For the countless time his eyes land on my breasts, and I blush because it’s obvious that he’s not looking at the coffee stain. “Honestly, I think it’s an improvement.”

The way he’s looking at me makes me want to pull him inside the bathroom and fuck him, just to see what I missed all those years ago. But I’m not going to do that. That’s insane. Instead, I sit at the café table that’s cluttered with the papers my father had laid out to show me. I press my legs together, trying to tamp down the feeling of arousal. It’s ridiculous how much he’s affecting me.

Thomas comes over to the table and leans on it like he’s in a fashion ad for that suit he’s wearing. “So what brings you to town? Last I heard you were living large in New York City.”

“I don’t know anyone who would talk to you about me.”

His mouth curves into a devastating half-smile. “I keep track of interesting people.”

He kept track of me? What does that mean? Tilting my head to look at him, I try to remember the Thomas Logan I actually knew. I thought Thomas was hot in high school, but Jesus, he’s spectacular now. He could have any woman eating out of his hand with just one look of those stunning eyes. Even with our less than stellar history, he has me in heat. I don’t see a ring, so he’s not married. That, or he takes it off for special occasions—he is a Logan after all.

I realize that I’m distracted just looking at him. “I’m just visiting my father.”

“You never did tell me why you’re at the bakery—and don’t give me any bullshit about you being here for the pastry,” I say.

He smiles, leaning just a little bit closer. Fucking sexy, and that scent … it’s a deep, spicy scent, very masculine, but not overpowering. I imagine it’s what lust would smell like if it had an odor.

I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping that the little bit of pain will help me focus. It doesn’t. “You’ve had your dad’s cupcakes. Best in town. It’s my vice,” he says.

He’s not wrong. The cupcakes are the best around, but

I know where the Logans live and it’s nowhere near here. They live on the rich side of town. “You drive all the way across town to get a cupcake?”

“Am I not allowed?”

“Of course you are, I just assumed you’d go to some place that’s overpriced and full of hipsters.”

Thomas laughs softly. “You haven’t seen me in ten years. How do you know what kind of bakeries I like?”

His laughter is rich and melodic and sends a shiver through me. Even the sound of his voice is sexy. It’s not fair to the rest of the men in the world to be this sexy and be disgustingly wealthy on top of it. When Thomas Logan steps into a room no other men stand a chance.

“I remember you and your brothers. People don’t change that much,” I say.

His head tilts to the side. “Sounds like you’ve got me pegged.”

“I think I do.”

I didn’t notice how close we’d leaned into each other until this moment, and I lose my breath because we’re close enough for me to see the star shape of his irises and hint of stubble peeking through his perfect skin. He’s so beautiful. This can’t happen.

I pull back just as my father comes into the room. He’s holding another bundle of papers and he freezes when he sees Thomas. A moment later his trademark smile is back in full force.

“Thomas,” he says. “Good to see you!” My dad comes around and puts down the papers so he can shake Thomas’s hand.

“You too, Mr. Monroe,” he flashes that dazzling smile, and I feel conflicted by the burst of attraction the flies through my body. “I was just catching up with Rose. It’s an…interesting surprise,” Thomas says.

The way he says interesting sends a thrill up my spine, and I shove it back down. This isn’t why I’m here. I’d almost forgotten why I’d come home in the first place. The papers my father is holding are loan papers, and all the financial statements for the bakery. He said he’s in trouble, and I’ve come to help him sort it out. Looking at the volume of papers on the table, my head is starting to hurt and we haven’t even started.

Dad smiles and shrugs and says to Thomas, “You’re early.”

I look between them, suspicious. “What does that mean?”

Thomas looks at me again. He’s still smiling, but it’s sharper, less charming. “As much as I like your father’s cupcakes, I’m here to talk business.”

“Business?”

He glances at the stack of papers my father left on the table. “I’m guessing he was about to show you.”

Things click into place all at once, and suddenly I feel like I’m going to throw up my coffee—what little I consumed before it landed on my shirt.

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