“You’re such a wildcat,” Ben said in appreciation

He couldn’t have been more surprised. Before he could blink, Reilly had essentially ripped off his clothes, pulled her T-shirt over her head and shimmied out of her decadent jean cutoffs. Then she’d pushed him to the couch and straddled him, her lips full and pouty and her body primed and more than ready.

Now her hazel eyes twinkled, amusement and a hint of a challenge in them. “I’m a woman into extremes. When I do something, I go all the way.” She wore a determined expression. “What’s the matter, Ben? Afraid you can’t handle a woman like me?”

This Reilly was so different from the self-conscious woman he was coming to know that he had to take another look to make sure it was the same person.

And the contrast turned him on to no end.

“Not the case at all, Reilly. I just want to know where the fire is.”

She curved her fingers around his wrist, then tugged his hand down until his fingers rested against the front of her panties. She grinned wickedly. “Right here.”

Dear Reader,

Sugar ’n spice and everything naughty literally applies to the second heroine in our KISS & TELL miniseries. Not only does Reilly Chudowski own a pastry shop named Sugar ’n Spice, but the treats she offers to Ben Kane are impossible for him to resist!

Only a woman who spent her childhood known as Chubby Chuddy would grow up to own a sweets shop…and be stupid enough to date L.A. restaurateur Benjamin Kane, a man renowned for his good looks and never-ending series of model girlfriends. But oh, how he feeds Reilly’s growing appetites on every level. Only, when push comes to shove, can Ben convince her that there is life for them beyond dessert?

We hope you enjoy Reilly and Ben’s delicious journey to sexily-ever-after! We’d love to hear what you think. Write to us at P.O. Box 12271, Toledo, OH 43612 (we’ll respond with a signed bookplate, newsletter and bookmark), or visit us on the Web at www.BlazeAuthors.com and www.toricarrington.com for fun drawings.

Here’s wishing you love, romance and hot reading!

Lori & Tony Karayianni

aka Tori Carrington

Flavor of the Month
Tori Carrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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We warmly dedicate this book to our niece Elena:

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life:

that word is love.

—Sophocles

May you and Pantelis have love, always.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

1

Hollywood Confidential—October 13, 2003

“…if you want this reporter’s informed opinion, the crème de la crème of Hollywood eateries are Benardo’s Hideaway and Sugar ’n’ Spice. If the owners of these two delectable hot spots were to combine their talents, we’d all be in for a treat….”

REILLY CHUDOWSKI read and reread the piece in the daily paper her best friend, Layla, had left behind, gob-smacked by the unsolicited rave from the popular L.A. reporter. She sat back in the bar-style chair in her favorite corner of Sugar ’n’ Spice and glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows onto Wilshire Boulevard, taking in the autumn sunrise and the cars cruising by. A deep breath filled her nose with the smell of yeasty sweet rolls baking and coffee brewing and a touch of cinnamon from yesterday’s cookies. Who would have guessed she’d be where she was now? Six months ago, she’d finally used the small amount of money her grandmother had left her and opened the doors to the pastry shop. Now, not only was she operating in the black, she was beginning to make a tidy profit. And with coverage like the Hollywood Confidential had just given her, things would likely get even better.

Yes, all was definitely right with the world….

Her smile slipped. Okay, maybe there was one little blemish. Her name had been linked with that of the owner of Benardo’s Hideaway, Ben Kane. She didn’t make a habit of buying the Hollywood hot sheets herself, but between her customers and her friends Layla and Mallory leaving the papers behind, she was kept pretty well informed when it came to L.A. social happenings and people of interest. Suffice it to say that dark-haired, sexy Ben Kane had enjoyed being the Hollywood Hunk of the Month for the past two years running. And while the Confidential reporter had likely met him, she probably had no idea who Reilly was, even though she’d obviously been in the shop. Because if she had, she’d never have linked Reilly and Ben Kane together in print, or in any other manner. Simply because people didn’t come any more different than her and Ben Kane.

He was the captain of the football team and she was the fat girl in the back of the class.

He was the star and she was the extra with no lines.

He was the president and she was the disposable intern.

She lived in the cramped apartment over her shop and her only mode of transportation was a white ten-year-old minivan with the shop’s logo painted on it. He likely had a sprawling mansion in the Hollywood Hills and drove a Ferrari.

Reilly absently folded the paper, the pad of her thumb catching on the edge.

“Ow.” She shook her hand then stuck her thumb into her mouth. The cowbell above the front door clanged. She turned to find one of her morning steadies squinting against the change in light.

She pulled her thumb from her mouth. “Morning, Johnnie.”

“And an awesome morning it is, too,” Johnnie aka Johnnie Thunder said, just like he did every morning.

Reilly wondered if she was the only one who didn’t operate under an alias in the greater L.A. area. She pushed from the stool, finding it amazing that she had steady customers. She took in Johnnie’s limp, shoulder-length brown hair, his thickset torso bearing a pea-green T-shirt with a white logo of some kind on it peeking from the open flaps of his thriftshop army jacket. Worn jeans and tennis shoes finished off the effect of urban unchic. On a teen it might have been okay. But Johnnie had to be in his thirties.

“Can I interest you in a cream puff this morning?” she asked, scooting behind the counter where her eighteen-year-old niece, Tina, was stocking the display.

“No. I’ll take a sweet roll and a small coffee.”

“In other words, the usual?”

“Yeah.”

Instead of immediately heading for his spot as he usually did after receiving his tray of items, Johnnie lingered awkwardly at the counter.

Reilly blinked at him as she rearranged the rolls for maximum effect. “Is there something more you wanted, Johnnie?”

Was it possible for a man his age to blush that deeply? Yes, she realized, it was.

“I was just wondering,” he said. “I have tickets for this great music festival this weekend and I was thinking maybe you and me…well, if you wanted to go with me…”

She smiled at him, genuinely flattered at the attention, even if unwanted. “Thanks for thinking of me, Johnnie, but right now Sugar ’n’ Spice is the whole of my professional and personal life. And it probably will be for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh. Okay.” He showed her the thin notebook computer tucked under his arm. “Mind if I hook up, then?”

“Actually, I’d probably tell anyone else who dared to sit there to get lost.” She took in his half grin. “The spot’s all yours.”

He nodded, his stringy hair momentarily hiding his ferretlike features as he headed with his order for the table in the opposite corner that featured an electrical outlet and a cable modem hookup. She’d thought offering the service would attract more people of Johnnie’s type, but so far he was the only one who logged on regularly. She wasn’t all that clear what he did, but she was pretty sure Johnnie Thunder was his Internet name.

Her niece finished up then stacked an empty tray near the door to the kitchen. She shrugged out of her apron. “I’ve got to get to my nine o’clock.”

“What’s on tap this morning? Psych?” Reilly asked.

“Social Sciences.” Tina—short for Constantina, and shorter yet for Constantina Kalopapodopoulos—blew dark brown bangs out of her darker eyes. She usually made it into the shop for an hour or two each day to help out and make deliveries, depending on her class schedule.

“You don’t sound very happy about it.”

Tina slanted a gaze at her. “Trying to juggle a full course load at UCLA while working two part-time jobs isn’t a picnic, Aunt Rei.”

“Well, if your motivation for wanting a degree in psychology was more than just about figuring out your dysfunctional family, maybe it wouldn’t seem so tough.” She rounded the counter again. “Besides, you forget that I’ve been there. The juggling part, I mean.”

“Yeah, but that was at least…forever ago. Things have changed since then.”

“Since four years ago?”

Tina rolled her eyes, looking more like her Greek-American father than her Polish mother—who was Reilly’s sister—with every day that passed. “Whatever.”

Reilly put a couple of cream puffs into a bag as Tina grabbed her backpack and jacket. She held out the bag as the eighteen-year-old passed.

Tina paused, her pretty face looking a little less harried. “Thanks.”

“Is Efi stopping by to help out tonight?”

Efi was Reilly’s secret favorite out of her nieces and nephews. She was Tina’s younger sister and much hated by the older girl. At fifteen-going-on-forty, Efi reminded Reilly of what she’d been like herself growing up. Not a day went by that Efi didn’t beg Reilly to hire her on full-time, though what she really wanted was to be a partner. But the only time Reilly gave in and let her help was when she had a large order to fill. And the catering gig for a charity event that weekend definitely qualified as a large order. More specifically, five thousand tiny éclairs.

“Yeah, she’ll be here.” Tina hurried for the door.

“Give ’em hell, kid!” Reilly called out after her.

While she couldn’t see Tina’s expression, she was pretty sure it involved an eye roll and a grimace.

Reilly shook her head as she picked up the empty baking trays and headed for the kitchen. The telephone on the wall next to the swinging door rang. She freed one of her hands and plucked it up. “Sugar ’n’ Spice.”

“And everything very nice,” a familiar female voice said. “Have you gotten a load of this morning’s Confidential?”

A documentary producer and one of her three best friends, Mallory Woodruff rarely got excited about anything, so her enthusiasm warmed Reilly even further. “Why, yes, as a matter of fact, Layla brought by a copy earlier.”

“Earlier? What time is it? Oh.”

It was just after eight-thirty. Which made it much too early for Mallory although Reilly had been up since four-thirty getting ready to open her doors at six. When she’d first opened the shop, she’d posted her hours as seven. But that hadn’t stopped at least a dozen or so people from knocking on her glass door with their car keys, their noses practically pressed against the window as they eyed where she was stocking the display cabinet. So she’d moved back the opening time. Which meant she also had to get up an hour earlier. But, hey, one didn’t get mentioned in Hollywood Confidential by slacking off.

She caught herself smiling in the same goofy way she had been all morning.

“I think you should blow up the mention and post it in your front window,” Mallory was saying.

“Too tacky.”

“Well, frame it, then hang it in your window.”

Reilly looked at the wall behind the counter. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. She could put it next to where she displayed in a frame the first dollar the shop had made and where her business license hung.

The front door opened, letting in another customer. Reilly looked in his direction. Another man. It was a given that the majority of her customers were female, aside from the men who stopped for coffee before eight. After eight, men were pretty scarce.

The expensive shine of rich leather shoes caught her attention first. Then her gaze moved up crisply ironed tan slacks, a belt that matched the shoes and up over a crisp brown-and-white striped shirt rolled up to reveal wrists peppered with dark hair. Mmm…if the rest of him matched what she’d seen so far…

Ever hopeful, she looked up into the handsomely familiar face that bore a passing resemblance to Tom Cruise.

She nearly dropped the phone.

Reilly swung away so she was facing the wall. Deciding that wasn’t enough, she ducked through the swinging door leading to the kitchen, dropping the empty trays she held as she went.

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.

“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.

“And here I would have settled for a burger on a paper plate,” she murmured.

Ben handed her a crystal glass then poured in a finger of red wine. Which type, she couldn’t be sure because the letters on the label of the bottle were covered by the white linen napkin he’d wrapped around it. “Shh,” he ordered.

She suppressed a giggle then sipped at the wine. Merlot. A good one at that.

She tried to get a peek inside the dish he was opening, but he held it where she couldn’t see.

“Close your eyes.”

She widened them instead. “What?”

He grinned at her, making her stomach pitch to her feet. “You heard me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t get any food.”

She made a face. Five minutes ago she probably would have pointed him toward the door and sent him on his merry way if he’d told her she’d have to close her eyes. But now that she’d been treated to the full presentation, her curiosity had been ignited and she really wanted to see what he had in store for her.

The key word being see.

She shifted on her stool then closed her eyes. What could he do, really, if she peeked?

She felt cloth settle over her eyelids. She immediately reached for it. “Um, you didn’t say anything about a blindfold.”

She felt as well as heard him say “trust me” very near her ear. She fought a shiver, but was helpless to prevent it from sliding up her arms then down her back to settle finally between her tightly clenched thighs. He took her silence as acquiescence and continued tying the material around the back of her head, careful not to get her hair caught in the knot.

Oh, boy.

While Reilly knew her kitchen better than she did her upstairs apartment, she felt decidedly strange sitting there, being able to touch everything, smell everything, but not see it. Beyond the scent of the éclairs, the hint of cinnamon that still lingered and the honey syrup she’d used on the sticky buns that morning, she became aware of another pungent food scent and salivated.

“Open your mouth,” Ben requested next to her ear.

Reilly’s throat closed so tightly she could barely breathe but she somehow managed to part her lips, foggily trying to remember the last time she’d brushed her teeth.

Something rested against her tongue. She was vividly aware of the burst of flavor. Of something cheesy and tangy and spicy. Spots of yellow, orange and red exploded behind her closed eyelids as she closed her lips so Ben could extract the fork.

“Mmm.” She’d never connected food to colors before. But without the aid of sight, her mind seemed to compensate in other ways.

“That’s my own recipe for brie.”

Brie. She’d never had brie before, so had no way to connect it to a different type of cheese. She did, however, decide that she’d been missing out.

“More?” Ben’s breath disturbed the hair over her left ear, making her nipples harden and her thighs clench more tightly.

“Definitely…more,” she whispered.

There was a heartbeat of a pause, then she heard him moving again, and within moments another bite of the delicious brie was resting against her tongue along with something crunchy and tasting of wheat germ. A cracker? Whatever it was, paired with the brie, it was pure heaven.

“Take a sip of wine.” He took her hand and placed the wineglass in her fingers. She slowly drank, then he took the glass back. “Open.”

She swallowed hard, her heart beginning to pound at the easy cadence of his words. His voice was deep and more intoxicating than the fine wine. His closeness did strange things to her, making her feel as if she stood in the beam of an electrical current. Her skin felt alive and tingly, her toes were curled up in her tennis shoes, and it seemed to take all of her concentration to keep her breathing from becoming a rasp.

Seafood.

Shrimp.

No, a prawn.

Cooked in a sweet coconut mixture that set her mouth to watering and her throat to humming.

While she’d always been a great lover of food, sweets had always been more her thing. The more sugar the better, was her motto. And her mother had come from a sturdy meat-and-potatoes background, with lots of cabbage stuck in for flavor. Having Ben introduce her to a whole new spectrum of culinary delicacies and tastes made her shiver in anticipation.

She slowly chewed the food. “So, um, how did the desserts go over at the restaurant? I hope there weren’t too many complaints?”

“Shh. It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”

She giggled then caught herself. “Who died and made you the manners police?”

He slid the fork inside her mouth again, filling it with a mixture that would take her a half hour to try to identify. Then she felt his breath against her other ear, indicating he was no longer sitting but was moving behind her. “No, I’m just a man hoping you’ll let him sample some of your…desserts when I’m done.”

Oh, boy…

“In fact, do you mind if I take a little taste now?”

Reilly gasped when she felt his tongue against the right side of her neck. A long, probing lick that nearly melted her into a puddle at his feet. The sensation was doubly powerful because she hadn’t known it was coming.

“Mmm. Just as I thought.”

What? she wanted to ask, but found that she couldn’t. Did you pick up baking grit?

“You taste as good as you look.”

She somehow managed to swallow the bite in her mouth and crossed her arms over her breasts in case he could see how very powerfully his attentions were affecting her—that is, making her nipples fully erect. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

She heard his chuckle on the left side, throwing her equilibrium off even further. “On the contrary, Reilly, you’re the most appetizing thing I’ve seen…tasted, in a long, long time.”

She couldn’t help an indelicate snort, the sound ringing loud in the cavernous room.

Oh, now that was sexy.

She cleared her throat, wishing she could disappear as easily as the world had behind the blindfold. “Sorry.”

“You’re determined to ruin this seduction scene, aren’t you?” he whispered, making her shiver all over again.

“Is this, um, what this is? And here I thought it was just dinner.”

His abrupt chuckle told her he could still be surprised. “It will be if you don’t shut up.”

He put another forkful of food into her mouth when she might have said something. She ignored his earlier rebuke about talking with her mouth full and said, “You and my mother will have to have a talk. Because she wasn’t very good at getting me to be quiet, either.”

She felt fingers against her knee and nearly hit her head on the kitchen ceiling.

Had she thought, oh boy? Yes, she had. But this definitely deserved a more panicked one.

Reilly had never been very good with seduction. Neither as the seduced nor the seductress. She’d quickly found out she was too high-strung for that. While she was patient with nearly every other aspect of her life, when it came to sex she liked it fast and hard and spontaneous. Something that didn’t require her to think. Or didn’t call for her to sit still without squirming for an extended period of time.

“Tell me what you’re tasting, Reilly,” Ben said.

She realized that she hadn’t registered that bite. “I don’t know. All I can think about is your hand on my knee.”

He moved to her other ear. “Then tell me how you’re feeling.”

Like I want you to remove your hand. “Like I want to jump out of my skin.”

Another quiet chuckle. “Not quite the imagery I was after.”

Of course it wouldn’t be. He was probably thinking more along the lines of hot ovens and temperature probes. But all she could think about was how…awkward she felt having one of L.A.’s hottest men trying to seduce her.

She whispered, “Sorry. That’s all I’ve got to give.”

His fingers budged up the inside of her leg.

Oh, God.

“How do you feel now?”

Like ripping off this blindfold and having my way with you on my kitchen island…

The thought caught Reilly so far off guard that she gripped the sides of the stool to keep from falling off. Was she, inexperienced Reilly Chudowski, really considering taking Ben Kane up on his offer for hot sex?

Yes, she realized, she was.

And as he inched his hand farther up her inner thigh, the desire inched up along with it. Oh, yes. She liked that. She liked that very much. She reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt then pulled his mouth down to hers, deciding that his idea of skipping straight to dessert was a pretty good one after all.

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