Must Love Frosting: Must Love Diamonds Series, Book 1 Read online

  And if all else fails, just remember they put their pants on one leg at a time, too. Designer pants that probably cost more than her new monthly house payment.

  On that note, she’d rather face Celia, Mrs. Diamond, and the governor in a dress rather than her jeans and tennis shoes, so time to get changed. Her hasty pivot almost knocked over one of the tall heat lamps dotting the outside edge of the patio every fifteen or twenty feet. Once lit, they would provide welcome warmth as the evening cooled, but realizing the threat of melted frosting, she wrestled the danger away from the dessert table before hurrying through the kitchen so she could retrieve her evening clothes from her car.

  “Cakes all set, hon?”

  She paused at the question from the woman who’d directed her where to go when she first arrived. Appearing to be about fifty years old and dressed in a sharp, figure-flattering uniform, the dark-haired, olive-toned Elena clearly ran the entire show as she directed and delegated while still monitoring the stove and the oven.

  “Yes, thank you.” She was about to ask where the nearest bathroom was located when Celia Diamond breezed into the kitchen wearing an emerald green dress similar to the one Honor had worn to the wedding the previous weekend. The one she’d almost worn tonight.

  Marvelous Mae. You truly are a Godsend.

  The bride-to-be’s dark, sleek bob shimmered in the overhead lights, her brown eyes lit with excitement. “Guests are starting to arrive, Elena. And Honor! Oh my God, I just came from the patio. The cakes are ah-maz-ing.”

  Relief turned her polite smile into a grin. Taking a breath to calm her nerves, she slid her hands into her back pockets and squared her shoulders. No time to be modest. “Thank you. I’m going to brag and say they taste even better.”

  “I can’t wait—though it’s going to kill me to cut into them.”

  She’d heard that a thousand times and always had the same answer. “That’s what cameras are for. Cake is made to be eaten.”

  “My brother will take care of that,” Celia assured her. “The pictures and the eating. Cake is his kryptonite—especially if it has butter cream frosting.”

  The comment brought to mind her cake-loving neighbor, but she shoved his sexy, jerky mental image aside with a determined scowl.

  A slight frown marred the other woman’s brow as her gaze skimmed Honor’s black T-shirt and jeans. “Aren’t you staying for the party?”

  “My dress is in my car. I didn’t want to get it dirty. In fact, I was just going to ask if there’s a bathroom I can change in?”

  Celia’s nose wrinkled. “Skip the bathroom. You can use my room.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “I insist.”

  Honor relented with a grateful smile. “That would be great, then. Thank you.”

  “Of course.” A woman’s voice called Celia’s name from the other room and her hair swished against her chin as she glanced toward the door, then started to back up. “I have to help my mom with the last of the flower arrangements, so just head up the stairs, and it’s the third bedroom on the right.”

  “Oh. Um…o-kay.” The last was spoken to an empty doorway.

  From over by the stove, Elena shook her head with a soft chuckle. “I’ll point you in the right direction, hon. Go get your dress.”

  Honor gave her the grateful smile this time, then hurried out to her car. When she returned with the dress and her duffle, the housekeeper pointed her through the same doorway Celia had disappeared and instructed her to take a right, go down the hall, then left up the stairs.

  Not a single one of the small army of workers gave her a second glance as she threaded her way through to the stairs and gingerly sidled past a thick, satin rope barrier. The second floor was completely empty, as if she’d passed through some sort of invisible portal on her way up. The muted quiet soothed her nerves, until she realized if someone exited any of the doors lining either side of the wide hall, they’d wonder what the heck she was doing up there.

  Which meant, time to get moving so no one had to wonder and she didn’t have to explain. Mae had talked her into wearing her hair down, and her make-up was already done, so all she had to do was slip into the dress and then return her bag to her vehicle.

  Moving to the third door on the right, she stepped inside the room, only to hesitate when she saw the navy blue and maroon accents. Glancing back out into the still deserted hall, she counted again. It was indeed the third door, but certainly not what she’d expected for a girl’s room. Make that a woman—Celia was two years older than her.

  Then again, she wasn’t into soft and frilly, pink, or anything else pastel, so maybe she shouldn’t assume the bride-to-be was either.

  She shut the door with a quiet click and crossed the plush carpet to the king sized bed. As she laid her dress bag across the comforter and plunked her duffle next to it, a swift perusal of the room confirmed her old apartment could fit into this one room. But that didn’t matter anymore, did it? Now, she had her own house.

  A brief grin twitched her lips. It wasn’t a mansion by the Diamond’s standards, but it was her mansion.

  Toeing off her shoes, she shot a quick glance toward the French doors leading to a second story balcony. This side of the house faced the backyard where the party would be held, but from where she stood, only the roof of the stables, and the fences and horses beyond were visible past the wrought iron railing.

  Lingering nervous energy tickled her stomach as she opened the garment bag before stripping down to the black strapless bra and matching panties under her casual clothes. While sliding the dress zipper down, her fingers stroked the cool burgundy fabric. It pooled on the ground at her feet, and when she stepped into it, the soft, clingy material slid over her thighs and hips with a sensual caress that sent a shiver of decadence up her spine.

  Between the mansion and the dress, she was beginning to feel like Cinderella.

  Honor grinned at the thought and started to tug the princess-seamed bodice up over her bra. When the door swung open, a spike of alarm slayed her humor. She clutched the top of the dress to her chest as she jerked her head up with a gasp.

  The sight of her equally shocked neighbor filling the doorway lodged her pounding heart in her throat.

  “Whoa…hello.”

  Noticing his gaze focused much lower than eye level, she darted a hasty glance down to make sure her bra was covered. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, making necessary adjustments while heat seared her cheeks.

  “I am here for my parents’ anniversary party. What are you doing here?”

  Her jaw went slack for a second even as her stunned subconscious registered his tux and how devastatingly gorgeous he looked in the black and white. “Your parents?”

  “Yeah.” A brief smile ghosted over his lips. “I guess we haven’t been formally introduced yet, have we?”

  “No. You haven’t taken the time to bother with that.”

  His head dipped with the slightest bit of acknowledgment of her pointed barb. “Asher Diamond.”

  Swallowing hard, she tightened her grip on the material clutched in her fingers. Trying to salvage some of her dignity, she asked, “And do you always walk into your sister’s room without knocking, Asher Diamond?”

  “Never,” he replied gravely. “My room, however, always.”

  “Your room?” Her stomach dropped as she darted her gaze toward the bare dresser top. “But…you don’t live here.” Or did he?

  “Not now, but I grew up here. It’ll always be my room.”

  “Oh.” The darker masculine colors and lack of anything girly made perfect sense now. Her embarrassment jumped another notch as she finally noticed the overnight and camera bags in his hand when he reached to set both inside the door. “Right. Well...Celia said her room was the third door on the right, and this is the third door on the right.”

  He leaned a shoulder against the door frame while sliding his hands into his pockets. She automatically followe
d the movements until she realized her attention was focused on the front of his pants, then she jerked her gaze back up. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her face burned even hotter.

  “She’s the third bedroom,” he clarified. “The first room is a linen closet and staff bathroom.”

  Oh, hell, that’s right. She did specify bedroom.

  But how was she to know about the linen closet-slash-staff bathroom? “I just assumed they were all bedrooms. Not all of us grew up with staff bathrooms, so it never occurred to me I would need to verify each room as I went.”

  “Understandable.”

  When she noticed his gaze had once more dipped to where she still had the dress in a death grip, a hot wave of prickly awareness swept from head to toe. Not fair, considering all he’d given her so far was a cold shoulder.

  Also, why had he settled in against the door there like they were going to have a neighborly little chat while she was only half-dressed?

  She shifted with a twinge of impatience, the plush carpet squishy between her toes. “Okay, so…I’m sorry I mixed up the rooms, but can you give me a little privacy here? I only need a minute.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He straightened from the doorframe and pivoted to face the hall.

  She grit her teeth when he didn’t pull the door shut behind him, but seeing as his back was turned, she quickly shoved her arms into the short sleeves, tugged the material over her bra, and adjusted the folded, off-the-shoulder neckline before reaching behind for the zipper.

  A full minute of struggle only led to frustration. Unfortunately, when she’d tried the dress on earlier in the week, Mae had been there to zip it up.

  “You never answered my question,” Asher said from the hall.

  She cast his broad shoulders a swift glance. He’d canted his head slightly to the right, but kept his face trained away from the open door. She kept working on the stubborn zipper, sliding it down, then back up again, contorting her arms as she tried to make it go farther each time. “I was invited to the party.”

  “Yeah?”

  Was that so hard to believe? She threw a couple of mental daggers right between his shoulder blades. “I was hired to bake the anniversary cake, but your mother also invited me to attend as a guest.”

  Now she couldn’t get the zipper up or down. Damn it.

  “Did she offer you a plus one?” he asked.

  Something in his tone made her frown. “What?”

  “A plus one. For you to bring a date, or…maybe one of your fiancés?”

  Her entire body stilled. She lifted her head, tilted slightly to the side as she processed the terse question. Okay, she needed help, and she needed to see his face for this one.

  She lifted the hem of the dress in one hand and moved to the door, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. “One of my fiancés?”

  He started slightly at the sound of her voice right behind him, then turned to face her, his amber gaze flicking down, then up. “You’ve been proposed to a lot since you moved in across the street.”

  Ohh. He’d seen both Jim and Bryan last weekend. That damn heat burned her cheeks again as she quipped, “Nosey much?”

  His shoulders lifted in an unapologetic shrug. “Both happened outside of your house in plain view for anyone to see.”

  Yeah, if you were watching my house all day.

  That should creep her out. Instead, her pulse fluttered with the idea he was interested enough to watch. Not to mention, Mae would be justified in calling her Kettle again, seeing as she’d checked out his house across the street an insane number of times.

  “Two times hardly qualifies as a lot,” she pointed out, trying not to get distracted by the yummy scent of his cologne. “And it’s not—”

  “In one week, two times is a lot. Not to mention you had a completely different date at the wedding.”

  He sounded annoyed—looked annoyed—but why the heck would he even care? If anyone had the right to be annoyed right now it was her. Unfortunately, she had to go through him to get out of his bedroom.

  Speaking of which, if anyone had told her she’d end up in Hot Photographer’s bedroom tonight, she’d have laughed. Now she just wanted to cry at the injustice of it all. The one guy in how long who got her engine revving and he turned out to be a Diamond—and her neighbor to boot.

  She tried to see out into the hall, but his tall body and broad shoulders took up too much space in the doorway. She felt tiny in front of him without her shoes on, and even with them on, he’d still have more than six inches on her. “Is anyone else out there? Your sister maybe?”

  Hopefully.

  “Nope. It’s just us.” His brows drew together in a slight frown. “Relax. It’s not like I’m going to do anything.”

  Unfortunately.

  Oh, for crying out loud!

  Thoroughly irritated with herself and him, Honor drew in a deep inhale and spun around to present him with her back. The skirt swirled and settled around her legs as her nose registered the contrasting layered scents of his cologne. Mint and lavender, spicy cinnamon and sweet orange blossom, and finally, vanilla and sandalwood.

  Closing her eyes in a silent prayer of resolve, she reached up to drag her hair forward over her shoulder. “My zipper is stuck. Do you mind?”

  CHAPTER 8

  Seconds ticked by one by one. Acutely aware of each beat of his heavy pulse, Asher stared at the seductive allure of Honor Hartman only inches away. He clenched his fists at his sides while drawing in a deep, fortifying breath.

  A combination of vanilla, butter, and almond assaulted his senses. Oh, sweet heaven. She smelled like cake. God hated him right now, didn’t he? Or maybe this had all been set up by the devil.

  Tempting him to sin with the forbidden fruit.

  It had to be. The front view of her dress had been bad enough, with the unzipped material gaping enough to show glimpses of her strapless bra and the swell of her full breasts above sexy, black lace. The back view was downright torture with her shiny red hair pulled forward over her shoulder, exposing her spine all the way down to where the edge of her panties peeked above the zipper.

  Can’t stand here all night—and walking away a third time isn’t an option either.

  Well, not a good one, anyway.

  He flexed his hands a few times, sucked in another mouth-watering breath to shore up his willpower, and finally reached for the zipper. It was stuck all right, with the burgundy material caught between the delicate teeth. He tugged gingerly to avoid ripping the fabric, breaking the zipper, or actually touching her.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to touch. It was the wanting it too much that was the problem.

  “Back in February, I was proposed to three times in one day.”

  Her shameless boast was accompanied by a smug smile over her bare shoulder. Her words turned into white noise when his gaze connected with her through-the-lashes upward glance. The setting sun lit her gold-flecked green eyes and gave her beautiful profile an angelic glow.

  His fingers fumbled the zipper and his knuckles brushed against the warm, silky skin of her back. Her grin faltered, and she averted her gaze with a swift inhale that echoed his own.

  Geezus, he’d give just about anything to lean forward and press his lips to the flushed hollow at the base of her neck. Then he’d tease that fluttering pulse of hers with the tip of his tongue…

  His gut clenched with desire, and his hand trembled with the urge to strip off her dress, carry her to the bed, and explore every inch of her body with his mouth and his hands.

  Unstick the damn zipper and get the hell outta here before you’re the bastard who destroys some other guy’s future.

  The gold hoop earring dangling from her lobe swayed as she turned her head forward again. She trained her gaze across the room, throat muscles contracting in a hard swallow before she added, “Besides designing cakes, I have a proposal consulting business.”

  He stopped working the zipper, his gaze locked on her profi
le. “A what?”

  “I help guys plan the perfect proposal for their girlfriends.”

  “Who needs that?”

  “Lots of guys,” she retorted, sounding slightly offended as her back stiffened.

  Actual words from her comment a few moments ago finally registered. Three proposals in one day.

  “In the past two years, I’ve facilitated twenty-three proposals.”

  “Anyone ever say no?”

  “Once.”

  And from the wrinkle of her nose, she hated having that negative in her stats.

  But wait a second…this could change everything. His pulse skipped a beat as the puzzle pieces finally fit together to reveal the complete picture. “So, the guys who proposed to you were what…practicing?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re not engaged?”

  “Not even once.”

  Sounded pleased as punch about it, too. Interesting.

  Asher got a better hold on the zipper, this time not worrying at all when his hands brushed against her back. She sucked in another breath, and his pulse kicked up a notch as well, sending a rush of blood straight to his groin.

  He ducked his head slightly for a better view—of the zipper. “What about the guy at the wedding?”

  “Sam? I was only there to make his ex jealous.”

  Hence the public break up scene Roxanna had told him about. “Did it work?”

  Dumb question. Of course it worked. Look at her.

  “They went out to dinner last night.” Satisfaction filled her voice. “He texted this morning that it went very well.”

  “That part of your consulting business, too?”

  “Just a favor for a friend.”

  The zipper finally let loose, shooting down a couple inches before he could stop the momentum. His hand brushed the curve of her butt when he grasped the material to pull it tight so he could run the zipper up in one smooth motion. It wasn’t until his fingers fumbled to connect the teeny little hook at the top before he was able to step back and draw in a lungful of air—that still smelled like cake.