LATE NIGHT KISSES Read online

  LATE

  NIGHT

  KISSES

  New York Times & USA Today bestselling author

  WHITNEY G.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Whitney Gracia Williams.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs.

  Photography Specular Designs

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  LATE NIGHT KISSES

  SYNOPSIS

  PROLOGUE

  “RUN, HE’S A BUM” BONBONS

  ALMOND CLOUD “GET ME OUT OF HERE” COOKIES

  “DOUBLE THE TROUBLE” VANILLA CUPCAKES

  “DON’T PLAY GAMES” CHESS CAKE

  “PLEASE STRANGLE THIS COCKY BASTARD” PIE

  “NO SECONDS ALLOWED” CRUMB CAKE

  PEANUT BUTTER “PAYBACK” PIE

  CINNAMON “SEDUCE ME” STREUSEL

  “TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT” CRÈME BRULEE

  “STAY THE NIGHT” CHEESE CAKE

  ALMOND CHERRY “CAN’T TRUST YOU” FUDGE

  HAZELNUT “YOU’RE MY DREAM” COOKIES

  EPILOGUE

  THE END

  If you enjoyed this steamy novella, be sure to read:

  Author’s Note + Happy Holidays

  ALSO BY WHITNEY G.:

  ALSO BY WHITNEY G.:

  SERIES & STANDALONES:

  STEAMY COFFEE READS Collection

  Naughty Boss

  Dirty Doctor

  Cocky Client

  THE FIRM: A STEAMY Legal Series

  Filthy Lawyer

  REASONABLE DOUBT SERIES

  Reasonable Doubt #1

  Reasonable Doubt #2

  Reasonable Doubt #3

  FALLING FOR MR. STATHAM Series

  Resisting the Boss

  Loving the Boss

  THE ONE WEEK SERIES

  On a Tuesday

  On a Wednesday

  On a Thursday

  On a Friday

  On a Saturday

  On a Sunday

  On a Monday

  Sincerely, Carter

  Forget You, Ethan

  Turbulence

  Over Us, Over You

  Two Weeks’ Notice

  The Layover

  Late Night Kisses

  SYNOPSIS

  The Official Recipe for Nathan Benson:

  2 cups cockiness

  1 mouth that's far sexier when it's shut

  1 huge ego that can't fit in the damn mixer

  1 BIG, HARD co—Well, you get the picture ...

  As a pastry chef, I can tell exactly what a man is made of the moment he walks through my shop’s frosted glass doors.

  So, the moment Nathan Benson showed up over half an hour late to our blind date (with no explanation), caught the gaze of every woman in the diner with his panty-melting smile, and said, "I personally don't think we should waste any more of our time sitting here talking," after only five minutes of conversation, I knew he was one of the rudest concoctions ever created. I also knew there was no way in hell I was going to see him again.

  Or so I thought.

  Days after I abandoned him on our first date, he tracked me down with one hell of a way to get me to agree to a second one. (And a third, and a fourth.) I swear, if it weren't for the fact that I was being blackmailed by the sexiest man I've ever met, I would've reported him to the authorities a long time ago.

  Then again, holding out for a few late-night kisses (and maybe a bit more) from his mouth of perfection may not be a complete recipe for disaster after all ...

  This is a steamy, contemporary romance novella.

  For the cast of A Christmas Prince & The Princess Switch ...

  Thanks for making me laugh again.

  PROLOGUE

  CHRISTINA

  MESSAGE FROM MICHAEL: Happy Holidays, sexy. Been thinking about your body lately. Want to come over to watch Netflix and chill? (We can even bake if you like)

  message from Austin: Happy Holidays, Kelly. Just remembering how much I enjoyed fucking you under the mistletoe last Christmas and I think we should do that again...

  message from Austin: Shit, I meant “Christina.” You know how autocorrect is. I really wasn’t cheating on you last Christmas.

  message from Blocked Number: Happy Holidays, Babe. I miss you so much. Just so you know, I’m willing to do that “thing” you always wanted in bed if you’ll take me back (& remove the restraining order) this season...I mean, I still don’t think real men should put their faces anywhere near a woman’s vagina, but I’m willing to put my face on yours.

  Ugh!

  I tossed my phone across the room and held back a scream.

  I wasn’t sure why the start of every holiday season triggered a series of texts from ex-boyfriends, old flings, and guys I barely remembered, but today was the fourth day in a row that I’d woken up to the type of messages I hated to receive.

  I made my way to the kitchen and pulled out the one thing that always made me remember exactly why each ex would forever remain an ex.

  My late grandmother’s cookbook.

  Inside the perfectly preserved pages, she’d left me a recipe for everything—leaving out the typical “Sweet & Sticky Cinnamon Buns” and “Grandma’s Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies.” (Those were bullshit) Instead, she had things like “When Motherfuckers Let You Down Shortcake (don’t you dare share a single slice), “Worst Sex of My Life Cannoli” (use only four inches of dough), and my personal favorite, “Cinnamon Cheater Croissants” (bake two dozen and leave his ass).

  I flipped to the page for Caramel “Cut Them Off” Truffles and pulled out my pan.

  I’d followed this recipe dozens of times, just like I followed all of her others. There was only one recipe in her entire three hundred treat collection that I’d never had a reason to make, one recipe that I preferred to leave unmade forever.

  It was a concoction called, “Please Strangle This Cocky Bastard Pie.”

  Even though I still dated my fair share of liars, cheaters, and assholes, I was grateful that I never dated a man who drove me to bake that particular treat.

  As a matter of fact, I swore I would never make it unless I met a man who was so full of himself that he couldn’t see past his own damn ego. A man who was capable of pissing me off and turning me on at the same time—all while keeping a smack-able, sexy smirk on his perfectly chiseled face and acting like he could get away with anything.

  I turned on my oven and hoped like hell this holiday season wouldn’t bring a man like that anywhere near me.

  “RUN, HE’S A BUM” BONBONS

  4 cups confectioners' sugar

  3 cups semisweet chocolate chips

  2 tablespoons shortening

  1 cup ground pecans or walnuts

  ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons sweetened condensed milk

  ¼ cup butter, softened

  CHRISTINA

  “SO, JUST HOW WIDE DO you think your mouth can open?” The half-shaven guy sitting across from me smiled and licked his lips. “I’ve got something really thick to show you once this is over. If you’re interested in tasting it, that is ...”

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  “Alright, it’s time to switch!” The speed dating coach turned off the alarm just in time, saving
me from my ninth dud of the night.

  I immediately moved from my spot, not bothering to answer that jerk’s question. I made my way to the table that was next to the fireplace, in front of a man I’d been checking out since this event began.

  He was the only guy in the room who wasn’t wearing one of Cedar Falls’ infamous ugly red holiday sweaters. He was wearing a black and grey suit, and he’d brought a bouquet of red roses—one for each of the women who was here tonight.

  With his low cut black hair, almond-colored eyes, and infectious smile, I’d stolen glances of him during all of my dates the moment they went awry.

  He seems so damn perfect...

  “Five seconds before I reset the time, everyone!” The coach called out right as I sat down. “And go!”

  “Good evening,” Mr. Perfect said, offering me a rose. “I’m Kevin.”

  “Christina.” I blushed as his fingers brushed against mine. “Are you new to Cedar Falls?”

  “You can say that. I’ve only been here for about five months. I live on the southern, touristy side. How about you?”

  “I was born and raised here.” I realized that the rose was fake, made of cheap paper. “I left for college and culinary school, but then I came back to open my own business.”

  “You own a business? What type of business?”

  I smiled, silently reminding myself to keep it simple, since I could wax poetic about my bakery all day. “Well, it’s called Sifted Perfection, and it’s a—”

  “I like an independent woman,” he said, cutting me off. “A woman who can pay her own bills, handle things in her own way. That’s very impressive.”

  “Thank you ...” I wasn’t sure whether to pick up where I left off or not.

  A waitress set two cups of hot chocolate between us, and after we both took sips, Mr. Perfect motioned for me to continue.

  “Well, like I was saying, it’s called Sifted Perfection and I’ve been running it for a couple of years.”

  “That’s very impressive, Christina. Do you live alone?”

  “What?”

  “Do you have your own house?” he said, giving me his perfect smile that looked a lot creepier all of a sudden.

  “Um, yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I suddenly feel a real connection between us right now.” He reached over the table and clasped my hand. “A beautiful, once in a lifetime connection.”

  I blinked.

  “I think you’re pretty as hell, you have great conversation, and if you’re making enough to live in Cedar Falls on your own and run a business, I think you’re the one for me.”

  “I’ve said less than ten sentences since I met you, four minutes ago.”

  “That’s the whole point.” He smiled wide, caressing my knuckles. “With some people, it only takes a few seconds to know if you’re a match. We’re a match ...”

  “Um ...”

  “I think I need to move in with you as soon as possible,” he said. “I’m not a fan of the in-between dating thing. I’m all in, right now. You also look pretty fertile, so I think we should discuss the number of babies we want to have together.”

  What the fuck? “I barely know you.”

  “But you will soon.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I have all of my things in the car outside, and if you feel what I feel, let me stay with you.” He paused. “There are only two more rounds of dates left, and I don’t think you’ll like the guys that are left.”

  I looked over my shoulder, at the only guys I hadn’t spoken to yet. One was a salt and pepper haired man who’d been rude as hell to the wait staff all night. The other was a magician.

  “I’m not looking for anything serious right now.” I pulled my hand away from him. “I’m just here looking to make new friends.”

  “That’s not what your button says.” He pointed to the red, tell-tale “Speed date” button on my coat. Red meant “looking for love,” blue meant “just testing the waters,” and yellow meant “only looking for new friends.”

  I looked at the sleeve of his jacket and noticed he’d pinned ten red ones.

  “See?” he said. “I know you better than you know yourself already.” He looked out the window. “I’m afraid I’ll need an immediate answer as to whether you feel the way that I do or not. If you don’t, I’ll need to hide my car before the loan company repossesses it again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah.” He groaned. “Can you believe my ex-girlfriend stopped paying my bills once we broke up? Selfish bitch.”

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  I WALKED OUT OF THE lodge empty handed and annoyed at the end of the night, upset that I’d wasted another two hundred dollars and another two hours of my time. The only productive thing that came out of tonight was my purchase of extended life batteries for my vibrator.

  Ever since I moved back home to Cedar Falls, I’d realized just how different the dating scene was from Seattle. The town was always made up of half-tourists, half-residents, but the visiting men worth meeting were hardly ever single. And the ones that were? They were only interested in having sex with as many women as possible before returning to their hometowns.

  Online dating was out of the question ever since meeting a man who told me he had a “pretend” murder fetish, and right before the guy who told me that he wanted to “suck the dirt from [my] toes.”

  With my thirtieth birthday looming nearer, I was tempted to throw in the towel on finding anyone anytime soon.

  This can’t be real life ...

  Stepping onto the next trolley, I took a seat near the back and sent my younger sister a text.

  Me: Soooo, Speed Dating Session #100 is over ...

  Her response was immediate.

  Amy: Wutttt? Did you find someone fuckable? (Anyone who finally knows how to use his mouth in the only place it counts? **wink wink**)

  Me: UGH! Why is everything always about SEX with you?

  Amy: Yes or no? **smiley face** (Scott Johnson went down on me twice today by the way. TWICE! For over an hour each time. #dontbejealous)

  Me: NO. (He’s unemployed and still lives in his parents’ basement. #imneverjealous )

  Her name crossed my screen via phone call, and I turned down the volume before answering.

  “I’m on the trolley, Amy,” I said. “Please don’t say anything crazy right now.”

  “Do you think I should let Scott go down on me a third time?” She giggled. “He just asked me again.”

  “Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

  “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Her laughter was even louder. “I’m calling because I just had a brilliant idea about your dating dilemma.”

  “I’m listening.” I braced myself for a dose of her insane logic. The last time she had a “brilliant idea,” I ended up on a date with a man who “forgot” to tell me that he had three kids. And a wife.

  “I think you should stop looking for a serious guy and have fun for the rest of the winter,” she said. “Like, focus on the physical and let the rest fall into place, if it’s meant to be.”

  “You mean, I should be more like you?”

  “Ha!” She snorted a laugh. “No, you’re too guarded to be like me. I mean, you should just go out with an attractive guy, hit it off, and have hot sex without the expectation of all that romance.”

  “I’m not twenty-four anymore, Amy.”

  “You’re not eighty-four either, but you damn sure act like it sometimes.” She scoffed. “A few rounds of pounding are exactly what your body needs right now.”

  “Do any of your friends know that you talk like this?”

  “We all talk like this.” She laughed. “Anyway, I think it’s time to put a stop to the speed dating thing for a while and try something different.”

  “Tinder and OkCupid aren’t happening.”

  “I wasn’t talking about those.” She started clacking away at her keyboard. “Let me see if I can find this local thing Hannah was telling me about
earlier.”

  “I’m not interested in dating any of your friends’ exes,” I said, getting off at my stop.

  “My friends’ exes would never date you.” She laughed. “Trust me.”

  I started to head toward where I’d parked my car, but I couldn’t resist stopping by my bakery. As Amy’s fingers continued to clack against the keyboard in my ear, I walked up the white and pink steps that led into Sifted Perfection.

  All of the kitchen counters were set for tomorrow morning—every measuring cup, utensil, and bowl perfectly placed in front of the staff members’ assigned recipes.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re about to spend the rest of tonight baking.” Amy groaned as I turned on the oven. “I can hear the clicking of the stove.”

  “Of course not.” I lied. “I stopped by to make sure the staff put everything away properly.”

  “Um hmm. Anyway, after we go to The Wish Tree next weekend, I’m going to take you to The Blind Eye Dating Service. It’s downtown and both Hannah and Alice landed sexy guys after their first time using it. They did a good job matching personalities, too.”

  “Sounds amazing.” I rolled my eyes. Every speed dating event I attended promised the exact same thing, and apparently all of my best matches were assholes.

  “They have a section on the personality form about how often you like to receive oral on a scale of one to ten,” she said. “I’m going to write in twenty to make sure you have the best chance at finally experiencing that.”

  “What?”

  “This is going to be a lot more fun than I thought,” she said. “I’ll fill this out for you by next weekend, since I don’t trust you to do it alone. Have a good night baking!” She hung up before I could tell her that I was more than capable of filling out my own form.

  Sighing, I unlocked the cabinet that held my late grandmother’s cookbook.

  I flipped through her wise pages, caught sight of “Run, He’s a Bum Bonbons,” and put on my apron.