Have Your Cake by D.S. Roi

reluctance. She glanced around the room. “Wow, we’ve made real progress.”
     
     
    C yana had to do something to take her mind off Asher working diligently close to her. They made a great team, but every time their gazes met it felt like she could see his soul. It was good. So good she wanted to fall into his gaze, command it with her every move.
    Now she knew how Mama had felt about her father. The family teased him, called him white boy. His mixed heritage gave him the grey-brown eyes her sister inherited. He was a light pecan tan. Mama would always comment on how his eyes won her soul.
    Even laughing with Asher brought ease with his presence. Her contentment swayed from something wholesome to something downright naughty. It didn’t help when he removed the flannel. He wasn’t overly defined with muscles on top of muscles, or muscles in places where most people didn’t know they existed. He was a slim type of fit, large for his size and long in the torso. His arms flexed with detail, showing the fruit of a life lived with working hands.
    Oh, to feel those work roughened hands in delicate places. The thought made her mouth water. Her thighs warm for his touch. A caress scarred with knuckles swollen from the inevitable beatings his lifestyle bestowed. She could see the strength of them every time he reached for something.
    Stop, Cyana. She inwardly scolded. She shouldn’t think like that with his type. Damn, Asher looked good. She’d never gone outside her race before, but he made her want to try a new flavor.
    She took a deep breath to soothe the heat Asher’s interest gave her skin. When he shot a glimpse of the room and met her stare again, that two-toned glare looked hungry. If she wasn’t mistaken, she would think he was eating her up in his mind. The story of the big bad wolf made her chuckle. “You look impressed,”
    He smiled. “You and I make a good team. You need another job?”
    “Oh no, white boy. You’re not putting this sista to work unless it’s in the kitchen.”
    “If you bake half as good as you lay tile, then you’re a ringer.”
    “Oh, I bake better,” She boasted in Huffing fashion. “Still, tiling is not much different. You have to mix, measure and be exact.”
    “You seem like a natural. Any other talents you want to surprise me with?” His leer flashed a hint his words didn’t match.
     

7
     
    C yana woke in Asher’s bed. Guilt for taking his comfortable sleeping spot coiled in her belly. Besides feeling like a grateful thief, the smell of him lingered on her skin. She’d slept in today and sprawling in the bed reminded her of why. Every muscle ached from laying tile.
    A smile tugged at her lips. She’d forgotten work could actually be fun until she labored next to Asher. Part of her wondered if he’d been flirting with her, or if her dirty little mind had twisted every word he said. Men just didn’t come on to her.
    She nibbled her lip a moment to conjure up the last time she’d felt an attraction to someone. The instances eluded her. Honestly, she’d been far too busy to notice many men, or far too scared. She couldn’t figure out if it was one of those things or another. She’d been busy raising Eric as a single mom and acutely aware of the abuse he could suffer at the hands of men who weren’t his blood.
    His own father hadn’t been too much help in extinguishing the notions of fear. Ancient dread pooled into her bones as the memories of Eric’s screams shattered her thinking. It wasn’t right to treat a three year old like a punching bag. She’d taken a few beatings from Jamal, but after he'd hurt Eric, she drew the line. She wouldn’t put her son through that again.
    It was wrong. Somewhere in her gut, no matter how much she loved Eric’s dad, she knew a man shouldn’t be violent to children. A good man shouldn’t want to harm his son. He was just a baby. More guilt ushered its way into her.
    Her dark-skinned baby boy had been heavy in her arms the