by Zara Chase
Ty never dallied with women who weren’t into the lifestyle, was seldom attracted to them, and never got involved with anyone who worked in his kitchen. Not ever. It was one golden rule he never broke. So why her? Why now? His hands cradled her ass as he pulled her against his hard cock, making sure she knew just how much he wanted her. Fuck it, he could do vanilla sex if that’s what it took. He’d worry about the complications this would cause for him in his kitchen when he was able to think straight again. His tongue plundered her mouth as blood pounded through his veins and he thought he’d die if he didn’t have her, right there, immediately.
As the thought passed through his head, so Jodie pulled her mouth from his and gave him a sharp shove in the chest. Not having expected it, he fell back a few steps before he regained his balance.
“Whoa!” He held up his hands, palms toward her. “Sorry, I thought—”
“I can’t do that with you. I hate you!” She folded her arms in the same defensive pose as earlier, storm clouds replacing the passion in her eyes.
“Okay.” Ty swallowed, taking a moment to rein in his raging lust. “Any particular reason for that?”
“Oh yes.” She lifted her chin and sent him a venomous glare. “You killed my best friend.”
“What the fuck…” He met her stony gaze for a moment or two as the truth slowly dawned. “Jodie?” he said slowly. “You’re Flavia’s Jodie?”
* * * *
Jodie struggled to get her breathing under control, wondering how she’d let things get so out of hand. How she could have even entertained the thought of kissing Tyrell Vaughan—a man whom she despised—much less carry through with the idea? But the sad fact of the matter was that she had thought about it. She’d thought about little else since he’d come into the kitchen, straight from the shower, smelling like clean, hot, sinfully tempting male. He wore tight jeans that clung to his slim hips and hugged his butt tight enough to leave little to the imagination. As if that weren’t bad enough, a ribbed tank sculpted to the hard muscles of his chest. Thick locks of coppery hair fell across his brow, giving him a boyish look, and she would defy any woman with a pulse not to find him as delicious as the dishes he prepared in that kitchen.
But she wasn’t just any woman. She was on a quest for justice for her best friend and shouldn’t have allowed the way he looked to influence her. She’d known from her regular e-mails and phone calls with Flavia that he was a hunk. He would be. Flavia was a babe and could be super-selective. She thought she was prepared for the way he would look, but shallow creature that she was, his appearance had still blindsided her. Think of Flavia, she reminded herself as she glanced up at his glowering features, wondering what right he thought he had to be annoyed with her. She wasn’t the murderer.
He’d brought her into his private domain and she’d allowed it because that was why she’d come to Nevella—to get close to him and have him let his guard down in the hope that he would let some vital clue drop that would condemn him. Instead she’d let him kiss her and, worse, kissed him right back. Oh, she’d tried to fight against the attraction, but hadn’t made much of a job of it. Sometimes she was disgusted with herself. She was overwrought, tired, on emotional overload—she could find excuses all day long, but she still hated herself for being so shallow.
Her lips burned where his had seared them. Her body burned even hotter with desire. And mortification. She’d come here to expose Flavia’s killer, seeing as how the Boston police hadn’t bothered, and finished up letting the main suspect stick his tongue down her throat on the first day of her investigation.
Ty, arrogant bastard that he was, hadn’t even denied knowing Flavia. It was as though he thought he was safe from the long arm of the law, hidden away here in Nevella. Jodie scowled.
We’ll see about that.
She knew a thing or two about European law, and he’s wasn’t that safe. Not if she could produce definitive proof of his guilt. Perhaps she should have let him finish what he’d just started. Pillow talk was often the best way to get at a guy’s secrets. That, of course, would have been her only reason for letting him screw her. But she couldn’t do it. Didn’t trust herself not to get emotionally involved, in spite of the fact that she knew him for what he was, a cold-blooded murderer.
She glanced up at him and shuddered when she absorbed the full force of his expression—a combination of anger, disappointment, and genuine-seeming grief. God, what an actor!
“You think I killed Flavia?” he asked, his flintlike tone matching the look in his eye.
“You’re Antonio Barchelli from Pavorotti’s restaurant in Boston, aren’t you?”
“I was.”
“But you ran away soon after Flavia’s body was found and have been hiding here ever since. You told me yourself just now. You’ve been here five years.” She sent him a chilling look. “You sold your interest in a very popular restaurant for a fraction of its worth and disappeared off the face of the Earth. Then you turn up here using a different name. No offence, but Nevella is hardly an ideal showcase for your skills as a chef. What would you think in my position?”
His expression went through several shades of furious, settling upon lethal. He looked dangerous and devastating. No, not devastating…more devastated. That would be because she’d found him out. But perhaps confronting him here on his own turf was not such a clever idea. That was his fault. If he hadn’t kissed her, distracted her, it wouldn’t have happened. But still, he wasn’t denying any of her assertions, which was all the proof she needed.
Except she had no proof. It was just the two of them, and he could deny anything he said to her. The Boston PD had apparently spoken to him and cleared him, but Jodie wasn’t buying that. It did make things a tad more awkward, though. She’d never get anyone to take her claims seriously without something concrete to back them up. And the only thing concrete in that room right then was Ty’s expression.
“Get out,” he said in a mordant tone. “Get out and don’t come back.”
Jodie was terrified of him at that moment, and leaving while she still could would definitely be the right move. But stubbornness made her stand her ground.
“Not until I get some answers,” she replied, matching his glower with one of her own.
“I am not hiding,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Boston PD know where I am and I have Detective Barker on speed dial.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and thrust it at her. “Wanna check? I don’t suppose you’ll take the word of a murderer.”
She pushed his phone aside, wondering what sort of game he was playing with her now. Okay, so he had contact with the detective in charge of Flavia’s case. Not that there was an ongoing case. It had long since gone cold. The detectives were assigned to more recent cases, so it was a good bluff on Ty’s part. Either that or he’d used his charm on Detective Barker to convince her of his innocence. She was, after all, a woman.
“I believe you,” she said, curling her upper lip contemptuously. “At least about that.”
“I sold out my share of the restaurant because I couldn’t stay there after what happened. Half its value was down to my being the chef. I didn’t want to be the chef anymore, so I took what I could get. Tyrell Vaughan is my real name. Wanna see my passport?”
“N–No.” God, he was so angry with her, and everything he’d said so far kind of made sense. What if she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion?
“And that is all I’m prepared to tell you about my relationship with Flavia. Why I came to Nevella and chose to stay here is no one’s business but my own.” He wrenched opened the door that led back to the kitchen. She would be able to let herself out that way. “Now get out.”
Chapter Five
Ty threw his beer bottle in the trash. Steaming with anger, he needed something stronger than beer to take the edge off. He poured himself a substantial measure of brandy, downed it in one, and refilled his glass, allowing the fiery liquid to trickle down his throat as he wondered how he’d resisted
throttling Jodie for her wild, unjustified accusations.
Except they weren’t unjustified.
He threw himself into a chair, forced to confront the memories he’d spent the past five years trying to bury. Flavia. Lovely, flighty, wild, terminally damaged Flavia. The love of his life and yet he’d been unable to save her from self-destructing. What sort of man did that make him? He hadn’t killed her, but Jodie was right about one thing. He was responsible for her death and he’d never stop blaming himself for letting it happen—for not trying harder to stop what she’d gotten into. But he’d been so damned focused on making a name for himself as a chef, working all the hours when he wasn’t sleeping and barely making time for Flavia. Thinking she would always be there when, in his heart, he knew she was vulnerable, easily led off the straight and narrow, and that she needed him to keep her grounded.
“Hey, you okay, bud? You look like shit.”
Ty glanced up at Leo. “Thanks. That’s just what I needed to hear.”
“You know me. I tell it like it is.” He nodded at Ty’s half-full brandy glass, aware that he seldom drank liquor. “Wanna talk about it?” he asked.
“I can sum it up in one word,” Ty replied, sighing. “Jodie.”
“Ah, I sensed the sparks flying between you two at dinner last night. I suppose you’re conflicted because—”
“She’s Flavia’s Jodie.” Leo was the only person in Nevella who knew about Ty’s history with Flavia.
“She’s what?” Leo sat forward and leaned his elbow on his thighs. “Shit, man!”
“Yeah, it took me by surprise, too. I should have made the connection sooner, I guess, but Flavia was French so I assumed her friend Jodie was as well. We never met, but Flavia talked about her all the time.”
“Jodie was educated in France?”
“Yeah, that’s where she and Flavia met and they remained firm friends.”
“Jodie tracked you down and came here…why?”
“To accuse me of killing her friend.”
“Fuck!”
Ty cocked a brow. “That about covers it.”
“What did you tell her?”
“To get lost.” Ty took a swig of his drink but it didn’t help to dull the pain of recollection. It would most likely just leave him with a raging hangover.
“Perhaps you should have explained.”
“Why? She had it all worked out. I left Boston, according to her, and took a fraction of the value that my business was worth because I was guilty. And I’ve been wasting my talent in this backwater ever since because…well, she didn’t say it, but I know she thought it. Nevella isn’t in the European Union, so I’m safe from extradition.”
“You could have just told her you have an iron-clad alibi for the time of the murder,” Leo said quietly.
He kicked moodily at a footstool, sending it spiraling across the room. “Why the fuck should I?”
“You’re mad because you’ve got the hots for her? Still. Even after the accusations she leveled at you.”
“What are you now, my shrink?”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” Leo’s brittle laugh lightened the mood. “You thought she might be a player. I got that feeling about her, too. She’s an adventurous one, no question.”
“Ha, she’d never take orders from me in a million years.” He curled his upper lip. “She’d probably want to Dominate me.”
“You ever let a woman Dominate you?” Ty shook his head. “There are worse ways to die.”
“Not interested.”
“I know you were hoping to get into her panties before this happened. Don’t try and kid a kidder. I was hoping it would work out for you. It’s high time you started living again.”
“I play in the dungeon,” Ty said, sounding defensive.
“You’re hardly ever in there. Not like the rest of us. And you never commit to a sub for long when you do get it on.” Leo lowered his voice as he leaned across and placed a firm hand on Ty’s shoulder. “Flavia’s gone, Ty. Nothing will bring her back. It’s not your fault and you need to stop living with regrets.”
“Yeah well, it won’t be with Jodie. I told her to get out. She hasn’t got the balls to come back here tomorrow. Probably thinks I’ll take one of my knives to her if she does.” He sighed. “I’ll have to get onto the contest committee and have them send over a substitute.”
Leo stood up. “Coming to the dungeon? There’re a few new subs looking for action.”
“Nah, I’m turning in.” Ty stood as well. “You go and have fun. I’m not in the mood for it. I’ll catch you in the morning.”
* * * *
Jodie walked briskly back to her hotel, conflicted about what had just occurred and wondering what she was supposed to do now. Could she believe what Ty had told her? His reasons for selling out of his Boston restaurant did sound plausible, she conceded, but she wouldn’t be that easily won over. His anger at her accusations was another matter. She thought he might explode. But he also looked devastated.
Was it because he really loved Flavia and didn’t kill her or because his comfortable existence in Nevella could be upset now that she’d found where he was hiding and could make trouble for him?
It was hard for her to let go of her firm conviction that he’d killed Flavia. She knew they’d argued shortly before her death. Flavia had sent Jodie a long, admittedly rambling e-mail bemoaning his stubborn possessiveness, which is what had made Jodie suspect him from the first. She kicked herself for not realizing Antonio Barchelli wasn’t his real name. Authors and actors had pseudonyms. Why not celebrity chefs? But there again, Flavia always referred to him as Antonio, so it hadn’t crossed her mind. She screwed up her features into a wither of contempt as she made her way up the stairs to her room, thinking her sleuthing powers left much to be desired.
She threw off her clothes and stood beneath the steaming jets in her shower for a considerable amount of time, pondering her difficulties. Leaving Nevella without a definitive answer was simply out of the question. Jodie was many things—quick tempered, given to jumping to conclusions, argumentative—the list was endless. She was well aware of her shortcomings. But one thing she was not and never would be was a coward. If she had gotten it wrong about Ty, then he deserved her unreserved apology. But the questions remained. Was she wrong? She wouldn’t know until she confronted him again.
She slid between the sheets and stared up at the patterns dancing across the ceiling, caused by moonlight playing peekaboo with the clouds because she hadn’t bothered to close the drapes. There was no point. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, even though she was physically and emotionally exhausted.
She would report for work as normal tomorrow, she decided. Assuming Ty didn’t throw her out on her arse, she would keep up with his demanding standards and pull her weight. Then, at the end of dinner service, she would try and talk to him, get his side of the story without losing her temper and without tearing his clothes off and jumping his bones. Damn it, in spite of everything, that was still what she wanted to do. More so than ever. And the desire was seriously messing with her mind.
She was up early, hit the shower again, and then winced when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and she looked pale, tired, and drawn. Not that it mattered what she looked like. Even if Ty let her stay in the kitchen, he wouldn’t be interested in her. Not now. Not after what she had accused him of doing.
But he might be guilty, she reminded herself, determined to give him a fair hearing and keep an open mind this time, always assuming he would grant her that courtesy.
She met the others in the hotel dining room for breakfast. Unlike her, they were revived and raring to get going in Ty’s kitchen. Only Consuela noticed how quiet Jodie was and asked her about it as they walked to work.
“Oh, don’t take any notice of me,” she said, flapping a hand to dismiss Consuela’s concerns. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”
“Well if Chef Ty bullie
s you today, I shall say something in your defense.”
“Please don’t,” Jodie replied. The last thing she needed was for Ty to think she’d recruited Consuela to fight her battles for her. “I can handle him.”
Consuela giggled. “I wouldn’t mind getting the chance.”
“Behave yourself! I thought you Spanish girls were supposed to be good Catholics with no impure thoughts.”
“Times have changed.”
Jodie choked on a laugh. “Evidently.”
They had reached the restaurant. Hans opened the side door and ushered the ladies through it first. Jodie’s nerves jangled as she walked in, head held high, petrified that Ty would yell at her. She sensed his presence some seconds before she found the courage to look in his direction. The angled slash of his cheekbones, the day’s growth on his chin where he hadn’t shaved that morning, and the flash of surprise in his eyes at seeing her there were the first things to register with her. His stance conveyed power, strength, and danger as he glowered in her direction, adding to her nervousness.
But she held his gaze, determined that if he wanted her to leave then he would have to say so, right now in front of everyone. He opened his mouth, and for a stomach-dropping moment she thought that was precisely what he’d do. It was obvious that he was surprised and not very happy to see her. Well, what the hell else could she have expected? If he was guilty, he wouldn’t want her hanging out in his kitchen. If he was innocent, he had every right to be offended by the accusations she’d thrown his way.
Shit, Jodie, tact just ain’t your strong point.
“Good morning,” he said, encompassing the entire group as he spoke.
“Morning, Chef,” they replied in unison. An elevation of one brow was the only indication he gave when Jodie addressed him respectfully for the first time, right along with all the others.
“Get changed and let’s get to work,” he said.
