Manhunting in Mississippi (6 page)

She gave him a wry smile as she passed him on her way to her storage cabinet. “Thanks for the reminder.” After opening the cabinet, she removed clean jeans, a white T-shirt

and a navy blazer, plus red canvas tennis shoes.

“Uh, Piper?”

She turned. “Yeah, Rich?”

He gestured to her clothing. “Did somebody die?”

Smiling sweetly, she slammed the cabinet door. “Yes—the next person who asks me that question.”

Piper marched into the ladies’ room, and came to a toe-stubbing stop in front of the ful -length mirror. Her mouth dropped open in horror. Her hair alternately stood on end and lay flattened to her head, her clothing hung wrinkled, spattered and damp. Mascara flecked her cheeks. And her ankle looked huge.

It was a good thing Ian Bentley was married—she’d never stop kicking herself if she thought she’d met an eligible man in her current state. She changed clothes and repaired

her hair and makeup as best she could, glad when she could feel the painkil er Janet had given her kick in. She considered flushing the broken pumps down the toilet, but settled for slamming them into a metal trash can. Darn shoes! She’d paid a fortune for them years ago for
somebody’s
wedding and hadn’t worn them a half-dozen times since. Damn the man who invented these things! It was probably the same guy who invented panty hose.

She half limped, half stomped back to her desk and stuffed the ruined clothes into a plastic bag, snatched a clean lab coat from the cabinet and hobbled down the hal to the food lab. She’d planned to spend the morning whipping up two or three experimental desserts for the Bentley Group representative. Now she’d probably have to do it al with him looking over her shoulder—if her appearance and behavior hadn’t spooked him into leaving altogether.

“Here she is now,” Edmund said, his arms out to her and his face wreathed in smiles. A large room lined with counters, sinks and huge industrial-size stainless-steel appliances, the lab suddenly looked crowded with her boss, her assistant and her nemesis lined up against a counter, enjoying coffee and a sampler of Danishes and sweet breads from the production line.

“Hi, Edmund, Mr. Bentley.”

She made brief eye contact with Ian. He acknowledged her with a nod, but his gaze swept over her, head to toe. Piper tingled, but vowed to maintain the most professional

demeanor possible. He had removed his jacket and loosened his tie and top shirt button. Gorgeous, the man was simply
gorgeous,
she bemoaned inwardly, but recal ed the no-nonsense advice from her grandmother’s book. The man was off-limits, out-of-bounds, inaccessible and just plain taken.

Holding a mug in one hand and a slice of strawberry-cream-cheese-pecan-nut-bread in the other, he looked like most men when they ate—content. She wondered briefly if his

wife was a good cook, then chastised herself. What did she care?

“How is your ankle?” he asked politely.

“Much better, thanks.” She limped over to the coatrack, removed her blazer and donned the comfortable lab coat.

“I gave Mr. Bentley a tour of our facilities,” Edmund announced.

“I see you raided the production line,” she teased. “Enjoy your breakfast, gentlemen. I’l gather my supplies for the day.”

“Piper, these caramel doughnuts are the most wonderful things I’ve ever tasted,” Edmund declared, wiping a corner of his mouth. “If Harriet knew I was eating these, she’d have my hide.” He shook his head and grunted.

She smiled at her boss, knowing he was laying it on thick for the sake of their guest. “Your secret is safe with me, Edmund.” She noticed Rich studying Mr. Bentley unobtrusively and started in surprise.

Her assistant glanced her way, flushed, then straightened. “Speaking of having someone’s hide, Prickett wil have mine if I don’t help with the morning inspection.” He headed for the door, adding over his shoulder, “I’l check in with you later, Piper.”

“Wel , Mr. Bentley,” Edmund said, wiping the sugar from his hands, “I’l leave you in the very capable hands of Ms. Shepherd.”

Stepping into the deep supply closet kept her from hearing Mr. Bentley’s response, only the muffled sound of his deep voice. The voice of a confident, rich, successful, powerful man. Despite her vow, she couldn’t argue with the fact that her hands shook and her heart raced at the thought of spending the next few days with Ian Bentley, ring or no ring. Which simply demonstrated how desperate she was, she realized with disgust, trying valiantly to concentrate on the task at hand.

Tal shelves crammed with nonperishable ingredients towered over her—white sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar, white flour, bread flour, wheat flour, baking soda, salt, dark cocoa, white cocoa butter, peanut butter, assorted nuts, marshmal ow creme, fudge sauce, caramel sauce, strawberry sauce, raspberry sauce and an exhaustive list of other goodies.

The fragrance alone tickled every taste bud in her mouth, and simply inhaling was worth a good fifty calories or so.

She gathered a handful of spices and flavorings and tossed them into a sturdy metal cart, which doubled as a step stool, along with five pounds of flour and five pounds each of white and brown sugar. She had several ideas, but she knew her banana-cream pudding would knock Mr. Bentley’s socks off.

Her train of thought led her to imagine other articles of his clothing being knocked off, but she immediately put on the brakes and reviewed necessary ingredients in her head.

So absorbed was she with her mental shopping list that when she heard his voice behind her, she froze.

“My, my, there are al kinds of tempting things in here.”

Piper squashed down erotic thoughts, steeled herself and turned. Her pulse jumped at the sight of him leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his broad chest. She

managed a shaky smile. “Pick something you like and I’l add it to the cart.”

His smile was slow and pulse-pounding. “Wel , Ms. Shepherd, I wouldn’t stop you from climbing on.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Once you find a marriageable man, don’t wink, tease, flirt or otherwise let him know you’re interested.

PIPER SQUEEZED
a plastic bottle of banana syrup so hard, the top blew off and ricocheted between the metal shelving twice before rol ing to a stop by the toe of her shoe. She replayed Ian Bentley’s words in her mind. “Excuse me?” she asked, buying time. After al , she didn’t want to make a fool of herself—either way—if she hadn’t heard him correctly.

Mr. Bentley straightened, cleared his throat and pointed to her injured foot. “If you need to take the weight off your ankle, feel free to take a seat on your cart. I’m in no hurry.”

His gray eyes were innocent, and Piper felt weak with relief. The mild painkil er was playing tricks on her. “Oh.” She bent to retrieve the wayward lid. “No, I’m fine,” she lied.

Fingers of pain probed her ankle even as she loitered in the closet, lusting after an unavailable man. Determined to focus on her bonus, Piper stood erect and replaced the lid on the bottle. The provocative shape of the hand-friendly, tapered container made her nervous, so she deposited it abruptly into the cart. “I—I hope you like the recipe I have in mind for your new dessert, Mr. Bentley.”

He shrugged and glanced around the room. “You’re the expert. And I’l eat just about anything sweet…unless it contains bananas.”

Piper stopped and stared. “Bananas?”

He nodded. “I like them, but unfortunately, I’m al ergic.”

“Al ergic,” she parroted. “Imagine that.”

His wide shoulders rose in a shrug. “And I have to admit—anything chocolate is bound to get my attention.”

“Chocolate,” she repeated, already picturing the hives, the swol en eyes and the thick tongue she’d develop from al the tasting. “That’s…great. Nobody does chocolate like I do chocolate.”
Reluctantly.

He grinned, looking boyish and outrageously appealing. “Terrific. Of course, if you feel compel ed to make something with bananas, go ahead.”

“But you just said—”

“I don’t believe in depriving the buying public simply because I can’t indulge. I try my best to ignore cravings for things I shouldn’t have.”

Piper gazed into his eyes and swal owed. Was he referring to this, this…
attraction
between them and his status as a married man? Or was she reading too much into his words because of her own sudden awareness? “I wouldn’t want you to, um, suffer.”

His eyes darkened and he leaned toward her almost imperceptibly. “Some things are worth the consequences, no matter how dire.”

Just as her knees weakened, the fluorescent light caught the glint of his wedding ring, sobering Piper. Even if the man wasn’t taken, he emanated too much sexual energy for

her comfort level. But under
no
circumstances would she become involved with a married man. A flush of embarrassment climbed her neck—she was so naive when it came to men that she couldn’t even be sure if he was baiting her for an affair or simply informing her he’d break out in a rash if he ate bananas.

Thankful y, Mr. Bentley saved her from responding. He glanced away and drew himself up, breaking the moment—if indeed there’d been one. “I’m more interested in the aesthetic appeal of your recipes, the marketability and—” he smiled tightly “—the cost, of course.”

Feeling like a ninny, Piper grabbed a canister of white and dark cocoa and added them to the pile. Then she gripped the cart handle with sweaty hands and headed toward the

door. Her best hope to diffuse the sexual tension was to minimize their time together—she’d get rid of him as soon as possible and work overtime until the project’s completion. He’d be on his way back to Chicago in no time, after he’d signed a contract for the most decadent chocolate dessert she could concoct, of course. “We can discuss the recipe in the lab,” she suggested, frantic to get some distance from the man.

“Let me take that,” he offered, reaching for the handle of the cart.

She glanced down to maneuver around Bentley’s expensive-looking shoes. “That’s al right—”

His fingers brushed hers, nudging her hand aside. For some reason, the touch seemed more intimate than either time he’d lifted her into his arms. She pul ed away so quickly, she nearly threw herself off balance. Then she sidled past him as graceful y as she could with her clubby ankle, and indicated her favorite work counter, where he parked the cart.

Keenly aware of him fol owing her, Piper crossed the checkerboard black-and-white tile floor to the coffeemaker. She poured herself a cup of black decaf coffee and refreshed his cup as wel . Striving for nonchalance, she conjured up a smile. “Do you know how intimidating it is to serve coffee to a man who owns some of the most successful coffeehouses in the country?”

“I’m a simple man—I like my coffee black and strong.” Bentley lifted his cup and took a deep swal ow. “This is actual y quite good.”

Calmer now, Piper pointed toward the corner of the lab where a white rectangular table sat surrounded by six sterile-looking chairs. Her foot was beginning to throb and she

needed to rest before pul ing out the mixing bowls. “Let’s sit and discuss the finished product.”

Piper approached a set of tal file cabinets, opened a drawer, walked her fingers across tabs, then withdrew the thick folder she’d compiled on the Bentley Group. Slowly she made her way over to the table and stood awkwardly, shifting good foot to injured foot and back, waiting for Mr. Bentley to sit so she could situate herself as far away from him as politely possible. But he pul ed out a chair for her on one side and she felt obliged to take it. Alarm struck her when he tugged on the chair directly next to her, but he simply smiled and indicated the seat with a nod.

“For your foot.”

Feeling sil y for thinking he meant otherwise, Piper lifted her foot onto the chair. Mr. Bentley set his cup of coffee on the table and captured the seat across from hers. She withdrew a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer in the table, and opened the manila file. “Now then, wil the coffeehouses be franchised under the current name?”

He sipped and nodded. “Talk of the Town Coffeehouse.”

“And do you have a name in mind for the dessert?”

Mr. Bentley shook his head and splayed his hands. “I’d like to hear your ideas—you look like a contemporary consumer.”

She shrugged and pursed her lips. “As much as one can be in Mudvil e, Mississippi, I suppose.” Piper waited, hesitant to discuss her elementary-sounding ideas with a master

food marketer. “Wel …”

“Go on,” he urged.

She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I visualize a large dessert, one that can be shared.” When he didn’t laugh, she continued. “A subtle, rich flavor that lends itself to an accompanying drink, but doesn’t compete with exotic coffees.” When he stil didn’t laugh, she continued. “Presented in a unique dish that wil attract attention when it’s served.”

He brought his coffee to his mouth for another sip. His clear eyes were unreadable, but one eyebrow twitched as he mul ed over her ideas. He had a slight cleft in his square chin that she hadn’t noticed before, but it appeared when he pressed his lips together. Other details jumped out at her, details she’d been too self-conscious to notice when they’d been practical y nose to nose. A smal concentration of gray compromised his thick dark hair front and center—probably premature since he didn’t look to be much past thirty-five. A tiny pale scar on his lower lip left her wondering about the injury.

To cover her blatant perusal, she blurted, “What do you think?”

His mouth quirked, then curved into a smile as he leaned forward. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Her lips parted and humiliation washed over her. Was she forever destined to make a fool of herself in this man’s presence? “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

His eyes danced. “Ms. Shepherd, I think I know why your other recipes have been so successful in my restaurants—you put a lot of thought behind them.”

Relieved with the change of subject and ridiculously pleased at his praise, she sorted through the file folder until she found a menu for the coffeehouse and ran a shaky finger down the dessert section. “You offer various cookies, muffins, sliced pie, sweet breads and Danishes—al are prepackaged, sold in individual servings and relatively inexpensive.”