Tonight, Charles took the lead, rolling her onto her side with her cradled against him as he carefully entered her. He took his time, slowly making love to her while Ken lay behind her and brushed kisses across the nape of her neck that made her shiver with pleasure.


It’s a Sweet Life

175

Then Ken draped an arm over her waist until his hand nestled between her legs. With Charles’ cock slowly stroking inside her, and Ken’s fingers stroking her clit, she quickly came like that.

Charles swallowed her soft cries with his mouth, his hips moving faster until his release joined hers.

Could I be any more in love with them?

But she stopped herself short of saying it out loud. She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

She didn’t need to hear them say they loved her, because their every action spoke of it. But she wouldn’t say it to them until she knew how they felt. If she never said it, on the off chance they broke her heart, she’d feel like less of a gullible asshole.

And maybe she’d be able to talk herself out of admitting she loved them.

But if she said it, that made it real.

When she caught her breath, the men carefully turned her over.

Ken kissed her as he made love to her, this time Charles the one to strum her clit while Ken’s shaft slowly fucked her pussy.

He didn’t take as long to climax as Charles had, but Charles still managed to make her come with him.

As she lay there in their arms, drifting to sleep between them, she heard them whisper, “Happy New Year, baby,” one in each ear.

“Happy New Year.”


January saw several brutal cold fronts blast through Brooksville, severe by local standards. The weather forecasters said it was the coldest January on record in over seventy-five years.

Allan, who spent more time in the bakery than Ben, found himself forcing Libbie to slow down and not overtax herself. He made her spend a lot of time taking it easy, soaking in the hot tub, and being cared for by her men when she could barely get out of bed on her 176 Tymber Dalton

worst days.

Then it eased up a little in the beginning of February, allowing Libbie a chance to recover some energy and emerge from her cocoon of pain to the point she almost felt normal by the Monday of Valentine’s Day. Allan looked forward to getting Libbie all to himself for part of the day. Ben had to go on one of his Monday errands, but he promised to be back by four so they could spend the evening celebrating together.

The Monday errands were good cover excuses for the scheduled conference calls they had to make regarding the trial. Ben would be driving south to St. Pete for today’s calls.

Allan still thought Ben was being overly cautious, but since they’d so far successfully remained hidden, he wouldn’t fight him on it.

They both gave her beautiful Valentine’s Day cards, which made her cry the good kind of tears.

After they opened her cards to them, Ben spoke up. “Listen, there’s a part two to all of this, but it’s going to wait until tonight, after I get back. Okay?”

“Okay.” She glanced at Allan. “I suspect he’ll take good care of me.”

“I know he will,” Ben said, “or I’ll kick his ass.”

After a round of good-bye kisses, Libbie wrapped her arms around Allan. “I want to go up to Webster.”

“To what?”

“Webster. It’s a flea market. It’s really famous. It’s only open on Mondays. It’s a farmer’s market and livestock market, too.”

“I’m sooo not buying you a pony.”

She laughed. “You’re silly.”

“Why is it only open on Mondays?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you have farmer’s markets in Nebraska?”

Allan caught himself before asking what she was talking about.

Nebraska hadn’t come up in conversation, casually or otherwise, in It’s a Sweet Life 177

several weeks. “Yeah, but flea markets and stuff are usually weekend events.”

“Can we go? Please?”

“Of course we can. I’m not letting you drive all that way alone.”

“It’s not that far. It’s just one exit up from 50.”

“Oh. Well, still, I’ll drive you.” He kissed her. “And I’ll be your gallant pack animal.”

She draped her arms around his neck. “Well, Mr. Gallant, we need to get moving. They opened over two hours ago.”

They had flea markets in Miami, but nothing the likes of what he saw when they made their way to the Webster flea market.

Admittedly, his experience was more urban than rural, but he felt like a Miami native transplanted to Nebraska instead of just a few hundred miles north in his own home state.

He dutifully followed Libbie around the flea market, constantly observing her to make sure she wasn’t getting too cold in the chilly breeze, or overexerting herself. He wouldn’t let her carry any of her purchases, which included a few books, some fresh produce, and a glass, antique fishing net buoy that caught her eye for some reason.

It was after he’d sensed she was starting to wear down that he gently suggested they call it a morning.

When she didn’t argue with him, he knew his instincts had been spot-on. “Okay. Back to the car. You feel like lunch?”

“Lunch I could definitely do.”


Libbie gave him directions, taking them back the long way south down Highway 471 so she could show off more of her home state, including parts of the Richloam Wildlife Management Area, to her Cornhusker. “So how are you liking Florida winters so far?”

He smiled. “They’re definitely not Nebraska winters. Thank god.”

She never failed to giggle when he said something along those 178 Tymber Dalton

lines. It had become something of a running joke to them, to quote The Big Bang Theory several times throughout the course of their day.

She loved it.

They stopped at a small café not too far south of Webster for lunch.

“Ooh, they have Cuban sandwiches.” He closed his menu with a flourish. “I know what I’m having.”

“That sounds good. Make it two.”

“And I’m buying. No arguments,” he said when she’d opened her mouth to do just that.

She smiled. “All right.”

“We took your car and used your gas. It’s only fair I buy you lunch.”

“Hey, I’m still up to my ass in debt to you two for the hot tub.”

He caught her hand in his and feathered his fingers across her knuckles. “And you know damn well that was a gift, so knock it off or I’ll spank you.”

It was his arched eyebrow that set her off on a giggle fit. Charles had to order for her, because she was still giggling when the waitress stopped back to take their orders.

When the waitress left their orders a few minutes later, Charles stared at his sandwich in disgust.

“What’s wrong?” Libbie asked.

He pulled the pressed sandwich apart and picked up the top bun to show her. “It’s not a Cuban sandwich.”

She frowned. “Huh?” While she admitted the bread wasn’t technically Cuban bread, it contained the right ingredients—mustard, ham, roast pork, swiss cheese, and pickles. And it was hot and pressed.

He pointed at the bun. “You’re a baker. You of all people should know this isn’t real Cuban bread.”

She eyed him cautiously. “Oookay. Yeah, you’re right, it’s not.”

Traditional Cuban bread wasn’t something she made in her bakery It’s a Sweet Life 179

because there wasn’t a great demand for it in their area. “But how would someone from Nebraska know that?”

She wasn’t sure, but thought a guilty look might have flashed across his face for a moment. “I…I went to visit a cousin of mine in Miami one year at Spring Break. He educated me on what a real Cuban sandwich is.” He reassembled the sandwich and picked it up, taking a bite. “I mean, it’s okay,” he managed around a mouthful of bread, “but it’s not a real one.”

Libbie had a suspicion there was more to it, but decided to let it drop. “Okay. It’s not a real Cuban sandwich.”


Allan mentally kicked himself. How could I be so damn stupid?

Few people outside of Florida, who’d never spent time in the South Florida or Tampa regions, knew a “real” Cuban sandwich from a regular sub sandwich.

When he’d seen Cuban sandwich on the menu, he’d jumped at it, having been denied one of his favorites ever since October, when they’d arrived in Brooksville. He’d been raised on the real thing and knew that arcane little nugget about Florida cuisine.

He longed to take Libbie to Miami and give her a tour of all the best eateries he knew, many looking like dives from the street, yet sparkling clean inside.

I don’t want to let her go. I can’t lose her.

The truth hammered him. No matter what happened with the trial, he couldn’t walk away from Libbie. There was no way.

That he’d built his relationship with her on a stack of lie upon lie ate at his conscience, no matter how valiant and noble the reasoning behind it.

Not for the first time, fear gripped him. Will she even want us back in her life when we eventually have to reveal the truth to her?

She might end up so disgusted at them for the breach of trust that 180 Tymber Dalton

she’d throw them out.


Libbie soon forgot the incident as she started playing tour guide.

By the time they returned to the apartment, Charles apparently had other things on his mind, too. He grabbed towels, her bathrobe, and waited by the apartment door. “Strip, baby.”

She felt her face heat, with passion instead of embarrassment.