Sweet on You (4 page)

She had no idea what to do.

It wasn't like she didn't get hit on. A few of her customers, and sometimes their guests, tried to corner her. But she'd never wanted to be cornered quite as badly as she did now.

She'd never felt as wild.

She hadn't felt so much like herself in—

Well, definitely since her birthday, but possibly since her grandmother had died a year ago. Feeling that old cockiness went to her head.

It was such a rush that it made her feel reckless. She closed the distance between them. "Tell me now if you're a serial killer or something, because I'm about to be very foolish, and I want to be warned if I'm making a big mistake."

"I'm in real estate," he said in his dark voice.

Ah—he was here to scope out the building then. Or else he was the one selling it. Either way, now she could do this without worry.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

It was slow and deliberate, deep and hot. She suddenly knew what melting icing on hot cinnamon rolls felt like.

"Yum." She sighed and nuzzled his scratchy cheek with her nose. "I knew buying this building was a good thing, but I had no idea it'd be this good."

"You aren't buying that building."

"Yes, I am."

He lifted her face. "What the hell would you want that dump for?"

"To turn it into a soup kitchen."

He gazed at her like she was insane. Then he shook his head, took her hand, and flagged a taxi.

"Despite appearances, I'm not really that kind of girl," she said, following him to the curb. "I'm not going home with you, but I wouldn't mind kissing again."

He muttered something that sounded like Spanish under his breath. "I'm putting you in a cab before you cause more trouble."

"You liked my brand of trouble a moment ago," she said, disappointed when a taxi veered and stopped directly in front of them, like it knew better than to defy him.

He opened the door, but before he stuck her inside, he searched her face one more time. Then he shook his head and practically pushed her in.

She told the cab driver to wait a second as she lowered the window. "You should have kissed me again like you wanted to," she said to the stranger.

"Maybe."

He looked so alone, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets. Her heart wept for him. She wished she could take him home and make him pasta.
A la arrabiata
, hot and spicy, the way she liked it. She had a feeling he liked it the same way.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" she asked.

"What difference would it make?"

"Because I'm going to daydream about your silk boxers, and you wouldn't want me to call you Nigel in my fantasies, would you?"

He grinned despite himself. "Nico."

"Nico." She liked it. Simple. To the point. Strong.

He leaned his forearms on the window, a breath away from her lips.

Would he kiss her? Goose bumps rose all over her body in anticipation.

But he just whispered, "No boxers, baby. I go commando."

He patted the roof of the car, nodding at the driver, who took off.

Daniela sat back and fanned herself. "Nico," she repeated, wondering when she'd see him again. She knew one thing for certain: he'd find her. And she was looking forward to it.

Chapter Five

Sitting across the kitchen table, Marley watched her boss poke at the calculator and then scowl at the notepad in front of her. Daniela scribbled a couple things on the notepad and then glared at the calculator again, like it was offending her.

Very strange. Daniela usually avoided complex math like the plague. Anything beyond doubling a pound of flour taxed her.

"Do you need help?" Marley felt compelled to ask, even though it was her morning off.

"No," Daniela barked, jabbing at the old school machine.

"Because I'm happy to help." She lifted her coffee and sipped, leaning forward to get a better look at the notepad. There was a messy jumble of numbers that made no sense, plus a couple hearts doodled on the side.

The heart had a word inside them. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see the small print.

Daniela turned the notepad over with a slap. "You're being nosy."

"It's my job. I'm supposed to help you, even when you don't want it."

Her boss tossed her curly hair over her shoulder. "Sometimes your job sucks."

Tell her about it. Especially when her lovely but temperamental boss refused to discuss business with her.

"Especially when you have to deal with me in one of my moods," Daniela said as if hearing her thoughts. "I'm sorry I'm being witchy."

She shrugged, surprised by the apology. "I could do worse."

"Not since Kim Jong-il died." She flashed a saucy grin. Then she grew serious, leaning forward, her dark gaze searching. "Don't you ever dream of doing something more though?"

Marley blinked at the sudden seriousness, feeling like there was a layer to the question she wasn't getting. "What would I do?"

"I don't know. Be a party planner, or a stripper. Anything." Daniela waved flamboyantly. "A photographer. You do great pictures."

She sighed, feeling a longing deep in the pit of her stomach. She loved taking photos. Thinking about it made her fingers twitch with the desire to hold her camera.

Only it wasn't practical. Her mother, as a New York editor, had beaten it into her head that most "artists" don't ever make a living at what they do, regardless of their medium. To throw away a great job that took her all over the world and provided her stability would be insane.

But it'd have been
so great
.

She shook her head. "Why? Do you think of doing something other than baking?"

"That'd be crazy, wouldn't it?" Daniela replied thoughtfully.

"Speaking of baking"—Marley cleared her throat—"what happened to all the bread you baked?"

Her boss's face became mulish, as if she expected a fight and wasn't going to give an inch. "I gave it to people."

Damn. Daniela's cinnamon bread was to die for. "All of it?"

"It was my bread, to do with what I wanted."

"Are you going to bake more? For Christmas?"

"No." She shook her head, her hair a frenzy around her face. "Christmas is cancelled this year."

Marley gaped. "But you love Christmas."

"Not this year I don't." She stood up and gathered her things.

"You're leaving? But I still wanted to talk about Tony and the Food—"

"It's your morning off, and I have no desire to talk about my brother." Daniela gave her a flat look. Her arms burdened, she lifted her chin and marched out.

"Okay," Marley said weakly, watching her boss go. "I'll catch up with you later, then."

The lack of response was more an answer than anything.

Marley had one massive headache.

It was the Rossis’ fault—both Daniela and Tony's. Tony called her and berated her for not talking to Daniela yet, and Daniela refused to listen to any mention of her brother. It was enough to drive a girl to drink.

And she needed a shot of something strong really badly, and she knew exactly where to get it: Grounds for Thought, the bookstore café across the street from Daniela's shop. For most people, a shot meant alcohol. Marley's poison of choice was coffee, and Grounds for Thought had the best espresso she'd ever tasted.

Taking her wallet, she walked out of her Batcave and down the street. The house was located only four blocks away from the showroom. Anyone else might have thought Tony picked the house for convenience, but really he'd picked it because a commute took away from productive time.

Marley walked briskly back into the heart of Laurel Heights, straight to Grounds for Thought. Her focus was on her shot of espresso, so she didn't notice anyone coming out of the coffeehouse until a man loomed directly in front of her.

A very large man. He had intense dark eyes and a body built like the Hulk, except he wasn't green.

But he
was
angry, based on the way he glared at her. She stood shock-still, caught like a bunny in a lion's path.

"Move," he growled.

With a squeak, she stepped out of his way. She watched him go to the door directly the to left of the café's entrance, leading to the apartments above. He deftly punched a code into the keypad next to the door and went inside when the buzzer sounded.

Rattled, she walked into the café and headed straight to the counter where Valentine Jones and Kristin, the barista, were chatting.

Kristin grinned at her. "Had a run in with the ogre of Laurel Heights, did you?"

"He's more like the Hulk," she murmured, sliding onto a stool.

"I'd like to hook him up with someone," Valentine said.

They both looked at Valentine, who sat primly on a stool.

"I'm a matchmaker, and it'd be good PR. If I can find a mate for him, I should be able to find one for anyone." Then she blinked and focused on Marley. "You."

Marley blinked. "Me?"

"Let me set you up." Valentine made a face. "Not that I'm saying you'd be good PR because you'd be hard to match up with anyone."

Kristin snorted.

They both looked at her.

The barista put her hands in the air. "I'm taken, lock, stock, and barrel. I'll leave you guys to your negotiation. Marley, an espresso?"

"A double." She needed it.

Valentine leaned in toward her after Kristin turned to pull the shot. "Have you seen her guy?
Hot
. Don't tell anyone this, but I couldn't have done better for her myself."

She didn't know Kristin's situation, or the guy she was apparently with, but Marley had a hard time picturing anyone hotter than Tony Rossi.

Kristin returned with the espresso, sliding it across the counter with a wink before going to take another patron's order.

Marley lifted the little cup as Valentine turned to her and said, "So, you."

She shook her head. "No."

"Please?" Valentine gave her puppy dog eyes. Marley figured Valentine couldn't be much younger than her, but she looked young. Maybe it was because she was so thin, but in her 50s homemaker dress and little sweater, she looked like she was playing dress-up.

But then, Marley shouldn't judge. She wore black like she was a backdrop for other people's lives, which was exactly what she was, now that she thought about it. She frowned.

"Just once," the woman was saying. "Go out on just one date and, if you don't like it, I'll never bother you again."

"No."

"Come on. What do you have to lose?"

"Well—" She stopped, stumped. "That's a really good question."

"I'll make it painless," Valentine said eagerly. "I promise. And you only have to go out on one date. Please, Marley. It'll be worth it."

She tried to think of a reason to turn her down, but she couldn't come up with a single one, so for the second time in one day she found herself agreeing to do something she wasn't entirely convinced about. "Only one date."

Valentine squealed and threw her arms around her. "
Thank you
. You won't regret it."

Marley lifted her gaze and met Kristin's amused one. She sighed, already having second thoughts.

Chapter Six

She'd been in some of the most luxurious houses around the world, but Daniela had never been intimidated the way she was sitting in the real estate agent's office.

Not that it was overly fancy. It was tasteful and posh without being excessive. It looked exactly the way she'd expect the office of a successful San Francisco real estate person to look.

Ken Lewis fit his office. Slacks and a dress shirt, no tie, clean cut, moderately nice watch on his wrist. If he were a recipe, he'd have been
tarte tatin
: simple, elegant, and universally accepted.

Daniela crossed her legs and pumped her foot, watching him squint at his computer monitor. Tony had always managed the business stuff for her. He bought the buildings and signed the contracts. She was in charge of fondant and candied violets.

A flutter of nerves made her stomach clench.

She lifted her chin. This was a good idea, and she was smart and capable. She could do this.

"Here it is," Ken said, his fingers clacking clumsily on the keyboard. "The old motel on Harrison, South of Market. The price is certainly low."

"It's a dump."

He looked around his large monitor at her. "But you want it?"

"I want to turn it into a soup kitchen."

"Soup kitchen," he repeated with skepticism.

Nodding, she sat forward on the edge of the chair. "The kitchen is big enough for large-scale production, and the location seems ideal."

"South of Market and the Financial District both have a large population of homeless, and it's central to other areas like the Mission." Ken shrugged. "It seems a little large for what you want, but maybe you could turn some of the rooms into a shelter."

Gasping, she sat up, thinking of the family that was squatting on the property. "A soup kitchen and homeless shelter. Maybe I offer restaurant prep and cooking classes to help people get back on their feet. With restaurant job placement. I certainly have connections. And the housing can be an interim place to live until they can move back into society. It's
brilliant
."

"If you say so yourself?" Ken grinned. "The price is right, and the building really is perfect for what you want. It's a good investment, regardless. Normally, I'd caution a client against this sort of endeavor, but even if you changed your mind, you wouldn't be in danger of losing money. The South of Market area is hot."

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"No, I don't get that impression." He flashed her a quick smile before becoming all business. "I suggest putting in a signed bid slightly lower than the asking price, to give ourselves room to negotiate. I'll draw up the papers so you can sign them before you leave."

"Excellent." She rubbed her hands together.