by Ava Miles
He shook his head slowly, like her words were dripping slowly into his brain, like water droplets off a drainpipe. “Simple economics. I like that.”
“My cinnamon rolls and other baked goods cost a certain amount,” she said, “and that’s what I will earn as a baker. Your inventions cost quite a bit because they’re top-secret, which makes you a billionaire.” If only her mind and heart could agree on it being that simple. “But I’ll be honest. I don’t know what to think of the paint. Are you redecorating?”
He stopped suddenly and grabbed her hand, and there he was again, the man who had gotten so excited while inventing the Paint Prep Mistress.
“That’s the big breakthrough I wanted to tell you about. Earlier. Before you ah…distracted me with the hobbit door.”
Her mouth twitched.
“It’s the invention that started in Dare Valley.”
When he took off down the hall in the opposite direction, she had no choice but to follow him. She needed to run to keep up, so she plowed into him when he skidded to a halt in front of what looked like a closet door. But he pressed an invisible panel in the wood and out popped another security box.
He keyed in another code, mumbling, “Chase is going to kill me,” and then dragged her inside.
The door made this strange locking sound behind them, and she must have looked puzzled because he said, “Hermetically sealed. Sound proofed. The whole shebang.”
When she finally absorbed her surroundings, she gasped. “Wow!”
Everything was modern and sleek and almost overwhelming with its gadgetry. Four computers rendering three-dimensional images were arranged on a long metal table, and a clear touch screen like the ones she’d only seen in sci-fi movies was flashing a series of equations.
“This is my lab,” he said. “I never bring anyone in here except for Chase.”
Her heart started to pound a ragged rhythm in her chest.
“You have to swear to me you won’t share what I’m about to tell you with anyone,” he said, unbuttoning his jacket again and putting his hands on his hips.
“I won’t,” she told him.
He looked away, like he was still fighting with himself, and then returned his gaze to her. She would have sworn there was fire dancing in his lakewater blue eyes.
“I’m going to create invisible paint.”
She heard his words, but they didn’t compute for a moment. “What?”
He sprang into motion again, crossing to the touch screen flashing different equations. “Invisible paint! Just think of the applications. It’s going to change everything. I’m still not sure what to do about the sounds made by tanks and submarines, but think of it, Margie. Imagine what might be possible with this invention.”
She pressed her hand to her temple to sweep away a flash of pain. This was what he did. This was how he’d become rich. Genius and excitement. It was a potent mix.
“This is a lot to take in. Invisible paint. Invisible paint.” He was making invisible paint. Considering his intensity right now, the creative fire that seemed to have consumed him, she almost believed it was possible.
But seriously? Invisible paint?
“Chase doesn’t completely believe I can do it yet.” Evan touched the screen, making another equation flash across it. “It’s something in the binder,” he mumbled. “I just know it is. I just have to change the matrix that holds the pigment in place.”
His eyes were glassy, and he seemed to be somewhere else. She’d seen him like this before. Sitting on the floor of her unpainted bakery with a machine in his hands.
“Evan,” she called to bring him back.
He shook himself and returned his focus to her. “Right. I was saying Chase knows that when I get an idea, that’s it. I pour everything I am into my invention until it works. That’s how I invented…”
When he trailed off, she pressed a hand to her belly. Boy, he wasn’t holding back anything. The significance of him sharing top-secret information with her made her a bit weak in the knees. It was a good thing she was sitting down.
He walked over and gripped the top of a black office chair so hard his knuckles turned white. “I can’t tell you what I’ve invented, dammit. But I want to, Margie. I can tell you about the invisible paint because there’s no security clearance protocol preventing me from telling you. No one has bought it because it doesn’t exist yet.”
“It’s okay, Evan,” she said, walking over and taking a seat in front of one of his computers because she needed to sit down. “I’m honored you would tell me this much.”
“All of this has happened because I came to Dare Valley after losing a poker game,” he said, striding across the room to her and pulling her chair out so he could turn her to face him. “It happened because I met you.”
Her head was buzzing like the machine rendering his three-dimensional images. “And because you painted my bakery.”
“Now that I have my creative fire back,” he said, gripping the arms of her chair as he leaned over her, “I feel like I can do anything. Everything is possible again.”
Then he kissed her, and his mouth was hot and hungry and demanding. He pressed her back into the chair, opening her lips with his tongue and going deep. She met him stroke for stroke, but soon kissing wasn’t enough for either of them.
He lifted her body to him. “I really want to make love to you here.”
She was burning up from his heat and her own. “Fine by me.”
Clearing the notepads and papers off the metal table with a wide sweep of his hand, he sat her on the edge. Then he was tugging up her dress. Even though they’d had each other only hours ago, they devoured each other again, right in his lab.
She was naked and sweaty by the time he folded over her, panting in her ear.
“I don’t know how I’m ever going to get any work done in here now,” he said between breaths.
“Maybe you should paint it,” she joked and started to laugh.
He kissed the side of her neck and started laughing too. “Maybe I will. I went with a high-tech lab look, but who’s to say I can’t paint it teal?”
“A teal lab? Chase will really think you’ve lost it.”
His laughter died, and she was sorry for being the cause.
“Probably. He means well. I mean, he has the hard job of running everything. I just invent.”
Because she wanted to soothe him, she ran a hand down his back and hugged him. “Inventing invisible paint doesn’t sound like a walk in the park, Evan.”
“No, but I think I can do it. I’m studying all the available paint formulas, going all the way back to lead paint. Things are already coming together.”
“Maybe you need to include turpentine and other chemicals that remove paint in your research,” she said and then closed her mouth. “Forget what I just said. I’m not an inventor. I never even liked science much.”
“That’s not true. You adore chemistry. Otherwise, you wouldn’t love making bread so much.” He leaned back, his blue eyes like the clearest ocean waters now. “And you’re right. I need to look into everything that gets rid of paint.”
“I don’t think my suggestion is going to help you much,” she answered as he lifted her off the table. She tightened her legs around him. “It’s silly.”
“I always want you to share your ideas with me, Margie,” he said softly. “I…like it.”
She kissed his cheek since her throat had closed with emotion. Sharing her bread with him had made her happy, so she could understand the feeling.
As he carried her across the lab, he said, “How about we research why turpentine removes paint after we take a shower? I don’t have a hobbit door, so I can’t knock myself unconscious.”
He was all over the place from his excitement. She laughed softly as he left the lab and walked them down the hall.
“I don’t see how I could possibly say no,” she said. “You’re adorable when you’re like this.”
“Adorable?” he asked w
ith enough disbelief that she leaned up and kissed him.
“Yes, adorable. People who don’t like inventors are crazy.”
“I might need you to write that one down,” he said, meeting her gaze and stopping before a large set of double doors.
She wished he would stop doubting himself, but he had to be the one to do it. All she could do was encourage him. “I can even make you a T-shirt, if you think it will help.”
“I would rather like one of those.”
There was a portrait on the wall depicting a grandmother figure picking roses in the hallway going to his bedroom. “Does that woman remind you of someone in your family?” she asked.
The shake of his head was perfunctory. “No.”
Oh, how his voice had changed with that one word. “Evan, you never talk about your family.”
“There’s not much to say,” he said, studying the picture. “You wanted to know if I have a grandma like this. I don’t, but I always wished I did. Some sweet lady who would make me cookies and give me ice cream and let me stay up past my bedtime.”
“What about your mother?”
“She still lives outside Chicago and cleans houses for a living,” he said, not meeting her eyes when she touched his face. “I tried to give her…an easier life, but she didn’t want it. She said she didn’t know what else to do with herself. And I’m…not someone she understands. We talk at Christmas, but not much more.”
Her heart broke for him. “What about your father?”
“He went to Texas for a job when I was a kid and said we’d join him when he had everything in place.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I still haven’t forgiven him. He sent my mom divorce papers in the mail like she was nothing to him, and he never tried to see me again. Not even when I made the cover of Time. I thought he might hit me up for money or something, but I didn’t mean enough to him even for that.”
He thought he was nothing, she realized, when he was capable of so much. “Do you remember what you said to me about my parents?”
Finally, he allowed her to see the pain in his eyes. “You’ll have to remind me.”
“They didn’t deserve you,” she said, tracing the tense muscles of his brow. “I see how special you are, Evan. And I love you.”
His face bunched up, but then he pressed his forehead to hers. His heart was pounding faster, and she could feel him gathering together all of the messy emotions inside him. His loneliness made sense to her now, and it hurt to think about how alone he must have felt. No one had been there to guide him. Until Chase. She felt more gratitude for his friend than ever before.
“You’re a miracle. Do you know that?”
The only answer she could give him was to wrap her arms around him as he hugged her.
Evan took a few more deep breaths and then he edged back to gaze into her eyes. “Well. How about I resume the tour? I guess the master bedroom and bathroom are the only rooms you haven’t seen.”
Since she knew he needed some time to settle, she nodded. “Please.”
When he opened the door and stepped inside, he stopped at the foot of his bed. “What do you think?” he asked.
Like the rest of the house, the ceilings were easily twenty feet high with large double windows. A small balcony with a table and a single chair was visible through frosted glass French doors. It looked isolating, especially after what he’d told her. She scanned the rest of the room. The color he’d chosen for the walls was a rich cobalt, and more landscapes lined the wall. Over his bed was a single painting of an older man who was putting a machine together over a workspace covered with widgets and other parts. A soft glow lit the dark room in which he was working. She couldn’t have imagined a better choice of art for Evan’s room. She continued her perusal. The curtains were a welcoming but elegant white with gold stitching, and his bed linens were a matching gold.
“I like it,” she said. “Your bed looks so soft I want to jump on it.” Maybe it would help his sadness pass. And hers for him.
“Jump on my bed, huh?” His brow rose, and some of the tension left his face. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. That’s what I love about you.” Before she could reply, he dropped her on the bed and stood over her grinning. “Jump to your heart’s content. The windows have a special tint on them so no one can see inside. I’ll start the shower.”
She rather wished he would join her, but perhaps talking about his family had been too much for him. Even she was feeling off balance. She stood on the bed, her feet sinking into the mattress, and gave a test bounce. Then she put her hands on her breasts and jumped for all she was worth. Her laughter continued as she jumped higher and higher, and pretty soon she couldn’t stop giggling. If there was one thing she’d learned in life, it was that she didn’t have to stay sad or tense. She could always choose to be happy. Right now, jumping on the bed was just what the doctor ordered.
The bed dipped as Evan leaped onto it and grabbed her to him. “I don’t think anything has ever looked so sexy.”
“Jump with me,” she said, taking his hands.
He looked unsure, but then she gave a few big bounces and started to laugh when he wove to the right.
“Jump or fall,” she told him, and he finally met her gaze with a smile.
And jumped.
They turned into little kids, bouncing until they finally dropped onto the bed and lay there side by side, as close together as possible. Both of them were breathing hard.
“Do you feel better now?” she asked, turning onto her side and tracing a heart on his chest.
“Yes,” he said with a grin. “Thanks.”
Planting a kiss smack dab on his lips, she caressed the muscles of his chest. “There’s steam coming out of the bathroom door.”
“That’s what happens when hot water meets cool air,” he told her.
She playfully swatted him. “Then let’s shower. What time is it anyway?” she asked, searching for an alarm clock.
He turned away and pointed to the side table behind him. “It’s a little after nine o’clock.”
Groaning, she closed her eyes. She’d resigned herself to not getting much sleep while she was in Paris, but she was averaging about three to four hours a night with a random nap here and there. At some point, she was going to have to play catch-up. By five o’clock in the morning, she’d be plying herself with espresso to stay awake.
Evan leaned over her and gave her a lush kiss. “Shower. Then sleep. I feel guilty about keeping you up when you have to work in a few hours.”
Neither one of them wanted to spend any more time apart than they had to.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him again. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
He rose from the bed. “Come. I promise all we’ll do is shower.”
She ran her gaze down his body. “Someone else disagrees.”
“Most inventors have an alter ego.”
But they did keep their shower mostly chaste. She could barely see him through the thick steam, but she felt him behind her as she washed. The jets pulsed on her body where his hands had been, where she wanted his hands again. But when she touched him, he took them and brought them to his mouth for a soft kiss.
“I promised you some sleep,” he said and turned her away from him gently.
They dried off and then settled in the center of his massive bed, her head pillowed by his shoulder.
“You don’t have to stay with me,” she said, starting to feel heavy in her body.
“Try and stop me,” he answered.
His heartbeat lulled her to sleep.
Chapter 4
Making croissants was hard.
There were no two ways about it. Even though Andre was sharing all his secrets with her in the ground floor of the bakery, she still hadn’t changed her mind about that one essential fact.
Her night with Evan must have imparted a special magic to her because Andre had finally deemed her ready to tackle the challenge of the enchanting bread.
The time she’d spent with Evan had only strengthened her resolve to continue to open herself to him. He loved her, and she loved him. While she was in Paris, she was going to do her best to overlook all the obstacles that stood between them and simply enjoy their connection.
The croissants and Andre’s instruction required her complete attention, so her mind had little time to wander. He’d already shown her how to make the dough that would be layered with the butter, which didn’t seem too hard. The challenging part would be folding the butter into the dough in the process called laminating.
She asked Andre to write down his tips for her on a piece of paper she’d borrowed from the office.
“The major key, ma petite,” he said as he wrote, “is to make sure the dough and the butter are the same temperature when you combine the two ingredients together. If anyone ends up with butter stains on their hands from eating a croissant, it was because the dough was likely room temperature while the butter was cold from the fridge.”
His handwriting was a precise print she would easily be able to read later. When he finished, he set the paper on a clean space on the metal table and turned to face her.
“I’m worried for you, ma petite,” he said with a frown. “The butter I use is not one you can buy in the United States. Our butter has less water than yours, and it makes a huge difference. You will have to see what other bakers use in your country.”
“I’m going to use the brand Grandma Kemstead favored,” she told him. “It works well with all kinds of baked goods. Not just cinnamon rolls.”
“Excellent! Now for the first step,” Andre said. “Take the whole square of butter and set it on top of the larger square of dough I rolled out.”
She unwrapped the professional-grade chunk of Montaigu butter sitting on the table and placed it on top of the soft dough.
“Now, you wrap the two up like a birthday present,” he said, pulling the dough at the edges until he had indeed wrapped it around the butter. “Then you chill them. I like to do mine overnight.”
