“Adrian.”
I frown, momentarily confused, because I don’t know any Adrians.
Oh.
Well, that explains which bakery.
“Mark.”
My shaggy haired companion looks up from his cell phone. “Yeah?”
“I need you to go to the Morelli bakery.”
“Got a hankerin’ for some cake?” he asks lightly.
“I need you to make sure I’m not being set up.”
He nods, pushing up off his chair. “I’m on it.”
I let him leave, text Adrian back that I’ll be there in a few minutes, and make my way to my own car. I’m not comfortable, per se, with meeting Adrian Palmetto on Morelli territory, but he doesn’t have any reason to want me dead, so it should be okay. The only reason he should be reaching out to me is to give me information on Tito, and I would really like to find that motherfucker.
Mark checks the place out ahead of time and tells me the coast is clear. When I get there, I make my way inside. Chiming bells alert of a new customer, but there’s no one behind the counter. I glance around, automatically looking for cameras. I’m surprised when I don’t see more than the one in the corner, pointed at the door. As paranoid as Morelli is, you’d think there’d be more.
A woman flies around the corner, her cheeks a bit rosy, her long, dark hair pulled up in a messy knot on top of her head. She offers a smile in greeting, then pauses, does a brief double take, and smiles with a little more enthusiasm.
“Hello. Sorry, I was—I’m short a baker, so I’m pulling double duty today. What can I get for you?”
Damn, she is stunning. I’m not sure I’ve ever used that word in regards to a woman before, but this one… this one is a stunner. Even with her hair a mess and her cheeks flushed.
Too bad she works here. I wouldn’t mind seeing her hair spread out on my pillow while I check out what’s underneath that apron.
“First time here,” I tell her with a friendly, harmless smile. “What do you recommend?”
“What do you like?” she inquires.
Her words are perfectly innocent, but damn, do they stir some dirty mental images.
I shouldn’t be having dirty thoughts about some random baker. Mostly because she’s not a random baker, she works at this bakery, so fucking her would be more of a hassle than anything. Even if I just wanted to see those plump lips around my cock, Morelli would probably assume I was trying to recruit a mole or something. No blowjob is worth that mess.
I guess I need to get laid. I have an inventory of ready-and-willing girls I could call on, but standing here looking at the plump lips on cupcake girl… damn, if I’m not interested in this one.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I ask, instead of answering her.
Her gaze drops demurely, then she looks back up at me from beneath long eyelashes, her coy brown eyes sending a jolt straight to my crotch.
“Francesca,” she says.
That is like ice water poured over said crotch.
Because Francesca is the name of Morelli’s younger sister. The one who runs this bakery.
This is Francesca Morelli.
Those lips are suddenly completely off the menu, budding erection be damned.
“What’s yours?” she asks.
I take a couple of steps closer, looking at the display instead of her since I should probably actually buy something. “Tony.”
“Nice to meet you, Tony.” Since I’m not looking at her anymore and I’ve noticeably cooled, she turns her attention to the display case and clears her throat. “Well, we’ve got plenty to choose from, as you can see here.”
“How about a cupcake,” I say, off-handedly.
“Sure. What kind?”
She’s switched into business mode, but even knowing who she is, I give her a slow smile. “Give me your favorite.”
Now she smiles again, as if relieved she still has my interest. Damn, that’s cute. “Do you like chocolate?” she asks.
“Who doesn’t?”
Rolling her eyes as if in solidarity, she says, “No sane person, obviously.”
“Your boyfriend come in for his sugar fix a lot?”
She glances up at me, smiling faintly. “No boyfriend. Your girlfriend doesn’t bake for you?”
“Unattached,” I state, watching her hands as she slips my cupcake into a little box.
Could I get away with having a one-night-stand with Mateo’s little sister? It’s not smart. I don’t usually take big chances for pussy, but I’d sure like to sample this one. She’s clearly attracted to me, so she might be into it. Maybe I’d never even have to tell her who I am. One night out with “Tony,” mutually satisfactory sex, and then we never see each other again.
I pull out my wallet, fishing out a few singles. “I better like this cupcake,” I tell her. “I’m gonna hold you personally responsible if I don’t.”
Grinning to herself, she says with what I can tell is intentional demureness, “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”