Hilary Fields - Bliss

Sera tried to see Blake as Ash might see him (rather than with the devil horns and cloven hooves her imagination always supplied). Powerfully built, but with the beginnings of a midlife paunch. Craggy features and thick, slightly oily black hair that waved back from a high forehead to brush his collar. Cashmere blend Burberry overcoat, white silk scarf tucked just so against the lapels. Loafers that were very likely Ferragamo. A smile that defined snide .

“What are you doing here?” Sera gasped. The hand Asher laid on her shoulder steadied her, but did nothing to dispel the atavistic horror that erupted in her belly. “What the fuck, Austin, didn’t you get enough of making my life a living hell in New York? You had to follow me two thousand miles just to make sure I was still properly miserable?”

God, when would the bullying stop? When she was reduced to flipping burgers in some truck stop in rural Iowa? Sera hopped off the counter, keeping Asher close by her side but needing her feet on the ground in this moment. Yet even with feet firmly planted, shoulders squared, she still felt about a foot shorter than her already meager stature; as if she’d withered from the sheer proximity of her ex. She was keenly aware of Asher observing this confrontation, of the questions that must be swirling in his mind. God, I hoped I’d never have to tell him about Blake… Her heart was racing, her palms sweating. She wiped them surreptitiously against the legs of her jeans. She had to keep it together. The only thing keener than Blake Austin’s palate was his ability to sense—and exploit—fear. “When’s it going to be enough, Blake?” she demanded, hating the slight quaver in her voice. “When are you finally going to leave me alone? You’re obsessed!”

Blake let another smile slither across his lips, leaning familiarly against the frame that supported Sera’s two-way mirror wall. “Egotistical as always, aren’t you, pet? And every bit as deluded as you ever were. As if I’d bestir myself such a distance merely to get reacquainted with your pathetic self.” He snorted. “No, I’m here in this quaint little town for a different purpose—utterly unrelated to your presence, I can assure you. I’m overseeing the opening of a new restaurant I’m backing on Canyon Road.” He ran a lambskin-gloved finger down the edge of the freshly painted doorframe, as if he expected to find grime. “I’d heard about your little porn-themed pastry shop, and as it was already along my route to dine with my investors tonight, I decided to pop by and see for myself just how far my former protégé had fallen. Really, Serafina.” He shook his head. “Selling novelty penis cakes and boob-shaped bonbons? Even I had no idea you’d sunk so low.”

Why did we have to sell out of pie, today of all days? Sera had a blinding, breathtaking need to plant a lemon meringue square in Blake’s smirking puss. Her fingers clenched into fists, and she realized she hadn’t exhaled in far too long. Probably breathe flames if I did, she thought.

Asher brought Sera back to her senses, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing gently. “Bliss, who is this incredibly rude little man? I would very much like to rearrange his face.” Sera could feel his muscles bunch, practically smell his testosterone go into overdrive. “Do I have your permission?”

Sera almost said yes. Very little would have given her more satisfaction than to watch the powerful, tender man she loved wipe her nice kitchen floors with her sadistic ex-boyfriend.

Holy shit, wait… I love him?

Yes, Sera marveled: indubitably and irrevocably, I love the hell out of Asher Wolf.

A lightness blossomed in her chest. The sick knot in her stomach unraveled, replaced by a wonderful, calm warmth that stole over her. She felt her confidence swell, grow steadfast—something she’d never been able to sustain in Blake’s presence before. A part of Sera marveled as she realized what had happened. I… I actually care about myself. I care enough about myself to give my heart to a good man, a kind man. I am done with all that self-destructive bullshit I sought out for so long—no more booze, and no nasty, belittling boyfriends to make me feel second-best. Hell, I don’t care if I can’t have a stupid orgasm. I don’t care if I screwed things up in the past. I deserve better than to be treated the way Blake treats me.

All the years of living small, of curtailing her dreams in favor of her fears—she’d come to Santa Fe to put that negativity behind her. And this—realizing she’d fallen for Asher—confirmed she’d really started to do it. I am done being treated like dirt. Done being intimidated by mean-spirited bullies like Blake Austin and Robbie Markham. I’m never going to be the scared little girl who kowtowed to those jerks again.

“Bliss?” Asher prompted. “What do you say? Shall I teach this oaf some proper manners?”

Sera started to smile. And once she started, that smile just grew and grew.

Blake didn’t like the look of it. “Setting your goon on me?” he sneered, but she could tell he was uneasy. Asher was younger, fitter, and at this moment, bristling with a menace Sera had never before seen in her easy-going landlord and soon-to-be-lover.

My lover. My champion. The guy I adore.

I am one lucky woman.

Sera had to laugh. She turned to Asher. “Sorry, goon.” She grinned. “This is one demon I need to slay myself.” She stepped up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Asher’s scruffy chin, seeing his features soften as he searched her eyes for confirmation she was all right. “Really, Ash. I’ve got this. But thanks for the offer. You’ll never know how much it means to me.”

At least, I think I’ve got this, Sera thought as she turned back to Blake. Even now, infused with the delicious, pink-cloud-inducing knowledge of her love for Asher, Sera wasn’t quite as confident as she pretended. Blake had been the stuff of her sweat-drenched nightmares, the source of her deepest insecurities, for far too long. He’d ruined her reputation, nearly put her out of business. Worse than that, he’d made her doubt everything from her talent as a chef to her desirability as a woman. Still, she’d be damned if she’d let the bastard bully her in her own goddamned kitchen. His very presence was threatening to soil her beautiful new business, and God knew what he had in mind when he really got going.

For, whatever he claimed, Sera knew Blake hadn’t flown all the way to Santa Fe to manage any grand opening. Not one so coincidentally timed anyhow. No, her ex was here to snuff out any happiness she might have created for herself, just as he’d done so many times in the past. He must have seen the news coverage of her new bakery and decided it behooved him to smash her chances of success here as he’d done so thoroughly back in New York.

She’d better smash first.

Her new solid marble rolling pin seemed a likely weapon. It was in her hand before she even realized she’d swiped it off the counter. Blake watched her movements, black eyes narrow. A look of amusement—she couldn’t tell whether real or feigned—stamped itself across his louche features. Sera planned to wipe it off, one way or another.

“Listen to me very closely, Blake,” she said softly. “You are not welcome here. I want you to vacate my property—right fucking now. If you don’t leave—and stay gone—I’m going to call the police.” Sera waved the pin threateningly as she approached her nemesis, stopping with a few feet still between them. “Do you understand me? You’re trespassing on private property and I’d be within my rights to use this in self-defense. So unless you want me to make pâté brise out of your ugly mug, I suggest you go meet those investors of yours—if there even really are investors—and Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Shop!”