by Nina Lane
The men looked up, glancing from her to their leader, Gavin. He frowned.
“We don’t offer pastry assessments, ma’am.”
“You can start now.” Polly nudged one of the plates toward a blond man who was crouched beneath the cash register, fiddling with the wires. “Just taste them and tell me which one you like best.”
With an audible sigh, Gavin nodded at his team. The men approached the counter and sampled the different offerings, making noises in their throats and looking up at the ceiling as they chewed, swallowed, and assessed.
“This one.” The blond guy pointed at the first plate. “Light, airy, and rich without being overly sweet.”
“Agreed,” another dark-haired man said. “Nice chocolate flavor too.”
“Two is a little saltier,” a third man remarked. “The extra salt pairs well with the chocolate, but the first one is crisper. I’d go with one too.”
Polly marked three votes for the first plate as Mia and Ramona came over to sample and offer their opinions. After more discussion, they agreed that number one was the winner.
“Mr. Knight?” Polly gestured to the plates.
Looking faintly irritated, Gavin stood up from the laptop and came to taste the different pastries. Unlike the other men, he wasn’t quite as methodical, eating them in swift succession before nodding at the now-empty plate number one.
“Agreed,” he said. “Number one. Back to work, men.”
The security team dispersed and resumed their tasks. Gavin picked up a napkin to wipe the chocolate off his mouth.
“Are they cream puffs?” he asked.
“They look like hot security guys to me,” Mia remarked, eyeing the blond man.
Polly grinned. Gavin Knight did not.
“I mean these.” He gestured to the remaining pastries.
“They’re a combined doughnut and éclair,” Polly explained. “I invented them by mistake.”
“Do you sell them?”
“Not yet.”
“Best cream puff I’ve had in a while,” Gavin remarked, before adding in a deadpan tone, “I do declare.”
Mia swung her gaze to him. “You did not just say that.”
“I believe I did.”
“Are you from the South?” Polly asked, though she hadn’t detected an accent.
Mia gave her a pointed look. “Pols, he just named your new creation.”
Polly grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down the word Declare, then crossed it out and changed it to Declair.
As she looked at the word, she realized it was the first time she’d ever created an original recipe on her own. Her mother had been a master of recipe creation, unafraid of mixing and matching ingredients to come up with the perfect confection. And Polly had always been a willing taste-tester, but she’d left the actual inventing up to her mother.
Until now.
Before she forgot all the ingredients and proportions, she scribbled down the recipe, then returned to the office and pulled up the website for The Art of French Pastry class. She’d sent in her mother’s éclair recipe with her application, and though she still didn’t think much of her chances of acceptance—it would be like winning the golden ticket for Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory—she also wasn’t very happy about the idea of passing her mother’s recipe off as her own.
Dear M. Lacroix (not that Himself would be reading this, but what the heck . . . )
Enclosed please find my original recipe for a hybrid pastry known as The Declair, a cross between a doughnut and an éclair. I would like to add the Declair to my application, as submitted earlier, to fulfill the original recipe requirement.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Polly Lockhart
She hit the send button and returned to the kitchen to make up another batch of Declairs.
AFTER THEIR PASTRY ASSESSMENT, THE Knight Security special ops force returned over the next few days to purchase Declairs during their off-duty hours. Their appreciation for the pastry seemed to spread the word among their friends and family, as several people came in specifically to ask for it, often buying muffins and croissants as well.
Polly was both surprised and pleased by the small but increasing profits at the end of the day, and she emailed the total sales to Luke to keep him apprised. But if she had thought the hot consummation of their relationship—not to mention his texting her during a board meeting—would have turned him into a fluffy, low-density marshmallow, she was proven sorely wrong. When it came to the business of Wild Child, CEO Stone was as demanding a taskmaster as ever.
For the rest of the week, he came to the bakery every day. In between making his own calls and responding to emails, he sat with her in the office and instructed her on how to use a new accounting program, where she needed to cut expenses, and how to calculate business ratios. He advised her on tax preparation, her leasing contract, health insurance, and employee management.
Polly absorbed so much information that she might soon be qualified to run Microsoft with all she was learning. She completed the somewhat painful task of choosing which products to take off sale and which to keep, negotiated with suppliers, and changed the pricing list. Luke contacted a financial services company on her behalf, and the manager agreed to give Polly a small business loan, which she could use for remodeling the interior.
Gavin Knight and his security guys also returned to install the security system at both Wild Child and Polly’s apartment. She always had plenty of Declairs waiting for them, and by the time they were finished with the installation, she was pretty sure not even Houdini himself would be able to break in.
Gavin spent an inordinate amount of time explaining the system, assuring her she was connected to a twenty-four-hour manned control center, inputting passwords and security codes, and using terms like biometric access and encrypted communication paths.
Despite the fact that Polly thought it was all a bit of overkill, there was no question she felt more at ease both at the bakery and at home. And knowing she would pay Luke back for the cost, she plunged even more determinedly into shoring up the bakery’s business plan.
The following Saturday, after Polly dressed in a Mia-approved, drinks-and-dancing outfit consisting of a blue stretchy top (“makes your boobs look spectacular”) and a short, pleated skirt (“flirty and cute”), she and Luke drove to the Snowflake Club, which was housed in a somewhat run-down building on the other side of town.
A sense of misgiving rushed through Polly as they went into the jam-packed room that was vibrating with ear-splitting music and noise. She didn’t remember it being quite this crowded and loud. But now that they were here, finally on a real live date, she couldn’t falter.
“Isn’t this great?” she yelled, squeezing into a chair between the wall and a table which Luke had miraculously discovered was unoccupied. “It’s one of the hippest joints on the alternative music scene!”
Luke responded, but Polly only knew that because she saw his mouth move. Since she couldn’t hear what he said, she smiled and nodded.
He folded his body into the chair beside her. His gaze moved over the crowd, which was packed wall-to-wall with sweaty, T-shirt-clad college students bopping and jumping in time to the beat of the Riders playing on stage.
Mia had been right about the Snowflake Club skewing too young for Luke. In his tailored white shirt and gray wool trousers, he looked like a professor or chaperone rather than a guy out to have a good time.
He spoke again, though she couldn’t hear him over the noise.
“Excuse me?” she shouted, leaning closer to indicate he should speak into her ear.
“I’ll get us some drinks!”
“Great!”
He patted her knee beneath the table, eased out of the chair, and started making his way toward the narrow bar, which was five tipsy college kids deep and seven across. Luke didn’t stand much of a chance of coming back with a drink, but Polly appreciated him for trying.
She settled her elbows on the table, wincing as something greasy and sticky clung to her bare arms. She dug in her purse for a tissue and tried to scrub the tabletop. Had the Snowflake Club always smelled so richly of body odor or had the Riders brought out the “too much wrath for a bath” crowd?
“I’m guessing beer is the safest bet here.” Luke squeezed back into the chair beside her, depositing two glasses of watery-looking ale on the table.
“How did you manage to get these?” Polly yelled.
“All that football with my brothers must have paid off.”
“You played football a lot?”
“What?”
“Nothing!”
Luke sat back, reaching up to wipe a trickle of sweat off his temple. He reached into his pocket for his phone and started scrolling. Polly couldn’t blame him for being bored and restless—this clearly wasn’t his kind of place.
She started to suggest they leave when her cell phone vibrated. She took it out and glanced at the screen to find a text.
LUKE: Are you a magician?
POLLY: Uh . . . no. Why?
LUKE: Because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.
Pleasure fluttered through Polly, and she nudged him with her elbow. He continued typing on his phone without looking up.
LUKE: Are you a parking ticket? Because you have fine written all over you.
POLLY: Oh my god. Don’t tell me CEO Stone is really just a cheesy pick-up artist in disguise.
LUKE: Okay, I won’t tell you that.
POLLY: For the record, you don’t need pick-up lines with me.
LUKE: For the record, you had me at “Hi.”
They both looked up at the same time, their gazes meeting with a current of hot tenderness. A slow grin spread across Luke’s face as he put his phone back into his pocket. He leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek to her ear. His breath tickled her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Dance with me,” he said.
“Really?” Polly looked at the writhing mass of people. “You sure?”
Luke again maneuvered out of the chair as the dance crowd undulated wildly. He grabbed her hand and tugged her to her feet. She followed him through the crush of sweaty, damp bodies. Because he was so tall and broad-shouldered, people automatically moved aside to make room for him. Within seconds, they were in the middle of the floor, the hot air compressing around them.
This had been her idea. Polly started bumping around as best she could considering there were thrashing bodies closing in on her from all sides. The music pounded inside her head, hurting her ears, eyes, and even her nose.
But she couldn’t let Luke know that this craziness wasn’t exactly what she’d planned when she’d decided to take him out for a night of drinks and dancing at one of her friends’ favorite hotspots. Polly hadn’t been to the club in well over a year, but now that the universe had put Luke Stone right in front of her, she had to keep her promise to show him a good time.
“Woo hoo!” She swiveled her hips and turned in a circle, narrowly missing colliding with the girl to her right. “This place rocks!”
Luke put his hands out three times to stop other people from crashing into them. Polly spun around again just as a guy bumped her from behind, sending her stumbling forward.
Luke caught her around the waist, and for an instant the world receded as she remembered him catching her that night at the Troll’s House. Except this time, she was in full possession of her senses, and the solid strength of his body came right up against hers. He tightened his hands around her waist.
“Okay?” he shouted.
Polly nodded, a flush of embarrassment crawling up her neck. What was she thinking bringing CEO Stone to a club like this? He was a man accustomed to going to the opera or the theater, not a hole in the wall so crowded it was probably a fire hazard.
“Maybe we should go—” she began, but then he settled her hips against his and started to dance with her.
Polly drew in a breath, surprised and flustered by the sensation of his strong body moving to the noise that passed for music. The lead singer screeched something into the mic, and a piercing feedback rattled her ears.
The crowd surged and yelled. Luke’s grip tightened. Sweat dripped down her neck. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. The fact that they were both getting hot and sticky intensified the throbbing sensation in her blood.
The world receded farther. Luke spread his hands over her rear, moving them in slow circles. Even past the noise, she heard his heavy heartbeat. And then it was just the two of them, their bodies sealed together and rocking slowly in a rhythm of their own making. He pressed his lips against her temple. She breathed in his scent of soap, shaving cream, and heat. A melty feeling swirled through her, like gooey butterscotch.
“Mosh pit!” someone yelled.
Luke lifted his head, his eyes crinkling with wry amusement. “A mosh pit might be a little too much fun for me.”
“Me too.” Polly slid her hand over his arm and curled her fingers around his as they made their way back to the table and squeezed into their chairs. She grabbed the beer, which was stale and flat, but still cold.
An agonized scream from the Riders caused the crowd to surge joyfully. Luke shot to his feet, getting in front of Polly as a boy started to stumble into their table. Next thing she knew, the boy was crashing into Luke, who then grabbed him to keep him from going down. The table tipped. The beer splashed all over both the floor and Luke’s shirtfront.
“Sorry, man!” the boy yelled.
Luke said something in response as he steadied the kid back on his feet. The boy ran off into the mosh pit again.
“Your shirt.” Polly fumbled for the tissues in her pocket and began wiping down Luke’s wet shirt. Greasy streaks appeared over the beer stains, and she realized she was trying to clean him up with the same tissues she’d used to scrub the gunk off the table.
“Oh no.” She grimaced at the realization that his very expensive shirt had been ruined. “I’m so sorry.”
Luke straightened an overturned chair. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Though her head was starting to throb anew.
“Let’s get some air.” He helped her out of her chair and guided her through the crush to the door.
Once outside, she gulped in the fresh, night air and sagged against the building. “Well, that was interesting.”
Luke brushed a lock of hair off her sweaty forehead. “And fun.”
She looked at him dubiously, though her heart warmed with gratitude toward him for making the most of what could have been a disastrous evening. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” He nodded toward the street. “Come on. Let’s go get cleaned up.”
Polly hadn’t even realized the beer had also splashed onto her, despite Luke’s heroic attempt to protect her. They walked back to his car, which miraculously hadn’t been stolen in the somewhat dodgy neighborhood, and headed back to his house.
“Since we both need showers, you should stay here tonight.” He ushered her inside.
“I don’t have any extra clothes.”
“There’s some in the guest bedroom.”
Of course there were. Luke’s bachelor pad was outfitted for . . . a bachelor pad.
Ignoring the reminder that she was not part of his usual strata of high-class women, who would have taken him to the opera instead of a sweaty, overloud club, Polly followed him up the stairs. Her gaze fixated on the row of windows that overlooked the inner courtyard and shimmering pool.
“Do you ever swim?” she asked.
“I do laps sometimes. Why?”
“The pool just doesn’t look like it’s ever been used.”
“My brother Evan comes over to swim every now and then.” He paused to look at her. “You can use it, if you want.”
“Will you swim with me?”
“Now?”
“Sure.” She poked him in the side. �
��It’ll be fun.”
He shrugged. “Okay. You can probably find a suit in the dresser in the guest bedroom.”
Polly didn’t love the idea of wearing a swimsuit that might have been worn by another woman, but she walked into the guest bedroom to riffle through the drawers. The lowest one contained several brand-new swimsuits in different styles and a stack of ridiculously plush towels.
She stripped off her clothes and glimpsed herself in the mirror. Then, not sure if she was exercising bad judgment or being outrageously flirtatious—there seemed to be a fine line between the two—she wrapped her naked body in a towel and headed out of the room.
She went down to the pool, astonished at how stepping into the courtyard was like entering a private oasis—plants and trees lined the walls, a small waterfall cascaded from a rock garden at one end, and cushy seating areas were arranged near a fireplace. Spotlights glowed on the water, and overhead the sky blazed with stars through the glass roof.
Polly sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her feet in the water. She turned her head when the door opened and Luke approached. He was breathtakingly masculine in navy swimming trunks and nothing else, his muscular chest with all its smooth lines and planes crafted with the precision of a sugar sculpture.
His gaze skimmed appreciatively over her and lingered on the valley of her cleavage where she had knotted the towel.
“Do I get to see?” he asked, his voice a deep caress over her skin.
A touch of nervousness wound through her. “Maybe later.”
He lowered himself alongside her, his thigh brushing hers. She shifted, making sure her towel was still secure.
“Speaking of fun,” Luke put his feet in the water beside hers, “or in this case, a complete lack thereof . . . I wanted to ask if you’d go to the opening of a museum exhibition with me on the twenty-first.”
“Really?” Polly did a quick calculation. That was three weeks away. She guessed that meant he intended for their relationship to continue at least that long. “That sounds fancy.”
