Free Little Brats Sara: Taboo Forbidden Erotica by Selena Kitt Page A

go home and hear Eve and Daniel fight about everything—the bakery, their opposing lifestyles, the quality of the flour used, changing the entire menu or keeping it the same.
    They had loyal customers, many who came in several times a week for her stepfather’s sweet buns. The bakery was known for them, and had been able to create a side catering business because of them. They’d had a customer who asked them to cater a party based on the sweet buns alone.
    Sitting on the wooden table in front of the couch, she picked up an empty bottle of honey mead. The man did like his sweet things, she mused, looking at the handmade label. Sniffing the sharp, honey aroma of Daniel’s favorite drink put a sad, sympathetic smile on her face. He loved the stuff, always had. He often made it himself just like his ancestors did, pure honey, vine fruits, herbs, yeast and water. He liked to quote his grandmother when he had a bottle in his hand, calling mead a mystical drink of sunshine and rain—legendary, extraordinary. He often gave a drunken ramble on the stuff.
    Setting the bottle back down, she noticed it was sitting on divorce papers. That explained a lot. Seemed her mother had finally made the break she obviously wanted. Well, it was what “Eve” wanted. So she’d never have to step foot into this “glutton’s den,” as she often referred to it now. Eve liked to go on about her own daughter being one of those gluttons, but Sara ignored her.
    Sara put her hand on Daniel’s shoulder and shook it lightly, whispering his name.
    “Come on, Daniel. You need to get up and get to work,” she encouraged gently, smiling. “Time to make the sweet buns.”
    “She wants half of everything,” he mumbled in response, blinking at her in the dim light of the room.
    Sara winced, looking into his deep blue eyes—they didn’t shine like they usually did. He ran a hand through his sleep-rumpled curls—brown with red highlights. He was a handsome man, even like this, scrubbing reddish whiskers with his palm and frowning. In spite of the fact he worked in a bakery, he hadn’t put on any extra pounds. Probably due to the fact that he ran two miles every morning before work.
    “What am I going to do?” He looked up at her, shrugging helplessly.
    She wanted to tell him that they didn’t need her. Wasn’t it Daniel who told her they should go to Ireland and visit his ancestors and their bakeries? He often daydreamed aloud to Sara about coming back with authentic new recipes. His sweet buns had been his own take on his grandmother’s recipe, one passed down through the generations. Sara now dreamed of that day—wanted to actually experience the country, taste the delicacies it had to offer.
    “It’ll be okay,” she coaxed, trying to get him up by putting on a pot of coffee in the mini machine he had in the corner of the office. “We’ll work it out. We have this place, don’t we?”
    “You don’t understand.” He sat, his voice hoarse, hanging his head in his hands. “The only way I could buy out her half is to sell the place—building and all the equipment. I wouldn’t have enough left to start again.”
    “What?” She gaped at him.
    “She’s drained us buying her organic this and that,” he explained, lifting his bloodshot eyes to look at her. “Clothes and food—and everything else she had to have.”
    “You can’t be serious.” Sara blinked at him, too stunned to speak in more than a whisper. The realization dawned and her knees felt weak. “She’s only asking for half to shut you down.”
    “Exactly.” He grimaced. “She wants to shut me down. Doesn’t want this place to exist anymore. I offered her a fifty-percent partnership but she doesn’t want to be associated with Olde O’Brien’s.”
    “No. No!” Sara protested.
    “Sorry, cupcake,” he said, shaking his head ruefully, using the nickname he’d given her long ago when the bakery had first opened. “I don’t have any choice.”
    Daniel