Flavor of the Month

2

MOST HOLLYWOOD ACTORS weren’t worthy of the film their pImages** were burned onto. In real life they tended to be either shorter than they appeared on the big screen, far thinner, or had skin that without screen makeup was out-and-out cringe material. Of course, Reilly wasn’t about to admit to how she came about this knowledge. Namely that she used to be a movie premier groupie as a teen, and that her autograph book boasted no fewer than three hundred autographs, an entire section dedicated to popular movie hunks.

But Ben Kane…

Wow.

No, he wasn’t a movie hunk. But that was clearly not because he didn’t rate the title. His eyes were…Her breath hitched in her throat. His eyes were, simply, the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever gazed into. They were the lightest of light blue. And she guessed that if someone wronged him, those eyes could turn the person into ice cubes with one glance. But right now they seemed to shimmer with electrical life, sending shivers scooting everywhere along her body and making her feel as if she sat under a sunlamp set on superhigh.

His hair… Her eyes shifted as she unabashedly took him in. His hair was coal-black. No, no, not coal. Raven. Yeah, raven-black. And the short, neat cut he sported made it look as shiny and sleek as a raven’s feathers.

And his mouth…

She watched as he lifted his right hand and licked—licked!—the sweet dough she’d gotten on him from the tip of his finger.

Reilly stopped breathing altogether.

“Do you, um, have something I could use to clean up with?” he asked, his voice seeming to rumble from the depths of his wide chest.

“What? Oh!” Reilly looked on the counter that held nothing but sticky bun dough, then lifted her apron, holding out a corner for him. Way the wrong move, she realized all too quickly when his tugging pulled the material tight against the tips of her breasts and set them ablaze.

Speaking of ablaze, her face was probably pinker than the walls in the front room. She nearly ripped her apron from his grip and murmured, “Um, let me get you something more…appropriate.”

The minute she turned from him, she seemed able to get her thoughts back under control. And the instant she did, she wanted to crawl under the worktable and continue hiding from the man so many Hollywood actresses and models went gaga over.

Did she need reminding that while she had stars’ autographs, Ben Kane had had the stars themselves? In the biblical sense? Heck, in every sense known to man? Or in this case, woman?

No, she didn’t.

She would be fine as long as she didn’t look at him.

She gave a mental shrug. So she wouldn’t look at him. Yes, that was the ticket.

She dampened a corner of a clean white towel with warm water then handed it to him before putting her own hands under the faucet to clean them.

“So what is it again that I can do for you, Mr. Kane?” she asked, happy that her voice sounded once again like her own.

“Mmm. Yes. You see, my pastry chef left me in the lurch this morning so I need a full array of desserts to serve tonight.”

Reilly’s brows rose as she purposely took her time drying her hands, her back still to him. “What made you think of me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It might have something to do with the Confidential.”

She forgot about not looking at him and looked at him.

Gawd. He looked even better than he had a minute ago, if that was possible. Maybe because this time he was grinning at her. A filthy grin that made her toes curl inside her tennis shoes.

She’d always wondered if swooning was something made up for historical romance novels and period films. But the light-headedness that made her feel like she was swaying on her feet made her think again.

“This is awfully short notice.” She did have that charity event this weekend that she had to cook for tonight. If she took this on in addition to that she’d be working nonstop until midnight.

“I understand. And I’m willing to pay whatever price you ask.” His blue eyes met her gaze squarely. “So, will you do it?”

No, she thought adamantly.

She looked up into his eyes.

“Yes.”

She swallowed hard, wondering why she felt that this wouldn’t be the last time she’d be thinking one thing and doing another when it came to the devilishly handsome Mr. Kane.

WHOA.

Ben felt like he’d been knocked back onto his heels. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but for some reason the quirky owner of Sugar ’n’ Spice made him think of all things sugary and spicy. And when she’d asked what she could do for him, his head had filled with myriad things he’d like to do for her, such as make that crooked little mouth of hers open with a gasp or a moan. He cleared his throat. More preferably a moan.

In a town where it seemed everyone had an agenda, Ms. Reilly was a breath of much-needed fresh air. There was not one affected thing about her. He’d bet tonight’s take at the restaurant that the highlights in her blond hair were natural. And that she wouldn’t be able to lie to save her life. She looked at him with naked interest, not even trying to hide her attraction to him.

“Yes, right then,” she said. She patted down the front of her apron, then stuck her short-nailed hand into the left pocket and pulled out a notepad. “What were you looking for?”

He told her, from crème brûlée to double chocolate rum cake, the number he would need and what time he would need the order by.

“I’ll, um, also take some of what you have with me now.”

She blinked at him.

“You know, from the display case in the other room.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” She slid the pad and pen back into her pocket then moved toward the door.

Ben absently rubbed his index finger against his chin as he watched her go. No slow, provocative glide for Reilly. Of course, her tennis shoes might make that a little difficult, but he didn’t think she’d ever purposely glided in her life.

Not that it made a difference to his libido. Her lush, curvy little bottom under her beige cords made him think of sticky buns in a whole new light.

She hesitated at the door and looked at him. “Is something the matter?”

Ben lifted his gaze to her face. “Hmm? Oh, no. I was just thinking…” How nice it would be to drizzle syrup over your backside? “Maybe we should add a cheesecake to the list. If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“I think I may have one in the freezer.”

“Good. Good.”

He followed her into the other room where she put together a box bearing her logo then asked him what he wanted.

Dangerous question, that. Especially since at that moment he didn’t seem to have a whole lot of control over what came out of his mouth.

Much too soon, she handed him the two boxes she’d filled for him.

“How much?” he asked, putting them down on the counter.