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She cringed at the earsplitting clanging that echoed through the kitchen and, undoubtedly, the rest of the shop.
“What was that?” Mallory asked as Reilly could do little more than stare at the noisy trays lying askew at her feet.
“You’ll never believe who just walked in here.”
“Are you whispering? You’re whispering. So it must mean it’s a star.”
Reilly waved her hand as she restlessly paced one way then the other. “No, he’s not a star.”
“At least we’ve established it’s a he.”
“I mean, he’s not a star in the conventional sense.” She caught her bottom lip briefly between her teeth and peeked out the round door window to find the man in question wearing an amused closed-mouth smile as he considered the goodies displayed behind the counter. He turned his head in her direction and she ducked out of the way again and flattened herself against the wall.
“Well, for God’s sake, Reilly, who is it?”
She cupped her hand over her mouth and the receiver, “None other than Ben Kane himself.”
Mallory’s sigh filled her ear. “Here I was ready to ask you to get Russell Crowe’s cell phone number for me. Ben Kane? He’s just a restaurant owner. And why are you whispering anyway?”
Why was she whispering? She was in the kitchen. In her kitchen, in her shop, and there was certainly no one around to notice her, much less overhear her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s the piece.”
“What, mentioning you and Kane in the same sentence?”
That didn’t sound quite right, either. “Yeah.”
“I think you need a nap.”
Reilly dared another peek through the window to find Ben Kane staring pointedly at his watch.
“Oh, God, he’s expecting service.”
Mallory’s throaty laugh filled her ear. “Of course, he is, silly. He’s in a shop that sells stuff. Which means he’s probably interested in buying some of that stuff.” Reilly rolled her own eyes. “Now go sell him some of that stuff so, you know, you can make some more of that green stuff.”
“Very funny.”
“I am, aren’t I? Oh, and Reilly?”
“Lord forbid I ask, but what?”
“Triple your prices. He can afford it.”
“I can’t do that!”
“You don’t have your prices displayed, right?”
No, she didn’t. She figured her biggest sales point was her baking skills and display case.
“It wouldn’t be right.”
Mallory sighed. “Fine, then. Be a good girl.”
God, how she hated being called that.
“I’ll call you later,” Mall said. “You know, after you’ve served Mr. Hot-Pants Kane and after I get back from scouting that shoot site.”
“Okay.” Reilly told her friend goodbye then turned to hang up the phone. Only the base for the phone was on the other side of the door.
She closed her eyes wondering just how juvenile she looked. Even her fifteen-year-old niece, Efi, would probably shake her head in shame.
BEN KANE watched as the door to what he guessed was the kitchen opened a few inches. But rather than a person appearing, a slender hand snaked out holding a corded telephone receiver, blindly trying to hanging it up on the base.
He rubbed his chin. Odd. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the girl who’d disappeared into the kitchen upon his arrival was trying to avoid him. But that didn’t make any sense, because this was his first time inside the Art Deco-Style shop with its black and white floor tiles and pink and white color scheme.
He glanced at his watch. He hadn’t planned on this errand taking any more than a few minutes. Actually, he hadn’t planned on the errand at all until he’d arrived at the restaurant to find his pastry chef in a tizzy about someone having used his pastry knives to cut meat. He’d tried to calm the high-strung French immigrant, but instead he’d made things worse by referring to him as a cook and the chef had thrown his apron over Ben’s head and up and quit.
Friday night and no dessert? A definite no go.
Which had led him straight to the doorstep of the place that had been mentioned along with Benardo’s Hideaway in Hollywood Confidential that morning.
He considered the fare offered up in the display cases. While all good, they weren’t the same crème brûlée and the chocolate cheesecake his customers were used to indulging in.
A dull clang sounded from the kitchen. He imagined that whoever had made the commotion before was cleaning up their handiwork. He looked around for a bell he could ring for service but found none. With a glance at the half dozen other people seated around the place enjoying coffee and reading the paper—he nodded at the one guy in the corner typing madly away on a notebook computer—he stepped toward the stainless steel door to the kitchen and peeked through the window.
A woman’s head popped up directly on the other side of the glass, all big hazel eyes, pouty kissable lips and soft blond hair, startling him. Hell, startling them both as she shrieked. He watched as the woman’s head disappeared again, followed by more commotion.
Okay…
He stepped back from the door then slid his hands into his pockets. Surely whoever was in there had seen him and would come out to take care of him.
One minute…two minutes…
Ben grimaced. What kind of ship were they running here, anyway?
He tugged his right hand out of his pocket, knocked briefly on the kitchen door, then pushed it slightly open. “Hello?”
Metal clanged to his right. He glanced to where someone stood with their back turned to him at a waist-high stainless-steel counter some twenty feet away.
“Excuse me, could you please tell me if the owner or manager is available?” He stepped farther into the room, noticing how spotless it was, and how large.
The woman turned to face him, her hands filled with tan goo—dough, probably—and he noticed again how attractive she was. Not Vogue beautiful. Rather there was something…different about the way her features were put together. From her warm hazel eyes rimmed with some of the thickest lashes he’d seen on a blonde, to her full, quirky lips, she looked like the girl next door and the shop owner’s daughter wrapped up into one very delectable package.
“I’m the owner,” she said, thrusting one of her hands out. “My name’s Reilly…” she trailed off, either unable to remember her last name, or unwilling to share it, “…um, just Reilly.” Her plump bottom lip disappeared between white, wonderfully uncapped teeth. “What can I do for you?”
Ben stared down at where she clutched his hand, the warm dough on hers squishing against his skin. He knew the strangest temptation to lift her fingers to his mouth and lick them clean of the sugary concoction, one by one.
“Hello, Just Reilly. I’m Just Ben. And right now I can think of at least a half dozen things I want you to do for me.”
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.
