Promise Me You Read online

  “Practice makes perfect,” he said, not surprised one bit that she’d gone and lived to tell the story. And something about his confidence in her made her smile. “Now tell me about this bribe?”

  “I’m making cupcakes,” she said, as if it were something she did often.

  “Need any help?”

  “Nope, I’m almost done.” She paused, her shoulders slumping at the lie. “Actually, you could come back Sunday and I’d be standing right here, still trying to figure out how to make whipped-cream frosting. I’d just have more sugar on my apron.”

  He leaned past her and stuck his finger in the bowl, then licked it off. “Tastes good to me. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s supposed to be light and fluffy. I whipped the first batch too long and it came out like butter. The second time I turned the blender on high and it went everywhere.” She pointed to the disaster on the front of his sweatshirt.

  He gave a low whistle. “Impressive.”

  “I know. Now it’s just a runny mess.” She sighed. “The video says beat until it looks like stiff white peaks, but since I can’t see what it looks like, I don’t know when to stop. I don’t want to stick my hand in when the beaters are going, so I can’t test it without stopping the blender. And all the pausing lets the bowl get too warm. For all I know I’m using buttermilk instead of whipping cream.”

  She set the mixer down and dropped her head to his chest. “Maybe we should just eat the cupcake.”

  As if knowing exactly what she needed, Hunter pulled her into him. “Trouble, there is no point of cake without frosting.”

  “Says the man whose life exists in the frosting.”

  “If only I could find the right cupcake,” he whispered. “Now what can I do to help?”

  “You can make the frosting,” she said and gave him a bat of the lashes.

  “Tempting. But I think we can be more creative than that.” A moment later, she felt his finger brush her lips. “Taste.”

  When she didn’t open, he ran his finger along her lower lip, waiting for her to lick it off. “That taste like buttermilk to you?”

  “No.” It tasted like foreplay, and suddenly all she could think about was that all-night-long kiss he’d promised but never delivered on. “It still doesn’t solve the consistency problem.”

  “One thing at a time,” he teased. “All we need is a pro to tell us how long to set the timer.”

  “The video said to do it by sight,” she explained. “So why don’t you just tell me when it’s ready?”

  “You’ve got everything you need right here,” Hunter said, pressing forward, his hands slowly working their way around her waist, his nose burying itself in her hair, and it felt like a solution she could get on board with.

  In fact, this was an adventure she was more than ready to take. Sex with Hunter would be more exciting than cupcakes, frosting, and a trip around the world. Talk about expanding her horizons.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  He whispered back, low and sexy in her ear. “Looking for something. Be patient.”

  She didn’t do patience. Even better, she had a map she could give him that would lead to all her somethings. But his fingers seemed to have internal GPS, because they were on a direct path to her big something and Mackenzie held her breath. They slid lower and lower, until—

  “Found it.”

  Mackenzie wanted to argue that “it” was a few inches lower and dead center, but his fingers were back on the move, headed north, away from the promised land, and—he grabbed her cell.

  Then—poof—his fingers were gone. Leaving nothing but a wave of quivers and need in their wake. “What are you doing?”

  “Being supportive,” he said, sounding way too amused. “Now stand still. I needed your phone to download this new app. It’s still in the beta phase, but it is supposed to replace all the apps you have in one convenient, voice-activated bundle.

  “Just tell me what you want it to call you.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, I know: Sweater Cupcakes.”

  “Sweater Cupcakes?” she asked.

  “First thing that popped into my head.” More fiddling, and then he spoke slowly. “How long does it take to whip cream?”

  A computer-generated voice filled the room. “Here is what I found, Sweater Cupcakes. It will take approximately four minutes to whip cream using a hand mixer, ten minutes using a whisk.”

  “That’s incredible,” she said, taking her phone.

  “It’s a search engine that will convert any text to speech, and if you take a photo of an object, it will tell you what it is. You just have to push the center button on your cell. Like this.”

  The camera-phone shutter sounded, followed by, “Lucerne heavy whipping cream. Half gallon.”

  “It will also tell you the difference between a yellow peach and a white peach, so you don’t have to rely on the produce guy to know where things are,” he said. “All you have to do is take a photo of the sign in the bin and it will read it to you.”

  He pushed the button again, and her phone recited the brand and flavor of cake mix.

  A warm zing flittered through her body over his thoughtfulness.

  “Wow,” she said, completely touched. “Where did you find this?”

  “I know a guy.”

  “You know a guy who told you about it? Or you know a guy who built it?”

  “I know a guy,” was all he said, as if what he’d done was nothing more than make a phone call. “I was testing out some of the tools for the visually impaired. Some are okay, but most of them sucked, so I asked a buddy for help. He says this has every function you’ll ever want. It can tell the difference between a five-dollar bill and a hundred, gets up-to-the-minute bus routes, and can even tell you when your bus is arriving.”

  “Hunter, this is . . .” She trailed off, the emotion too thick to continue.

  “Useful?” he asked, sounding hopeful. “I looked at the apps you had and figured this could be more useful. I say give it a shot. If you don’t like it, no biggie, we can just try something else.”

  “It’s perfect,” she said, beyond moved.

  One of the many reasons she’d fallen in love with Hunter was the way he cared for the people in his life. He had a compassionate and nurturing way about him that always left her in awe. It was what made him such a great musician—and friend. But this, this brought on all kinds of crazy feels.

  Feels that made her heart roll over and show its soft underside.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered. Taking her finger, he gently wiped it off on a towel, then rested it over the button. “Go ahead. Press here and then set a four-minute timer.”

  Mackenzie did, and Hunter handed her the mixer, guiding her hand to the bowl. He didn’t do it for her, but he didn’t walk away either. Just stood behind her, a strong, supportive force at her back.

  Four minutes and a few emotional swallows later, she had white peaks in her bowl. It wasn’t as stiff as she wanted, but it was fluffy enough to top her cupcakes.

  “I did it,” she said, bouncing on her toes with excitement. She turned around and slid her arms around Hunter. “I made whipped cream!”

  He held her for a moment before pulling back. “I never had any doubt.”

  “I did!” She dipped the tip of her finger into the bowl and licked it off. “But now I have frosting, which after my first few attempts seemed impossible. I didn’t lose a finger or destroy the kitchen, and . . . taste?”

  She reached in again and held it out for Hunter to try.

  He gave a small groan of male appreciation, his mouth covering her finger.

  Gently—and oh so thoroughly—he sucked until there was nothing left but the sensation of his tongue on her skin. He didn’t stop there. Oh no, Hunter lifted her hand to his lips, the light scruff rubbing her palm as he kissed each and every fingertip until they were clean and throbbing—and her legs had turned to melted ice cream.


  “Perfectly sweet,” he said against her palm.

  “So are you,” she whispered, desperately wishing she could see his face. “Today was turning out to be a complete disaster, but you managed to save the day and make it fun.”

  “It wasn’t a disaster.”

  “It was about to be, then you showed me that app, and . . .” She held up her finger.

  “You made the cupcakes and the frosting. I just provided some technical support at the end.”

  “You provided more than that, Hunter.” She smiled a big goofy grin. “Thank you.”

  “Any time, Trouble,” he said, his voice a low timbre.

  “You were right,” she began slowly. “I left this morning without telling you because I didn’t want you to leave.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said softly.

  “But I do,” she admitted. “Only when I grabbed Muttley’s harness to leave, I hesitated because suddenly I felt as if I needed you to go too. And that scared me, almost as much as how much I was going to miss you this weekend, so I went to the market to prove to myself that I could do it alone.”

  “And you did, and I am beyond impressed at the courage it took, but being independent and being alone are two very different things.” She went to comment on that, when he added, “Just like I’m understanding the difference between being responsible for someone and being responsible to them.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked, having a hard time hearing anything over the pounding of her heart.

  Mackenzie had spent most of her adult life securely stuck in the first category and wasn’t convinced she could ever live in the second. People either protected her or pitied her. There were very few who believed in her enough to push her. Her heart ached to hear where Hunter fell on that scale.

  “One comes from a place of ego. The other a place of respect,” he said, gently brushing his knuckles against the back of her hand. “I have so many people depending on me to make things happen, I forgot what it felt like to just let things happen.”

  “Oh, Hunter,” she said, for the first time seeing things from his perspective.

  “I didn’t want to go with you because I think you need me to hold your hand,” he admitted. “But because I want you to want to hold mine.”

  She was moved by the idea that this big, badass guy who carried the financial futures of more than a hundred families was looking for support. From her. Even if it was just to hold his hand.

  He’d helped her with her project. Maybe there was still time to help him with his before he left for the weekend.

  “When do you leave for the airport?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “I don’t,” he said, and Mackenzie’s stomach took flight. “I bumped it until Tuesday.”

  “You bumped it?” she asked. “Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted to,” he said. “It gives me more time to prepare for the meeting, and it gives me more time with you. This way they can come to me, which they are. They’re flying up to meet us Monday.”

  “They’re coming here?” she asked, wondering how he’d pulled that off. The label put so many travel demands on Hunter he’d spent most of the beginning of his career commuting among LA, Nashville, and New York. It had gotten so bad he ended up with a car and apartment in all three cities.

  “I told them I couldn’t travel to them, so they’re traveling to us. Don’t look so surprised.” He laughed. “My life is more flexible than you think. In fact, unless we’re on tour, I’m in Nashville most of the year.”

  She gently turned her body to face him. “If I had known you were going to stay the weekend, I wouldn’t have snuck out.”

  “If we’re being honest,” he said, scooting closer, “sure, I bumped it so we had time to hammer out the last song, but my ego bumped it because it was under the delusion that you’d need my help.”

  “On the whole honesty thing”—she reached out to touch his arm—“I stole your sweatshirt because it smells like you.”

  His nose nudged her neck. “Now it smells like vanilla. And you.”

  “Since you don’t have a flight to catch, do you want to help me?” she asked, toying with his fingers.

  “Trouble, are you asking me to frost your cupcakes?”

  “What if I am?”

  “Which cupcakes are we talking about?”

  Warm flutters filled her belly, the rest of her body humming with desire over the possibility of what the night could bring. Mackenzie had always been a star student, and she was about to ace this assignment.

  “Depends on how good you are with your hands,” she said, placing hers on his pecs.

  “It’s not my hands you need to be watchful of.” Something soft brushed over her lips and down her bare neck. “It’s my mouth that gets me in trouble.”

  “A little trouble can be fun.”

  “When it comes to trouble, I want all of you,” he said against her skin, replacing his lips with something soft and voluminous. “Which is why I got these.”

  Curious, she turned his hand over and found what felt like two movie tickets, only longer. She brought them to her nose, grimacing at the metallic smell. “What are they?”

  Hunter feathered them over her lips. “Tickets to Keller Auditorium for Tuesday night.”

  “That’s opening night for the Philharmonic.” She held them against her chest, to keep it from exploding. “They’re doing a tribute to John Williams and it’s been sold out for months.”

  Not that she had considered going, but she’d been tempted. The chance to hear his scores played by an orchestra would have been hard to pass up.

  “Yup.” He rocked back on his heels, his voice all smiles. “Tia told me your homework included venturing into the unknown.”

  Mackenzie froze. “You talked to Tia?”

  “More like she talked at me,” he said. “Wanted to point out that my car didn’t count as public transportation.”

  “Yeah, well, public transportation is scary,” she said sternly.

  “So is Tia,” he said, and Mackenzie wondered what else they’d talked about.

  “She’ll be happy to know that I visited aisle five,” she said, and, yup, it sounded lame.

  “Aisle five? Impressive—we hadn’t hit that aisle yet,” he said, not an ounce of mockery in his tone. Just a deep sense of understanding that shook her to the core. “But I think the assignment had to do with something a little more challenging than potato chips and salsa.”

  “I whizzed through the frozen section, didn’t even run into a single display door. That takes skill.”

  “Then the concert should be a breeze.”

  She thought about the suffocating amount of perfume and sardined bodies she’d have to push through. The deafening sounds of thousands of people conversing at once. “Or a disaster.”

  “Nope, when it comes to music, you are in your zone,” he said so confidently she began to believe him. “The setting might be a little bigger than your sunroom, but the music will distract you from the surroundings and create an environment where you’ll feel comfortable enough to try new things.”

  “You really thought this through,” she said, stunned. Not at the thoughtfulness behind the surprise—Hunter was one of the most thoughtful people she knew—but at the time he’d spent, planning an evening that would push her as much as it would soothe her nerves.

  “I called a buddy of mine who manages the hall.”

  “Schermerhorn Symphony Center is more than a hall, and on opening night it will be more like Disneyland for music aficionados,” she said. “Muttley would get trampled.” And she would have a panic attack. In fact, she was pretty sure she felt one coming on.

  He linked his hand with hers, then rested them against his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart. “We’ll enter through the VIP entrance. And the second we get to the box seats, it will feel like a cozy night at home with you, me, Muttley, and the Philharmonic.”

  The Philharmo
nic.

  One of her bucket-list items she’d given up on ever crossing off. But Hunter was giving her the chance to experience it. All she had to do was say yes.

  “What if someone recognizes you or we get separated?” she asked, scooting closer.

  Hunter lifted her hand to his face. A soft and sculpted beard replaced his usual scruff. It was rugged and sophisticated—and damn sexy. “I don’t think anyone would recognize me like this.”

  “I would,” she said, running her fingers over his jaw, his lashes fluttering shut beneath her touch. She’d never been into beards, but she was into Hunter—and he made it hot.

  “Because you’re you,” he said quietly. “And I want your first big fun activity to reflect that.”

  “I may need you to hold my hand,” she admitted—sliding her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and going up on her toes until their lips were lined up. All it would take was one of them to breathe too hard and they’d be kissing.

  A sensory activity she could get behind.

  “Only if you hold mine back,” he murmured.

  “A little hard to do, since they’re holding my bottom.”

  He gave a squeeze and she smiled. “Are you trying to kiss me, Trouble? Because I already told you, I’m a front-porch kind of guy.”

  “Why don’t we discuss that while you frost my cupcakes?” she said, sticking her finger in the frosting and trailing it across her lips. “I’ll supply the whipped cream.”

  CHAPTER 15

  This was going to be the best fucking tasting of his life.

  Mackenzie was standing there in his sweatshirt, covered in flour, and looking like a sexy cupcake begging to be licked, so his brain was having a hard time figuring out if this was harmless flirting—which he hoped to God it wasn’t—or if he’d just won the lady lottery.

  Then she’d gone all seductive baker on him, offering a new and tempting option on tonight’s menu, and he sent up a silent thank-you to the universe. Because what she was offering broke rule one and, he was pretty sure, obliterated rule two, making him the luckiest SOB on the planet.

  The heat from the oven hung thick in the air, adding to the hot ball of fire already raging. Nothing between them but fabric, a few inches, and frosting made for a whole hell of a lot of chemistry. Because it was a lip full of frosting, right there for the taking. And he wanted to be the guy to take it, he really did, but beneath the sexy offer of hers lay a hint of uncertainty that had him pausing.