person. Just don’t tell everyone else.” She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Speaking of my other guests, I should warn you that the Kemp sisters have been doing shots. Brace yourself—they have a bet going on which one of them you’ll take home tonight.”
“How high are the stakes? I’d hate for anyone to lose on my account. Seems like the gentlemanly thing to do would be to invite them both back to my place.”
Bobbi smacked his arm. “You are terrible.”
“Maybe I’m just misunderstood.” He gazed into her eyes, making a halfhearted attempt to keep a straight face. “How do you know my torrid love life isn’t an attempt to comfort myself because I’m secretly pining for you and cursing that Matt met you first?”
“Did I hear my name?” Matt Grantham slid an arm around Bobbi’s waist and nuzzled her neck.
“I was just telling Bobbi that you’re the envy of all the single straight men in Atlanta,” Heath said. “She’s a hell of a woman.”
Matt nodded. “Gorgeous, smart, funny and dynamite in b—oof.” He grunted when Bobbi’s elbow connected with his rib cage.
She shot him a stern look, but the twitch of her lips showed she was fighting a smile. “That’s more than enough about me. Matt, why don’t you get Heath a drink while I mingle?”
“What’s your poison?” Matt asked, leading Heath to a bar in the corner of the living room.
Studying the selection of liquors, Heath chose a top-shelf bourbon. While Matt poured, they exchanged opinions on the baseball season. Heath was analyzing the Braves’ pitching when he caught a flash of familiar red-gold waves in his peripheral vision. Phoebe? Last time he’d talked to her, she’d said she had to work and wouldn’t be here tonight. Nonetheless, he tried to get a better look at the woman as she stepped outside through the open balcony doors. He’d never seen Phoebe wear anything as short as that glittery navy dress, yet recognition sparked through him.
His gaze dipped to her heart-shaped ass and supple legs. Definitely Phoebe. A better man might feel guilt over how well he knew her body. It wasn’t entirely appropriate that he’d memorized the curves of a friend and former employee—but Heath hadn’t earned his reputation by being appropriate.
He interrupted whatever Matt was saying. “I just saw Phoebe Mars. I should go say hi.”
“Oh, right. She worked at Piri, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. She was our pastry chef.” Until Heath’s business partner had talked her into quitting.
Selfish SOB. Cam had strung her along and cost Piri an award-winning pastry chef just because the jerk had thought it would be too awkward to work with her after they broke up. When Cam had dumped her, Heath had battled back an uncharacteristic urge to take a swing at his partner for breaking her heart. Tonight, his feelings were more conflicted. He didn’t like the idea of Phoebe hurting, yet some part of him—a dark, disloyal part—delighted in her freedom.
Heath turned his attention back to Matt. “You have vermouth and green olives back there?” A moment later, he headed outside with his own drink and a vodka martini for Phoebe.
She stood alone, or as alone as one could be on a balcony with four other people, staring at the city skyline while the breeze toyed with the ends of her hair. She had gorgeous strawberry blonde hair that fell past her shoulder blades. When she worked in the kitchen, she secured it in a tight, low bun; Heath always savored these rare occasions when it tumbled free in riotous waves.
He joined her at the railing. June in Atlanta was steamy, enveloping him in heat, but even if it had been snowing outside, Phoebe in that dress would have raised his temperature. “I don’t suppose you’d consider chugging whatever’s left in that wineglass so I can look gallant by bringing you a fresh drink?”
“Heath!” Her full lips curved in a welcoming smile.
He only had a moment to admire the cleavage displayed by the plunging neckline before she threw her arms around him in an unexpectedly fierce hug. Her lush curves pressed against his body, and, damn, she smelled delicious. Was the scent perfume or just the by-product of working each day with cinnamon and vanilla and other tantalizing ingredients? He had the fleeting impulse to drop the glasses in his hands so he could hold her close, capture her mouth with his own and find out if she tasted equally delicious.
She pulled away, her smile sheepish. “Sorry. I almost knocked you over, didn’t I?”
“You don’t hear me complaining.” He’d happily allow her to knock him flat on his back if he could convince her to join him.
“I was excited to see a friendly face.”
He raised an eyebrow. She was hardly among strangers. When Bobbi had interviewed her as part of a dessert series last year, they’d become instant friends. Phoebe probably knew half the people here.
“A single friendly face,” she added. “It’s nice not to be the only one without a date. Or are you here with someone?” She gazed past him into the condo, her whiskey-gold eyes searching.
“Nope, I’m alone.” He thanked his lucky stars that the flight attendant he’d originally asked to come with him was somewhere over the Midwest right now. “I have it on good authority that the Kemp sisters are also solo—and on the prowl. Protect me from them?”
“Oh, please. You haven’t needed anyone’s help handling women a day in your life.”
Not since college anyway. Regardless, it wasn’t either of the Kemp sisters he wanted to handle.
Phoebe set her wineglass on the patio table. “I’m not finishing that. The floral notes are overpowering, and life’s too short to drink mediocre wine. What did you bring me?”
“Vodka martini, two olives, splash of brine.” He winked at her. “I know you like it dirty.”
Color tinged her cheeks, but she grinned back at him. “Yum.” Phoebe was an interesting contrast. Although she blushed at his habitual teasing, she’d often been the first to laugh if someone made a ribald joke in the kitchen. Muffled laughter, but Heath heard it just the same.
As she took the martini glass, her fingers brushed his. A rush of desire went through him, surprising him with its intensity. When she’d worked at Piri, they’d bumped and jostled each other plenty of times in a crowded kitchen.
But she hadn’t been single then.
“You look amazing tonight.” His gaze dropped to the creamy swells of her breasts for a moment before he made himself meet her eyes again. “Different, but amazing.”
“I can’t take credit for that. It’s easy to look amazing when your roommate’s professionally trained to make people look good. Gwen is responsible for my wardrobe, my cosmetics and my hair—not to mention making me attend the party.”
“She talked you into rearranging your schedule?” He and Gwen didn’t particularly get along, not since a disastrous double date Phoebe had engineered, but he appreciated that the woman had convinced Phoebe to be here.
“More like she rearranged my schedule for me. She called James, who is the nicest boss ever. No offense.”
He
