Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One

by Robin Kaye

  * * *

  Logan stared at Skye waiting for her to say or do something. He was clearly incapable, since it was all he could do to punch down the urge to kiss her. He wasn’t sure what that was all about—he was a grown man, not a horny teenager.

  He held her gaze as if they were in an adolescent staring contest, while he reminded himself again of the numerous reasons she wasn’t his type. First of all, he was engaged to Payton, which made Skye and every other woman on the planet off-limits. It was something that had never bothered him before, but then he’d never been tempted by another woman until he’d met Skye. It was crazy—temptation certainly wasn’t on her agenda.

  Payton and Skye were polar opposites in every way imaginable. Payton was tall, runway-model thin, blond, and, well, flexible—both physically and mentally. She was easygoing as long as his decisions didn’t affect Payton’s world. Until he’d packed his bags to come home and help out his dad, his plans hadn’t. Now that they had, Payton proved she wasn’t quite as flexible as he’d thought.

  Skye was short and curvaceous—a real beauty. She was a dark-haired, fair-skinned, blue-eyed version of Botticelli’s Venus. She had more than enough heavenly goddess in her to arouse mere mortals to physical love. And probably enough to inspire intellectual love too—in anyone capable of it, anyone but him.

  “It’s not going to work.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Payton was also never one to argue, question, or even have an independent thought or idea—at least none she voiced. He wondered for the first time whether he’d just never bothered to ask.

  With Skye, there’d be no reason to wonder. She’d made it known from the first moment he’d met her that she had so many thoughts and ideas, they would eventually form a flash mob in that quick-working mind of hers, drowning out all other stimuli.

  “I’m not easily ignored.”

  “I’m not planning to ignore you. I’m simply saying our working relationship is temporary. We don’t know each other.” She put the bottle of champagne in the refrigerator and poked her head in while she did a quick inventory of its contents. “Sure, everyone has preconceived notions.” She shut the door and headed toward the living area.

  He followed.

  “But when it comes down to it, we’re strangers.” She turned toward him as soon as she put a huge leather club chair between them. “I need this job and I’m used to working with minimal input from anyone not directly involved in my kitchen.”

  “That’s going to change, Skye, because like it or not, I’m intimately involved with everything that goes on in the restaurant, at least until my work here is done, and the kitchen is part of the restaurant.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t know the first thing about the workings of a restaurant, no less a busy kitchen.” A sardonic smile played about her full lips. “You didn’t even know how many people you typically serve a night.”

  “I’m a quick study.”

  “That’s great, but do it on someone else’s watch. I’ll do my job, you do yours, and we’ll get along fine.”

  “If we’re going to work together, we need to be able to communicate effectively.”

  “I’ve never had a problem communicating and I have no problem telling you exactly what I think. Let me demonstrate. Since I’m not on the clock, I think you should leave. Thank you for bringing my suitcase and for the champagne.” She walked him to the door and opened it before meeting his eyes with what could only be described as a steely blue glare. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the restaurant. At that time, we can communicate about whatever you’d like as long as it relates to my work.”

  Logan knew she was deadly serious but had a difficult time keeping a look of total male appreciation off his face. It wasn’t what she was going for—just the opposite in fact. He’d have to rethink the whole Venus thing. Right now, she was more like a modern-day Irish Lady Godiva, only fully clothed, which was a damn shame.

  He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. It was a mistake—her scent surrounded him: pure female with a hint of garlic, peppers, the wine they drank, and something so subtle, something so spicy, he wanted to move closer until he could categorize it.

  The woman was magnificent and could give lessons on controlled businesslike evisceration of the enemy. She might be a handful, but he had no doubt she’d be able to successfully lead the kitchen staff into a good protest or even war if necessary.

  Logan held up his hands in supplication and nodded. “Fair enough, Skye. I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy your evening. I’m sure Francis and Patrice will be back shortly with your new dog.” He was halfway down the steps before he let himself smile. When the door shut and locked behind him, he let out a relieved laugh, thankful she didn’t see the physical effect she had on him.

  CHAPTER 5

  The door to her new apartment jiggled against Skye’s back, as if someone had tried to walk in only to find it locked. She wasn’t sure how long she’d stood leaning against the only thing she thought would hold her up the moment Logan left. She’d never been the kind of woman who was bowled over by a man—especially a man who was engaged—no matter how good-looking he was or how great he smelled, or how good he felt against her.

  She shook her head. She was proud of herself; she’d been forceful—something she’d been working on for some time—and she’d gotten her point across. She had to admit, Logan took it like a man. Still, the entire episode left her feeling as shaky as a sailor after a yearlong voyage, fighting to find his land legs.

  She took a deep breath, stepped aside, threw the dead bolt, and pasted on a smile. “Hey, you’re back.”

  Patrice carried Pepperoni in and was followed by a limping, tearstained Nicki, and Francis wearing a grim expression, holding D.O.G.’s leash tight against his thigh.

  “What happened?” One look at the ripped knees of Nicki’s jeans told the story.

  “D.O.G. pulled too hard and I fell.”

  Skye took Nicki’s hand. “Come on in and let’s get you cleaned up. I have a first aid kit in my bag. Go on into the bathroom and I’ll be there in a second.”

  Patrice put Pepperoni down and unhooked her leash. “You don’t have to do that. I can take Nicki back to the bar and clean her up there.”

  “Nonsense. I have everything we’ll need in my bag. When you’re a chef, you need a good first aid kit in every kitchen, even your kitchen at home. Once we get it cleaned out, it’ll stop stinging. It’s not a problem.”

  “Okay.” Patrice lifted her perfectly arched eyebrows in what looked like surprise.

  “Francis”—Skye turned to him—“there’s beer, soda, or a bottle of champagne that Logan brought over in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want.” She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom, tossed it on the foot of the bed, and rooted through it until she found her first aid kit. By the time she made it to the bathroom, Patrice had Nicki’s pants rolled above her knees and was washing them with a soapy washcloth. She looked over Patrice’s shoulder at the scraped knees, and then to Nicki, who was blinking back tears and showing a brave face. “That hurts, huh? I have a spray that will numb it and finish cleaning it at the same time. Then all we have to do is put some antibacterial cream on it and cover it with Band-Aids.”

  Patrice rinsed off Nicki’s wounds, patted them dry, and then cleaned up the sink.

  Skye knelt and then sprayed the abrasions.

  Nicki sucked in a breath through her teeth.

  Skye blew on the abrasions to relieve the sting. “There. It’s better now, isn’t it?” She waited for Nicki’s nod before squeezing antibiotic ointment onto the wound. “I’m just going to put a little bit on the scrapes and you won’t feel a thing. Promise.”

  “Really?” Nicki didn’t look too sure.

  “Believe me, I grew up with four brothers and I was always the one getting hurt.”

  “Okay.” Nicki stilled, her eyes locked on Skye. “I have three brothers—Storm, Logan, and Slat
er.”

  She had the Band-Aids on before Nicki even noticed. “There you go. You’ll be all better in no time.” Sitting back on her heels, Skye helped Nicki roll down her tattered jeans.

  “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  “Anytime, Nicki.”

  Nicki followed her out and Skye tugged on one of her pigtails. They found Patrice and Francis curled on the couch sipping sodas.

  Francis pulled himself to his feet. “All better, Nicki?”

  Nicki nodded.

  “Good girl.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got to get to work. Want me to walk D.O.G. home for you?”

  Nicki looked at her knees and then to the dog that was as big as she was. “Sure.”

  He leaned over to Patrice and gave her a kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning, Patty. Behave.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “I wish.” He grabbed D.O.G.’s leash. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you home before I’m late for my shift.”

  Pepperoni jumped around until Skye picked her up—the little thing was a handful when she wasn’t interested in being held. “Thanks for all the help, guys.”

  Patrice laughed and waved away Francis, who was already pulling D.O.G. out the door. “Oh, Nicki and I aren’t leaving. We thought we’d stay, help you get unpacked, and get to know each other.”

  Skye was not against making friends, but she had the distinct feeling that Patrice was on more of a fact-finding mission than anything else. The light shining in Patrice’s eyes made her nervous and she instinctively knew Patrice wouldn’t be as easily derailed as Logan.

  Patrice took the remote control for the TV and turned on the Disney Channel. “Here you go, Nicki. I’ll be right in the bedroom with Skye.”

  Nicki wrapped her arm around Pepperoni, who had jumped onto the couch and leaned against her side. “Okay.”

  Patrice threaded her arm through Skye’s and steered her into the bedroom before flopping down on the bed. “What’s up with you and Logan?”

  “Nothing.”

  Patrice’s face made it clear she didn’t believe her.

  Maybe it was time to break out that champagne after all.

  * * *

  Skye pulled the chicken stock from the walk-in refrigerator, dragged a stool over to reach one of the saucepans hanging off the rack, and then banged it down on the stove. “Maybe I should just get a stick with a hook on the end of it, or rearrange the entire kitchen for those of us who are vertically challenged.”

  She ladled a few cups of the broth into the saucepan and turned the heat on to simmer, wanting to make sure it was worthy of saving. The only way to know that was to try it.

  Rubbing her tired eyes, she cursed jet lag—labeling the cause of her insomnia, since she refused to believe it was the grilling Patrice had given her while she “helped” her unpack her belongings. The woman must have been an inquisitor of the Spanish variety in a past life.

  Okay, maybe Skye had been a little hard on Logan. It wasn’t his fault she was incapable of not drooling while in his presence. And it wasn’t as if he’d made a pass at her—if he’d tried, she’d have taken a spatula to him. And it wasn’t as if it bothered her that he hadn’t made a pass. Okay, maybe a little, but he was engaged. “Let’s face it, the guy can’t win. You just need to get your hormones under control.”

  It wasn’t his fault that when he shook her hand, there seemed to be an electric current that ran straight to her breasts and other body parts that hadn’t seen any action in, well, way too long. “Maybe if I didn’t have four goons for brothers who scared every human with a Y chromosome I came into contact with, I’d actually have a sex life.”

  She grabbed a spoon and stirred the stock, drawing the scent toward her, wanting to know what spices were used. It smelled good so far.

  Since it would be a few minutes before it was at a full simmer, she went to the storeroom with a clipboard in hand to do a quick inventory. She’d read Rex’s order and wanted to double-check a few things before she called it in. Dragging the stool behind her, she took one look at the shelves and cursed—a lot. She really hated feeling like a midget in the land of giants. Climbing onto the wobbly stool, she grabbed the shelves to steady herself, and cranked her neck back to see what the heck was up there. “What makes tall people put heavy things on the top shelves?”

  “Problem?”

  Skye’s heart tripped into triple time. She had a big problem—Logan—and he was standing in the doorway. He’d caught her talking to herself. Skye closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hearing her mother’s voice in her head. Breathe, Skye. In through the nose, out through the mouth. All the deep-breathing and relaxation techniques she’d learned in the yoga classes her mother dragged her to weren’t helping. Of course, she’d always scoffed at them. Maybe she needed to start meditating like her mother said she should. “Logan.” The stool teetered.

  He stepped closer and offered her a hand. “That’s dangerous.”

  Not as dangerous as touching him was to her mental health.

  “If you need the storeroom rearranged, you should ask Harrison to take care of it.”

  She looked at his hand, and then at his face, not really wanting to get the electric shock she knew would assault her if she touched him.

  In one swift move, Logan lifted her off the stool as if she were a child, and set her on the tiled floor.

  She really needed to be grounded around this guy. Even through clothing, Logan’s touch was like sucking on a live wire.

  “No more climbing on wobbly stools. I can’t afford to lose another cook. Harrison’s still out front with the rest of the kitchen staff—I’ll send him in. Let him help you rearrange things.”

  “I was trying to keep a lid on the overtime.”

  “I’d rather pay overtime than a hospital bill.”

  Skye bit her tongue. This wasn’t one of her obnoxious brothers; this was her boss. She never realized what a big difference that made. “Thank you—that would be great. I need to be able to reach things. Maybe I can get a step stool in here too. I don’t want to pull someone away from their work just because I’m short.”

  He laughed at that, showing off his white even teeth. Wow, the man had a great smile. She reminded herself not to drool and did the deep-breathing thing again. Still not helping. Neither was being in a small room with Logan—especially since he seemed to fill the space. She slid past him into the kitchen. “I also need to pull the pots off that rack.” She turned in a full circle, trying to figure out where to store them that would be out of the way and yet easily accessible. “I guess it’s going to take some time to figure out a new setup that will work for all of us.”

  Logan tilted his head and stared.

  “What is it?” She walked around him to stir the simmering broth.

  “Nothing.”

  Still, he stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. She took a spoon and tasted the broth and turned off the heat. It was good. Hers was better, but if she added a bouquet garni and let it simmer for a half hour or so, it would do.

  “Are you cooking?”

  “No. I’m just testing the chicken broth. I’m picky and wanted to make sure it was something I wanted to use. Why, are you hungry?”

  There was that smile again. “I’m a guy. I’m always hungry.”

  “I can throw together a quick Stracciatella.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s chicken broth, with strands of egg with spinach, and lots of Parmesan cheese. The broth needs a few more spices, but it will be a quick fix. And then, since I’m in an Italian mood, how about linguini with clam sauce?”

  “We have clams?”

  “I stopped at the fish market before I came over. I was going to cook myself dinner later, but I can easily fix it here.”

  He slid a stool from beneath the worktable and sat. “You have enough?”

  “For two? Of course.”

  “That sounds great on one condition.”

  Deep breath, h
ere it comes. “What’s that?”

  “Let me reimburse you for the food you bought.”

  She pulled the clams out of the walk-in, trying to keep busy. “It’s not necessary. You supply the wine and we’ll call it good.”

  “It’s not negotiable.”

  “Fine.” She smiled to herself. “Just for that, I’m not going to let you have any of my dessert.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on bent knees. “What’s for dessert?”

  “I have a tray of chocolate tiramisu chilling in my refrigerator at home.”

  “When did you make that?”

  “Last night. I couldn’t sleep—jet lag.”

  “Lucky me.” He leaned back against the worktable. “I just happen to have an incredible port I’ve been saving. It goes great with chocolate.”

  “Okay, since you have the port, and I was thinking of using it for a dessert special, I guess you can have a taste. I’ll start cooking. Send Harrison in to help rearrange the shelves and then if you wouldn’t mind, run over to my place and bring back the tiramisu.” She tossed him her key ring.

  “Deal.” He turned and made his way to the doors. “I’ll be back in a flash. And Skye, no more climbing on stools.”

  “Right.” She looked at the pot rack above her head. “But if you expect that to happen, you’d better put a step stool or a ladder on your list of things to buy. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get any taller.”

  He shot her another killer smile and slipped through the doors.

  “Damn, the man is lethal.” She took a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.” She gave it a few tries, each time hearing her mother’s high-pitched voice. Amazingly enough, after about five deep breaths, it started working. She wondered if it would have worked as well while dealing with her brothers. She shook her head and put some water on to boil. No, probably not. After all, her brothers seemed to enjoy tormenting her.

  * * *

  Logan stepped up to the bar where Harrison, a blond guy with a goatee and gauges in his ears, was gesturing wildly, ending with what looked like a description of a woman’s breasts.