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“And you’re on your feet working in a kitchen all day?” he asked, appalled at the idea of how much pain she had to have experienced. He knew guys who’d had those injuries during his high-school sports days. They were not fun.
“I’m better.” She pointed down to the stool on which she sat. “And I work sitting down a lot.”
Nick wanted to know more. Lots of things. Like what kind of life she’d led in New York and whether anyone had shared it. And what her neck tasted like. And what she planned to do once her father was well enough to come back to the bakery. And what she’d eaten today that had left her lips so ruby red. And why she was resisting something happening between them.
And when she was going to be in his bed.
But the phone interrupted before he could ask, much less get any answers. Excusing herself to answer it, she revealed her frustration with the caller with every word exchanged. Nick heard enough to understand what was going on-her part-time delivery person was calling in sick.
“I can’t believe this,” she muttered after she hung up the phone. “All these orders and he bails on me.” Almost growling, she added, “Are the Cubs playing today? It sounded like the little bastard was at the ball park.”
Fierce. He liked it.
“Don’t sweat it, Iz. I’ll help you out.”
Blinking, she replied, “Huh?”
“I’ll help you make the deliveries.” Hopping off the bench, he walked over to a tall cart, laden with cardboard boxes labeled with the names of several local restaurants. “After all,” he said, offering her a boyish smile over his shoulder, “what are friends for?”
FRIENDS WERE FOR going to the movies with. Sharing bad date stories with. Getting through boring reunion s with. Crying over breakups with. Dieting with. Drinking with. Clubbing with.
Friends were not for having sex with. Or lusting over. Or inspiring lust simply by the way they handled a few heavy boxes and filled out their soft, broken-in jeans.
Nick Santori was no friend of hers. Because oh, God, she had already broken every “friend” rule in the book and she’d only agreed to his terms a few hours ago.
When they’d talked in the kitchen, he’d been friendly and warm. That boyish smile he’d flashed her when he’d offered to help her with the deliveries had made him seem so charming and endearing. Completely the opposite of the brooding, simmering hunk of male heat she’d watched through covetous eyes at the club last weekend. It was like he was two people in one body.
And she wanted both of them desperately.
She couldn’t believe she’d thought she could handle being merely his friend. Now, having been closed up in a delivery van with him for the past couple of hours, she was definitely having second thoughts.
He was being so damned wonderful. Not just offering to help her, he had refused to let her lift a single box. They’d gone to a dozen shops and restaurants, delivering cakes, pies and pastries to some places for their dinner customers tonight, and muffins and coffee cake to others for their breakfast crowds tomorrow. He’d charmed her customers, and her. He’d even driven, since Izzie hated dealing with the traffic. She’d sat in the passenger seat of the bakery van, reading off the list of stops, trying not to notice how big he was and how small the van felt with him in it.
She also tried not to notice how wonderful he smelled. How the sound of his low laughter rolled over her, more warm and sultry than a summer breeze. How his short hair curled a little behind his ear. How strong his lightly stubbled jaw was and how thick his body was beneath his tight T-shirt. How he warmed her from two feet away.
And how very, very much she wanted him.
Especially after the cannoli. It was the damn cannoli that put the nail in her coffin…and the wetness in her panties.
They had an extra box. Izzie had been so wiped out from working so many hours, both at the bakery Tuesday through Saturday, and at the club Saturday and Sunday nights, that she’d miscounted. She’d boxed up an extra two dozen of the decadent ricotta-and-cream filled treats. Once they’d finished all the deliveries, thanks mostly to Nick’s strong back-oh, heavens, that strong back-she’d noticed the extra box and realized her mistake.
So, when they’d gotten back to the bakery and parked in the small private lot behind it, she’d offered him one. He’d immediately taken her up on it, not even getting out of the van before digging in. And seeing him eat it with such visceral, sensual appreciation, was making her a quivering, shaking mess.
“God, these are amazing. No wonder they sell out every day at Santori’s,” he said as he licked at the creamy center of the tube-shaped pastry.
