Flavor Of The Month (Kiss & Tell Book 2) Read online

  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 images 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.