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stalked out of the room. She heard the front door slam. For a second, she wanted to chase after him and admit her crush, just so she didn’t seem like a complete floozy, but she couldn’t bear to see pity in his eyes again. He didn’t want her. He likely would have gotten hard for any naked woman throwing herself into his lap. What had he said? I gave you every opportunity to stop me. Oh God, that meant he’d known her plan the entire time, probably since the minute she arrived on the beach tonight wearing that stupid corset.
    Roman returned with her jacket. “Get dressed. I’m taking you home.”
    He left, presumably to find a shirt. She struggled into her jacket, zipped it up to her chin, and then folded the quilt. She stuffed the corset under her arm and slipped into her shoes, tempted to slip out the front door alone and try to find a taxi, but Roman appeared in the hall before she could escape.
    He was silent as he led her around the side of the house to a sleek Mercedes convertible. She met his gaze as he opened the door, expecting to see anger. What she saw made her feel so much worse—hurt.
    Guilt tightened her throat, making it difficult to speak. “I’m sorry, Roman.” She slid into the car and buckled her seat belt.
    “I wish you had just said you needed help.” He slammed the door.
    She watched him walk around the front of the car. His profile was stern, jaw tight and lips firm. She remembered his masterful kiss, and heat flashed through her. Pathetic. He’d rejected her, and she still wanted him. Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the longing that rolled through her in a poignant wave of not gonna happen. She turned to look out the window as he slid in beside her.
    “Where are you staying?” he asked, starting the car.
    She told him and he pulled out into the road, heading toward Mar Vista where she had rented a room from a single mother with an adorable seven-year-old daughter. The silence grew until she wanted to open the door and dive out of the car. Finally, they reached the house, and she tugged on the door handle. Finding it locked, she glanced over at him.
    “Come to the Beach House tomorrow at noon, and we’ll figure something out. Some of my happiest holiday memories happened at Cooper’s, and your family means a lot to me. I’ll do what I can.”
    Jenna forced herself to give him a brief smile, even though her heart ached. “For the record, I wish I had just asked for help, too. Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.” The locks released with a dismissive thunk, so she got out of the car, closing the door behind her.
    Because she wanted to run, she walked slowly up the path and let herself into the house. A shower would wash away the sand, but the humiliation was going to stick with her. Still, if she had a shot at saving the restaurant, it was more than she deserved after the stunt she had pulled tonight. It was time to forget her crush and behave like an adult, which is what she should have done in the first place.
    Facing Roman was going to be hell tomorrow, but she would do it—for Cooper’s.

Chapter Three
    Roman dropped a pound of butter into the bowl and turned the mixer on. It stuck to the paddle and spun around in a solid lump while the sugar stayed on the bottom, barely mixing. He frowned, head pounding in time with the whirling paddle, and stared down into the bowl. Cursing, he turned off the motor and grabbed a spatula, ramming it into the butter and breaking it into several pieces. He turned the mixer back on, and the ingredients began to spin together.
    See? Baking isn’t so hard.
    Unlike controlling himself last night when Jenna told him why she’d come to California. Just the thought of how he’d teased the information out of her made him feel sick and angry again. He was easy, but he wasn’t an asshole. Or maybe he was, because the memory of her on his lap kept flashing back to him, and every time it did, blood shot south in a hard rush. Dammit, why hadn’t she just