Control Games (Game for Cookies Book 2) Read online

  Dante grabbed his arm before he could leave. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “He said in a voice clearly indicating it wasn’t.” Dante blocked his path. “What’s eating you?”

  If this was their normal banter, Christopher might come back with a line like, Nothing, but I was hoping to be buried between her thighs, eating her. The line added another layer to his jumbled frustration. Worse, the image that accompanied the words flowed over his skin, leaving heat in its wake. His semi-hard cock chafed against his zipper. “Woke up wrong or something.”

  “You were doing fine with her.” An edge crept into Dante’s tone, and the way he finished his sentence made her sound like a disgusting disease.

  Christopher brushed past him. “I’m going back to the server room. If I don’t get this done before people get in, it defeats my reasons for being here early.”

  “Wait, please?” Dante’s words stopped him, but Christopher didn’t turn. “I’m sorry I interrupted whatever that was. I didn’t mean to set you off,” Dante said.

  Christopher raked shaky fingers through his hair. “It was nothing. Curiosity, caused by an entirely too-well-told story last night.” He faced Dante long enough to brush a kiss over his lips. The simple gesture was enough to chase away some of the darkness crowding his mood. “I’ll make it up to you this evening. I promise.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  Christopher tucked away whatever tried to crash his morning, and settled back into the office at the end of the hallway. Fortunately, once he dove into work, he could block most everything else out. The minutes sped by, as he tested backups to the cloud, restoring and accessing certain times and dates, and overwriting information more than a year old. The security system covered every entrance and most available floor space, both in the store and the kitchen. It was extreme for a bakery, the most valuable possessions of which were either sold daily or cookware too large to easily steal.

  It only took Dante investing in a few bakeries, to realize that once his name was associated with a place, it drew as much negative attention as positive. The recorded feed helped catch and prosecute vandals, minor break-ins, and all the things that came with being attached to Dante’s celebrity. So far, they’d kept this new location mostly quiet. The advertising machine built the hype, but the address wasn’t out there. After today’s read-through, that information would leak to social media, and when they opened the doors for samples in a few days, full-blown Grand Opening information would hit outlets this weekend.

  Christopher tried to get lost in his work. The teasing images of Julie tugged at his mind, grabbing for attention he refused to give. At least if he was going to be distracted, it was by delicious thoughts.

  * * * *

  Dante had mixed feelings about how much he was involved in his show, versus the investments he made in other bakeries. When it came to the properties he bought into, he was the decision maker. He was all hands on and control, as long as the other shareholders agreed.

  With the TV series, though he produced its current incarnation, the network made too many decisions for his liking. Catering, travel, scheduling—higher-ups took those decisions out of his hands. Once upon a time, when his show was smaller and Christopher had more input, things ran more smoothly. Dante wouldn’t admit it out loud, largely for fear of contract violations, but he missed those days.

  Normally his personal assistant, Elisa, had his back when it came to the headaches. Today she seemed off her game, making the stress worse. It seemed she ordered food for one-hundred people instead of ten.

  Dante stared down the caterer. “I don’t care that you’ve got an extra ten trays of sandwiches. I don’t have a use for them.”

  “Neither do I.” She nodded at the walk-in behind him. “Toss them out. I don’t care.”

  He wasn’t throwing away that much food, and there wasn’t time to argue now. He’d send it home with the crew. Or something. “Leave the rest in there. I’ll take care of it.”

  He was walking into the kitchen when he collided with someone. “Watch where the fuck you’re going.” The shout slipped out without his permission. He stopped and stared at the unfamiliar face. “Who the hell are you?” Whomever the stranger was, his being in the way would explain why he was lurking in a blind corner.

  “I’m Luke. I’m a friend of Julie’s.” He gave Dante a warm smile. “She asked me to drop off some last-minute supplies for her.”

  Great. Something else for Julie to get irritated with Dante about. He’d yelled at her friend. “Swell. Grand. Whatever. Stay out from underfoot of my crew.”

  “You got it, boss.” Luke stepped around him.

  Dante would need to remind Julie no one on set without prior authorization. It wasn’t him being cruel. That was the only way to help ensure random strangers didn’t mess with things they shouldn’t.

  Speaking of, where was Julie? He prayed she wasn’t hiding because of what he’d interrupted with Christopher. Andi came in about half an hour ago and promised they’d both be down on time.

  The thought summoned one he’d tried to ignore all morning. It wasn’t as if he’d walked in on something, but Julie’s reaction made him feel otherwise. He wished he could catch up with Christopher about it now, but neither of them would have time to breathe before tonight.

  “Camera crew is snowed-in in Colorado.” Elisa’s voice buzzed through the earpiece he wore to keep on top of the day’s events.

  “And?”

  “They won’t be here in an hour?” Elisa’s confidence wavered.

  “They wouldn’t be here anyway, if they’re still in Colorado, but they’re not supposed to fly out for two days.”

  “No. It says right here on my notes. In by February... Oh.”

  “Twelfth. Right. Not Tenth. Go make sure the back room is set up for the read-through.” Fuck. Despite their being stranded now, he’d still need to fix their lodging before they arrived. Fortunately they were only a handful of people, so he should be able to get them into their hotels two days early.

  “Right, boss. Sorry.”

  Fuck. It was going to be a long few days. And where was everyone else? He strode through the halls, scanning over setup and side-stepping the occasional person. It wasn’t as if crowds streamed in and out of the place, but it was a small building. Someone checked spots for lighting, while someone else tried to figure out where the extras would go, and Elisa wore a perpetual apologetic scowl.

  A loud crash from the kitchen jarred Dante back to the current crisis, and he sprinted toward the noise. “What now?” he said into the earpiece.

  “Nothing. It’s all under control.” Elisa sounded as if it were anything but.

  Fuck.

  * * * *

  A twitter in the back of Julie’s thoughts told her that her apartment kitchen didn’t have a bay window looking out over the ocean; no place in Chicago looked out over the ocean. The view was gorgeous, so the voice must be wrong.

  “Wow. You can see forever from up here.” Christopher’s breath caressed her ear.

  She whirled, heart hammering against her ribs, and only partly because of how close he stood. “What are you doing up here?” Hot damn—and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She struggled and failed to drag her gaze from his sculpted chest. The way his jeans hung too low on his hips. The tempting V that vanished into his belt before showing too much.

  “Enjoying the view,” Dante said from behind her. Something pressed into her back. Him. His heat. His body. The erection digging into her butt.

  She had no idea where they’d come from. When Dante glided his fingers from her shoulders down her chest, pulling open the front of her robe and exposing her, a rush of desire sped through her.

  This wasn’t right, though. This was Dante. They should be fighting. They should be—

  Christopher tangled his fingers in her hair and crushed his mouth to hers. Her reason evaporated. Her nipples dug into his chest, and the fine dusting of
his hair brushed her breasts. Denim—his arousal—pressed insistently against her mound. Whatever this was, it was incredible. She was done questioning.

  “We’re not him.” Dante tossed her robe aside. “We both want you here.”

  She groaned against Christopher’s mouth when Dante cupped her ass. He glided his hand lower and parted her folds, and she arched her back when he slipped his fingers inside her. The way he stretched her out, it had to be more than one.

  Christopher jerked her head back, to expose her neck, and lowered his mouth to the soft skin. He sucked. Bit. Somehow talked. “You can’t let him ruin things for you.”

  She didn’t want to think about the past. This was much better. “If I say okay, can we drop it?” Her words were punctuated with gasps, each time Dante plunged inside her, pulled out to the fingertip, then drove back in again.

  “Whatever you want.” Dante snaked another hand up, to cup her breast. Squeeze her nipple. Pinch and roll it between his fingers, sending a delicious ache through every nerve ending in her body.

  “This.” She couldn’t think of a better way to phrase it. She didn’t even know what this was, except the sensations pushed her to the edge of climax. The heady scent of chocolate dove into her skull. The heat of two bodies holding her up burned her skin in the best way possible.

  Christopher continued to suck and kiss along her shoulder, while trailing his fingers down her stomach. When he found her clit, she gasped and bucked against his hand.

  “You’re gorgeous when you’re enjoying yourself.” Christopher stroked the swollen nub harder, faster, in time with Dante pumping inside her. Every bit of her tingled from their touches.

  “Time to wake up, Julie.” The venom was back in Dante’s voice.

  The contact vanished, and so did they, leaving her at the edge of climax, disappointed and unfulfilled. Apparently it was just like last time.

  “Julie.” Andi’s voice was accompanied by a pounding on the door. “We’ve got half an hour. You need to wake up.”

  Julie snapped her eyes open. Back in her bedroom. The one that wasn’t a dream kitchen with a view of the Atlantic. She dragged a response past the lingering traces of her dream. “Yeah. I’m up. Give me five minutes.”

  “I’ll give you ten,” Andi said through the door. “And I have fresh coffee.”

  “Thanks.” Julie rolled onto her back but couldn’t focus on the ceiling. The vivid sensations still danced over her skin. That damn voice still chirped in the back of her mind, telling her she shouldn’t be fantasizing about anyone involved. It was just a dream, though.

  The ache in her nipples—the dampness between her legs—wouldn’t be ignored. Her vibrator was in the nightstand drawer, but she didn’t want to leave the comfort of the bed. Didn’t want to lose the cloud surrounding her, filled with touches and fantasy.

  She shoved her T-shirt out of the way, sought out a perky nipple, and squeezed until a cord of pleasure tugged between her legs. It wasn’t the same as having someone else do it—even an imaginary someone—but if she pulled hard enough, she could vanish in the delicious sting.

  With her other hand, she pulled aside the crotch of her panties. Damn, she was wet. From a simple dream. She didn’t have the time or compulsion to drag this out. She circled her clit, rubbing and bumping the bud as her hips bucked against her hand.

  Orgasm built quickly and flooded her. She kept pinching and stroking, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. Falling into climax and pushing herself, until her body jerked away from her touch.

  She sank back onto the mattress and tried to cling to the euphoria. Something crashed downstairs, loud enough to shake the apartment, and the incredible haze vanished. The bakery kitchen was right below her room. “What was that?”

  “I’ll find out.” Andi’s voice filtered into the room. “Get dressed.”

  Welcome back to reality. Guilt tried to move into Julie’s thoughts. She shouldn’t have dreamed something like that. The nagging gnawed at her gut and clenched around her chest. She needed better control over the situation. Subconscious or not, this wasn’t right.

  She grasped the mounting panic as it mingled with horror scenarios of what people were doing to her kitchen, and muffled all of it. It hovered behind everything else, as she took the fastest shower in history, to rinse away the remaining traces of sleep, and moved back in full force as she strode into the apartment living room.

  Andi stepped in her path. “Just a stack of mixing bowls. Not even yours. They’ve got it under control.”

  “But—”

  “Drink.” Andi shoved a coffee mug into Julie’s hands. Black, hot—exactly the way Julie preferred it. “Tell me why you were up all night.”

  And there was the rest of reality. “If Dante told you everything was all right downstairs, he could have told you he had this brilliant idea that I needed to make a new kind of cookie, too. Gave me three days starting with last night.”

  Andi sank into a high-backed wooden chair across from her. “I’m sorry. You should have texted me. I would have come home.”

  “You were having fun, right?” Despite her earlier grumbles about Andi not being around, Julie couldn’t dump this on her. It wouldn’t be fair. “But I do need you here tonight. To make sure everything tastes okay.”

  “Always. You just have to ask.” Andi studied her.

  “What?”

  “Do you want me to smooth things over with Dante before you get down there?”

  That wasn’t like Andi. She preferred to let other people make the decisions and fight the battles. Except she’d changed since she hooked up with Kane and Isaiah. It wasn’t in a bad way, but the selfish part of her worried it meant Andi wouldn’t need her around much longer. “No. I’ve got it covered. Everything’s fine.” Julie forced a smile that couldn’t possibly look sincere.

  She drained the rest of her coffee in a few gulps, ignoring the scald of too-hot liquid spilling down her throat. The sooner she shook off the traces of that dream—the next ten seconds would be best—the sooner she could get back to making it through the next couple of weeks.

  Chapter Four

  Dante was concerned, and the feeling didn’t sit well. He was already in the conference room when Julie came downstairs, and she refused to make eye contact. Red splashed her cheeks, and her jaw remained clenched until they reached her lines in the script. She must have seen the kitchen and was storing her wrath until everyone else left.

  It wasn’t like her to hold back, even in front of an audience, and that was what had him worried. Screaming? He could deal with that. Fury, harsh words—his ex-wife left him immune. This silent seething confounded him. He refused to admit he was worried about Julie on a more personal level.

  He’d sent Elisa to a local parts shop, to get a new belt for the Hobart. He had no idea how she bumped the device hard enough to break something, but she did. When he discovered the accident, every foul word ever created flooded his head. He would have fired anyone else on the spot, after three huge mistakes in a single day. She’d always done flawless work before.

  Fortunately, he knew how to fix the machine. He owned enough of them in his bakeries and the places he invested in, he’d learned how, out of necessity.

  That didn’t mean Julie knew any of that or cared. He looked up, to find her watching him. She jerked her head away. If she tightened her jaw any further, she’d snap something.

  The group took a break from reading, to let everyone stretch their legs and grab some snacks. He rushed to intercept Julie—best to cut this off now, rather than letting it simmer to the point she burst—but she ducked out a side door before he reached her.

  He grabbed Andi instead. “Is she really that pissed off?” he asked.

  “I... uh... I don’t know. She woke up acting weird, and I didn’t want to add to it, so I told her someone knocked some stuff over. You said you’d fix it. I figured everyone would be happier this way.”

  Fuck. The word repeated in Dante
’s head. “It’s still in pieces.” Wait. Then why the hell wouldn’t Julie look at him?

  Julie’s shrill, “What the hell did you do to my mixer?” tore through the building. He wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors heard.

  Andi’s face contorted into an odd kind of apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry. I wanted to get her down here without any drama.”

  He was already sprinting toward the shouting.

  Julie whirled on him before he finished stepping into the kitchen. “What is this?” She gestured to the half-disassembled mixer, parts laid around it in a methodical order.

  “A Hobart V1401.” He should have given her a straight answer, but her tone triggered a reactionary mechanism.

  Her laugh was stilted, laced with sarcasm. “That’s clever. Did one of your writers think that line up for you? Why is it in pieces?”

  Dante didn’t want to do this, but he was willing to admit he started it. Could he dial it back? It might be a nice change to have a polite conversation with Julie. “It’s temporarily out of order. There was an accident, and—”

  “You know what?” With each word, her anger grew more audible. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care that it’s broken. Well, that’s not true. I’m furious and assume you fired whoever’s responsible. I care that you got my best friend to lie to me about it.”

  “Why would you assume Andi lying was my idea?” He wasn’t only bothered by the accusation that it was his suggestion to deceive Julie, but also by her delivery. When they were talking business, Julie referred to her other half as Andi. When Julie wanted to make it personal, to remind him he was just the investor and there for his money, she threw in the emotional bond, and Andi became my best friend.

  “Because she and I don’t keep secrets from each other. Especially about important things, like the fact that the core of our livelihood is sitting in pieces in the corner.”

  He could remind her she and Andi were the core of their livelihood. If he wanted to put an end to the argument he’d admit he knew how crazy-talented Julie was. Point out machinery could be repaired or replaced, while she couldn’t.