a shrug and a look that I knew damn sure wasn’t as innocent as she tried to make it seem. “You do good work. Why wouldn’t I want everyone to know about it?”

“Fair, but did you have to make it sound so dirty?” I grumbled, while Gregor continued to chuckle.

“Well, it does leave you a bit sticky by the time you’re through,” Aunty Clara said, completely unbothered.

The snort that burst from Gregor’s chest was so loud it startled several of the other customers, not that he cared, he peered up at Aunty Clara like she was the coolest person he’d ever met, grinned and inclined his head.

“Nothing wrong with sticky, especially when there are so many ways to remedy the situation,” Gregor replied with a predatorial smirk.

Oh goddess.

If I thought my cheeks felt warm before that was nothing compared to the way they felt now. I was certain I looked like a rapidly ripening tomato, and we still hadn’t managed to tell her what we wanted yet. At this point, I couldn’t even remember what the name of the sandwiches of the day were, but Gregor just grinned, flashed a hint of fang, and wagged those bushy eyebrows at me.

“I don’t know where you found this one, August, but he’s a keeper,” Aunty Clara said.

“I should hope so,” Gregor said in the rough, rumbling voice of his. “I’m his mate.”

---