From the time she’d been old enough to reach the kitchen counter, she’d wanted to learn how to cook, but her mother had never allowed it. The preparation of food was for the servants, her mother had always told her. As the granddaughter of Bloomfield County’s Honorable Judge Howland, Sydney was expected to receive and entertain guests with conversation of current events or charming anecdotes of family history.
Occasionally, though, Sydney would sneak into the kitchen and watch Emily, the family cook, stirring a soup on the stove or chopping celery on the heavy butcher block island. Sydney could have watched, fascinated, for hours. But her mother would always find her and drag her back to the party, reprimanding her sternly on the proper etiquette and behavior for a Howland-Taylor.
Sydney’s mother had been a first-class, stiff-necked, pretentious snob.
Sydney knew that everyone in Bloomfield County thought she was just as pretentious as her mother had been. And even though it hurt, she understood why they thought that. She’d spent a lifetime behaving the way her mother had expected of her.
But Sydney knew that she was worse than a snob. Much worse.
She was a coward.
Since she was a little girl, she’d always been frightened. Afraid she might receive a grade less than an A on a test, that she might get her dress dirty or say the wrong thing. That her parents would fight if she wasn’t perfect. So she always did the extra credit, was always on time, always put her clothes neatly away and never made messes.
But it hadn’t mattered that she’d done all those things. Her father had still left when she was twelve and never once come back. A day had never passed that her mother didn’t spew anger and malice toward him.
Never a day, to this very day, that Sydney didn’t wonder if maybe, just maybe, if she hadn’t made so much noise, if she’d sat up straighter or never complained about eating brussels sprouts, her father would never have left.
And then, fourteen years later, maybe Bobby wouldn’t have left, either.
She knew in her heart, of course, that marriage to Bobby would never have worked, but somehow that knowledge didn’t quite cushion the embarrassment of standing in the church in her wedding dress, having Theresa, her maid-of-honor, come tell her that Bobby wasn’t coming. Then having to tell all the guests that the groom had taken ill and the ceremony was called off.
He was sick, all right. Sick of her.
But then, slowly, over the next few weeks, her embarrassment turned to anger, her anger to determination. Determination to courage. The courage to do what she’d always secretly wanted. Her grandfather had argued that a restaurant was a foolhardy enterprise, most failed within the first year, the work was hard, the hours long. Nothing had changed her mind.
Let everyone feel sorry for her, or think she was a snob. Le Petit Bistro would be the best darn restaurant that Bloomfield County would ever see.
And that included Squire’s Tavern and Inn.
She smiled at the image of Reese opening his office door three days ago to a sea of peanuts; the stunned look on his face. He’d been so smug when he’d come back from all his errands and found her at the counter, working so submissively at shelling all those nuts. So pompous.
Her smile widened. He certainly hadn’t been so smug when he’d gone down in a deluge of peanuts.
Then he’d had to go and ruin it all by kissing her.
Nobody had ever kissed her like that. Not Bobby, certainly not Ken, the manager at Bloomfield County Trust and Loan she’d dated for a short time. Not even Jean-Paul, the French pastry chef she’d gone out with several times when she’d been in Paris. They’d all paled in comparison to Reese.
She’d never forgive him for that.
Before that kiss, it had been so easy to tell herself that she would never, in a hundred years, ever fall for a man like Reese. They were so completely opposite: He was a confirmed bachelor; she wanted to settle down. He never took anything seriously; she considered herself earnest and thoughtful. And she liked tablecloths and flowers, which he obviously didn’t.
But in spite of all that, what really frightened her was the possibility—as remote as it was—of falling in love with him and knowing that he would never love her back. At a very basic level, she was afraid he had the power to break her heart. Not just a crack, like with Bobby, but complete annihilation. She’d moved on with her life, she had her restaurant. She wasn’t willing to risk it with him.
And still, every time she thought of that kiss, every time she remembered the way his fingers had skimmed her leg, the way his palm had cupped her breast, her skin felt tight and hot, her pulse quickened and she had to remind herself to breathe.
Damn you, Sinclair!
Well, she’d just have to deal with it, she decided and snatched up a rag she’d been using to dust. She acknowledged her attraction, but she’d managed to keep her distance from him the past three days while she’d been working for him in the evenings. She could continue to do just that. And he’d kept his distance from her, too. He’d probably put the kiss out of his mind completely, she thought, pouring a little lemon beeswax onto the rag and rubbing furiously at the buffet table she’d placed in the entryway of the café. No doubt that sort of thing happened to Reese Sinclair all the time. One more woman, one more kiss in a long line of swooning females, she suspected. As long as she kept her feet on the ground and was sensible, she’d be safe.
“Sandpaper usually works better if you’re trying to remove the stain.”
With a squeak, she spun around at the sound of Reese’s deep voice behind her. Heavens! It was bad enough he infiltrated her mind, did he have to turn up in the flesh, as well?
“Reese!” Her voice was much too high-pitched and breathless. She cleared her throat. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.” Smiling, he nodded at the rag in her hand. “I wasn’t sure if you were punishing that wood or polishing it.”
She wasn’t sure, either, since she’d been thinking about Reese. Afraid that he’d see it in her eyes, she kept her attention on the buffet and continued her buffing. “What brings you by?”
Why did he have to stand so close? she thought irritably. And why did he have to look so incredibly handsome wearing faded blue jeans and a moss green T-shirt that made his eyes look like a dark, mysterious forest?
Damn him.
“I brought you flowers.”
Her heart skipped. He’d brought her flowers? Maybe he’d said flour, like for baking. Though that wouldn’t make sense, either. She glanced up cautiously. “You what?”
“Flowers. I brought you flowers.”
No man had ever bought her flowers. She felt a hitch in her chest. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He gestured toward the open front door. “I don’t know what they’re called. The nursery guy said you could plant them now and they shouldn’t die, at least not until we get a heavy snow.”
She looked out the door and saw several colorful pots sitting next to the raised brick bed that Boomer was so fond of digging in.
He hadn’t brought her flowers.
Well, he’d brought her flowers, she corrected, but he hadn’t brought her flowers.
Of course he hadn’t brought her flowers.
And the fact that she’d thought—for just an instant—that he had made her feel like a complete fool. An idiot.
“Thank you.” She turned her attention back to her polishing. If she looked at him, she was afraid he’d see in her eyes what she’d been thinking and then he’d know what a little fool she was.
“My gardener from the tavern will be over later to plant them,” he said. “I’d do it, but I’d probably cause more damage than Boomer trying to dig them up.”
“Thank you, but I’d rather do it myself.” She knelt in front of the buffet and began to polish the legs.
“It’s my responsibility, Syd.”
“I prefer to do it myself.”
“Sydney. I think we should…well, we should talk.”
He hunkere
d down beside her, stilled her hand with his. She cursed the thump of her heart. Cursed him. She knew she should stand, that she shouldn’t let him this close, but she stayed where she was, her knees nearly touching his. “All right.”
“I don’t want you to come to the tavern anymore.”
She doubted a physical slap would have hurt as much as the verbal hit he’d just given her. The cold gripping her chest made it hard to breathe. She tugged her hand out from under his and forced her attention back to the legs of the buffet. “All right.”
He ran a hand through his thick hair and sighed. “God, that’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t want you working at the tavern anymore.”
Oh, gosh, that made her feel so much better. Careful to keep herself composed, she continued polishing the wood, kept her strokes smooth and controlled. She refused to let him see her cry. “All right.”
He took hold of her arms and turned her toward him. “Stop saying all right. It’s not all right. And I’m not saying what I mean.”
“Then why don’t you?” she said coolly.
“Sydney, this isn’t…I didn’t…” He sighed. “Dammit, Syd, what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. You had every right to be angry about Boomer digging up your flowers. I never should have made that bet with you.”
“Then why did you?” She forced herself to concentrate on his surprise apology, refused to think about the feel of his strong hands on her arms and what had happened the last time he’d gotten this close and touched her. She knew if she did that every vow she’d made to keep her distance would fly out the window and she’d tackle him right here and now, and make him kiss her again. Touch her again.
And more.
“I don’t know,” he said, interrupting her wayward thoughts. “Maybe it was the way you flew into the tavern with Boomer in your arms. Your hair looking like you’d just climbed out of bed and your eyes flashing blue fire. The way you looked down at me with that arrogant little nose of yours, issuing ultimatums. I had to do something.”
In spite of the heat rippling across her skin, she arched one eyebrow. “Oh?”
“See?” He smiled. “There it goes again. If I can admit I’m a jerk, you can at least admit you’re a snob.”
She sniffed. “I’m not a snob.”
Now he raised a brow and looked at her doubtfully.
“Well, maybe it seems that way,” she relented. “But I’m just…conscientious.”
His brow went up higher.
She pursed her lips. “Oh, all right. Maybe sometimes I do set my expectations a little high. Maybe sometimes I am a snob. There. Are you happy?”
“It’s a start.” He smiled at her, loosened his hold on her arms and slid his hands up to her shoulders. “I just wanted to see you loosen up a little.”
“Maybe I don’t want to loosen up.” Especially right now. If she loosened up now, the way he was touching her shoulders, she’d slide her arms around his neck and press her lips to his. “Maybe I like being just the way I am. And you like being the way you are.”
“Oh?” He cocked his head. “And what way am I?”
Sexy as hell. Handsome. Rugged. Strong. She started to lean toward him….
Stop that.
“Frivolous.”
He chuckled, slid his thumbs back and forth over her collarbone. “I’m not frivolous, Syd. I’m spontaneous. You should try it sometime.”
It took every ounce of willpower to focus on his words, not on the way his thumbs were moving sensuously over her skin, or the warmth spreading like molten lava through her limbs. “You’ve obviously forgotten about Monday,” she insisted. “If that wasn’t spontaneous, then I don’t know what is.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything. In fact, Sydney,” he said with a slow smile, “I remember everything. In detail.”
When his dark green gaze dropped to her mouth, her breath caught in her throat. “It—that—was a mistake, Reese. I was…we just—”
“Went a little nuts?”
She couldn’t stop the smile on her lips any more than the furious pounding of her heart. “Something like that. It was nice and all that, but I want you to know I realize it was just one of those caught-up-in-the-moment-things. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“You know, Syd,” he said with a touch of exasperation, “I just might believe that if I hadn’t been there. It was a hell of a lot more than nice, sweetheart. You were as hot for me as I was for you. If your grandfather hadn’t walked in when he had, you would have been in my bed, begging me for more.”
Her cheeks burned at the accuracy of his evaluation. She would have begged, dammit. Still, she started to protest until he slid his hands up the side of her neck and pulled her closer. “Go ahead and deny it,” he said tightly. “Just say it one more time.”
She snapped her mouth shut. It was a dare and she knew it. They both knew if he kissed her again what would happen. Where it would go.
And she couldn’t go there with Reese. She didn’t have the courage. She pulled away from him and stood, twisted the rag in her hand to keep from reaching for him.
“All right,” she said, hating the little quiver in her voice. “I admit it. It was more than nice. But it’s not going to happen again. A quick roll in the hay might be right up your alley, but sex is something special to me. It’s more than an itch and more than a ‘spontaneous’ tumble into bed with the closest warm body.”
He stood slowly, and the desire she’d seen in his eyes only moments before now turned to anger. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d gone too far. She should apologize, she knew she should, but it was easier this way. This way, he’d walk away and stay away.
“You think whatever you like, Syd,” he said tightly. “But if you really believe all that bull, then you’re going to spend a lot of lonely nights in a very cold bed.”
She felt the tears gather in the back of her throat as he turned and walked toward the door.
“Reese?”
He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“There’s no reason we can’t be friends,” she said carefully. “If you need help at the tavern, I don’t mind.”
“Thanks, Syd, but it won’t be necessary. I’ll manage just fine.” He started to walk away again, but she called his name one more time. He waited.
“Thank you,” she said. “For the flowers.”
He nodded stiffly, then glanced over his shoulder at her. “I almost forgot. My sister wants you to call her. Something about a last-minute catering job for Gabe and Melanie’s surprise engagement party tomorrow night.”
He left before she could reply, and she stared at the empty doorway long after he was gone.
Seven
Sinclair family events were always noisy and the surprise party on Saturday night was no exception. Everyone was already waiting in the small private dining room at the back of the tavern when Gabe and Melanie showed up for what they thought was a typical get-together of “pizza and beer.” They were not expecting an elegant celebration that included candles and white roses and a lavish five course French meal, prepared and served by Sydney Taylor.
Because the tavern was open for business, Reese split his time between the party and handling the busy Saturday night crowd. He’d rearranged schedules so he’d have a full crew, but at the moment he was filling in for Jimmy, his bartender, while he took a break. So far tonight there’d been no crises or problems that had demanded his attention.
Unless he considered Sydney in one of those categories.
Crises. No.
Problem. Yes.
He’d been angry when he’d left her place two days ago. Furious, even, with her assumption that he’d simply wanted a “quick roll in the hay” as she’d so delicately put it.
Not that he really knew what he’d wanted from her, or where their unexpected attraction would end up. He just didn’t like her assessment of his morals, or lack of them. So maybe he had dated a lot of women. That didn’t mean he didn’t have scruples. And it cer
tainly didn’t mean he simply had an “itch,” and she’d been the “closest warm body.”
He clenched his jaw just thinking about her.
Lord, the woman made him crazy.
While he filled a pitcher of beer for Judy, one of his waitresses, he watched as Sydney came out of the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with steaming bread puddings. Since her kitchen wouldn’t be fully operable until her oven was calibrated, she’d needed to use his to prepare the meal for this evening. When she’d come over yesterday during lunch to ask him if it would be all right, he’d said sure, then quickly turned his attention back to filling drinks for the thirsty noon crowd.
But even after he’d turned away from her, he’d been aware of her standing there, her shoulders stiff and chin lifted, looking as if she still had something to say.
Well, they’d said enough, he’d thought. More than enough. He wasn’t about to waste his time thinking about Sydney Taylor night and day.
Thinking about how soft her skin was, wondering what it would feel like when he untied that knot of pretty hair at the top of her head and dragged his fingers through the loosened strands, what she would do when he slipped his hands under that pink silk blouse she had on tonight….
“Uh, I think that’s probably full enough,” Reese heard a woman say hesitantly.
“What?” Reese snapped his mind back to the present and looked at Judy, realized she’d been talking to him. She nodded toward the pitcher he was filling. Beer flowed over the sides.
“Damn,” he muttered, releasing the valve and reaching for a towel. Damn, damn, damn.
Shaking her head, Judy poured off the excess, grabbed four cold mugs, then headed off to a table of construction workers that were currently on Sinclair Construction’s payroll.
He glanced over as Sydney passed. He couldn’t help but appreciate the sway of her slender hips under the crisp, white chef’s apron she wore. Underneath the apron a pretty floral skirt skimmed those long legs of hers. He glanced back up at her face, noticed the flush of pleasure on her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes.
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