Alex rose and joined Jan in the shop, closing the door behind him. But not before peering into the shadows outside and shutting the blinds. “I snuck in because I was avoiding paparazzi. They’re annoying in Cordoba. They’re a hazard here in the US.”
“So are single female bakers with a stock of dangerous utensils in their cupboards.” Jan put the rolling pin on the counter.
“Duly noted.” Alex rubbed at the back of his head. The lump was large enough that he’d notice it when he laid his head on his pillow tonight.
Jan’s features softened. “I may have caused some real damage.”
“It’s not the first time a woman has tried to knock some sense into me.”
“It’s obviously worked all those dozens of other times.”
Alex’s mouth fell open in indignation. “Dozens? It’s been hundreds, I’ll have you know.”
That elicited a laugh. Not a giggle. Jan Peppers did not giggle. She was far too serious. She did shove him in the shoulder. “Be serious. Let me have a look now that we’re in the light.”
Alex did. He took a seat on one of the bar stools and leaned his head forward. Jan ran her fingers through his hair again, and Alex closed his eyes.
The pain had subsided into a dull ache. With her fingers probing the sore spot a different pulse awakened inside him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of the throb. He was too busy concentrating on not looking down Jan’s top.
Alex wasn’t used to denying temptation. But he did allow his senses to open and take in her scent. He’d missed the scent of her, savory, spicy, and sweet all at the same time. Hopefully, he’d have Jan’s aromatic bouquet around him on a more regular basis. He just needed to figure out how to make the right pitch to get her to join his business venture.
Alex opened his eyes and gazed up at her. More tendrils of her hair had escaped the clips. Her intelligent blue eyes were fixated on his head. Her fingers brushed at the sensitized skin at the crown of his head.
; He was determined to have this woman.
In his kitchen.
Nowhere else.
She was the only one who could complete his vision.
“There’s no blood,” she said, taking a step back from him. “But you’ll have a bump in the morning.”
“Only one thing to do,” he said, missing the smell of her when she stepped back. “You know the old adage; feed a bump. Starve a bruise.”
Jan laughed again. It was a higher pitch, almost approaching a giggle. But not quite. “I’m pretty sure it’s feed a fever, starve a cold.”
“Starvation? That sounds like cruel and unusual punishment for the infirm.”
“Fine, I’ll feed you. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of an international incident over your big head.”
“My dear pie maker, so long as you put food in my belly, peace will reign through the ages.”
Chapter Six
“Ohhhhh, Jan,” Alex groaned, his eyes heavily lidded. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
Jan hoped the neighbors couldn’t hear the moans of pleasure coming out of Alex’s mouth. Or the sound of him pounding his fists on the kitchen counter in her small apartment over the pie shop. Or the tapping of his foot to a rhythm that punctuated each moan and pound.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Alex accented each exclamation with a jab of his fork.
He reached for the last piece of Tourte Milanese pie and slid it onto his plate. He was prepared for round three so soon after catching his breath from his second go. The man was an eating machine.
“Slow down there, tiger,” said Jan. “And keep it down.”
“Or what? I’ll ruin your reputation as the best pie maker in all the state.” He took another bite and moaned. “Make that states, plural. Woman, you have a gift.”