Sex On The Seats (Love After Midnight Book 4) by Elise Faber (most inspirational books .txt) 📗

But now the bed was empty, the click-clicking coming through the door the only sign of the sexy, curvy woman.

I slipped out from beneath the covers, padded across the carpet to find my boxer briefs—tossed there by a torture-minded Niki some number of hours before. Not that I’d minded the torture of her kissing every inch of my body. It was the sweetest temptation, the best torment I’d ever undergone, especially when she’d allowed me to give her the same treatment in return.

Stepping into the boxers, I tried to gauge what time it was. She had blackout shades on her windows, so I couldn’t tell if we’d slept the entire night, or if it had just been a few hours. I wasn’t exhausted, so maybe more than a few. Although, I definitely had more energy when I was around her.

As though just being in her presence brightened my life.

And I supposed that was how it should be.

Not bereft without her there. Not weighed down when with her. But also just . . . more when I was near her.

Maybe that didn’t make any sense.

Maybe I was beyond caring if it did or not.

I approached the door and knocked softly, not wanting to interrupt if she was busy, but the door must not have been shut all the way because the moment my fist made contact with the wood, it slid open to reveal . . .

A pants-less Niki standing at her computer, wearing just a tiny pair of underwear and a loose tank top.

No bra.

Which I knew because when she turned toward me, the light from the monitors shone right through that thin material.

Breasts.

Sweet Christ, she had a magnificent set.

“You’re staring,” she murmured.

“You’re gorgeous,” I countered.

Her lips curved, but then her computer chimed, and she glanced back at the screen, cursing as she bent closer, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “No, no,” she moaned, tilting another screen toward her, images appearing and disappearing faster than I could track. “Shit,” she muttered. “Fucking, motherfucker.” Somehow, her fingers flew faster, and I slipped out of the room, closing the door behind me before making my way over to my pants, digging in my pocket until I found my cell.

Seven-thirty-two.

She’d let me stay the whole night, hadn’t booted me out or run away, though I supposed the latter would have been challenging, considering it was her house. Still, before the issue with her work, she’d smiled at me.

So, I was taking seven-thirty-two as a victory.

I tugged on my pants, my shirt, tracked down my shoes and socks before moving quietly out of the bedroom and downstairs, where I surveyed the meager contents of Niki’s fridge and pantry (dismal) and decided to brew some coffee before heading down the street toward the bakery I’d spotted when driving over.

While the pot hissed and spit, I took care of the dishes in the sink—something that Niki wouldn’t let me touch the night before and something I couldn’t ignore this morning. Especially, since it only took a few minutes.

Then when the coffee was done, I poured a cup, brought it upstairs, and swapped it out with an empty mug on her desk, even as she continued typing. She didn’t glance away from the screen, nor even acknowledge me, but I didn’t get my feelings hurt. I knew something of what it was like to be so focused on my work that the rest of the world faded away, and if something was going wrong, I wasn’t going to mess with her flow.

I closed the door behind me, stumbled upon a spare set of keys as I headed outside, locked up, and made my way down the street.

The bakery, less than a block away, had a small storefront, but through the glass on the swinging double doors, I could see a large industrial kitchen with several workers buzzing around.

When the bell overhead rang as I entered, a blonde with blue-green eyes appeared, wiping her hands on her apron that was emblazoned with . . .

“Iris?” I asked.

She smiled, came over, and gave me a hug. “Archer, it’s good to see you.” She was married to Brent, the former full-time bartender turned student-slash-now-very-rare-fill-in at Bobby’s. “It’s been ages.”

I’d taken Brent’s position in the afternoon/evenings when he’d gotten too busy with school, and I was well-familiar with her delicious baked goods. “I didn’t know you owned this place,” I said. The last I’d heard, she had a small kitchen near the bar.

“We moved a couple of months ago.” A shrug. “Outgrew the last space.” Her head tilted to the side. “I didn’t think you lived in this part of town.”

“I . . .” Here, I faltered, wondering what Niki would think about me sharing a piece of information that would surely get back to the bar, and thus, back to her employee, Hayden. But she’d told me we were dating, and people who were dating didn’t hide. Not unless it was some romance novel or romcom fake relationship thing, and since this was neither of those two things, I said, “I’m actually dating Dominque, so I wanted to come in and pick up some treats for her.”

Mention the dating.

Mention the baked goods.

Keep my nickname to myself.

“Hayden’s Dominque?” Iris asked, raising her brows.

I nodded.

Iris smiled. “Oh, that’s perfect! I actually just pulled out her favorite from the oven.” She walked back behind the counter, pulled a pink box from somewhere and began folding it up. “I’ll go package up some for her. What do you want?” she asked. “Pick anything, and it’s on the house.”

“Oh no,” I began, but then she walked through the double doors without a backward glance, and I was left saying, “That’s okay, I’ll pay,” to myself and the empty room.

A moment later, she returned, presumably with a box of Niki’s favorites and approached the glass case. “What’ll you have?”

I pointed at a muffin that looked mouthwateringly fattening and delicious.

“Chocaholic,” Iris said with a smile. “I’ll remember that.” She used tongs to put