Wrong association!
This CEO of Kavanaugh Investors was the enemy, through and through. I just wasn’t experienced enough at the whole environmental protest thing. That was the problem.
Here’s a tip for all you wanna-be activists: when protesting a site by handcuffing yourself to a fence, keep one hand free. Because if you had your friend lock both of your wrists together to a chain link fence, then tuck the key in the back pocket of your jeans, you were really trapped.
If you had both wrists tied together above your head then you were at the mercy of any tall, handsome, devastatingly sexy man in a dark pinstripe suit who happened to show up and find you. Then when he looked down at you like the two of you were alone in his bedroom and you were playing out some kind of naughty BDSM scene, all you could do was stand there pulling slightly against the restraints, getting all hot and bothered.
But if you had one hand free, you could avoid all that and do any number of things instead. Like slap him hard across the face. Give him the middle finger. Or, I don’t know, uncuff yourself???
The problem was, I wasn’t too experienced with protesting. Just between you and me, I’m a baker. I own my own shop, I’m proud to say. I specialize in scones and muffins and breads, the kinds of mouthwatering treats that make you laugh in the face of diets. Gluten-free. That had to be the worst idea on the planet.
But it turned out that not many people cared when a huge mega-corporation based in New York City swooped in and decided it wanted to build on the land that your little bakery happened to be on. You were one small, protesting voice in a large ocean of “sure, that sounds like one heck of a great money-making idea!”
Until you did some research and discovered that an endangered species of lichen lived on the coastal rocks next to the site.
True, when I’d first happened across the information I’d had to google “lichen” to make sure I knew exactly what it was. It was the green stuff that grew on rocks. Turned out, people cared a lot more about that fuzzy green stuff than a small business bakery. So, I’d used the card in my deck that I could play, contacting environmental organizations that then alerted the national media and suddenly, we had a real fight on our hands. The environmental non-profits organizing and funding our protest still wanted me at the helm, the spokesperson. They felt I’d be more media-friendly than they would, a more appealing face for the cause.
I just hoped no one asked me about lichen. After I got past “it’s endangered” I’d trail off. My plan was to offer anyone who asked a scone. That was usually good for ending conversations as people closed their eyes and blissed out on the tastiness. And if they could still talk, they’d take the conversation in a new direction, with questions like “what’s in this?” and “how do you make these?” Those were topics I could discuss all day.
“Love the Lichen!” a guy down the line yelled. Six of us were chained to the fence. Five environmental activists—two locals and three imported from national groups—and me.
“Now where is it?” Mr. CEO Colton Kavanaugh asked me, teasing, pretending to search me for the key to unlock my handcuffs. And all I could do was stand there while his hands caressed my calves. He wasn’t even touching my bare skin, just my jeans, but I had to admit it felt slightly more erotic than having sex with my last boyfriend. When he stood up and pretended he was going to search me, pat me down, see if I was hiding the key in my bra, I had all the wrong reactions.
He leaned in so close to me I could smell him, all musky aftershave and man. He had a real Superman thing going on with his dark hair, strong chin and shockingly blue eyes. And his hand was so large, hovering right there over my breast. I couldn’t help it. My pulse, along with my breathing, picked right up. I felt that pull and a low, slow flip in my stomach that made me press my thighs together. And damn if my nipples didn’t pebble, pushing out against what now seemed like a horribly poor choice of a T-shirt, as thin as tissue paper. Of course when I’d dressed this morning I hadn’t realized I’d be needing to hide my arousal from a demanding alpha CEO.
As it was, nothing hid the fact that his large, commanding hand hovering right over my breast got me hot. So hot that my nipples pushed out in two stiff tips, aching for his touch, wantonly begging him for more. And he saw it. There was no way he could miss it, trapped as I was with my hands bound above my head, practically offering myself up for him. Sheltering me with his large body, he brought his hand against me for the briefest fraction of a moment, brushing his warm finger so teasingly, so lightly against my hardened tip.
I gave a sharp intake of breath, a gasp, and he whispered in my ear, telling me he was going to enjoy fighting with me. Then, with a chuckle, he pulled away. And for the briefest of moments, I have to admit, I missed his closeness. Until I remembered who I was, and who he was, and why I very much wanted him the hell out of my life.
“We don’t want your development on our coast!” I mustered up my energy to snap at him. This was the man who wanted to tear down my shop. And not even to build the hotel. The land where I had my bakery was where they wanted to put the parking lot. Talk about adding insult to injury.
“What do you want, then?” He smiled suggestively, giving me another admiring glance that sparked up all sorts of warm tinglies down below.
When I’d heard that the CEO of Kavanaugh Investors was coming out to our little town to visit the construction site, I’d pictured an old, mean, miserly man. Kind of like the Monopoly guy with the top hat and the monocle. Now this long, tall, cool drink of water was inspiring all sorts of wrong thoughts clashing with my righteousness.
“I’ll set you free, Carrie.” Tom, our local arm of the law, came sauntering down to rescue me.
“No, Tom!” I told him, hating that I sounded sort of whiney. This was supposed to be a protest and now it was turning into something much less serious.
“Come on now. Be reasonable.” He reached up with some sort of a metal pin and broke the cuffs open in seconds flat.
It did feel good to get my hands free. I rubbed my wrists. They’d started to ache in that position.
“Are you all right, Caroline?” Mr. CEO asked me, all smirk and sophistication. All dominance and power. All sexy, delicious…
“No!” I replied. It wasn’t good how much I liked hearing him say my name, so low and seductive as if it were just the two of us late, late at night. Only it wasn’t just the two of us, it was a whole bunch of us thrown together to stop his real estate development. I drew myself up to my full 5’4” height, still almost a foot shorter than him. I needed to start wearing heels. Today I just had on my sneakers, good for baking and protesting. Not so good for standing toe-to-toe with big, intimidating men.
“Don’t worry,” he leaned in to whisper to me again. “Next time I’ll use silk restraints. Much easier on your soft skin.”
I pulled away, mouth open in shock. What nerve! But also, kind of hot. I turned away, feeling like he could read me all too well. He seemed to know exactly what effect he was having on me and was enjoying every minute of it. I needed to watch myself around him. Winning this battle wouldn’t be easy. Good thing I was tough as nails.
“Can we talk this through?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth as velvet. “Let me buy you a drink.” He rested his hand lightly on my lower back, moving his thumb ever so slightly along my curve.
What was that I had just been thinking? Flushed, looking up at him, I couldn’t remember. But then I did. Tough. As. Nails.
“No!” I replied, proud of myself for how sure I sounded. I’d known battling this powerful man would be hard. I just hadn’t known how hard. I hadn’t counted on having to fight myself at the same time.
“We’ve given you a list of our demands,” I continued, referring to the exhaustingly long document one of the national environmental groups backing our protest had supplied. I hadn’t actually read it yet. “You can let us know tomorrow in the meeting we have scheduled how you’re going to meet them.”
“Demands? I li
ke discussing demands. I can be very demanding.” Why did he have a wicked gleam in his eye? Why did it make me feel all fluttery and flushed? Maybe I was having an allergic reaction to something. I certainly had that full-body heat thing going on, only this didn’t exactly feel like systemic hives. This felt panty-melting.
“OK then,” I said as much to myself as to him. Time to wrap this up. More standing and talking to this impossibly handsome man couldn’t do any good. His eyes were so blue, like the ocean on a clear sunny day. And he had such classically handsome features, the type sculpted into marble during the Italian renaissance.
“Until tomorrow, Caroline.” He stood and watched me walk away. How I managed not to stumble, I’ll never know.
Once I got back to my apartment, still shaking and flushed, I instantly changed into my pajamas. I’d like to say that the putting on of pajamas while the sun was still up wasn’t a typical event for me. It was.
We’d scheduled our protest for three o’clock in the afternoon in deference to my bakery hours. The store was open from six a.m. to two p.m. When you woke up at four in the morning to start baking in your shop at four-thirty and open the doors at six, nothing felt quite so good as getting into PJs and tucking in early. Sometimes a bit too early, I admit that. But the PJs, I mean, so good. I didn’t indulge in much, but I had a few ridiculously extravagant soft pairs. The cotton practically gave you a massage, stroking your skin. From my point of view, it was the only sensible choice to pull them on the second I got home from work.
The only problem was my friend Hannah. She wanted to go out, and she wanted me to go with her. She always did. It was like she thought we were 26 or something. Which, yes, we were.
My phone rang literally the second I settled down on the couch with a glass of wine.