His Unexpected Heir

“I do like a strong woman,” he told her.

“Not so strong at the moment,” Rita admitted when she looked at him again and felt a rush of heat settle and pool at her core. “But I will be. So, good night. I guess I’ll see you at eight.”

“Seven,” he said.

“Even better,” she said, throwing his own words from earlier back at him. The elevator dinged and the doors swished open. She stepped inside, then turned to look at him again. “Seven. I’ll be ready.”

“Good,” he said as the doors slid shut on a whisper of sound, “because I’m ready now.”

Alone, Rita leaned against the wall of the car, smiled to herself and lifted one hand to her mouth as if she could capture his taste and hold on to it forever. As the elevator rose to her floor, she told herself she wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, but her morning was going to be wonderful.

“Rita?” Casey’s voice and an insistent shake of her arm. “Hey, Rita? You okay?”

“What?” she tore her gaze from Jack’s and looked at her friend. Coming up out of that memory that had been so filled with sensation and sound was like breaking the surface of the water when you were near drowning. You were back in reality but still too stunned to accept it easily. “Sure,” she said, nodding for emphasis. “Yes. I’m fine. Really. Just...tired.”

And sexually frustrated and angry and hurt and confused and far too many other emotions to even name.

“You sure?” Casey tried to steer Rita toward a stool. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“No.” Rita shook off all those unwelcome emotions and smiled. “I’m fine. Really. Um, will you keep an eye on the front while I go in the back to restock the cannoli tray?”

“Absolutely,” Casey said, “as long as you call out if you need me.”

“Don’t be such a worrier,” Rita told her with a pat on the arm.

Hurrying through the swinging door into the kitchen where she could get a couple of minutes to herself, Rita gave a sigh of relief to be on her own. She needed a little time to settle. Do the ahooom thing until she could breathe without feeling like she was going to shake apart at the seams.

“Get a grip, Rita,” she mumbled as she snatched an apron off the hook by the door. Slipping it on over her head, she drew the string ties around her ever-expanding belly then tied it down. The simple, familiar task helped her get steady again.

She scrubbed her hands in the kitchen sink, dried them on a fresh towel, then turned to survey her domain. She might have chefs come in to help her, but this bakery was all hers, right down to the last cookie.

She was most comfortable in the kitchen. Rita and her brothers and sister had grown up working in their parents’ Italian bakery in Ogden. From the time she was a little girl, barely tall enough to reach the mixing table, Rita had been helping the bakers. Even if it was just sprinkling flour on the cool white marble so dough could be rolled out. She loved the scent of baking cookies, cakes, pastries. She loved the feel of getting her hands into a huge bowl of dough to knead it. She’d worked off a lot of temper by working bread dough into shape.

“But there’s not enough dough in the world to help me through this,” she whispered, laying out paper doilies on a stainless steel tray. Then she moved to the end of the counter and carefully set fresh cannoli, some draped in shiny chocolate, on each doily. To her, presentation was as important as taste so before it went out to the shop, it would be perfect.

Once she was satisfied that all of her cannoli were lined up like soldiers, Rita checked on two more bowls of rising dough, punched them down, then covered them again, so they could do a second rise.

She’d be making bread before the bakery closed because her customers liked picking up a fresh loaf on the way home from work. Then she checked the meticulously aligned steel racks against one wall and made a note to have Casey get someone back there to box up the maple-nut biscotti.

“And I’m stalling,” she said aloud to the empty room.

“Question is, why?”

Her eyes closed on a sigh as Jack’s deep voice echoed all around her. Of course he wouldn’t be ignored. He was the kind of man who got exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. A trait that was both sexy and annoying.

“You shouldn’t be back here, Jack.”

“Your friend Casey said you weren’t feeling well.”

She rolled her eyes and told herself to have a little chat with Casey. Wouldn’t do any good, of course. If a gorgeous man asked Casey to stand on her head, the girl would. And they just didn’t come more gorgeous than Jack, so Casey really had been putty in his hands.