Elaine Overton - Sugar Rush

She tried to focus on the dough they were kneading, but her eyes kept drifting to his profile as he moved his face right beside hers. She watched with a dry mouth as he leaned forward to collect more flour from the big bowl, the muscles in his biceps flexing with the motion. When did they start building bakers like this, she thought?

Pounding the dough with more flour, he wrapped his hands around hers and continued to knead. “See? You’re getting the hang of it…that’s it.”

Sophie tried to focus on the dough and not the man behind her. Beside her. Surrounding her.

“Push…pull, and turn.” His soft breath was tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. “There you go.” He spoke like a patient coach, and she wanted to form something wonderful out of the dough just to satisfy him.

“See, I knew you could do it.” He turned and looked at her, bringing their lips within inches of each other. His minty breath was warm and she found herself licking her dry lips, which brought his eyes straight to her mouth.

They continued to stare at each other, neither breaking eye contact for even a moment. Unable to stop herself, she licked her dry lips again and it seemed to be some kind of a signal to him, because he leaned forward and gently touched his lips to hers.

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Elaine Overton resides in the Detroit area with her son. She attended a local business college before entering the military and serving in the Gulf War.

She is an administrative assistant currently working for an automotive-industry supplier, and is an active member of Romance Writers of America. You can contact her via e-mail at her Web site, www.elaineoverton.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

First, to my Lord and Savior, thank you for the many

everyday miracles you provide me with. So much of

what you do goes unrecognized. To God be the glory!

To my readers, I don’t know how you all do it, but you

always seem to write me those wonderfully encouraging

e-mails just when I need to hear it most. Thank you all

for your continued support.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for taking the time to read El and Sophie’s story. I’ve been wanting to do a mistaken identity story for a long time. I’ve always found something intriguing about the idea of falling in love with someone, learning all about them at a core level and yet finding out that you really know nothing about them on the surface.

I hope you have enjoyed getting to know the Mayfield Bakery family—Mama Mae, Wayne, Dante and Lonnie—as much as I enjoyed creating them. I love hearing from readers, so feel free to e-mail me at Elaine@elaineoverton.com, or write me at P.O. Box 51565, Livonia, Michigan 48151, and let me know what you thought of the book.

Until next time,

Elaine

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Galveston, TX

Sitting on the deck of his beachfront home, Alberto Montagna was having second thoughts about accepting his new assignment. Although in truth it was more than second thoughts, it was more like the seventieth time he’d told himself to call his agency and tell them to rescind his acceptance of the offer.

It seemed so unfair that he, Alberto Montagna, one of the greatest bakers of all times, was reduced to accepting an assignment in some small-town bakery whose only appeal was its lack of appeal.

You must hide, his lover, Carlotta, had said. My husband is a powerful man with a fierce temper, she’d said. He will destroy you in both name and body, she’d said.

Of course, the greatest problem was that she’d not said any of this soon enough! Actually, she’d said it after they’d made love and with the forenamed husband storming up the stairs toward the bedroom.

Alberto absently rubbed his puffy cheek. Good, he thought, the swelling was finally going down. Lifting his lightweight tunic he checked the red, sore patches covering his flat midsection. They, too, were starting to heal.

He shivered, remembering the beating he’d received at the hands of Max Gonzales. Each punch had felt like a stone being pounded against his body. But the beating had not been enough.

Just as Carlotta had predicted, Max Gonzalez had dedicated himself to making sure Alberto could not find a job at any decent bakery or restaurant in the tristate area. Alberto had been seriously considering packing up his house and moving to Europe when his agent, Tom, had told him about a little bakery in Tennessee.

Tom suggested he take the job, lay low and allow Max Gonzalez to cool off. Perhaps if he waited six months or so, then he could return to his beloved Texas. It was a good idea. But, the closer it came to the time to commit, the more he began to reconsider his options.

Just then his cell phone rang and he answered. “Hello?”

“Alberto, my love. I have left Max.”

Alberto sat up in his chair. It was difficult to hear over the noise in the background. “Carlotta?! Is that you, my angel?”

“Yes, I’m at the airport in Houston. My flight to New York leaves soon. Can you meet me there? At our special place?”

Despite pain in all parts of his body Alberto shot to his feet. “I’ll be there by midnight, sweet darling.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, her sultry voice sending an erotic thrill throughout his whole body. “And, Alberto, be careful.”

Memphis, TN

Carlton Fulton stormed down the long, plush-carpeted corridor leading to the office of the chief financial officer of Fulton Foods. It was midafternoon on an unusually hot May day and the roll of documents twisted in his tight, knuckled fist was moist with the sweat of his hand. His full lips were stretched taut against his somber brown face. Seeing the vein throbbing at his temple, his employees hurried in every direction away from him.

Without knocking he threw open the double doors to the executive suite that matched his in size and comfort. The startled secretary inside bounded to her feet.

“Good morning, Mr. Fulton.” She forced a smile, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

“Is he in there?” he practically growled, nodding toward the closed oak-paneled door behind her desk.

“Um, yes, sir. Should I let him know—”

Before she could finish, Carl stormed by her desk and slammed open the door. He walked to the edge of the desk, behind which a young man sat, distracted by a phone call.