Sweet on You (11 page)

"In your dreams," she said as she changed the setting to automatic and handed over the Nikon.

"Every night." He pointed it at her and looked through the lens. "Make love to the camera."

"Right."

He snapped a picture. "You're a sexy, sexy tiger. Growl for me, baby."

She laughed.

He took another photo. Then he leaned in, so his head was against hers, and took one of the two of them.

Still laughing, she turned her head.

And suddenly his lips were on hers.

She went still, frozen with shock.

His mouth was the only thing that touched her, and it was so gentle, so unthreatening, that it coaxed her into responding.

Where most guys would have taken that as a green light to go, Brian didn't change the pace at all. He urged her along slowly, without any demands, a brush of his tongue, a nibble of his lips. Warm and moist.

Skillful. He knew what he was doing.

There was nothing innocuous about it, though. He wasn't touching her, but she could feel the pull of it throughout her body, pooling molten right at the center of her.

He angled his head and deepened it for just a moment before he shifted away. Marley blinked, stunned by all of it, vaguely aware of him taking one more photo.

"Come on." He stood up and held out his hand. "Let's get gelato in the Ferry Building. You can take more pictures in there."

"Okay," she said faintly, dazedly standing up. Then she realized she didn't have her camera.

As if reading her mind, Brian said, "I'll give it back to you when I'm sure you won't drop it."

"Fair enough," she muttered.

He smiled and took her hand, twining his fingers through hers. She looked down at their entangled hands, deciding that she liked it.

She liked it a lot.

Chapter Fourteen

Daniela looked at the loaves of cinnamon bread lining the counter. How many should she take with her?

Her real estate agent had come through and gotten her a meeting with the man who owned the building. According to Ken, the man's father had left him the building as part of an inheritance and he had no interest in it. She was supposed to meet him in—she checked the time—an hour, and she didn't intend to go empty handed.

Nor did she expect to come back without the building owner promising to sell her the property.

There was only one sticky point: Nico.

She was about to undermine him. She rationalized it by telling herself he could buy any building for his project—she didn't have that luxury. None of the other properties Ken had showed her were viable. Either they were too far out of the city proper or required so much remodel that she may as well just built something from the ground up.

Which meant she had to convince the owner to sell it to her, even if she had to deliver a cake in the shape of a pirate ship to him every week (she'd made one for Johnny Depp once).

Would Nico still want to see her after the building was hers? The male ego was such a delicate thing. If this thing between them were just sex, buying the building wouldn't be a problem. They'd get it on a couple more times and then call it quits.

But she had a feeling this wasn't just sex. It felt like more. Much more.

She thought about the last time, at his hotel suite. They hadn't burned out all night, until she finally asked him to return her home at five in the morning. He'd wanted her to stay the night, but he hadn't argued when she said she wanted to go.

She'd needed to leave. She'd needed space. It'd been too intense. She'd left so quickly she forgot her underwear.

Marley cleared her throat. "You've been baking a lot lately."

She startled, having forgotten her assistant was there. Sometimes Marley was like a mouse, shuffling quietly around the house, running in the shadows.

"It’s funny, though," Marley said in an offhand tone that wasn't really offhand at all. "We haven't had any pastries around the house."

"That's funny?"

"It's certainly odd. It makes me wonder where the pastries are going." She shrugged, tapping into her ever-present phone. "If, for instance, you have a black market supply chain for gingerbread men."

Not ready to discuss her plans with anyone, Daniela took the offense. "What's going on with you?"

Marley blinked, looking startled. "What do you mean?"

"You've been strange lately. More so than usual."

"Thanks." She rolled her eyes and refocused on her phone.

"I mean it. You've been outspoken, and you look different." Daniela looked more closely, snapping her fingers as she realized what was off. "You're wearing color, and your hair is down."

Blushing, Marley tucked her hair behind her ear. "It's not a crime to leave your hair down."

"No, but it's out of character." She leaned on the counter. "Are you sick?"

"No."

"In love?"

"
No
." Marley glared at her. "That's just ridiculous."

But something in the way Marley protested caught her attention. Daniela just hoped the sudden changes were inspired by a man other than her brother, because Antonio Rossi was a selfish bastard. In her unbiased opinion, anyway.

"If you really want to know what's going on with me," her assistant began coyly, "I can tell you."

She threw her arms in the air. "Finally! Thank you. Just stop dancing around it and let me know what's going on."

Marley leaned forward, her gaze like a laser. "The Food Network."

Daniela groaned.

"I don't understand your reluctance to do this." Marley shook her head. "It'd be great for your career."

It would, if she still wanted her career.

"It'd make your brother happy, too," her assistant offered.

"Exactly," she said darkly. He'd been harassing her more and more, and she was sick of it. Not once did he ask her how
she
was doing—it was always about work. She grabbed a couple plastic bags and twist ties and began wrapping up the loaves. She'd take three.

Of course, Marley didn't hear the sarcasm. "So you agree?"

"Of course I don't." She viciously twisted the end of the plastic bag closed.

"Why not? I don't understand. The last time you were so excited to do it."

"My focus has changed. I'm growing in a different direction."

Marley fiddled nervously with her phone. "What do I tell Tony?"

"Tell him whatever you want. He's not my favorite right now. He'll be lucky if I even buy him coal for Christmas this year." It shouldn't surprise him. She'd replied to his last email with
Feel free to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge
. He probably understood the subtext, that she was pissed with him. He was perceptive that way. "I need to go. I'll see you later."

Before Marley could start talking about Sophie Martineau, who was also harassing her, or some other detail that she probably should have been paying attention to but couldn't care less about, she ran up all the stairs to her tower room to change.

She got ready in record time, called a cab, collected the bread, and went outside to wait. It was time to focus.

Daniela had asked Ken for intel, and he'd produced a good amount of information. She was on her way to meet Chris Ludlow, community college science teacher who wanted to pay off the massive loans he'd taken out for his two kids' college tuition.

She had the taxi driver take her to the coffeehouse in the Mission where Chris suggested they meet. Carrying her loaves, she strode into the café and looked around.

She knew him instantly. He sat in a high-backed chair in the corner, quietly watching the world through his thick lenses. His hair was thin on the top, but he hadn't combed it over like so many men's egos dictated they do. He glanced at her, perking up when he saw her.

She knew he recognized her. It was always obvious. Usually she hated it, but in this case she planned to use it to her full advantage. She smiled brightly and strode to him. "Chris?"

"Yes." He half got up.

"No, please sit." She set the bread on the table in front of him and shook his hand. "I'm Daniela."

"Daniela Rossi," he said, dazed, staring at her in wonder. "My wife watches your show."

"The reruns now." She sat across from him, unwinding the scarf from her neck.

"She's been watching for years. It baffles me, but she loves to try to copy your recipes." He leaned closer conspiratorially. "She's a god-awful cook."

Grinning, she pushed the bread closer to him. "Then maybe you can both enjoy this."

He looked inside the bag, blinked, and then gaped at her. "Did you make these?"

"Of course."

"Then there's no way Tillie will let me eat any of it," he said mournfully. "She'll want to bronze them and mount them on the wall."

"Take her one and hide the other two for yourself." Daniela winked at him.

He burst into laughter. "You're as spunky as you are on TV. I like you."

Chris insisted on getting her a tea, and then they chatted about his job at City College, and his sons, and how his wife had been trying different ways of keeping herself busy since their youngest went to college. Currently, she was trying knitting, which he said was only somewhat better than her attempts at cooking.

Daniela had planned on being charming, but she found she didn't need to be. She enjoyed chatting with him. She even told him what she wanted the building for.

She hadn't told anyone—not even Ken in any great detail—about her plans for starting a soup kitchen and apprentice shop. He listened to her impassioned plans silently.

At the end, he nodded. "My wife would love that."

Leaning forward, she pressed. "In addition to the soup kitchen, I'm thinking of offering classes, too. Cooking and other vocational skills that'd be useful."

He looked at the bread.

Feeling like a shoulder devil, she pushed the bag closer to him. "Try a piece. I cut a few slices on one of the loaves."

He opened the bag and searched for the cut loaf. He ceremoniously untwisted the tie, took a thick piece, and bit into it. His face flushed as he chewed. "This is delicious," he whispered reverently when he could talk.

Smiling, she sat back and waited, knowing she'd said everything she'd needed to. The rest was up to him.

He brushed the crumbs from his lap. "You know we have the recent higher offer from Cruz Enterprises."

"Yes." The bastard kept outbidding her. "I'm prepared to meet it, and I can put down twenty-percent to guarantee the offer."

"I was surprised that there was so much instant interest in the building." Chris shook his head as he reached for another slice. "It'd be great to close the deal by Christmas."

"I'm fully prepared to do that."

"Well, I know my wife would like something going in there that was useful to society. Plus, like I said, she's a big fan of yours." He nodded. "So the building is yours. I'll call my real estate guy and let him know."

She held her breath, afraid she'd heard wrong. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." He held his hand out to shake on it, but she stood and hugged him, tears of happiness flooding her eyes. "Thank you," she said, squeezing him.

He patted her back awkwardly. "Do good."

She left on cloud nine. She was in a cab when Ken called her.

"I don't know what you said to him, but it worked," he told her. "I just got a call from his agent asking for us to resubmit a formal offer with twenty-percent, and that they'd accept it."

"I told you I could do it," she said smugly.

"Go celebrate. I'll fax you the paperwork to sign."

She hung up, tapping her foot against the front passenger seat. The only person she felt like celebrating with was one who wasn't going to be as happy about her purchase. But she called him anyway.

He answered on the second ring. "Cruz."

"I know you're holding my underwear hostage," she said in greeting.

"I feel confident we can come to some sort of arrangement."

"I'm sure we can. What are you doing now?"

"Imagining stripping you naked."

She shivered. "That's not why I called, but I like it nonetheless."

"Why did you call?"

"You won't like it," she said gleefully.

"Tell me anyway."

"When I get there. If you're free."

"For you? Come now."

"I want to," she purred.

"Then I'll see you at my suite."

She hung up and told the driver to reroute to the Mandarin Oriental.

Apparently, the staff had been alerted to her arrival. An official man in hotel livery whisked her from the taxi to the elevator and up to Nico's suite. She thanked her escort and walked into the living area.

Nico sat on the couch, in suit pants and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His bare feet were oddly sexy, as was the hawk-like expression on his face as he read whatever document was in his hands.

He looked up when she walked in.

"I won the building," she said without preamble. She dropped her purse and outer layers on a table and went to stand directly in front of him, her hip kicked out saucily. "I convinced the owner to sell it to me."

He set his papers aside and stood. "Well done."

Some of her joy faded under confusion. "You're not angry?"

"Because you went for what you wanted? No. I'm proud of you." He stepped up to her and smoothed back her hair. "But you haven't signed papers yet."

"He agreed to sell it to me, and he's a good guy." She arched her neck.

He obliged her by kissing it. "Except I don't lose, and I really want that building."

She closed her eyes. "Are you going to be a sore loser?"

"Baby, I haven't lost yet." He grabbed her close, slipping his hand under her top, and unhooking her bra in one sexy motion. "And I don't plan on losing. Ever."

She opened her mouth to tell him there was always a first time, but he kissed her. And then kissed her some more. And then she forgot everything but the feel of his mouth on her and the touch of his hands.

Chapter Fifteen

Marley had two choices: stick around and talk to Tony, who was supposed to call for a phone conference in ten minutes, or make herself unavailable.