If You Can't Stand the Heat...

‘Sure—but any type of cakes.’ Ellie picked up her mobile and quickly pressed some buttons. ‘Look.’

Jack put his glass of wine next to him on the wall and leaned forward to take the device. He flipped through the screens, looking at her designs.

‘These are amazing, Ellie.’

‘Thank you.’

He looked down at her mobile again. ‘I can’t believe that you made a cake that looks exactly like a crocodile leather shoe.’

‘Not any shoe—a Christian Louboutin shoe.’

Jack looked puzzled. ‘A what?’

‘Great designer of shoes?’ Ellie shook her head.

‘Sorry, I’m more of a trainers and boots kind of guy.’ Jack handed the mobile back to her. ‘So, what went wrong at the bakery?’

‘Not wrong, exactly. Merri had a baby and started her maternity leave. She told me yesterday that she’s extending it.’

‘She told you?’

Ellie heard the disbelief in Jack’s voice and quickly responded, ‘She asked...suggested...kind of.’

Jack frowned. ‘And you said yes?’

‘I didn’t have much of a choice. She doesn’t need to work and I didn’t want to push her into a corner and...’

‘And you couldn’t say no,’ Jack stated with a slight shake of his head.

‘And I suppose you’ve never said yes when you wanted to say no?’ Ellie demanded.

‘I can’t say that I’ve never done that. I generally say what I mean and I never let anyone push me around...’

‘She didn’t...’ Ellie started to protest but fell silent when she saw the challenging expression on Jack’s face. This wasn’t an argument she would win because—well, she did get pushed around. Sometimes. Would he understand if she told him that, as grown-up and confident as she now was, she still had intense periods of self-doubt? Would he think her an absolute drip because her habit reaction was to make sure everyone around her was happy? And if they were they would love her more?

‘What else?’ Jack asked, after taking a sip of wine.

Ellie swirled the wine in her glass. ‘My mother has taken a year’s sabbatical. She always had this dream to travel, so for her fiftieth birthday I gave her a year off. A grand gesture that I am deeply regretting now. But she’s in seventh heaven. She’s got a tattoo, has had at least one affair and has put dreadlocks in her hair.’

‘You sound more upset about the dreadlocks than the affair.’

Ellie shrugged. ‘I just want her home—back in the bakery. She managed the place, did the paperwork and the accounts, the payroll and just made the place run smoothly.’

And while I say that I want everyone to be happy I frequently resent the fact that she left, that Merri left—okay, temporarily—and I have to carry on, pick up the pieces. When do I get to step away?

‘So, you’re stressed out and doing the work of two other people?’

‘And none of it well,’ Ellie added, her tone sulky.

Jack smiled. ‘Now, tell me about having to move.’

Ellie gave him the rundown and cradled her glass of wine in her hands. She felt lighter for telling him, grateful to hand over the problem just for a minute. She didn’t expect him to solve the problem, but just being able to verbalise her emotions was liberating.

And, amazingly, Jack just listened—without offering a solution, a way to fix it. If he wasn’t ripped and didn’t have a stubble-covered jaw and a very masculine package she could almost pretend he was a girlfriend. He listened like one. Keep dreaming, she thought. Not in a million years could she pretend that Jack was anything but a hard-ass—literally and metaphorically—one hundred per cent male.

Ellie yawned, curled her legs up and felt her eyes closing. She felt Jack take the glass from her hand and forced her eyes open.

‘Come on. You’re dead on your feet.’ Jack took her hands and hauled her up.

He’d either overestimated her weight or underestimated his strength because she flew into his chest and her hands found themselves splayed across his pecs, warm and hard and...ooooh... Her nose was pressed against his sternum. She sucked him in along with the breath she took...man-soap, man-smell...Jack.

She felt tiny next to his muscled frame as his hands loosely held her hips, fingers on the top of her bottom. A lazy thumb stroked her hipbone through the chef’s jacket and Ellie felt lust skitter along her skin. She slowly lifted her head and looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. There was half a smile on his face, yet his eyes were dark and serious...

He lifted his hand and gently rested his fingers on her lips. She knew what he was thinking...that he wanted to kiss her. Intended to kiss her.

Ellie just looked up at him with big eyes. She felt like a deer frozen in the headlights, knowing that she should pull away, unable to do so. She could feel his hard body against hers, his rising chest beneath her palms. His arms were strong, his shoulders broad. She felt feminine and dainty and...judging by the amount of action in his pants...desired.

He stepped back at the same time as she pushed him away. She shoved her hands into her hair, squinting at him in the moonlight. This was crazy... She was adult enough to recognise passion that could be perilous—wild, erratic and swamping. But lust, as she’d learnt, clouded her thinking and stripped away her practicality. Lust, teamed with the brief emotional connection she’d felt earlier, when she’d opened up a little to him, had her running scared.

Bum magnet.

Jack cocked his head. ‘So, not a good idea, huh?’

Ellie bit her lip. ‘Really not.’

Jack lifted a shoulder and sent her a rueful smile. ‘Okay. But you’re a very tempting sight in the moonlight so maybe we should go in before I try to change your mind.’

When she didn’t move, Jack reached out and ran a thumb over her bottom lip.

‘You can’t just stand there looking up at me with those incredible eyes, Ellie. Go now, before I forget that I am, actually, a good guy. Because we both know that I could persuade you to stay.’

Ellie erred on the side of caution and fled inside.

THREE

Every time his foot slapped the pavement a hot flash of pain radiated from his cut and caused every atom in his body to ache. It was the morning after almost kissing Ellie, and he was dripping with perspiration and panting like a dog.

He placed his hand against his side and winced. He shouldn’t be running, he knew that, but running was his escape, his sanity, his meditation. And, thinking about things he shouldn’t be doing, kissing Ellie was top of the list. Why was he so tempted by his blue-eyed hostess? Especially since he’d quickly realised that she wasn’t into simple fun and games, wasn’t someone he could play with and leave, wasn’t a superficial type of girl. And he didn’t do anything but superficial.

But there was something about her that tweaked his interest and that scared the hell out of him.

He started to climb the hill back home and—dammit! He hurt. Everywhere. Suck it up and stop being a pansy, he told himself. You’ve had a heart transplant—a cut and a beating is nothing compared to that!

Jack pushed his wet hair off his forehead and looked around. Good Lord, it was beautiful here...the sea was aqua and hunter-green, cerulean-blue in places. White-yellow sand. Eclectic, interesting buildings. He was lucky to be here, to see this stunning part of the world...

Brent never would.

Brent never would. The phrase that was always at the back of his mind. Intellectually he knew it came from survivor’s guilt—the fact that he was alive because Brent was dead. In the first few months and years after the op he’d been excited to be able to do whatever he wanted, but he knew that over the past couple of years the burden of guilt he felt had increased.