Seared (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 2)

by Hadley Harlin

  Paris was big and bright. Sure, the signs were in French, but it was so cosmopolitan, it didn’t scream old world elegance. Don’t tell anyone, but Paris felt like any modern city. A little shorter than New York, but still full of big buildings, high prices, and lots of people in a hurry. I was fairly sure the French would revoke my passport and throw me to the guillotine without cake if I said that out loud.

  Now this, walking over cobblestones in the shadows of the iconic white and brown row buildings and towering churches—this felt like Europe.

  K-Town, as the locals called it, wasn’t trying to show off; it was just home. They had their butcher, their baker, and probably a candlestick maker along one of these snaking avenues. Also, they had beer gardens.

  I adored it immediately.

  Emma stayed unusually quiet, so I addressed the gorgeous, tatted co-host in the room. “How are you feeling about Hawthorne? It doesn’t seem like he’s punishing you by giving you bad reviews, although I guess you’ve only had to cook once.”

  She shook her head noncommittally.

  I gave her a minute, but she still said nothing, so I plodded ahead. “I know it’s hard. But hey, there are plenty of sex gods out there waiting to feel you up. I know I would.”

  That finally got a laugh. Emma tapped her coffee cup against mine in cheers. “Thanks. You know, for never having kissed a guy before, you’ve got a pretty dirty mind.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. That’s just the stuff that slips through. Imagine what else is going on up there that I don’t say.”

  “Noted.” Emma sighed, immediately putting the weight of the world back on her shoulders.

  “You haven’t been on a date since Hawthorne. After this competition, I’m setting up a Tinder account for you. Maybe you could even do Celebrity Tinder! Get a date with a divorced B-List movie star.”

  “Thanks, but no. I want to focus on my career right now.”

  “Oldest line in the book. We want it all, and we should have it all.”

  Emma sat down on a bench looking over the town square. A fountain splashed in the middle where kids probably ran and played all summer long. It was a little too cold for that today, but the imagery was quaint.

  “I don’t think women necessarily can’t have it all in this industry, but not right away. Focus on one thing, then the other. I’m choosing career first,” she said.

  “Okay, Little Miss Jaded. We are so double-dating when we get home.”

  “That sounds terrifying.”

  “I agree, but I’m not going to sit around and let you become a twenty-two-year-old spinster with a bunch of cats. For one, I’m allergic.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Hey, how did your first solo interview go? As soon as I walked in the green room, it all came rushing back, how much I hated those from Mouthful. I mostly talked about how much I loved French food, and then I blacked out.”

  “I think I said something about slaying the competition. Then I got nervous, so I said, ‘don’t air that. How about, I’m ready to knife the competition’.”

  “That’s even worse!” Emma laughed. “Since we own a lot of knives and all.”

  “Right, I know. So I said, ‘wait, wait, don’t air that. How about, I won’t physically touch anyone, but I’m going to dominate the mental shit—wait, don’t air that!’”

  “You know they’re going to air all of that.”

  “Yeah. I figured,” I sighed.

  “Hey, isn’t that Liam?” She pointed over my shoulder.

  At the mention of his name, my stomach dropped, and I tripped over an imaginary rock. Emma caught my arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Me? Great.” I waved. “Hey, Liam! Over here.”

  Liam looked up, his eyes resembling Bambi’s in headlights. Like a man on a plank, he reluctantly inched his way toward us.

  Nobody said anything past hello, but immediately, the air got warmer. Liam was a hulking, silent giant next to us, and my body couldn’t help but respond to his mere presence. My heart hammered against my sternum while heat rose between my legs. He was so mysterious, and I wanted to know everything, like what he was thinking. Or how he looked naked. Or how his lips would feel on my skin. Thank goodness there were no crews following us this foggy morning. I was sure they’d immediately pick up on my attraction.

  As we walked, I frantically tried to find something interesting to say, but my brain refused to work. Luckily, Liam went first.

  “I wanted to apologize for getting food on you that last night in Paris. That was unprofessional, and I try not to let my temper get away from me.”

  I shrugged, pretending it was all cool. I was cool. So freaking cool. “No biggie,” I said.

  “Still. It was uncalled for.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Oh really?”

  “Really. In times of moral crisis, those that do nothing are condemned to the darkest places of hell.”

  Liam stopped walking and looked at me properly. “Are you quoting Dante to me?”

  “Are you recognizing that I’m quoting Dante to you?” I asked, backtracking to stand in front of him.

  “I recognize that you’re misquoting Dante to me.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “What are you talking about?”

  “The lowest circle of hell is reserved for traitors. JFK misquoted it first in the ’60s, and it stuck.”

  We stood like that, each sizing the other up, as if there was something hiding underneath the scowls, something interesting, waiting to be revealed.

  Emma cleared her throat, bringing us back to the little German square where we stood with steaming cups of coffee.

  “See you around,” Liam said, turning toward the hotel.

  Emma and I nodded, but I couldn’t stop watching him move. He was so large and hulking.

  “I can’t get a read on that guy,” Emma said.

  “No one can,” I agreed.

  “Do you think he’s a serial killer?”

  I shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

  I’ll admit it. Liam fascinated me, and since he refused to give anything up in person about himself, I turned to the next best thing. I sprawled out on the bed, Googling the crap out of Liam Long.

  A knock at the door interrupted my research, and I bolted upright. Emma had a key. She wouldn’t knock to her own door. Maybe it was production and something happened. I peeked through the eyehole and almost choked.

  Liam.

  I adjusted my dress, took a quick glance at myself in the mirror, and threw open the door. “Uh, what’s up? Does production need us for something else? I didn’t get a message.”

  Liam shifted his weight uncomfortably. Seeing him nervous made my pulse quicken. I licked my lips a few times at the sight. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. That was it. But his T-shirt tightened just so around his biceps and his pants hung low on his hips.

  He shook his head. “No, actually…”

  I waited silently, my anticipation pushing through the roof.

  “I was wondering if you wanted my help for the Germany portion. I know the region.”

  Out of all the reasons Liam Long could have come to me, help in the competition was not one I would’ve picked out of a lineup. Or the universe.

  “Uh…” So, of course, my higher brain functions fled.

  “Italy is after that, and I know that’s your area of expertise.”

  It clicked. “So you want to exchange help?”

  “Why not? It’s not against the rules.”

  I shrugged, my body still blocking the door.

  “Can I come in?” He glanced around me at the empty room. “I don’t want the other contestants to know I’m proposing this. It may put a target on our backs.”

  “Oh, right. Sure. Emma isn’t here right now, so make yourself at home.”

  He politely ignored the neon pink granny panties half-slung out of my suitcase, those fuckers, and sat on the edge of my bed.

  The whole room fill
ed with his scent. It was like a mixture of chocolate chip cookies and motorcycle grease. How was that possible? Did he just bathe? DID HE JUST BATHE FOR ME?

  He leaned back, his arms planted behind him. “So are you interested?” he asked, which, unfortunately, did not help the situation. Suddenly, I couldn’t stop picturing him naked, all soaped up in the shower.

  At my completely mortified face, he clarified. “In helping each other.”

  Oh, right. His offer. “Why do you care? This is a competition,” I pointed out. My lady downstairs was starting to tingle from being this close to him, sharing the same air space. At the sheer size of this man sprawled on my bed. It took my eyes a full minute to take him all in.

  And why was he offering his help? Did he care how long I stayed? Liam screamed sultry, bad boy, which was sort of my type. Blame my Catholic schoolgirl upbringing. It was in our DNA to go from nun to femme fatale the summer between high school and college. I took a little longer to bloom, but I was super ready to make up for lost time.

  My eyes followed his sleeve of tattoos as it coiled under his neckline, and I wondered how far down they went. Was there a happy trail to follow? How many ripples were along his abs? Would he let me count them?

  Maybe it was because his ego was so big that I couldn’t stop watching. I was attracted to confidence. The silent kind that doesn’t feel the need to parade, unlike Jackson’s flamboyant kind.

  “German cuisine is way more complicated than people think.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “I can handle it. I did graduate from the CIA.”

  “Right. You said that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s one of the best schools in the world.”

  Liam’s sea green eyes sparked. I wondered if he’d even gone to culinary school. People didn’t hide that type of thing in this setting. If he went, he’d be dying to say where.

  Liam kept his voice neutral, however. “It is.”

  We knew from dinner that he’d worked with some fairly well-known German chefs even before he was executive chef at Wagyu. If that was the case, he wasn’t blowing smoke up my ass about being able to help figure out my knockwurst from my liverwurst. But my brain liked to overthink things, so I started wondering. Maybe he didn’t feel threatened by me, so he wanted to keep me around as long as possible, confident he’d beat me in the end. What a strategizing son of a bitch!

  He opened his mouth to say more, but I interrupted him. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need your help. And I don’t need to prove myself to you or anyone else. I’ll be fine, champ.”

  There. That last part was for always calling me sweetheart, as if I were just a cute, little kid to him.

  Liam’s eyes darkened in a way that made my knees weak and some of my fury fly away. He stepped closer, and I inhaled his scent. He still smelled like cookies and motorcycle grease, but from close up, I caught a hint of caraway and woodiness, too.

  My knees buckled, and in one swift movement, he wrapped his arm behind me, his hand planted at the small of my back. Was this seriously happening? He towered over my tiny five-foot-three frame, breathing hoarsely.

  Why was he standing so close, and why was he here at all? I had to practically do a backbend to look up at him to see his green eyes fixed on mine so intently.

  “I’ll be fine,” I repeated, somewhat half-heartedly. What was I going to be fine about, again? I could barely remember my own thoughts. “I don’t doubt you, sweetheart.”

  For a long moment, neither of us dared to move. We stood there, staring into each other’s eyes.

  Then, I made my decision. I stood on my tippy toes and pressed my lips to his. He melted into me the moment my body touched his, and I felt his cock hardening against my belly.

  Everything about being in a foreign country and away from my mom was making me bold. I reached down and rubbed my hands over his hardness. Liam gasped against my lips. I stuck my tongue in his mouth, letting the fire ransack my entire body.

  I’d never even had a real boyfriend or even kissed one. To be honest, I only knew what dicks looked like from Google. This one felt larger than anything I’d seen online, and for one split second, I wondered if I’d be able to fit all of him inside of me. Then I scolded myself for even thinking it would get that far.

  Don’t let it get that far, Clara.

  Liam sketched his thumb over my lips, dragging them down my chin and neck, before grabbing my waist and lifting me onto him. I gladly jumped, wrapping my legs around him and almost groaning at the friction of his hard abs against my pussy.

  Don’t hump his stomach, Clara.

  Sometimes yelling at myself mentally helped. Sometimes not.

  Don’t hump his stomach, CLARA.

  I humped.

  The building fire ignited, and I moaned, pressing myself harder against him.

  Liam laughed in a dark way and laid me on the bed. He ripped off my bra and smothered his face between my breasts.

  “Is this what you really came in here for?” I asked, the words barely escaping before I regretted saying them.

  The question froze Liam in place. He looked up at me, mid-suck, and dropped my nipple like a dog caught with a forbidden toy. His face sobered as he held himself over me.

  “Do you think that?” he asked.

  I folded my arms across my bare chest. “Don’t answer my question with a question. It’s not polite.”

  Liam swiped a tendril of hair off my forehead. “You kissed me, remember?”

  I huffed. “Oh fine. Technicalities. But you’re the one who grabbed me as if you wanted me to kiss you.”

  “I honestly wanted to see if we could study together. German cuisine is my specialty, and I know Italian is yours. I thought we could help each other.”

  I blushed. “Well, that sounds reasonable. And I… oh. Crap. Humped your stomach.”

  “It was pretty fucking hot, though,” Liam assured me.

  “Right. So hot.” I rolled my eyes.

  Liam sat me up with ease, reminding me just how powerfully built he was and how badly I wanted those arms to toss me around the bed. But I had to confess something first.

  “I’m a virgin,” I whispered.

  Liam froze again.

  “It’s not that I’m not enjoying this. It’s that I’ve never… You know.”

  Great, Clara. Just great. Now you sound like a fucking dainty virgin. Throw him to the bed. Kiss him again. Do something!

  I lunged to kiss him and managed to clink our teeth together. Okay. So not exactly what I had in mind.

  Liam took my shoulders and held me at arm’s length, probably to protect himself from the awkward girl trying to attack him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t do virgins. I can’t have that on my conscious. And, besides, you’re not a fling type of girl.”

  I angrily hooked my bra back on and grabbed my shirt. Through the haze of my abject humiliation, came the red. I was an oven of rage. “How would you possibly even know what I’m like?”

  “Call it a sixth sense.”

  “How about I call it a shitty sense—”

  The door beeped as Emma swiped her card key in the lock. Liam dropped his arms and reared back, like I was diseased. If possible, my temper flared even hotter.

  Emma paused at the threshold, her eyes jumping between us. “Hey, Liam. I didn’t realize you were here. Should I leave?”

  I answered before Liam could open his mouth. “No, he was just going. Do you want to do some studying, Emma? We’re supposed to meet everyone at the bar in a few hours, but I thought we could get some reading in before the challenge tomorrow.”

  “Sure. I’ll grab my computer.” She glanced uncertainly one more time at Liam. “Did you want to join us, Liam?”

  God, why was Emma so nice?

  “Thanks, but I need some air.” His eyes were unreadable. “See you in the kitchen.”

  I gave him a saccharine smile and opened the door. “See you then.”

 
I slammed the door behind him, plastering my eye to the keyhole as he strode away. He carried his shoulders tense and straight. So maybe he felt something too, but what, I wasn’t sure.

  When I finally pried my face from the door, Emma was waiting for me, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised. “Care to share what Liam was doing in our room?”

  I flopped back on the bed, my skin tingling where he touched me. “Being fucking Liam.” What I didn’t tell Emma was how my heart was pounding even a half hour later from his touch.

  Chapter Nine

  Liam

  Kaiserslautern, Germany

  I walked into the darkened bar where the cast was supposed to meet for a few hours for a “home life” B-roll segment that they would edit into the Germany episode. I didn’t love the idea of getting together in a bar, but after our little exchange in the room, I wasn’t going to miss a chance on studying Clara and her reaction around me.

  Three hundred and forty-five days.

  The bar was scuffed and raw, with exposed cedar beams overhead. A few waitresses darted about, clearing tables and taking orders. The room was surprising full, but as soon as I entered, I saw her.

  She stood on her tippy toes with her back to me, studying the liquors on the top shelf. Her ass made two perfect little teardrops, which I easily imagined cupping and kissing. Now that I knew what her lips tasted like—cherries—and how soft her breasts were, I was in trouble.

  I grabbed a tonic water from one of the waitresses and approached Clara from behind. “Aren’t you underage?” I asked.

  Clara barely glanced over her shoulder, as if I weren’t worth any more of her time or energy. “Nine-year-old kids are allowed to drink in Germany,” she retorted.

  “Yeah. But they can hold their liquor.”

  “So can I, you ass.”

  Jackson sauntered over, draping his arm across her shoulders. “Princess, you don’t look like you can hold a knife, let alone your liquor.”

  “You’re a dick,” she said, shaking him off.