Just One Kiss. Isabel Sharpe
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ruined the perfect surprise he’d planned for a special lady?
That would suck.
She put on her usual welcoming smile, nerves making her mouth stretch with the effort, while the rest of her noted that he was still the hottest man she’d seen in a long, long time.
The hottest man she’d seen in a long, long time did something completely unexpected then. He smiled back.
Oh. My. The lingering emotions over the encounter with Tom were gone. Smashed. Obliterated.
In fact … Tom who?
The grin turned Bike Guy into a different person. Friendly. Boyish. Vital. And so sexy she practically had to grab for the counter to stay upright. Wind-tousled hair, light blue eyes, sexy indentations at the corners of his mouth, good strong chin with just the barest hint of a cleft …
“Hi, Angela.”
“Hello …” She trailed pointedly, cuing him for his name.
“I got my cupcakes home last night. But …” He looked comically perplexed. “Apparently there was a mistake. I ordered six white-on-white and I got seven.”
“Seven!?” She was all sweet innocence. Well, no, not all innocence. Just the parts he could see. “That is terrible.”
“It gets worse. The seventh cupcake was chocolate.”
“Chocolate.” She faked astonishment, then frowned. “That’s not like me, to get an order wrong. I’m pretty sure you’re mistaken.”
“No, mistake. Six white, one chocolate.”
“I really don’t think …” She narrowed her eyes. “Wait, what proof do you have? Pictures? A notarized statement? Crumbs?”
He put his hands to his hips, drawing attention—her attention anyway—to his broad chest. “The evidence has been tampered with. Destroyed. In fact, eaten.”
“No evidence, case dismissed.” She mimicked a gavel banging, then tipped her head to one side and realized with a thrill that he was fun as well as hot, and that she was flirting with him, which felt really, really good. “Did you enjoy it?”
“I did.”
“Well, good.” She gave a nod of satisfaction. “That’s what you were supposed to do.”
“Aha.” He took a step toward the counter, blue eyes fixed on her. “You admit it.”
She made herself look sweetly blank. “Admit what?”
Oh, it had been way, way too long since she’d done this. Her flirt muscles were unfurling, stretching, shaking off the dust. This was totally fun. Now she had to get Bonnie out flirting with her. Someone other than Seth.
“I came back to thank you.” He pulled restlessly at the zipper on his bike shirt. “You were right. I’m a chocolate guy.”
“I knew it.” She smiled, wishing rather carnally that he’d yank the zipper all the way down, contenting herself instead with taking in the lean physique, displayed so beautifully in skin-tight, black, red and blue material. Tom might have lost weight, but next to this graceful Titan, his stocky build looked stunted.
“So how did the birthday boy, or—” she mixed a meaningful pause with a sidelong glance “—girl, like the white cupcakes?”
His face shut down again. “It was a celebration in absentia.”
“Oh, I see.” No, she didn’t see at all. Someone was away? Gone? Dead? Was it a family member? Friend? Girlfriend or ex-girlfriend? Wife or ex-wife? She’d ask, but he was looking miserable again, and she wanted the sexy smiling guy back.
“What’s your name?”
He brought his eyes back to hers. Somehow she managed not to pass out. Or giggle. Or shriek and clutch her chest. God he was gorgeous.
“Sorry. I’m Daniel.” He stepped forward and extended his hand across the case. “Daniel Flynn.”
Daniel. Good name. She loved when people didn’t shorten good names to one-syllable nicknames. Christopher. Benjamin. Alexander. And Daniel …
She took his hand, warm and strong with nice long fingers. Men’s hands turned her on. And men’s shoulders. And biceps. And butts. Chests were nice, too, and there was nothing wrong with strong thighs or decently shaped feet.
From where she was standing it looked as if Daniel might have it all.
“It’s nice to see you again. I’m glad you liked the chocolate cupcake. Anything I can get for you today?”
A long, naked back rub?
“Oh.” He glanced around the cases. “I wasn’t really planning …”
“Greek pastry? Italian? French?”
His eyes wandered to her bread shelf. “Maybe a loaf of something.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Oatmeal.”
“Mine, too.” She glanced quickly at the loaves. “I’m out here, but I have more in the back, can you wait a second?”
“Sure.”
Angela started to turn, when an idea occurred to her. If she got the bread, came back and sold it to him, he’d have run out of reasons to be there. Which would give them maybe five more minutes to talk before he left her with no idea when or if she’d see him again. She needed more time to work around to asking if he was involved with anyone. Maybe not the greatest move—asking out a customer—but Daniel had finally woken her long-dormant interest in dating, and well … here he was. She didn’t know any other guys she’d want to date. Jack and Seth were both sexy, but Seth belonged with Bonnie, though he was too dense to figure it out, and Jack wasn’t her type, nor she his. Besides, going after either of them would be like trying to date one of her brothers.
She turned back to find Daniel studying her curiously. Not surprising since she’d taken one step toward retrieving his bread and then had frozen as if she’d gone into a coma.
“Would you like to come back and see what goes on in a bakery kitchen?” She gave an awkward laugh. Oof. The invitation came out sounding even lamer than it was. A bakery kitchen? Like she was offering him a glimpse of the Holy Grail?
“Sure.” He walked around the counter and joined her without hesitation.
Oh, my. Oh, gosh. He smelled really, really good, and given that she worked among some of the best smells in the world, that was really saying something. She wanted to touch him pretty much everywhere, but mostly she wanted to run her hands down his arms, shoulder to wrist, to see if they were as rock hard as they looked. Not since Tom had she had such a strong physical reaction to a man. And if that weren’t a huge red flag right there, she didn’t know what would be.
Except this time, she was just going to enjoy the attraction as the primal sexual response it was. This time she was not going to start dressing up simple lust with emotions it didn’t deserve, not assign to basic animal reaction any happy-ever-after importance or expectations of True Love. Fool her once, shame on her, fool her twice, she was a total moron.
She led him into her kitchen, feeling a swell of pride, hoping he could see its beauty the way she did. Sacks of flour stacked two and three feet high. Bags of seeds, sugars, specialty flours and containers of nuts and dried fruits. Her fifty-kilo dough mixer, which Alice would be bent over later in the day; the gleaming metal work table where José shaped loaves; her triple-deck oven; tall metal cooling racks where Frank did the baking—all secondhand, but working perfectly.
“This is great.” He stood in the center of the room, tall, vividly dressed, masculine, looking foreign. Angela had gotten so used to seeing everyone in flour-dusted aprons and jeans. “How does it all work?”
“I