“Go on and show everyone what they’re missing, McQuaid.” Mr. Steele stepped back to his chair and narrowed his eyes at Wyatt.

“Come again?”

“Give them a taste of what they have to look forward to if they send away for wives.”

Taste? Taste of what? One of her hand pies? Maybe selling them here in Hotel Windsor would be easier than she’d thought.

As the other men called out assent, Wyatt shook his head. “For crying-in-the-rain, Steele.”

Mr. Steele’s gaze didn’t budge from Wyatt’s. And somehow, Greta got the impression he was testing Wyatt, though for what, she didn’t know.

“Go on!” someone shouted.

“You ought to be getting pretty good at this by now.” Mr. Steele still held Wyatt’s gaze.

Wyatt released an exasperated breath, then turned toward her, his beautiful brown eyes apologizing. She didn’t have time to ask him what was wrong, because in the next second he bent down and touched his lips to hers, silencing her and taking her breath away in a single instant.

His kiss was as warm and gentle as it had been after their wedding. And although she’d relived that kiss more times than she wanted to admit, somehow this one was even better. Maybe because she’d gotten to know Wyatt a little bit. Maybe because in her secret thoughts she’d been wondering what it would be like to kiss him again. Maybe because he was so heart-stoppingly handsome that she couldn’t keep from being attracted to him.

Whatever the case, she rose into the kiss, letting her mouth fuse with his in an exquisite moment of pure pleasure.

At the raucous chortles and laughter around them, she pulled away at the same moment he did, fighting down a wave of mortification.

She didn’t realize she was twisting a loose strand of hair until Wyatt slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to his side. The pressure was reassuring, even as she fought the confusion that was making her forget rhyme or reason.

“Speaking of sweetness.” Wyatt’s grin was much too charming. “Greta’s been baking up some sweet pastries that can tide you fellas over.”

“I’d like to give one to Mr. Steele.” She reached into the basket. “A small thank-you for all his help the other day.”

At Wyatt’s nod, she took out a hand pie and offered it to Mr. Steele. He made quick work of disposing his cigar, rubbing the butt against an empty plate, before taking an eager bite out of the square-shaped pastry.

Everyone in the room grew silent as they watched Mr. Steele chew. Greta’s limbs stiffened in anticipation. Had she made a mistake letting him try it? What if he didn’t like it? Then she’d have even more trouble selling the goodies.