His Sweet Fix Read online

  His Sweet Fix

  Sofia Grey

  This book is a work of fiction.

  While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Sofia Grey

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Acelette Press

  V1.0

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  His Sweet Fix

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Epilogue

  About Sofia Grey

  More by Sofia Grey

  His Sweet Fix

  Love at the Beach #3

  Falling in love never tasted so sweet

  My ex-fiancé wants me to cater his wedding, to the woman he left me for. Fine. Not only will I make sure they have the best freakin' cake this side of Wellington, but I'm going to show him what he left behind. I just need to drop a couple of pounds... or a couple dozen, first.

  Enter Jasper. Sexy, sweeter than my custom cakes, and a personal trainer. Sure, he derails my diet, but some of the workouts he's got in mind for us... let's just say clothing is optional. Even better, he doesn't want to get attached, which leaves me free to pursue my goal of winning back my ex, with my soon-to-be-thin me.

  But each new personal session with Jasper leaves me wanting more from the guy who thinks I'm sexy in the skin I'm in.

  And I can't afford to fall for a man who adores my body, but isn't willing to commit to me.

  Chapter One

  “Can you hear me? Do you need help?” The guy was close, his words loud over the wind tearing across the beach.

  I didn’t need help; I needed a giant hole to open up and swallow me whole, far away from this passerby with his friendly voice.

  Lying on the sand, one arm over my eyes, I hadn’t noticed him approach. Why was he out here? The beach was empty when I set off, and I didn’t think anyone would be venturing out in this weather.

  My lungs burned, and I knew my cheeks would be flaming hot enough to grill sausages on. I had to tell this stranger I was fine, but I wasn’t sure I could speak yet, let alone reassure him of my sanity and good health.

  My sanity was questionable, though. What kind of idiot would go running on a day like today? A crazy one. Especially when this was the most exercise I’d done in years. The way my pulse raced and my lungs wheezed, I might be having a heart attack after all.

  Sitting up was too much to contemplate, so I slid my arm down my face and peeked to the left. A walking stick lay on the sand next to me, a guy hunched over beside it.

  Please don’t say some geriatric had come to my aid?

  He lifted his head, and I saw his face. Whoa. My would-be rescuer had the face of an angel. Young, intense, and handsome, with dark hair flopping onto a strong forehead and cheekbones so sharp they could have been sculpted that way. Maybe I had died, and this was my welcoming party to heaven? Nope. I was still alive, and hideously embarrassed.

  “Are you hurt? Do you need help?” He spoke slowly and with care, as though I was deaf or foreign.

  I had to reply, and now I had a little breath in my lungs, I might be able to speak. I shoved myself up on my elbows, and sucked in some air. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  His eyebrows disappeared into the tumble of hair, and he scrubbed his face with both hands. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look very well. Let me help you somewhere warm and dry.”

  As if to underline his words, the wind tossed a swirl of sand and spray at us. I’d managed to ignore the rain so far, but lying here meant I cooled down rapidly, and now I was feeling the chill.

  “I don’t want to be any trouble.” I had to force the words out. “I’m fine. Really.” To prove my point, I scrambled to my feet and stood there, shivering. Jesus. Of all the people to see me in my moment of humiliation, it had to be this Adonis.

  Maybe I could slink back to my rented cottage and try to pretend this encounter didn’t happen. With luck, I’d never have to face him again. I’d keep a look out for him and make sure our paths didn’t cross again.

  I gazed at him, taking in the waterproof jacket, the sturdy boots, and the walking stick—a medical-issue one by the look of it. I looked longingly up the beach, at the short distance to my cottage. Could I just walk away?

  He glanced away, and then back at me. “I... um... need some help to get up.” He held out a hand to me, his lips pressed in a tight line.

  Oh. I couldn’t leave him here, no matter how much I wanted to disappear. I grabbed hold of him and hauled, and he came upright with a groan.

  Cursing under his breath, he dropped my hand like a hot potato and leaned heavily on the stick. “Thanks.” He bit out the word and wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. The cold had set in, and my teeth chattered when I spoke.

  “Do you have far to go?” he asked.

  I shook my head in reply. “The little cottage.” I gestured with my thumb. He clutched the stick so hard his knuckles showed white, and I felt a wash of guilt. He’d hurt himself trying to help me. “Would you like to come back and warm up?” What? My temporary insanity had clearly taken control of my tongue. He’d refuse.

  “Just for a few minutes.”

  We walked up the beach to the softer, powdery sand near the top. He was slow on his feet, but I was grateful for the pace, my breathing improving with every step. I’d make some herbal tea and send him on his way. There was no need for conversation or explanations.

  When we reached the wooden steps, he hauled himself up using the handrail, and then dropped into the first chair he reached, a low groan escaping his lips.

  Good manners ingrained from childhood nudged at me. “I can make you some herbal tea if you’d like.”

  “Any coffee?”

  God. I’d love a coffee right now. A double-shot latte with a spoonful of raw sugar. “No.”

  “Regular tea?”

  “No. Herbal is all I�
�ve got.” Because it had precisely zero calories, and this particular one was supposed to speed up weight loss.

  He narrowed his eyes, as though looking at me properly, and I sucked in my stomach. It was an automatic reaction, and nothing to do with how gorgeous he was.

  “You’re frozen,” he said. “Go inside. I just need a minute, and then I’ll go.”

  For fuck’s sake. “Come in, please, and have some tea. I feel so bad about this.”

  His lips twisted, and he ducked his head. “I thought you were dead. Drowned, or something.”

  Ashamed didn’t begin to cover how I felt, but I couldn’t leave him there. “If you won’t come in, I’ll bring it out to you. The tea.” Before he could reply, I slid the door open and escaped into the kitchen.

  The kettle was still hot, and while I waited for water to boil, I plucked two mugs from the cupboard and dropped a Lemon Zinger teabag into each. It’d taste much better with a generous spoonful of honey, but that wasn’t on my diet list. Herbal tea was an acquired taste, I was told. Maybe one day I’d acquire it.

  I poured the hot water, squished the bags with a teaspoon, and then discarded them. I’d already learned that leaving them longer did nothing to improve the taste. If I was very lucky, Mister Gorgeous would have gone by now.

  Yeah, right. He sat where I left him, walking stick leaning against his chair, and his gaze fixed on the horizon.

  I’d have to be polite a little longer.

  “Here you are.” I aimed for a cheerful voice, as I plonked the cups on the table. The I’m-okay-and-you-can-leave-now tone. “Cheers.”

  His back was to the light, and I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, even when he stared at me.

  “Will you tell me why you were lying on the sand like...?”

  Hello, humiliation. I thought you’d left. I gazed at the wooden deck. “Like a beached whale?”

  “What? No.”

  “I was trying to exercise. Get fit.” Lose some weight. “I guess I overdid it, my first run.” I tugged at my oversized T-shirt, but it refused to cover my thighs. Note to self—wear something that comes down to my knees next time.

  “Maybe I can help you,” he said. “I’m a personal trainer. You want to get fit, I’m your guy.”

  A personal trainer? My reaction was a fervent, Hell no. He gazed at me, calm and unemotional, and I sought my tongue. “Ah, no. Thank you, but no.”

  My friends had personal trainers at their expensive gyms, but they were all slim and gorgeous already. The prospect of having anybody, let alone this guy, weighing and measuring me, was enough to make me want to run for the hills. When I could run. Right now, it would be a slow stagger.

  “I am qualified,” he said. “I’m co-owner of the gym on the main street.” He gestured toward the stick at his side. “I wasn’t always a gimp.” His gaze bored into me, as though daring me to challenge his words.

  “It’s not that.” I rubbed my sweaty forehead that was speckled with sand. I wanted to hide in the shower and forget this encounter happened.

  “You said it was your first run. You have to start slowly for a decent exercise regime, not only to avoid injury, but also to make it last. Hundreds of people go to the gym religiously for the first week, and then never go back.”

  Yup. I’d done that. More than once. It was time to bring this conversation to a close. “I’ll think about it.” I took a gulp of the Lemon Zinger. Would it taste better with a slug of vodka?

  He showed no signs of moving. His drink lay untouched, and a ripple of panic bubbled in my chest. How much longer was he going to stay?

  “Look, I need to shower. And I’ve things to do. Are you okay to get home?”

  He furrowed his brows into a V. On some men it would look ugly, but it didn’t reduce his attractiveness in the slightest. He was quite possibly the most handsome man I’d met.

  Hotter than Bruce?

  Yep.

  And hot guys didn’t normally see me, let alone make unprompted conversation.

  “How long are you staying?” He huffed a soft laugh. “And that makes me sound like a creepy stalker, which I’m not. I know this is a holiday rental. I live just up the road.”

  Now that we were out of the howling wind, and I could hear his voice properly, it was as delicious as the rest of him. Mellow and a little husky, he’d make a killing as a late-night host on a radio talk show. Perhaps this really was heaven?

  A trilling cellphone behind me gave the perfect excuse to end this conversation. “I have to take that. It was—uh—nice to meet you.”

  Chapter Two

  “Caitlin, I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s a last-minute request.” Deanna, my assistant, sounded anguished on the phone. “I know you’re on holiday, but this would be good for business. It’s the head of Parrish Insurance, and he’s throwing a surprise party for his wife’s birthday.”

  My ears pricked up at the name. “What does he want?”

  “A themed birthday cake and a cupcake mountain. For tomorrow evening. He said he’d pay fifty percent extra, to make up for the urgency. What should I tell him?”

  “Themed, like how?”

  “Tropical island. He heard about your Margarita cupcakes.”

  Deanna was right; Parrish Insurance would be a great client for my fledgling specialist-cake company. It was worth breaking off my supposed holiday for a couple of days, to land this piece of business, and then I’d come back up here. I was only an hour’s drive out of the city, and it was tempting.

  “If we did Mai Tai cupcakes instead of Margarita,” I said, thinking aloud, we could follow through with a rum-punch theme to the cake. Each layer, a different flavor.”

  “Should I say yes to him?”

  It was a no-brainer, but I still hesitated. Going home, to my temptation-filled larder and fridge, would be tough. If I went this afternoon, I could get the cake layers made, and then do the icing and assembly tomorrow.

  “Caitlin?” Deanna asked.

  “Yes. I’ll take the order.”

  We spoke a few minutes longer, with Deanna noting the options to present to Nick Parrish, and me confirming I’d be there in a few hours. I could do this without wrecking my diet.

  On cue, my stomach rumbled. I was hungry from the morning’s exercise. I’d have a banana and a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, and that would keep me going until dinner. At this rate, I’d be skinny before I knew it. Or at least, a couple of dress sizes smaller.

  I peeked outside, but the guy was gone, his drink untouched on the table. I never thought to ask his name, but regardless, he was someone else for me to avoid. The list grew longer by the day. Bruce. Pammy. Bruce’s mother. The girl who walked her enormous dogs on the beach. And now Mr. Gorgeous.

  I collected his cup, threw away the tea, and headed for the shower.

  ****

  As I drove into the city, the roads were quiet, and my mind wandered. I always knew the thing with Bruce had an expiry date. It had to. We met when I was the thinnest I’d ever been. Twelve months of dieting had paid off, and I was thrilled with the way my bridesmaid dress looked. It was a cliché, for me—chief bridesmaid at my friend’s wedding—to fall in love with the Best Man, but I reveled in it. Within three months, we moved in together, and that was when it fell apart. He accepted a promotion that took him travelling around the country, and as fast as he scaled the management ladder, I slipped down the other way.

  I had to stop thinking of him. While I waited at a set of traffic lights, I grabbed the opportunity to select a noisy playlist on my phone, and with the jangling riffs of Villainy rocking around my car, I managed the rest of the journey without thinking about Bruce—a.k.a. The-Shit-That-Ruined-My-Life.

  The rain returned as I struggled to find a parking space near my office. Wonderful. The closest I could get was still ten minutes’ walk in a rain-laden and freezing gale. I loved Wellington, but on a winter day, the weather could be brutal. I arrived at the entrance to the office block looking like I’d been dragged
through a wet hedge, and the first person I saw was Elaine, Bruce’s mother. She leased office space in the same building, but I rarely ran into her. It figured that I’d see her today.

  “Caitlin.” She pursed her lips. “Bruce tells me he invited you to the wedding. I trust you won’t make a scene.”

  Part of me longed to stick out my tongue or stomp my foot, but I managed a polite smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I was a terrible liar, but Elaine didn’t call me on it. She returned to her real-estate clients, and I slunk away to my kitchen. I’d bet the scene I daydreamed about was nothing like Elaine imagined.

  In my overactive imagination, I found a way to see Bruce before the ceremony. The diet had worked, and I was slim and elegant—glamorous, even. He remembered falling in love with me—proposing to me—and asked me to elope with him, leaving Pammy in the dust.

  I couldn’t decide which option I preferred best at that point. Saying yes and taking back the man I was still in love with, or telling him to stick his offer up his ass.

  I needed to hold onto those thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. Every time I thought longingly about eating something, I had to think of Bruce. And Pammy.

  Deanna’s chatter was soothing. She didn’t know me before I set up Caitlin’s Cakes, and that suited me. I was fed up with friends and family looking at me with pity, and I could do without hers as well. Together we measured and mixed, and experimented with flavors.

  There was only one way to test if I had the right balance of sweet and sharp and alcoholic. I had to taste the cakes. The first sugary things I’d eaten in days. We’d put together each potential layer as a batch of cupcakes, and I split one of each into quarters. Six fragrant pieces of cake awaited me.

  I counted calories inside my head. If I only took a bite of each, it wouldn’t throw the diet too far out of line. I could compensate tonight and have a green salad for dinner, no dressing.

  Damn, but I hated being on a diet.

  The first cake was delicious. The balance of lime and brown sugar was perfect. One more bite wouldn’t hurt.

  “Judging by the ecstatic look on your face, that one gets a tick, yes?” Notebook in hand, Deanna hovered next to the counter, awaiting my judgements.