Page 9 of Worth the Heat
“For him or for you?” I ask.
“Hannah, mostly. He gives her his puppy dog eyes, and she ends up falling asleep next to him every damn night. He knows I don’t put up with that shit,” he tells me with a smile. We say goodbye, and I stare at the dark screen on my phone after our call is disconnected. It’s so wonderful seeing this side of my brother, where hockey isn’t the only thing that he has in his life. Hannah brought him back to life, and watching him become a dad has been phenomenal.
I can only hope that I get to be that lucky as well.
SEBASTIAN
“You gonna go check on your girl?” Trace asks me as I grab my keys and helmet from the bar. He gives me a knowing look as he takes a slow sip of his draft.
“She’s not mine,” I mutter as I stalk past him.
“Not yet,” he calls after me.
As I enter the parking lot of my bar, Range Roadhouse, I strap on my helmet and throw a leg over my Harley. I don’t often ride my hog to the bar, but after a few weeks of forecasts for thunderstorms, I knew I needed to feel the wind against my skin on the first sunny day. Colorado is known for having three hundred sunny days per year, so when we have extended periods of clouds and rain, I get moody. My bike immediately brightens my disposition.
Range Roadhouse is located about twenty-five minutes from Eternity Springs. While I haven’t told Trace where I’ve gone for lunch each day, he’s too damn perceptive not to figure it out. I was furious after depositing Isabella at home that day a few weeks ago. I saw how easy it would be to break into her apartment complex, and how blissfully ignorant she was to anything going on around her. I want to pick her up and lock her away, protecting her how I see fit. Isabella won’t even let me take her on a date, so I think if I attempt to protect her, she’ll be pissed about it.
She doesn’t know that I’m the customer who has the massive standing order every week. While I think she’ll be upset about that one, she’ll get over it. The thing that she’ll definitely be murderous over — should she ever find out — is the fact that I own her bakery.
In my defense, I purchased it around the same time Isabella began working there. I intended to sell it to her, but she seemed content to continue paying the rent. Norma Klein, the previous tenant, made me swear I wouldn’t raise the rent on Isabella; as if I’d do that to the sister of some of my best friends. I only raised the rent to be on par with other businesses on the same block. I own an LLC, and the bakery was purchased under that. No one in the Santo family knows I own it, and I plan on keeping it that way.
I got into the commercial real estate world in my mid-twenties, recognizing it as a perfect opportunity to invest. My research found that commercial real estate allowed more financial reward than residential properties, and after hearing horror stories about the rental market in Colorado, I was more determined than ever to slowly increase my reach in real estate. I started small, grabbing compact spaces on the far western side of Denver. A hot dog shop and a small ice cream stand were immediate hits. My first big foray into a standalone space, Range Roadhouse, continues to be my favorite. The bakery is the only retail location I own in Eternity Springs, and no one outside of my family and very close friends know that the company who owns the space, SGI, is me. Sebastian Garcia Incorporated.
Slowing to a crawl, I ease down the main drag of Eternity Springs. It’s as if every other building falls away into the background as I zero in on Bake, Batter, and Bowl. I smile to myself, loving the ingenuity and creativity of the name. Creeping past the bakery, my eyes strain to find her through the windows, but someone else stands at the helm. Disappointed, I turn around, intending to head back out of town.
And then I see her.
She’s by the main square, sitting on a bench with her head tipped back, a soft smile on her face as she enjoys the sun. A parking spot opens near her, and I quickly slide in. Even from here, I can see flour on her cheek again, and I chuckle.
Turning off my bike, I’m surprised the sound hasn’t registered in her brain, but it gives me an opportunity to study her for a minute before quietly walking over to sit beside her. “Lovely day for lunch outside.”
Isabella gasps, jolting with an exaggerated kick of her legs, and she lets go of her lunch. I watch helplessly as a large slice of lasagna hits the concrete. Stormy eyes focus on me. “I was really looking forward to that lasagna, Sebastian.”
Fucking hell. The way my name sounds on her tongue makes my cock twitch. Clearing my throat, I attempt to focus my thoughts. “I sincerely apologize. I thought you heard me sit down.”
“You could have been anyone,” she retorts, annoyance evident in her posture as she stands. “Normal people don’t speak to strangers on a park bench.”
“That’s probably an incorrect generality, but I digress,” I reply, and Isabella growls at me. She legitimately growls. “I’m just saying people talk all the time. I’m sure new conversations between strangers happen on park benches all over the world.”
“Well, fortunately for me, this conversation between strangers is over,” she snaps as she bends to pick up her Tupperware container, and her ass is right in my face. Right in my face, and I force myself to stifle a groan. Tight legging material covers every inch of her skin from her knees to her waist, but I can almost feel her soft skin. Taste her pussy. My hands itch to reach out and grab her, to pull her down into my lap so she feels what she does to me, and that’s when I notice the outline of her thong.
Sweet motherfucking Christ, Isabella wears thongs.
I’m an ass man, but I don’t have a specific type. I like ‘em all. I also don’t care what a woman covers herself with. Style, fabric, cut, whatever. But the thought of a tiny sliver of lace disappearing between her cheeks? I’m immediately rock hard, sitting on a park bench, in the middle of Eternity Springs.
As she attempts to stalk away, I reach out and lightly grab her wrist, before hoarsely saying, “Isabella, wait.”
“For what?”
I take a moment, willing my dick to calm the hell down, before speaking. “I owe you lunch.”
“It’s fine. I have another slice at home, and I can eat it for dinner.”
Adjusting myself discreetly as I stand, I gently turn Isabella toward a small sandwich shop I know she likes. “While I know I’ll never be able to replace what I assume is yourNonna’slasagna, I can at least get you a sandwich. Isn’t today the day you stay late to prep for the weekend?”
Her eyes widen as she shoots a shocked glance at me. “How di — how did you know that?”
Because mine is of the orders she preps on Thursday afternoons. “Luca has mentioned it. He’s pretty proud of you. Talks about you all the time. Dom and Alex do too.”
