Wicked Whoopie Pies by Addison Moore (english novels to improve english TXT) 📕

steel, those abs, those lats, those biceps, those unmentionable parts that do things to my unmentionable parts. Essex Everett Baxter is a force to be reckoned with in and out of the sheets. The man knows how to lay down the law and work his gavel.

“That was perfection, Judge Baxter,” I pant as I reach up and give his facial scruff a light scratch.

“Of course, it was.” He lands a smoldering kiss to my lips. “Look what I’ve got to work with.”

A laugh trembles from me just as Lyla Nell starts in on a high-pitched wail.

“Ooh”—Everett sucks in a quick breath through his teeth—“she sounds angry.”

“I think she just realized where she is—or more to the point, where she isn’t,” I say, rolling out of bed. “It’s going to be a long night.”

And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Noah

That kiss.

Lottie Lemon.

Mmm.

All night I dream of Lottie and me doing just that and more. There was a time where that’s all Lottie and I did—and how I wish I had a time machine. But tonight it seemed I had just that.

I roll over as the light breaking from my curtains does its best to penetrate my eyelids, but I’m still doing my best to hang onto the tail end of that wild dream.

A pair of lips finds mine and that kiss plays out once again, Lottie with her warm body pressed against mine, her kisses growing with fury, growing hungrier by the second as we do our best to drink one another down.

Her hand glides down my chest, lower still, and I take a sharp breath. My lids flutter open and I see her there with her hair mussed, her makeup slightly smudged giving her that smoky look that has always driven me wild. And without hesitation, I dive my lips right back where they belong.

A hard moan comes from me as I pull her close with herculean strength—then with a start I cease all movement.

My lids fly open and I back up a notch.

“Lottie?” I call out in a mild panic and it takes another three seconds for me to figure out it’s not her. “Charlie,” I growl as I shoot out of bed like a rocket.

Toby barrels in barking at top volume while Charlie lazily stretches her arms to the ceiling. She’s wearing her birthday suit, and unfortunately so am I.

I quickly jump into my sweats and toss one of my T-shirts at her.

“Put that on.”

She makes a face at me. “Thank you,” she snips. “I’ll take it as a souvenir for a night to remember.”

“What?” I shout in a panic.

“Don’t worry,” she hisses. “Nothing exciting happened up until five minutes ago.”

“What the heck are you doing here?” And why do I get the feeling Charlie is the new Cormack—with the exception I’m actually a little afraid of this scary version of the woman I love.

“Carlotta said her driveway was as far as she’d take me last night, and I was too tired to walk to the B&B so I thought I’d crash here.”

“How did you get in?”

“I made a copy of your key, not that it helped. By the way, when you bolt the top of the door, it only forces me to break a window. Please be mindful of that. I almost cut myself.”

“Geez,” I howl in disbelief.

“Oh hush,” she says, flopping back onto the pillow. “It was one of those tiny windows by the door. I was able to get my arm in and unlock the deadbolt myself. I let Toby out to use the bathroom, too. You’re welcome.” Her eyes ride up and down my body. “So I guess you were having some pretty hot and heavy dreams about my sister. I take it that happens often?”

My phone buzzes and spins on the dresser next to her and I lunge to grab it, but she beats me to it.

“Last day to make the delivery, Fox, or it’s no deal,” she reads the text message out loud before I take the phone from her. “Who’s JC? You don’t have a pipeline to the Big Guy upstairs do you?” she teases.

“Yes, in fact, I do. So if I were you, I’d look out for lightning bolts as you head off to the B&B.”

I pull the phone close and study it a moment too long before it buzzes again.

Last day. It’s do or die.

Charlie swoops over and looks down at my screen again. “That’s Jimmy Canelli. That’s who that briefcase full of blow is from.” She clucks her tongue at me. “Well, well, Detective Fox. Looks as if you’re in over your head.”

“This is none of your business, Charlie.” I bore into her hazel eyes with something just shy of a threat. “Get dressed. I’ll take you back to the B&B myself.”

“Oh goody. I’ll text Cormack and tell her to meet me out front. What good is the walk of shame without someone there to witness it?”

I’d object, but this might actually work in reducing my stalkers from two back down to one.

I shower, get dressed, drop Charlie off at the B&B to Cormack’s dismay, then head off down the road before pulling out that address Jimmy Canelli stuffed into my hand the other night.

It feels as if I’m at a fork in the road. Go right and maintain my integrity, my badge, my ability to keep myself out of prison. Go left and spare those I love from the wrath of the Canelli family. My father fell into a rattrap set out by a mobster who was itching for a cop to add to his repertoire of dirty civil servants.

Miranda, the B&B—heck, Evie, Lyla Nell, and Lottie all are within firing range. In the mother of all ironies, my father is most likely the safest in this equation.

Crap.

I start up my truck with a roar to the engine and take off down the street.

Right or left, which way to go indeed.

Everett

It took superhuman strength to force my eyelids open this morning.

But I