Summer Desserts

length. “It isn’t an easy thing to accomplish in a restaurant, and of course, not everyone looks for it. Many go out to eat to see and be seen. Some, like myself,prefer at least the illusion of solitude. To accomplish both, you have to have a certain number of tables situated in such a way that they seem removed from the rest.”
    “Easily enough done with the right lighting, a clever arrangement of foliage.”
    “The key words are right and clever.”
    “And privacy is your prerequisite in choosing a restaurant.”
    “I don’t generally eat in them,” Summer said with a restless movement of her shoulders. “But if I do, privacy ranks equally with atmosphere, food and service.”
    “Why?”
    She began to push the papers together on her desk and stack them. “That’s definitely a personal question.”
    “Yes.” He covered her hands with one of his to still them. “Why?”
    She stared at him a moment, certain she wouldn’t answer. Then she found herself drawn by the quiet look and the gentle touch. “I suppose it stems back to eating in so many restaurants as a child. And I suppose one of the reasons I first became interested in cooking was as a defense against the interminable ritual of eating out. My mother was—is—of the type who goes out to see and be seen. My father often considered eating out a business. So much of my parents’ lives, and therefore mine, was public. I simply prefer my own way.”
    Now that he was touching her, he wanted more. Now that he was learning of her, he wanted all. He should have known better than to believe it would be otherwise. He’d nearly convinced himself that he had his feelings for her under control. But now, sitting in the cramped storage room with kitchensounds just outside the door, he wanted her as much—more—than ever.
    “I wouldn’t consider you an introvert, or a recluse.”
    “No.” She didn’t even notice that she’d laced her fingers with his. There was something so comfortable, so right about the gesture. “I simply like to keep my private life just that. Mine and private.”
    “Yet, in your field, you’re quite a celebrity.” He shifted and under the table his leg brushed against hers. He felt the warmth glow through him and the need double.
    Without thinking, she moved her leg so that it brushed his again. The muscles in her thighs loosened. “Perhaps. Or you might say my desserts are celebrities.”
    Blake lifted their joined hands and studied them. Hers was shades lighter than his, inches smaller and more narrow. She wore a sapphire, oval, deeply blue in an ornate antique setting that made her fingers look that much more elegant. “Is that what you want?”
    She moistened her lips, because when his eyes came back to hers they were intense and as darkly blue as the stone on her hand. “I want to be successful. I want to be considered the very best at what I do.”
    “Nothing more?”
    “No, nothing.” Why was she breathless? she asked herself frantically. Young girls got breathless—or romantics. She was neither.
    “When you have that?” Blake rose, drawing her to her feet without effort. “What else?”
    Because they were standing, she had to angle her head tokeep her eyes level with his. “It’s enough.” As she said it, Summer had her first doubts of the truth of that statement. “What about you?” she countered. “Aren’t you looking for success—more success? The finest hotels, the finest restaurants.”
    “I’m a businessman.” Slowly, he walked around the table until nothing separated them. Their hands were still joined. “I have a standard to maintain or improve. I’m also a man.” He reached for her hair, then let it flow through his fingers. “And there’re things other than account books I think about.”
    They were close now. Her body brushed his and caused her skin to hum. She forgot all the rules she’d set out for both of them and reached up to touch his cheek. “What else do you think about?”
    “You.” His hand was at her waist, then sliding gently up her back as he drew her closer. “I think very much about you, and this.”
    Lips touched—softly. Eyes remained open and aware. Pulses throbbed. Desire tugged.
    Lips parted—slowly. A look said everything there was to say. Pulses hammered. Desire tore free.
    She was in his arms, clinging, greedy, burning. Every hour of the past two weeks, all the work, the planning, the rules, melted away under a blaze of passion. If she sensed