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If he could only convince her to make that togetherness more permanent this time.
After ploughing his way through the downstairs offices and the upstairs storage areas, Rafe managed to find a desk to sit at and scribbled down a to-do list. And his first item of business was to enlist some help.
A couple of phone calls followed by a few hours of trudging boxes of God-only-knew-what from one room to another, and by the time one o’clock rolled around, he was more than ready to call it quits.
His office was on the opposite side of the village green from the patisserie, and a quick jog put him in the shop at five after one.
“You’re late,” Jane said, flicking her gaze to his as she continued doing whatever she was doing behind the counter.
As always, Rafe’s pulse ticked a little faster at the sight of her. He grinned. “Sorry, beautiful.”
Conversations quietened throughout the café, and from the corner of his eye he saw those sitting closest to him straighten in their chairs, no doubt eager to hear more.
Let the Melville’s Cross Gossip Challenge begin.
Jane shook her head and sighed, but that secretive smile still played on her lips. “Take a seat,” she said, using a large chef’s knife to point at an empty table in the back. “I’ll be there in a tick.”
He settled in and watched his woman work. And his cock grew painfully hard. There was just something about a woman who knew her way around a knife that he found incredibly sexy, and he desperately wanted to kiss her.Hard.
But kissing her meant not asking her to marry him anymore, and he wasn’t ready to quit pursuing her on that front quite yet.
A minute later she slid a plate on the table in front of him. “Eat,” she said, sliding into the chair opposite his.
“Is that what I think it is?” He stared at the elegantly served dessert, drool pooling in his mouth.
“If you think it’s a toasted coconut crumb base filled with a sweet yet tart curd made from lemons, limes and blood oranges, topped with fresh merengue and baked until golden, served with passionfruit and mango coulis and candied mango slices, then yes, it’s exactly what you think it is.”
His favourite.
Lips lifting in a slow smile, he said, “You made Rafe Pie?”
It was actually named tropical sunset pie, a concoction she’d created one night in his apartment kitchen after a couple glasses of wine and a few hours of great sex. He had memories of her prancing around his kitchen wearing nothing but an apron and a smile, and even more memories of bending her over the kitchen bench and fucking her senseless.
Racing the oven timer as they chased their bliss.
That was a really good night.
Definitely worth repeating.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, pulling him from his memories.
“Aren’t you eating?” he asked, slicing his fork through the buttery texture of the dessert. She hadn’t eaten breakfast either, claiming she still felt nauseous, but he saw the excuse for what it was: nerves.
She was nervous about going back to work so soon after giving the town so much to talk about, knew once they saw her expanding belly they’d have even more fat to chew. She also knew they’d sit in her shop and look down their noses at her while she was forced to be polite to them, make small talk and not spit in their food.
Jane shook her head as she climbed to her feet again. “I’m not hungry. But you eat up, okay? And give me ten minutes,” she said. “Renee’s running late for her shift.”
“And you gavemecrap about running late.”
“I have to keep you on your toes,” she said, winking.
And as she disappeared behind the counter again, Rafe heard something he really wished he hadn’t.
“Slut.”
Thatwas one part of small town living he hadn’t missed.
Rafe put his fork down and pushed to his feet.
