Flavor of the Month

“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.

“I’ll tally everything up at the end of the night and send an invoice along with the delivery.”

“Good.” He squinted at her left hand. But of course the bareness wouldn’t mean a whole helluva lot. He didn’t know a chef or a baker to wear rings while they were working. “What time do you get off?”

Her brows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Tonight. What time will you be free?”

Her head tilted slightly as if she still didn’t understand his question. “And you want to know this information because…”

He grinned at her. “Because I’d like to thank you properly.”

And because I’d like to find out if your mouth tastes as sweet as it looks.

“The words are enough.”

“You’re going to make me spell it out for you, aren’t you?”

“I know how to spell ‘thank-you.”’

Not the way he had in mind. “I’d like to see you again.”

“At midnight?” she said slowly.

“If that’s the time you finish up.”

“Oh.” She stared at him for a long moment, then what he was saying appeared to dawn on her. “Oh! You mean…”

“Yes, I mean.”

Her gaze, which had been plastered to his face, moved everywhere but to his face. “I, um, don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She used the corner of her apron that didn’t have dough on it to wipe down the counter around the boxes.

“Why not?”

“Why, because—” she furtively looked at him, then back at the counter “—because I finish up late tonight because of the order you gave me and another order I need to have ready by tomorrow morning, and…and…”

“And.”

“Well, I don’t have time.”

“Mmm. Okay, tomorrow night then.”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his marbles. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You don’t have plans?”

He chuckled. “Nothing that can’t be changed or cancelled.”

“So you can go out with me…”

He shrugged. “Or we could stay in…”

“Stay in where?” She quickly lifted her hand. “Don’t answer that.”

“Tell you what,” he said, sliding a business card out of his front pocket. “Do you have a pen?” She looked around the counter then slid one out of her apron pocket. “I’m going to give you my private cell phone number, my home phone number, and, of course, the card has the two numbers to the restaurant on it along with the fax.” He handed her the card. “Call me when you’ve made a decision.”

“Even if it’s no?”

“Especially if it’s no.”

She made a face that made her look all the more attractive.

“You know, so I have a chance to change your mind.”

She pursed her lips slightly as she stared down at the front of the card, then turned it over to look at the back.

The man who had been typing away on a laptop in the corner neared him. “Excuse me,” he mumbled under his breath.

Ben’s attention fully on Reilly, he moved to let the guy pass, but apparently picked the wrong direction because the guy plowed into him, spilling coffee all over the front of his shirt.

“Oh, sorry, man,” the guy said.

Ben looked at him, wondering why he didn’t look very sorry.

“No problem.”

Reilly couldn’t hide her smile as she handed him a handful of napkins. Ben began wiping at the mess, making sure his assailant had moved out of striking distance before continuing his conversation.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to bring you dinner tonight,” he said to Reilly.

“Tonight?”

“Yes, you know, by way of that proper thank-you I mentioned.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I think it is.” He squinted at her. “Did you say midnight?”

“Yes. I mean, no!” Her cheeks turned the most delicious shade of pink. “I mean, that’s really not necessary. Really, it isn’t.”

He hiked a brow. “Are you passing on a free dinner from one of the most popular restaurants in town?”

“Yes. I mean, no!” She ran her fingers through her bangs, then rested the heel of her hand against her forehead. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think it would be a very good idea. I’ll be exhausted and I probably won’t be very good company….”

“I meant I’d have one of my staff drop something off on their way home from work.”

“Oh.”

“Unless you’d like me to deliver the meal personally?”

“No!” Her shoulders slumped and she tucked her chin into her chest. Moments later he figured she was either laughing or crying. She looked up at him, her laughter filling his ears. “That didn’t sound very good, did it?”

“Good thing I have a pretty good ego.”

“Big, you mean.”

“Mmm.” He let the noncommital sound hang in the air between them.

“Well,” he said finally. “I’d better get going.”

“Yes, you probably should.”

He stared at her.

She gestured toward the boxes. “Some of this needs to be refrigerated pretty quick.”

“Of course.”

“Of course.”

He picked up the boxes. “Call me.”

“We’ll see.”

“Call me,” he repeated.

“Okay.”

He walked toward the door knowing she probably wouldn’t call. But that didn’t matter. Whatever reason she had for wanting to avoid him didn’t stem from lack of attraction. Because he swore, if he checked, he’d have contact burns from the awareness that had arced between them.

He fully intended to be the one to bring her the food tonight.

And he fully intended for both of them to have dessert….

“DID IT, LIKE, majorly suck to be fat when you were my age?”

Reilly snapped her head up from where she was squeezing sweet dough out of a plastic bag with a star tip into two-inch strips. It was eleven o’clock, she had sent Ben’s order to Benardo’s Hideaway over six hours ago, and still faced another hour or so of cooking for tomorrow’s order.

Add to that her fifteen-year-old niece, Efi, sitting on the clean stainless-steel counter against the wall, swinging her legs and banging the back of her platform shoes against the steel doors asking her bizarre questions, and she saw this as a bad end to a perfectly awful day.

She liked her niece. She really did. She just didn’t think she was up to answering her question right then.

“What?”

Efi shrugged, making her short, spiked hair move not at all. “I was just thinking about the picture Mom has of you on the Wall of Fame and was wondering what it felt like to be so fat.”

“More like Wall of Shame. I don’t know. How does it feel to have your hair match the walls in the front room?”

Efi made a face, lifting her hand to touch her dyed and gelled-within-an-inch-of-its-life pink hair.

Reilly squeezed three strips in quick succession. “And I wasn’t fat fat. I was…pleasantly plump.”

“You were fat.”

“I was a hundred and eighty pounds. That’s pleasantly plump.”

“Is that why they called you Chubby Chuddy?”

“I see my dear sister has been telling stories about me again.” She brushed her hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Chubby means pleasantly plump.”

“Chubby means fat.”

She eyed her pretty, usually tactful, too-thin niece. It would take a good five years and at least thirty pounds to grow into her tall frame. She had the physical characteristics of the rest of the Chudowski family. Well, aside from the dark Mediterranean eyes and hair she’d inherited from her father.

As for Reilly, she’d been born with the ultimate fat gene. Her mother told her there was one lucky duck in every Chudowski family. No matter how much she’d dieted, or how little she’d eaten, she’d been much heavier than other girls her age.

Until she’d turned eighteen, consulted a dietician and finally dropped the weight.

“It wasn’t fun,” she told her niece. “What time is your sister picking you up again?”

Efi looked at her watch, completely clueless as to what impact her questioning had. “She knocks off at the seafood restaurant at eleven so she should be here any minute now.”

“Couldn’t be soon enough for me,” Reilly murmured under her breath as she finished with the dough then shook the stiffness out of her hands.

Normally Efi was her favorite out of her seven nieces and nephews. You didn’t have to twist her arm to work. Say the word and she was there and ready, flinching away from nothing, and seeing to everything with a quick, cheery efficiency that made Reilly smile. You had to stop Efi from working, whereas Tina you needed to light a fire under every five minutes to scare her off the phone or get her to put her nail file away.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Rei,” Efi said, pushing from the counter and coming to stand next to her. “Did I hit a sore spot?”

The teen draped her skinny arm over Reilly’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. Reilly briefly leaned into her and smiled. “Not only did you hit it dead-on, you delivered a TKO.”

“So it sucked being…chubby, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “It sucked being designated as the class fat girl. The occasional taunts I could handle. The pig noises I could have done without.”

“Pig noises? Oh, how rank.”

Reilly smiled. “Yeah.”

It had been a while since Reilly had thought about that time. Really thought about it. Sure, she’d constantly watched her calories lest she began to regain any of that hard-lost weight. But it had been a good, long while since she’d remembered what it was like to feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

Of course, she also realized that Efi’s question wasn’t all that had brought back the memories. For some reason her awkward exchange with Ben Kane that morning had made her feel like that fat girl all over again. She’d remembered with horror how the captain of the football team had asked her to the prom in her junior year, and she’d gushingly accepted…only to find out later that day that it had all been a cruel joke. On her.

And Ben Kane represented everything that was that football captain. He was tall and handsome and dated all the best girls in class…in the city. What could he possibly want with her? Her love life wasn’t just slow, it was nonexistent. Sure, when she’d first dropped the weight, she’d given her new body a trial run. But the men she’d dated weren’t really worth mentioning and made her rethink the casual sex thing since she wasn’t really getting anything out of it anyway. Especially once she’d explored her body while in the privacy of her own room and turned herself on more than any of the men she’d dated combined.

But Ben…

God, just looking at him made her want to buy new batteries for her vibrator.

“And that’s exactly the reason you should stay away from him,” she whispered.

“What was that, Aunt Rei?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, Ef. I was just talking to myself.”

Out front a horn blared.

“That would be your sister,” Reilly said with relief.

“Right on time.” She kissed Reilly on the cheek. “You sure you don’t want me to stay and help finish this up? I could crash upstairs with you tonight.”

Reilly smiled. “Thanks, but I think I can manage. Tell your Mom thanks from me.”

“Thanks for what?”

“For talking about my Chubby Chuddy days.”

Efi laughed. “I will.”

She watched her niece go, pinching off a sloppy end from one of the strips of dough. Then she systematically transferred the lined baking sheets to the industrial-size refrigerator, her mind going over everything that had happened that day, and wandering, as it had almost every five minutes, back to Ben Kane and his tempting offer.

“Get real, Chubby Chuddy. Ben Kane is a calorie-packed double, double chocolate cheesecake and you’re on a diet.”

But nothing she said could stop her from hungering for him anyway.

3

MIDNIGHT. BEN’S RESTAURANT was closed. The infamous L.A. traffic had slowed to a trickle. The city’s residential streets were deserted. And Sugar ’n’ Spice still looked inviting, even with the lights dimmed and the tables empty.

Ben reached for the food he’d brought along with him then climbed from his black low-slung BMW convertible roadster. There was no sign of life inside the pastry shop, but having worked in a restaurant for a good deal of his life, he knew that didn’t necessarily mean someone wasn’t working away in the kitchen. He glanced through the sparkling glass toward the kitchen window. Sure enough, he saw a telltale light shining brightly behind the round pane.

Pure, physical want shot through him at the thought of Reilly being but a short distance away from him. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head all night, no matter how busy and hectic it had gotten at the restaurant. And it had been a good, long while since a woman had had that effect on him. Oh, he might be attracted to a woman, know that at some point he would get together with her, but he had always easily shelved thoughts of her while he attended to work.

But Reilly…

He absently rubbed the back of his neck. His attraction to Reilly seemed to fly in the face of everything he thought he knew about himself. She wasn’t six-foot-something with model good looks and a sexual prowess he usually found attractive. In fact, she’d tried to dismantle his interest in her, throw up a roadblock in his pursuit of her, completely unimpressed that he owned one of the hottest eateries in L.A., catering to the hottest celebrities and the who’s who of the movie industry.

Of course, he didn’t flatter himself that all the women he dated were interested in him and him alone. He was aware of those who gravitated toward him because of the indirect Hollywood connections he had. The people he could introduce them to. The newspapers they could get their pictures in just by attending an event with him. While there were stars that garnered international attention for the roles they played and the salaries they raked in, within Hollywood itself was another form of celebrity status. And Ben prided himself on being a part of it.

No, greater America might not know who he was, but the people that greater America did recognize? They recognized him. And that power drew some intriguing people his way.

It was worlds away from the gray life he’d led growing up, working in the back of his father’s hot-dog stand down on Sunset, where mingling with the customers was not only prohibited, but undesirable. After all, there were only so many things a person could say about a hot dog. And a limited time in which to talk about it as the customers either took the food with them, or wolfed it down right on the spot.

Then his father had had a massive heart attack when Ben was twenty. He’d survived but had decided to retire, and had passed on the three stands he owned to Ben, fully expecting his only child to follow in his footsteps.

Instead, a few years later, Ben had sold the stands and used the cash to open Benardo’s Hideaway. And while the menu may have changed over the years, the restaurant’s motto didn’t. Essentially, everyone who walked through the doors of his place was treated like a star and the real stars who came were anonymous. No photographers, no journalists, no press and no fawning fans allowed.

There was at least one major drawback to his switch in gears, though. His father had never forgiven him for not spending his life handing steamed hot dogs out to rushed customers and had yet to even come to Benardo’s Hideaway. The last time Ben had visited him, Jerry Kane had said he wouldn’t fit in with the hoity-toity crowd his son catered to and would rather eat a frozen dinner at home—hot dogs being out because of his constant battle against cholesterol.

Ben hadn’t even realized the door to Sugar ’n’ Spice’s kitchen had opened until he blinked and found Reilly standing staring at him through the other side of the glass.

He grinned, her appearance reaffirming everything he remembered about this morning. Her warm blond hair. Her large hazel eyes. Her curvy, hot body.

Metal scratched as she methodically unlocked the front door then pulled it open.

“Ben,” her breath seemed to rush out of her sexy, unpainted mouth on a sigh.

“Reilly.” He lifted the bags he held. “Turns out the last of my staff left before I could have them deliver this so I had to make the delivery myself.”

The twinkle in her eyes told him she didn’t buy the line. And he liked that. In that one instant they connected in a silent, knowing way that didn’t need words.

Reilly looked at her watch. “Midnight on the button. You’re a man of your word.”

“You can call me anything, just don’t call me late for dinner.”

She smiled at that. “Corny.”

“Agreed. Are you hungry?”

She seemed to consider the comment and he wondered if her mind was wandering to other hungers, just as his was as he eyed her appetizing mouth, the soft curve of her neck, her narrow wrists and toned forearms. He found it strange that he was lusting after a woman’s forearms. But since Reilly was covered from head to toe in an apron and long-sleeved shirt and pants, there was little else for him to lust after.

She sucked her lower lip in between her teeth, as if the action might help in her decision. For a moment he thought she was going to refuse him, turn him away into the night. Then she said, “Actually, I was just thinking about how I haven’t really eaten anything all day. And the thought of having Benardo’s delivered…well, it seems suddenly all too appealing.”

Ben hiked his brows then grinned, idly wondering where the bumbling chatterbox from this morning was hiding out. She held the door open and he stepped inside, instantly assaulted by the aroma of sweet dough baking and of Reilly’s clean-smelling skin as he passed her. He began hefting the bags he held to a table, but she stayed him with a hand that seemed to burn straight through his shirt and scorch his skin. “No. Why don’t we go back to the kitchen?”

He caught her looking through the front glass windows at his sports car parked at the curb.

“What? Don’t want to be seen with me, Reilly?”

She quickly glanced at him and her cheeks pinkened. “You don’t understand. I have these three friends who would never let me hear the end of it if they found out we were here together, alone, in the middle of the night.” The left side of her mouth turned up. “And who knows what my family would think.”

“And do your friends and family make a habit of driving past your shop in the middle of the night?”

“No. But why take chances?”

He wanted to give her at least a dozen reasons why she should take chances, namely with him, but instead followed her sexy little bottom through the shop and back through the door to the kitchen.

The source for the sweet scent permeating the place became immediately clear as he eyed the sheets of freshly baked—were those unfrosted and unstuffed éclairs?—goodies taking up nearly every inch of free counter space.

“Move one of the trays to the side over there,” she said, gesturing toward the middle island. She grabbed a towel, checked inside an oven, then took out yet another tray then switched off the temperature. She looked around for a free space, then propped the oven door open and slid the tray back inside. He handed her the one he’d moved to make room for him and Reilly at the counter and she put that inside the open oven, as well.

She ran her wrist across her forehead and looked at him sheepishly. “I have another cart on order,” she told him, gesturing off to the side to where two ten-tray carts were full, “but it hasn’t arrived yet.”

“You may want to go for two or three more.”

“I’m afraid you may be right. I had no idea when I opened this place that business would be so good.” She stared at him openly, licked her bottom lip, then gestured toward the island.

Ben made a ceremony out of pulling out a free stool for her, then helping her to climb on top of it, guessing his assistance hindered rather than helped the process but up for any excuse to touch her. She gracefully accepted the offer, then waited as he sat next to her and began pulling items out of the bags. Even as he did so, he wondered what they would be having for dessert. And éclairs, as good as they may be, were definitely not at the top of his list.

REILLY COULDN’T quite bring herself to believe that she was sitting in the middle of her shop kitchen in the dead of night watching yummy Ben Kane serve her up dinner from a restaurant that boasted a three-month waiting list for a table.

No, she had never been to Benardo’s Hideaway. Oh, sure, she knew where it was. Situated north of Santa Monica, on a jagged outcropping overlooking the Pacific Ocean, everyone agreed that the view was phenomenal, especially at sunset. And with the ocean-side floor-to-ceiling windows, all diners were guaranteed one hell of a show.

But Reilly understood that even the fantastic view ranked a far second to the number one reason the restaurant was so popular: the famous cuisine Benardo’s offered. And as Ben took fine china plates out, she began to see what sort of standards the owner upheld.

No foam cartons for Benardo’s. Everything was in rubber-topped glass containers and separate from the foods they would be served with. She swallowed hard as she watched Ben’s long, thick-fingered hands lay out a navy blue and gold tapestry placemat, two crystal candle holders complete with candles, linen-wrapped silverware, a gold charger plate, then cobalt blue plates that were edged with a gold Greek key design.