the way her skirt hugged the round curve of her butt. It was a crime that she’d been made to feel insecure about those curves. He flashed back to the heady moments in his office, when he’d had her skirt pushed up around her hips, when he’d been ready to.
She straightened and turned, her brown eyes widening. “Oh! I didn’t know you were here.”
“Just walked in. What did you make me?”
“I think you’ll like them. I have some cooling. I’m going to pass them out at lunch hour tomorrow.”
“No walnuts?”
“None. They’re Orange Cream. Don’t look at me like that, they’ll be good.” She handed him a vaguely orange cupcake with white frosting, coated in bright orange sugar crystals.
“It has orange zest in the cake, and there’s a Bavarian cream in the center. And the frosting is buttercream.”
“All things I like.” He took a bite, relishing the burst of sweet citrus and cream. She really was a genius. She’d hooked him with her cupcake-making skills the first time he’d met her, and he’d known then he had to have her for his company. That with her, his line of baked goods would be a massive success. And they had been.
And now she was leaving him.
“Good,” he said, even though now he was having a hard time swallowing the bite.
“See? I told you.”
“And I told you you wouldn’t be easily replaced. You’re the best at what you do.”
She smiled, a sort of funny smile that almost made her look sad. “I do bake a mean cupcake. I’m glad you like them.”
He wasn’t going to ask her what was wrong. Because he wasn’t sure if he could fix it, and he was afraid he might be the cause of it. “Ready to go?”
“Yes, ready. Oh, wait.” She stopped and moved toward him, her eyes fixed on his mouth. His entire body was hot and hard instantly. Ready for her touch, her kiss. She extended her hand and put her thumb on the corner of his mouth. “You had some frosting there,” she said, her tone as sweet as her cupcakes, her eyes filled with a knowing, sexual expression that told him she was tormenting him, and she knew it. It was going to be an interesting few weeks.
“I’M not going to bite you.”
Clara glared at Zack from her position in the passenger side of his sporty little two-seater. She was clinging to the door handle, her shoulder smashed against the window. As much space between them as was humanly possible in the tiny metal cage.
The first words that bubbled up were well that’s a shame. But she held them back, because she was not going to flirt with him. Was not. And she was going to forget about that lapse in the kitchen when she’d wiped the frosting from his mouth. She hadn’t licked it off and that had been her first inclination, so really, her self-control was pretty rock solid.
“I know,” she said. Much more innocuous than an invitation to bite her, that was for sure.
“Then stop clinging to the door handle like you’re planning on jumping out when there’s a lull in traffic.”
She laughed, somehow, even though most of her felt anything but amused by the entire situation. “I’m not, I promise.” She relaxed her hold on the door.
“Good.” They pulled down into the underground parking lot of Roasted and into the spot that was second closest to the elevator. He’d given her the closest spot years ago. Some sort of chivalrous gesture, silly, but at the time she’d loved it.
He put the car in Park and killed the engine, getting out and closing the door behind him. She watched him straighten his shirt collar through the window. He hated ties. He didn’t wear them unless he had to. It was sexier when he didn’t, in her opinion. It showed a little bit of his sculpted chest, a bit of dark hair. Of course, it was sexier when he didn’t wear a shirt at all.
She felt the door give behind her and she squeaked, tightening her hold on the handle. Zack had opened it, just a bit, and was looking down at her, the expression on his face wicked.
“Are you going to sit in there all day? Because we have a meeting,” he said.
“Creep,” she said, no venom in her tone.
He winked and darn it all, it made her stomach turn over. “Only during business hours.”
She released her hold on the door and he opened it the rest of the way, waiting for her to get out before pushing the up button on the lift. When they got in and the door closed, the easy moment evaporated.
The tension was back, and so thick she could hardly breathe. Judging by the sharp pitch of his chest when he drew in a breath, he felt the same. It made her feel better. Slightly.
“So, when is he coming in?”
“Soon,” Zack said, his eyes fixed on the doors.
“Oh.”
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Clara nearly sagged with relief as she scurried out of the elevator, eager to get back into non-shared air space.
When she and Zack walked into the main reception area the employees milling around, scavenging on last night’s baking efforts stopped and clapped for them. She ducked her head and offered a smile and finger wave. She didn’t know if Zack made a reciprocal gesture or not. She was far too busy not dying of humiliation.
The gleaming, golden elevator doors that would take them up to their offices were just up ahead. She made a dash for it, and Zack got in behind her, the doors sliding closed.
“So many elevators,” she said.
“Is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” she said.
Two interminable minutes later they were on the floor that housed both of their offices. “I have work to do,” she said, heading toward her own office. A little sanctuary would not go amiss.
“No time, Amudee is in the building. My office.”
He put his hand on the small of her back and directed her into his office, closing the door behind them. A horrible, hot, tantalizing sense of déjà vu hit her. Their eyes clashed and held, his all steel heat and temptation. He took a step toward her just as the intercom on his desk phone went on.
“Mr. Parsons? Mr. Amudee is here to see you.”
Zack leaned back and punched a button on the phone. “Send him in.”
She wished she were relieved. She wasn’t. She was just disappointed that she hadn’t gotten to experience the conclusion of Zack’s step forward. Of what he might have intended to do.
Zack’s office door opened and the reason for their charade walked in, looking as personable and cheerful as ever, the lines by his dark eyes deepening as he smiled. “Good to see you again. Zack, I stopped by one of your locations here in the city on my way in, I was very impressed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Amudee,” Zack said, his charm turned on and dialed up several notches.
She watched Zack work, a sense of awe overtaking her. He was good, and she knew that, but seeing him in action was always incredible. He was smart and he was savvy. And the best part was, he really was a man of ethical business practices.
That, she knew, was the thing that made working with Amudee so important to him. Because he didn’t just want to import coffee and tea from any farm. He didn’t want to get involved in a share-cropping situation. He didn’t want anyone being taken advantage of so that he could turn a profit.
Unfortunately Amudee seemed just as picky about who he did business with. And when