cheeks that all screamed Rock God .
“If you have a sweet tooth, you should, um, try a cinnamon bun. They’re my specialty.”
He leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter. “I do have a sweet tooth, especially for a pretty woman who bakes. This your place?”
That voice. Sweet Jesus. It was smooth as caramel with just a hint of a Southern twang, and she’d know it anywhere. Sam Weiss is in my shop! And did he just hit on me?
“Yes.” She cleared her throat because why did she suddenly sound like Minnie Mouse? “Yes, this is my shop.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “A pretty woman who bakes and owns her own business. I like you already.”
“Thanks.” She really shouldn’t keep staring, but whoa, her brain was short-circuiting because…Sam Weiss. In her shop. Looking like sex on a stick, and he smelled pretty awesome, too, like some kind of expensive cologne. Yum.
“I’ll try one of your cinnamon buns…” He paused, glancing down for the name tag she never wore since everyone in town already knew her name.
“Carly,” she said, still sounding a bit like she’d inhaled helium.
“Carly.” He met her gaze again, and the sound of her name on his lips made her knees wobble. “And a coffee, black.”
“You got it,” she said with a smile that felt weird on her face, and God, why was she being such an idiot? “For here?”
He nodded, watching her intently as if he’d figured out by all her bumbling dorkiness that she’d recognized him because, really, how could he not? At least he looked amused instead of annoyed.
She dished up a cinnamon bun and a cup of coffee without dropping anything or making a further fool of herself, and he paid in cash—denying her the thrill of seeing what name might be on his credit card. He probably went by some cool alter ego when he traveled anyway.
“Thanks, Carly,” he said in that butter-soft voice that made her feel all hot and fluttery inside. Then he leaned in, winked, and pressed a finger to his lips, making a silent, Sh.
And oh my God , he knew she knew. Which meant it was definitely him. And she grinned like an idiot while he walked to a table in the back and sat, long legs stretched in front of him. A muffled beep from the direction of the kitchen told her she’d forgotten to take the last batch of butterscotch pecan sandies out of the oven.
So much for keeping her mind on business this morning. But at this exact moment—her eyes still on Sam Weiss—she didn’t care. Not even a little bit.
* * *
He’d been made by the babe in the bakery. Sam Weiss settled himself into an alarmingly pink chair and took a bite of pretty Carly’s cinnamon bun. It melted in his mouth like gooey, sugary perfection.
Damn. That was seriously good stuff.
He glanced over at the sexy woman who’d baked it. Tall, blond, and curvy, with the prettiest doe eyes and pink lips. She stirred something in him. Attraction, definitely. But he’d felt something else, too, when he stood at the counter with her. He’d felt a buzz of inspiration that he hadn’t felt in a long-ass time. Too damn long.
His manager, Donny, had marooned him here in the middle of nowhere and told him to stay off the radar, focusing on writing his next hit and staying out of the tabloids. The shit storm with Manuela, his former housekeeper, had come on the tail of the worst year of his career. Renegade , which was supposed to have been the album that cemented his superstar status, had been a commercial flop.
Now he was here in Haven, North Carolina, looking for his muse.
And he might have just found her.
Right now, Carly was serving a couple who’d come into the bakery. He watched her for a moment unobserved, her genuine bubbly smile, the one that had captivated him before she recognized him and got all adorably flustered.
He reached for the stack of napkins he’d brought to the table and started to write.
Sweet as sugar, sexy as sin
Thirty minutes later, he’d filled four
“If you have a sweet tooth, you should, um, try a cinnamon bun. They’re my specialty.”
He leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter. “I do have a sweet tooth, especially for a pretty woman who bakes. This your place?”
That voice. Sweet Jesus. It was smooth as caramel with just a hint of a Southern twang, and she’d know it anywhere. Sam Weiss is in my shop! And did he just hit on me?
“Yes.” She cleared her throat because why did she suddenly sound like Minnie Mouse? “Yes, this is my shop.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “A pretty woman who bakes and owns her own business. I like you already.”
“Thanks.” She really shouldn’t keep staring, but whoa, her brain was short-circuiting because…Sam Weiss. In her shop. Looking like sex on a stick, and he smelled pretty awesome, too, like some kind of expensive cologne. Yum.
“I’ll try one of your cinnamon buns…” He paused, glancing down for the name tag she never wore since everyone in town already knew her name.
“Carly,” she said, still sounding a bit like she’d inhaled helium.
“Carly.” He met her gaze again, and the sound of her name on his lips made her knees wobble. “And a coffee, black.”
“You got it,” she said with a smile that felt weird on her face, and God, why was she being such an idiot? “For here?”
He nodded, watching her intently as if he’d figured out by all her bumbling dorkiness that she’d recognized him because, really, how could he not? At least he looked amused instead of annoyed.
She dished up a cinnamon bun and a cup of coffee without dropping anything or making a further fool of herself, and he paid in cash—denying her the thrill of seeing what name might be on his credit card. He probably went by some cool alter ego when he traveled anyway.
“Thanks, Carly,” he said in that butter-soft voice that made her feel all hot and fluttery inside. Then he leaned in, winked, and pressed a finger to his lips, making a silent, Sh.
And oh my God , he knew she knew. Which meant it was definitely him. And she grinned like an idiot while he walked to a table in the back and sat, long legs stretched in front of him. A muffled beep from the direction of the kitchen told her she’d forgotten to take the last batch of butterscotch pecan sandies out of the oven.
So much for keeping her mind on business this morning. But at this exact moment—her eyes still on Sam Weiss—she didn’t care. Not even a little bit.
* * *
He’d been made by the babe in the bakery. Sam Weiss settled himself into an alarmingly pink chair and took a bite of pretty Carly’s cinnamon bun. It melted in his mouth like gooey, sugary perfection.
Damn. That was seriously good stuff.
He glanced over at the sexy woman who’d baked it. Tall, blond, and curvy, with the prettiest doe eyes and pink lips. She stirred something in him. Attraction, definitely. But he’d felt something else, too, when he stood at the counter with her. He’d felt a buzz of inspiration that he hadn’t felt in a long-ass time. Too damn long.
His manager, Donny, had marooned him here in the middle of nowhere and told him to stay off the radar, focusing on writing his next hit and staying out of the tabloids. The shit storm with Manuela, his former housekeeper, had come on the tail of the worst year of his career. Renegade , which was supposed to have been the album that cemented his superstar status, had been a commercial flop.
Now he was here in Haven, North Carolina, looking for his muse.
And he might have just found her.
Right now, Carly was serving a couple who’d come into the bakery. He watched her for a moment unobserved, her genuine bubbly smile, the one that had captivated him before she recognized him and got all adorably flustered.
He reached for the stack of napkins he’d brought to the table and started to write.
Sweet as sugar, sexy as sin
Thirty minutes later, he’d filled four
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