Sweet On You - By Kate Perry Page 0,7

off the remaining shards of glass and climbed inside.

It was dark, and he saw no sign of her. So he waited.

He didn't have to wait long. Seconds later she rushed toward the window.

Toward him.

She was so focused on her thoughts she didn't see him blocking the window until she was almost on top of him. She uttered a startled gasp, her eyes wide.

She looked small and soft. She had the face of a Renaissance angel, with dark free flowing curls and pure milky skin. Skin he had the urge to touch, and a face he recognized.

Daniella Rossi.

What was she doing here? The last place he'd expect a woman who'd baked for kings, a woman who'd had a popular television cooking show, was climbing through a window of a condemned building.

It intrigued him despite himself.

He searched her eyes, looking for answers. He saw the sorrow of the past and the potential of the future. He saw compassion and passion, like a sea of chocolate he wanted to bathe in—dark and rich, bittersweetly delicious.

His groin tightened.

Those eyes narrowed, and she marched toward him, putting her hands on her hips when she stopped right in front of him. "Don't even think about it," she said, her voice low with warning.

He couldn't help it—he smiled. "I'm already thinking of it."

The man in front of her looked like a thug in sheep's clothing.

He had all the ingredients for danger: powerful build, dark hair, expensive clothing. The barest hint of sweetness, with his curious gaze. And a dash of spice: the sort of five o'clock shadow that'd rasp the skin of your inner thighs.

He was a recipe for ecstasy.

If he were cake, he'd be Devil's Food—rich and dark. Forbidden. A guilty pleasure you wanted to indulge in secretly.

Daniela licked her lips. Delicious, really.

And insane. Here she was: in a dark, condemned building, at dusk, and she was getting it on with him in her head. Tony would have ripped her a new one over her lack of sense.

But she couldn't help it. Something inside her went gooey looking at the stranger.

She shook her head. "I have a death wish."

He tipped his head, watching her carefully. "Why do you say that?"

"You're obviously a threat, but I'm mentally undressing you." She looked him over thoroughly. "Silk."

He blinked once, as though she'd taken him off guard. "Excuse me?" he said in rough voice that was street with a thin veneer of Park Avenue.

"Boxers. You've got rough edges, but I bet you like silk underneath."

He smiled like a wolf. "Want to find out?"

"A woman would have to be stupid not to want to get into your pants." She sighed regretfully. "But I'm busy right now."

"Busy doing what?"

"None of your business," she said tartly, pushing past him and climbing out the window.

She'd expected him to follow her, but he just leaned in the window and watched her.

She lifted a box of small quiches. She'd gone overboard with the food, making way too much for just three people, especially since she doubted they had a way to store any of it. But maybe they'd share it, and she'd wrapped the bread so it'd keep regardless.

Her arms complained as she carried the smaller box back to the window. She glared at the mystery man. "You could help."

"I could, if I knew what I was helping to do." But he took the box from her anyway.

She studied him. "You won't call the police?"

"Why would I?" He sniffed the quiches. "Have you baked pot into these?"

"Of course not. I'm leaving food for the homeless."

He was silent for a long moment, staring at her. His gaze was probing and direct, but it didn't bother her—Tony looked at people the same way. Besides, she had nothing to be ashamed of.

Finally he said, "You're here in the dark, leaving food for homeless people?"

"It's not completely dark, and don't say it like I'm a fool."

"You are a fool, to risk your safety. This is a dangerous neighborhood."

"Please." Pushing her hair over her shoulder, she made a dismissive noise. "I grew up in New York."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he just said, "Hand me the rest of what's in your box."

She did, quickly, before he changed his mind. When he had it piled in his arms, she told him to go down the hall and leave it where she'd already set the loaves of bread.

He was back quickly, crawling through the window with a grace and ease she wouldn't have expected from a man his size. He