Can't Stand the Heat

by Wynter Daniels

He reached around her, squeezed her butt cheeks, and held her against the bulge in his pants. God, she wanted him, craved him with every breath.

  What had come over her? Since when did she let her libido overrule her head? She opened her eyes and remembered where she was. With a firm hand to his chest, she gave him a hard shove, breaking the contact. "Billy, we can’t do this."

  With a deep sigh, he shut his eyes for a moment. "Right. You're right. I’m sorry. I got carried away."

  Relieved, yet somehow disappointed that he'd given up so easily, she spun around, scanned the prep area. “I should get back to work.”

  Seconds later, Ross and Joel returned with their arms loaded full of boxes of food. “Let the best chef win,” Ross said as he set a carton of vegetables on the counter. “By the way, who’s the judge?”

  “The food critic, of course,” Billy replied. “Whatever dish he praises the most, that’s the winner, along with its creator.” He tore romaine lettuce into a colander.

  “That okay with you, Marissa?” Joel asked.

  She eyed Billy, wondered if she could beat him. “Of course.” Glancing at his prep area, she tried to guess what he was making. Anchovies, olive oil, lemons, garlic paste. Caesar salad. So what that his Caesar salad was legendary. He’d never experienced her spinach and strawberry vinaigrette salad. She had one patron offer up a marriage proposal after he’d tasted it.

  Yeah, she could win this. But could she keep her heart and her hormones in check?

  ***

  Between worrying about the competition and visions of Billy sleeping buck-naked in the next room, Marissa lay awake all night, studying knots on the beams on the ceiling. When her alarm went off at eight in the morning, it was a relief to get out of bed. She opened her door and saw a flash of Billy streaking from the bathroom to the guest room. Only catching a glimpse of his long, lean body, her mind filled in the rest from memory; the broad, muscled shoulders, rippled, hairless chest and narrow waist, the tight backside and tan, rock-hard legs. Her breath hitched at the vision.

  "Sorry," he called through the door. "I didn't think you were up yet."

  She didn't buy that for a moment. He knew exactly the effect his nakedness had on her, but she was determined to keep things platonic between them. Best not to muddy the waters, at least until the competition was over.

  Ignoring his apology, she went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee then shut herself in the bathroom for a long, hot shower. She rolled her eyes when she noticed Billy's wet towel in a heap on the floor. Some things never changed. Picking it up, she held it to her nose, sniffed the scent of his herbal shampoo and spicy soap. Desire stirred inside her.

  No! I can not keep obsessing over him. He's bad for me.

  She stripped off her nightgown and started the shower. The hot water soothed her muscles and washed off the top layer of anxiety. Scrubbing her skin with a bath sponge, she enjoyed the way silky suds glided over her body. She shut her eyes, indulged in a fantasy…

  Billy's nude form cut through the steam. He stepped into the tub, took the bath sponge from her and washed gentle circles on her belly, over her shoulders, her breasts. Her nipples peaked under his skillful touch, and she moaned her pleasure, wishing he'd continue stroking her forever.

  An undeniable craving burned at her entrance and she spread her feet apart, hoping he'd pay her southern region some much-needed attention. His mouth closed over hers, their tongues explored and sparred. Passion's flames licked at her core, unfazed by the cool water cascading over her skin. She broke the kiss, pressed down on his shoulders to let him know what she sought.

  The corner of his mouth lifting in that wicked grin, Billy lowered to his knees, hooked her leg over his shoulder, then darted his tongue along her moist folds. He gently suckled her nub as he held fast to her hips. She gasped with pleasure as he teased a finger into her channel, knowing exactly how she liked it, hitting all the right spots. Digging her fingers into his hair, she fought for control as her body convulsed in ecstasy.

  Without allowing her a chance to recover, he lifted her against the tiled wall, slid his hard, wet erection inside her, impaling her with his passion. She hung onto his shoulders, rocked with him, tightened her intimate muscles around his shaft as he cupped her ass. Delighting in his unbridled moans, she sank her nails into his skin, scratched his flesh the way he loved. Teetering on the brink of another orgasm, she held her breath until it hit her, ricocheting through her body.

  Pounding at the door tore her out of her fantasy. She opened her eyes and twisted the faucet all the way to cold, dousing her heated skin.

  "Hey. Breakfast is ready," Billy called. "You ever coming out of there?"

  Clearing her throat, she shut off the shower, hoped her voice wouldn't fail her—or give her away. "Yeah. Give me a minute." Wrapping in a towel, she quickly dried off, smoothed on lotion then donned her robe.

  When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, the aromas of oranges and fresh bread filled the air. Her cheeks burned when she looked at Billy and thought about her shower fantasy.

  He set two plates of French toast on the table and sat beside her. "Hot shower?"

  "You have no idea." Wishing she could take the words back, she coughed, sipped the coffee he'd placed in front of her.

  His cocky grin told her he had an inkling what she'd done. "You always liked them hot."

  Cheeks on fire, she avoided his stare, concentrated on the food. "What is this?" She smelled citrus, vanilla, and the fresh sprig of mint he'd used as a garnish.

  "Orange French Toast. I had to improvise with what you had here. Grand Marnier, orange juice, vanilla. You get the picture."

  She tasted a bite. Heaven on her lips. She hated that he was so damned good, but totally understood why Joel had wanted him here, instead of cutting him loose. He'd evolved as a chef, and he was near as talented as she. Maybe more so. "It's pretty good. But what about nutrition?"

  "No sugar added, only a touch of honey and liqueur." His smug wink irritated her to no end. "And I used fat-free cooking spray on the griddle, of course."

  Bastard. Shoving her plate aside, she folded her arms. "What's the plan for today?”

  “We did fine last night, right? Working alongside each other. Kinda nice, huh?" He covered her hand with his.

  His touch ignited a spark of desire, so she quickly moved her hand away.

  “It was always nice, Billy. Until you started lying to me about the gambling.” She watched him eat his breakfast, got the impression he was purposely avoiding her eyes. What was he hiding now? The food in her stomach soured. "Is there anything you need to tell me? If there is, spill it now."

  He jumped from his seat as if he'd been scalded, busied himself with scraping the griddle. "Of course there’s not."

  She seriously doubted that, considering his reaction. "Same old Billy," she muttered as she carried her plate to the sink.

  He stared down at her barely-touched breakfast, then leveled a questioning stare at her. "You didn't like it?" The hurt in his eyes touched her deep inside. She felt the same way when anyone rejected one of her culinary creations, almost like they'd injured her child.

  "I did. I'm just not that hungry." Reaching out to touch his arm, she froze, dropped her hand to her side.

  What am I doing?

  “Don’t ask me if you can stay here another night because you can’t."

  His frown deepened. “I’m trying to find somewhere, I promise.”

  “Try a little harder.” She shoved away from the table and left the room.

  Having Billy here in the home they'd shared must have sparked some ridiculous sentimentality in her. She might be forced to work with him after that, but she didn't have to live with him as well. With purpose in her step, she marched to her room and dressed. They had a long day ahead.

  Chapter Four

  As Billy arrived back at the restaurant from the daily food run, Ross handed him the phone. “Some guy’s asking for you.”

  H
e set down a box of vegetables on the counter as he took the handset. “Hello?”

  “Billy boy. You’re a hard man to track down.”

  He froze as Big Earl’s voice registered in his mind.

  Son of a bitch.

  He turned his back to Ross and Marissa. Praying his own voice wouldn’t fail him, he cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping to hear from you by now. I get antsy when people who owe me money drop out of sight.”

  Billy ventured a glance at Marissa, but she appeared to be concentrating on whisking a marinade or sauce. Taking a few steps into the hallway, he spoke quietly as he could. “It’s only been a couple of days since your last…visit.” His ribs ached at the memory of that encounter.

  “I want my money, Bill. Very soon or I tack on additional interest. Like another five grand.”

  Gritting his teeth, he nodded. “I’ll have it soon, I promise.”

  “Let’s hope so.” The line went dead.

  How had Earl found him? Apparently, the asshole wasn’t as dumb as he’d suspected. Tension knotted his shoulders, started thrumming at his temples. He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes a moment, then exhaled slowly.

  In the kitchen, the energy level was already high as a kite. Marissa carried trays of meat out of the cooler while Ross cut vegetables. A server hurried through, her arms loaded with clean linens.

  He slipped on his jacket and went right to work, taking bottles off a shelf to make his Grand Marnier glaze for the pork chops. Staking out his area, he set garlic cloves, limes and oranges on the prep counter.

  Marissa raised a cleaver over her head, crashed it down into a poor, innocent chicken carcass.

  “Something wrong?” He asked.

  Ross cleared his throat loudly. He set his knife on the counter and quietly slipped from the room.

  Uh oh. Had she overheard his conversation?

  Her nostrils flared as if fire would shoot from them any second. “I clearly told you I needed Key limes, not Persian limes for my Key Lime Sorbet.”

  Was that all? Relief coursed through him. “Sorry.”

  “Are you purposely trying to sabotage my menu?”

  “What? Are you serious?” He spared her a chuckle. “Like that would ruin your sorbet? Come on, Marissa. I don’t need to ruin your food to win this thing. And if I did want to mess with you, I’d pull out bigger guns than substituting the wrong kind of limes.” He didn’t have to look at her to feel the daggers she shot at him.

  “I’m going to beat you, Billy. And I’ll win that ten thousand bucks.”

  He flinched at the mention of the prize. That money would literally save his life. He turned on a burner, poured olive oil into a pan, peeled garlic cloves, and forced them through a press. "I need some air." He dried off his hands on a towel, then headed out the back door.

  Clenching his jaw, he reached into his pocket, fished out his cell and flipped it open. He hesitated a minute, sought a reason to resist, but couldn't. "Fuck it." He dialed the number from memory.

  "This is Kenny," the familiar voice said.

  "Hey, dude. It's Billy Walker." He glanced toward the door, hoped no one would come looking for him out here. "I'm back in Savannah."

  "Been a long time. What's going on?"

  He swallowed hard. "What's the line on the Dolphins-Jets game tonight?"

  "I'm giving three to one on the Dolphins by seven points."

  Just a small bet. That's all I need.

  "Put me in for a hundred on the Dolphins." He squeezed his eyes shut, pictured Marissa's disapproving face, but it felt so good, such a rush.

  "You got it. Later."

  Clicking off, he scanned the area. Satisfied no one had heard, he went back inside with a better attitude. Marissa would never find out. No harm done.

  When he went back inside and saw her, guilt kicked him in the teeth. How could he keep letting her down? He had to cancel the bet he'd made, had to abide by the unspoken promise he'd made to lay off gambling. If he ever had a chance of fixing things between them, he had to do this.

  Crossing the kitchen, he took her in his arms, held her tightly for several minutes. “I’m sorry I got the wrong limes, baby. I should have paid more attention. But I’m not trying to sabotage you. I swear I’m not.”

  She nodded. “I know. Guess I was just blowing off some steam, and you were the most convenient target. I’m sorry, too.”

  Sniffing at her hair, he wondered if she'd used a different shampoo. It smelled kind of unpleasant, smoky, like…

  "Shit!" He twisted around to find smoke rising from his pan. Racing to the stove, he slid the ruined garlic to an unused burner.

  Marissa fanned the air. "God, that stinks."

  He checked his watch. Less than half an hour until they opened. He was about to fetch more garlic when the ear-popping screech of the smoke alarm blared. Ross and a couple of the servers burst through the door the moment the sprinkler system kicked on.

  "What's going on?" one of the waiters yelled.

  "Get the fire extinguisher," another shouted over the din.

  Billy pounced into action, charging toward the shut-off box in the hallway, only he knew it was too late. The damage had been done. Before he could figure out which switch to throw, the sprinklers cut off. Strange.

  He hit the main cutoff, then returned to the kitchen and followed the staff into the dining room. Thankfully, that zone hadn't engaged, and there seemed to be no water damage to the table areas. "This'll delay dinner a little, but we can still open," Marissa said. Before she'd made it to the kitchen, a fireman pounded on the locked front door. She fixed Billy with a worried stare.

  What now? Moving past the wary staff, Billy unlocked the door and yanked it open. "Everything all right?"

  The man swiped an arm across his sweaty forehead. "Sorry to bring bad news, but we've had a water main break down the street. Construction crew cut into it by accident. We've had to shut the water down on the whole block."

  Billy heard Marissa's groan behind him. "How soon will it be fixed?"

  "At least a couple of hours." He shook his head. "Wish I could give you better news." With that, he moved on.

  Billy pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to keep the monster headache he felt brewing at bay. Clenching his jaw, he turned to face the half dozen sullen faces inside the dining room. "We have no choice but to close."

  Marissa's eyes filled, and his gut tightened. Could there be a worse feeling than watching the woman you love break down?

  Yeah. Watching her walk out of your life.

  The servers scattered, undoing all the preparations they'd started for the evening. Ross and the dishwasher slipped out of the room.

  Marissa stood there, shoulders hunched, head down. The disappointment and worry on her face was only a shadow of what he'd seen there a year ago when she'd asked him to leave. Still, the sight of her anguish cut him to the bone. He closed the distance between them, wrapped her in a tight hug, and leaned his chin the top of her head. "The critic isn't going to abandon his mission because we've had to unexpectedly close. He'll come back another night, I'm sure of it."

  He felt her nod, heard the sniffle. "I know. It's just…everything."

  She wiped her cheeks.

  "I'm going to send the staff home, okay?" He squeezed her shoulder. "I'll be right back. Then I’ll call Joel and let him know."

  “No!” Squaring her shoulders, she shook her head. “Let’s wait it out. If they turn the water back on in an hour, we’ll just open late. If it’s longer, then we’ll close, but we have to try, Billy.”

  Forty-five minutes later the water came back on. Billy sobered when he realized tonight could be the beginning of the end for him. If he lost the competition, not only would he not have the money to pay Earl, but Marissa could insist he resign from the restaurant—and from her life as well.

  ***

  “Good thing I listened to you about waiting out the repair.” Billy poured the remnants
of his tangy cranberry sauce into a container as he watched the last of the wait staff leave.

  “Maybe you ought to listen to me more, hmm?” She gave the drawer a shove with her hip. The woman certainly knew how to move those hips to make things happen for him.

  Great. Now he needed a cold shower.

  “Mind if I cut out early?” Ross asked. “My honey’s lonely.”

  Billy waved him away. “Go ahead.”

  “Joel left a few minutes ago, so I’ll lock you two in.”

  “Night,” Marissa said as he headed out of the kitchen.

  “Be sure to lock up Joel’s new wine shipment in the cellar,” he called from the hallway. “Both cases.”

  After the back door creaked shut, Marissa let out a loud sigh. “Those cases of wine are heavy.”

  Billy lifted an eyebrow. "I’ll do it."

  “No, your ribs.”

  He waved away her concern. “No biggie. I’m big and strong, remember?”

  “I remember everything.” Her sultry stare nearly knocked him over.

  Did he still have a chance with her? Oh, Lord, he hoped so. Working this close to her all evening had nearly killed him.

  Well, if a guy could die from blue balls. "Fine. You can help me then."

  Lifting one of the cases of wine, she gave him a backward glance. “Want to get the other one?”

  He took the other box and stepped past her. "I'm going first, in case we run into bugs or ghosts or anything, and this is the most haunted city in America." They descended the narrow stairs to the small basement. The cool, damp air held a musty smell.

  "Why does Joel order so much of this stuff?” he asked over the hum of the refrigeration unit outside the wine cellar. “We sell like a bottle a month.”

  “Joel likes his cellar fully stocked. He’s neurotic about it.”

  Inside the small room, crisscrossed racks lined three of the four walls. Each must have each held at least a hundred bottles. Billy breathed in the dank air as he set his box on the floor. “No spiders or ghosts.” He relieved Marissa of her burden, set it by his. “Kind of romantic in here, don’t you think? In an arctic sort of way.”

  Suddenly the door banged shut with a resounding thud. Billy closed the distance to the entrance in a second, but it was too late. He shoved with all his might. Damn thing wouldn't budge.