Sugar Rush (6 page)

Chapter 8

She glanced briefly at the tables where the second order sat waiting to be delivered in the next half an hour. The kitchen had been cleared and cleaned up, and they were ready for business the next day.

She rolled up to the back door and found El standing against the building. His hands rested at his sides and his eyes were closed, and for a moment she thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Mama Mae left?”

Sophie rolled a little closer, careful not to tip over the ledge and onto the concrete a few inches below. “Yes. She’s a Murder, She Wrotejunkie.”

He smiled. “She’s one sweet lady.”

Sophie smiled herself. “Yes, she is.”

Lifting her face, she let the breeze blow over her skin. Surprisingly the alley wasn’t in the least bit smelly. The large containers at the end were where all the businesses in the little strip mall dumped their trash. But the city did a good job of emptying them regularly. Which was good, considering she shared the strip
with a Chinese restaurant and a pet store. A video rental store and a dress shop rounded out the small shopping center.

“You can go on home if you want,” she offered. Although she found his company comforting, she knew he had to be tired.

“I’m good. Just need a minute to wind down.” He glanced at her, his amber eyes running over her quickly. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” she asked with a chuckle. “I’ve been sitting in a chair all day.”

“Yeah, but I know stress and pressure can wear out the body as easily as physical labor.”

“I’m fine.” She considered saying something about the kiss they’d shared earlier, but then thought maybe it was best to leave it alone.

“I don’t like you staying in this store alone at night.”

She looked at him, surprised by the possessive tone of his voice. He spoke like his opinion on the matter carried some weight. She could have told him it didn’t, but instead said, “Once I lock up, it’s as safe as anywhere else.”

He sighed. “Still don’t like it.”

“It’s not for you to like,” she muttered, unable to hold back the remark. She closed her eyes briefly. When would she learn to control her flippant tongue? she wondered.

He glanced at her with a smile but did not say anything in response. She looked away quickly, slightly envious of his self-restraint.

“About earlier,” he said. “I hope I wasn’t out of line.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I kissed you.”

She laughed. “Funny, I thought Ikissed you.”

He frowned. “No, I’m pretty sure it was the other way around.”

She shrugged. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

He turned toward her, leaning his hip against the wall. “That’s what I want to believe because that’s what happened.”

“Oh…I get it.” She smiled flirtatiously. “It’s some kind of macho thing.” Then she nodded sagely. “Okay, then—yeah, you’re right, youkissed me.”

He shook his head with a laugh. “You are something else, girl.”

Sophie laughed with him, loving every bit of their flirtatious banter. It had been a long time since she’d played with a man like this. Most of her days were filled with work, and she spent her nights in an exhausted sleep as a result.

But last night, as she lay staring at the ceiling, El’s image had passed before her eyes many times. There was so much about him that she didn’t know, and every minute revealed things that didn’t fit. For instance, there was no way she could see this man working in the kitchen of the exclusive and very posh Catalan’s. Yet he seemed surprisingly at home in her kitchen. And it wasn’t that he lacked sophistication. It’s just that his polish seemed more along the lines of someone who’d worked his way up from modest beginning to a cultured lifestyle, not someone who served those who did. Sophie had learned a lot about both types of people when she left the small town of Selmer to go to Duke.

On the large campus, she’d met every type of personality imaginable, and in her opinion El fit too well in her world to have come from anywhere else. She wondered about his background, the man he was before culinary school.

“So?”

Sophie was startled out of her reverie as she realized he’d crossed in front of her and was currently speaking to her. “So?”

He pulled back and gave her a curious look. “Where were you?”

She smiled. “Sorry, my mind’s running at a million miles an hour. What did you say?”

“I said—” he leaned forward, bracing his hands on the arms of her wheelchair “—there is one way to settle the matter of who kissed who.”

She felt her heart rate begin to speed up as she anticipated the kiss to come. “Oh?” She licked her dry lips, and he shook his head once before swooping down on her mouth.

Sophie eagerly welcomed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She gasped against his open mouth as he lifted her up out of the chair. He cradled her in his arms as his mouth devoured hers.

His taste was sweet and minty, his full lips delectable. So much so, she couldn’t resist gently clamping her teeth down on his bottom lip.

His head came up, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Hmm, didn’t peg you as a biter.”

She tightened her arms around his neck, bringing his lips back down to hers. She didn’t want to talk or flirt; she wanted his mouth against hers. His hands on her body, his body over hers. Her whole being tingled with the images conjured by her mind. The feeling of his warm copper flesh against hers. Suddenly there were too many clothes between them, as his soft lips traced the veins of her neck, up behind her ear and sent a shiver through her.

“I want you,” she whispered against his chest, running her tongue over his salty shoulder, feeling the muscles just beneath the skin.

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Using his foot, El pushed the chair back out of the doorway as he stepped up into the kitchen, still holding her cradled in his arms.

He turned toward her back bedroom, then froze as they both heard the chime on the front door ring. Lonnie’s noisy chatter drifted into the kitchen, followed by Dante’s quiet response.

Sophie looked at the man holding her tightly against his chest and saw her disappointment reflected in his brown eyes. She smiled. “I should’ve locked the front door.”

He smiled back. “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

She sighed in frustration. “You’re right. Wayne has a key.”

El bent his head and kissed her lips once more, a soft touch, and a promise. Then gently sat her back down in her chair, and whispered in her ear, “We’ll get our chance to be together, just not tonight.”

She looked up at him, unable to hide her desire. “You promise?”

He nodded with pure determination. “Absolutely.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Eliot turned from the open door of his condo as Carl entered.

“How is it going? Find out anything interesting? Who do they plan to bid on next? What shape are their finances in? I wish I were a little younger and less known, I’d do this myself. I know how to get the information we need.”

Eliot stretched his tired body, ignoring the old man’s tirade. He worked out regularly, but even that could not prepare him for the rigors of life in a small, family-owned bakery.

Fulton used nothing but the latest technology and equipment, and the staff was so large, no one man was stuck doing manual labor for any length of time. But Eliot was quickly learning Mayfield was no place for a spoiled, pampered baker—or executive. Alberto Montagna wouldn’t have lasted a day.

And now, his uncle was here giving him the third degree, and all he wanted was a hot shower and his bed. He slumped down on his chenille sofa. “This was your idea, not mine.”

Carl lifted an eyebrow, and Eliot felt as if he were getting a glimpse of his own face in forty years. “Wasn’t it? As I recall, you started this before I found out about it.”

He sighed. “No, nothing interesting has come up. I’ve only been there a week. And Wayne watches me like a stalker.”

“Who’s Wayne?”

“One of the employees. He doesn’t trust me.”

“Why?”

Eliot chuckled. “Good instincts.”

“Well, find a way around him. This can’t go on too long. I need you back at the office.”

“Why are you so determined to get this book?”

“I’ve tasted their product. It’s excellent.” Carl sat down in a nearby side chair. “They could do it, Eliot.”

“Do what?”

“Challenge us—seriously challenge us. If we don’t stop them now, we may never have another opportunity.”

“You make it sound like they are some ruthless corporate raiders trying to bring you down. They’re just a nice family trying to make a living wage.”

Carl’s eyes narrowed on his nephew’s face. “Are you getting attached to these people, Eliot?”

“No,” he lied.

“Good, because I wouldn’t recommend it. Caring only clutters things.” Carl nodded emphatically. “I want that recipe book and
I want them out of business. And I want it done quickly.” As he started to leave the condo, Carl called back over his shoulder. “And get a shower. You smell like a horse.”

As soon as he locked the door behind his uncle, Eliot did just that. Standing under the hot spray, his mind wandered back to the day he’d spent in the bakery and a world so far from the life he lived in Memphis as a marketing executive. In fact, he felt like he was really living two lives, and he was having a harder and harder time telling which was real.

At the Mayfield Bakery everyone was treated as family, and the whole feel of the place was warm and well lived in. Eliot had become an accepted part of that group. Of course, Wayne still watched him, but he was pretty sure that had more to do with Wayne’s feelings for Sophie than any real suspicion on his part.

He soaped his body, thinking about Sophie. She was amazing, scooting around the shop in that wheelchair like a little rolling dynamo. He could only imagine what she was like without the encumbrance of the chair.

True to her word, she spent her nights at the store, sleeping in the back room. The idea made him uncomfortable, but being practically a stranger he, of course, had no say-so in the matter.

He’d caught a glimpse of the back rooms a couple of times. All they contained was a small bathroom with a standing shower, sink and toilet, and a small bedroom where she kept a twin bed and a small television. A few books and magazines were stacked next to the bed.

She was young, but it was obvious she’d been running the store in place of her grandmother for some time. He often wondered where the rest of their family was. Other than Lonnie, there was no one else around. That was odd. Usually with family-run businesses, the whole family got in on the act.

Sophie was smart and had the foresight of a fortune-teller. They never ran too low on anything. Customers never had to wait too long to be served. And what he liked most about her was her eye for marketing. She knew how to promote her goods. Eliot had thought more than once that he could use someone with Sophie’s
natural ability at Fulton. Not to mention the fact that she kissed like an angel.

She was the most surprising thing about the whole Mayfield story, he thought. He quickly rinsed his body and climbed out of the shower, anticipating the next day. As exhausted as he was, Eliot found that he was actually enjoying his time with these people. They reminded him of the friends and neighbors of his childhood. There was a realness to them, an authentic way of behaving that let you know right away whom you were dealing with.

The world he’d encountered when he moved into his uncle’s house was completely foreign to him. It took him years to learn that some people lied for no apparent reason. That deceit was the expectation, and now, all these years later, he’d become an expert in that world.

The proof was in how he was able to go into that bakery, look that sweet old lady in the face and lie without compunction. But, that wasn’t exactly true anymore.

It was getting harder and harder to maintain the façade, and he found himself slipping more and more often. Showing more and more of himself. As if in the face of such sincerity, he had no choice but to offer the same.

The following Saturday morning, Eliot caught the earliest flight to Houston, and by noon he was walking into the hospital room of Alberto Montagna. According to the agency, Alberto had regained consciousness two days ago. Eliot found him sitting up in the bed, his badly battered face partially bandaged.

Seeing he had a visitor, he turned his television to mute. “Hello?”

Eliot came forward and introduced himself. “Mr. Montagna, my name is Eliot Wright. I believe the agency may have told you I was coming?”

He nodded slightly. “Yes, Mr. Wright. I can’t thank you enough for your generous offer—” he gestured down at his body “—but as you can see, I am in no condition to come work for you.”

“I understand that,” Eliot said, and handed the injured man his card. “But when you can, call me at this number. Call me directly.”
He grabbed a pen from the nightstand and scribbled an offer amount on the back. “Whenever you are ready, I will honor that.”