by Amanda Usen
She stared down at him. The tension between them made the air feel alive, as if every move he made would impact her and vice versa. He gripped her thighs and bent his head to nuzzle her. She was wearing tiny red lace panties, just as he had imagined last week.
Her thighs were tense, knees angled and upright. She sat straight on the leather seat. He breathed against her and watched her fingers curl into fists. Her lips pressed into a thin line. He stayed still, unmoving, simply breathing between her thighs, enjoying her warm scent and waiting for her to forget about the fact they were in a car on their way to a restaurant. He reached forward to take her hands, twining their fingers.
He looked up and saw her blue eyes begin to heat.
“A truce is a beautiful thing,” he whispered against her thigh.
Her head fell back against the seat, but she still watched him through hooded lids as he hooked her panties to the side and leaned in to taste her. Perfection. He would happily spend hours just like this, breathing against her, barely moving. But since traffic was light, it wasn’t going to take them too much longer to reach their destination. He sought and found the spot that made her moan. He gripped her hands tighter. Still, she watched him.
He closed his eyes, focusing solely on her response to the slight movement of his tongue as he teased her. He felt tension build in her thighs, and she squeezed his hands harder. He pressed forward, capturing her with his lips, moving his tongue faster, driven by the urge to make her his.
When she gasped and pulsed against his mouth, triumph roared through him, and it took every ounce of restraint not to reverse their positions, shuck his jeans, and pull her onto his lap. He was rock hard and aching, but her wrecked expression gave him all the pleasure he needed.
The car stopped. A soft buzz signaled they had arrived. He reached for her foot, hooked her jeans around her ankle and slowly worked them up her thighs. With effort, she lifted her hips, zipped, buttoned, and buckled, all without opening her eyes.
He threw himself onto the seat beside her. “Ready for more?”
…
Lila opened her eyes, feeling like Jack had just shattered every bone in her body. So much for keeping her mind on the job. One little tug on her panties, and she was begging for him.
He sat beside her with a faint smile on his perfect lips. She blushed, remembering what those lips had just done to her. He brushed a finger across her cheek, making her shiver. Then he reached past her and opened the door.
“Out you go. You’ll love Standing Room. Everyone does.” There was an edge to his voice that had been missing at Brill, even when she had deliberately goaded him. Jack’s food had so much in common with Guy’s menu it was bizarre that neither of them seemed to know it, even when she put it into words. How could Jack not understand his own food?
She climbed out of the car and stood on the curb while he talked to the driver.
“No back door this time?” she asked as he held the huge wooden door of the pub open for her.
Jack made a face. “No way.”
The place was enormous, almost filled to capacity, an impressive feat, but there were still a few tables open. A hostess immediately greeted them. At Jack’s request, she guided them toward the bar that spanned the length of the room. They took the last two empty seats.
“Since we’ve been drinking tequila, may I recommend the St. Germain margarita?” Jack asked.
She nodded, accepting a menu from the server. She still felt a little weak from what he had done to her in the car, and it was hard to resist the urge to lean on him. Instead, she opened her menu.
“Looks like fun food. Very different from the Inferno menu.” She gave him a cautious look. “Is this what you want from me? Guy’s food I could understand, but this is a whole different ballgame.”
“But it’s selling very well. This place is packed and I do like the menu. It’s fresh and imaginative.”
“Can I quote you on that?” A deep voice cut through the hubbub.
Jack stiffened and scowled over his shoulder at a man in a chef coat. “Off the record, of course.” He stood. “Zane, this is Lila Grant. Lila, meet Zane Brampton, the chef of Standing Room and my father’s former employee.” Jack finally smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Lila.” Zane gave her a friendly nod then turned back to Jack. “How is the old man, anyway? He didn’t seem himself on the golf course the other day. I was worried about him.”
Jack sat down. “Same as ever. He’s in Fiji.”
“And he left you in charge? Must have lost his mind.” Zane grinned at Lila.
She grinned back. As she heard a low growl from Jack, she recognized in Zane the same urge that drove her—the desire to get under Jack’s skin. Lila pressed her lips together to keep from laughing as Zane continued, “If you need any help or advice about how to run a restaurant while the old man’s gone, feel free to give me a call.”
The look on Jack’s face was cold enough to freeze alcohol as he turned his attention to the menu. “All set, thanks.”
Zane’s gray eyes glinted with laughter.
Lila took pity on Jack. “I heard a rumor about truffled purple potatoes. Any entree you recommend?”
Zane motioned to their server, who scurried over. He took the order pad and made a few notations. “I’ve got just the thing. Jack? Anything special for you? What’s your favorite thing on my menu?”
Jack looked like he’d rather slit his throat than answer. “Habanero Shrimp.” A quick smile flashed across Zane’s face, but it was gone before Jack looked up.
Zane turned his attention to her and waggled his eyebrows like a villain in a silent movie. “If you’re still hungry after your snack with Jack, I’ve got something sure to satisfy your appetite.” His innuendo was so outrageous she burst out laughing, but Jack looked furious.
“Not this time, buddy,” Jack snarled.
“At least not yet.” Zane winked at her. “Enjoy your meal.”
…
Jack snapped back to his senses as soon as Zane left the table.
“What was that all about?” Lila asked.
“Long story.”
He took a slug of his just-arrived drink. Instead of chilling his fury, it exacerbated it because it was an excellent margarita. Goddamn Zane anyway. Hitting on Lila in front of him. Asshole.
Lila squeezed his thigh. “As the cliché goes, I’ve got all night.”
He shook his head and picked up the menu again. He didn’t want to rehash ancient history about his feud with Zane or whine about the fact he’d never been on a golf course with his father. He and Lila were here to talk about food.
Resolutely, he began dissecting the menu. She joined in, reluctantly at first, but with growing enthusiasm as they shot ideas back and forth. When their food arrived, they had even more to discuss. He might hate the chef, but the Habanero Shrimp was kick ass, and Lila’s truffled potatoes provoked a reaction even more sensual than her food-gasm at Brill. Already hot from the chili peppers, Jack began to ache for her again, but it seemed they’d never be able to leave.
Zane sent complimentary dish after dish to the table, which is just what he would have done in Zane’s place, the bastard, and Lila loved them all. They ate until there was nothing but crumbs left on the plates and the thought of dessert was almost, but not quite, painful.
Jack tucked a fat pile of bills into the check cover, way more than the cost of the meal, knowing it would infuriate Zane, who had never had much spending money when they were kids. Still, he didn’t expect the guy to stop them at the door. Jack waited for him to speak, hoping Zane wasn’t expecting him to blow sunshine up his ass. The food hadn’t been that good.
Zane cleared his throat. “Look, I know we aren’t friends anymore, but I was serious when I said your dad seemed strange last week. Out of breath. Flushed. Has he had a check up lately?”
Pain shot up Jack’s jaw. “And I was serious when I said he was in Fiji. He’s fine. Ornery as ever.”
“Yeah,
okay.” Zane didn’t look convinced.
Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to ten. “I’ll ask him.”
“Thanks, man.” Zane’s relief was obvious. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Huh?” Their paths only crossed when Jack couldn’t avoid it.
Zane clapped him, hard, on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t miss your opening for a million dollars. Nice to meet you, Lila.” He left them at the door.
A familiar pressure began to build, but Jack ignored it and guided Lila toward the car.
Chapter Eleven
Lila sprawled on the seat. “I’m stuffed,” she groaned, fighting the increasingly strong urge to lean on Jack.
“Too stuffed to go to Drink Your Dessert?”
“Is every dessert a drink?” She could probably find some place to put another drink.
“Every dessert has booze in it,” he clarified. “You can get a wicked buzz off the tiramisu, and the chocolate martinis are killer. But if there’s only one Tipsy Toffee Wheelie left, you’re out of luck. It’s mine.”
“Got a sweet tooth, huh?”
“Several.”
He put his arm around her, and she gave up fighting the good fight for just a minute. It felt good to be warm, full, and safe. As her eyes slid shut, he nudged her. “Hello, we’re on a date here. Aren’t you supposed to entertain me or worry that you’re boring me? I’m pretty sure sleeping on dates is verboten.”
She rolled her eyes. “I already put out, what do you want from me? And it’s not a date. It’s a truce. You promised me a food coma. I’m starting early.” He chuckled, pulling her into his lap.
She caught her breath. No one could enter a food coma while sitting on the lap of a man who clearly had more than food on his mind. He pulled her down for a kiss. Desire overwhelmed her. She held onto his shoulders, giving and taking in an exchange that seemed as natural as breathing.
She’d learned so much about Jack by talking food with him all night, and it was hard not to want to know more. Why didn’t he have faith in his menu when other people had so much faith in him? Guy treated him like an equal, and considering Guy had one of the top restaurants in New York, that was saying something. Zane obviously valued his opinion in spite of whatever bad blood lay between them. She’d seen him spying on their table several times tonight, watching their reactions to each dish. Jack’s employees worshipped him to such a degree that working at Inferno was like participating in an all-Jack-all-the-time love fest. If she’d heard his name from their lips one more time this week, she might have screamed.
She lifted her head, looking down at him. His hands moved to her waist, touching her with a possessive familiarity that shot heat through her center. She stroked his cheek, enjoying the rasp of his rough jaw against her fingers. Slowly, she bent to kiss him and the sweetness with which he met her lips was devastating. She heard the low buzz that signaled they’d reached their destination and pulled away from him, heart pounding.
This was one night, she reminded herself. One night.
“We’re here,” Jack climbed out of the car and held his hand out to her.
She took it, and he led her straight through the throng clustered outside the door of Drink Your Dessert. Several people gave them dirty looks, no doubt looking forward to watching them get bounced right back to the end of the line. They weaved to the front of the crowd and stepped into a room that looked like a soda fountain.
Lila heard a squeal just before a small hurricane engulfed Jack. When the hug was over, Lila felt breathless, too. From the proprietary way the petite woman pressed up against Jack, they were clearly friends, probably more. And Lila was not jealous.
So what if the woman was everything she was not—tiny, small-boned, exuding the kind of confidence that told Lila she had never entered a social situation she didn’t dominate? She was born to be the center of attention. Lila doubted she’d ever decorated a wall, hoping someone would notice her. She probably had to beat off admirers from the minute she entered a room. Clearly, Jack adored her.
Finally, Jack held the woman far enough away from him that Lila could see her face. Of course she was beautiful. Dark eyes snapped in a heart-shaped face. Her grin was wide, almost too wide, but that only contributed to her appeal. She was decked out in a dress a woman from the fifties might wear, and it was covered with a vintage apron. She was positively beaming and giving off such welcoming vibes that even though Lila wanted to hate her, she couldn’t. She sighed, assuming she was about to meet Jack’s on-again off-again girlfriend, future wife, or at the very least, his best friend.
“Lila, meet Marie, my favorite babysitter of all time.”
Of all the things she had expected him to say, that was the last. She felt her jaw drop. The two of them stood grinning while Lila searched Marie’s face for some sign that she could possibly be old enough to make that statement true.
“No way,” Lila said.
Jack chuckled. “I know, right? My brother took off and his poor, heartbroken girlfriend hung around so long, Dad put her to work. First keeping an eye on me and then working in the bakeshop, a match made in heaven.” Jack arched an eyebrow. “You heard from Ned lately?”
Marie shook her head. “Not unless stalking him online counts.” A shadow crossed her face and, for a split-second, she looked old enough to make Jack’s story true—then she was back to Katy Perry channeling June Cleaver again.
Jack gave her a brotherly pat on the arm and a look of sympathy. Lila blamed the tequila for the odd emotions streaming through her. Marie and Jack clearly weren’t an item. It was silly to be envious of their shared history. “It’s nice to meet you,” she finally said.
Jack pointed across the room to the restrooms. “I’ll be right back. Can I leave you alone with her without you telling her any embarrassing stories from my youth?”
Marie shook her head. “Of course not.”
Jack paused, as if weighing his options, then shrugged and looked at Lila. “Don’t believe anything she says.”
They watched him walk across the room. Marie had affection and fondness in her gaze, and Lila didn’t want to know what her face betrayed. Marie’s lips twitched, as if she were trying not to smile.
Marie led her to a table that was tucked into a corner behind the counter, grabbing menus as they walked. There was something about this woman that made her want to confide in her, but she clamped her jaws shut. Marie was firmly in Jack’s camp. She asked a question instead. “So how old was Jack when you babysat him?”
“Eight. Not quite old enough to be left to his own devices.”
“So you’ve known him for almost twenty years?”
“Just about.” Marie handed her a menu. “Since I knew you were coming, I saved two of everything.”
Lila focused on the menu. “It’s hard to choose.” She glanced around at the full tables to see what other people were eating and wanted one of everything. Her lust must have been evident because Marie laughed.
“How about I send my two favorites and then you can choose a few more?”
“More?” Lila gasped.
“You’ve never seen Jack eat dessert, have you? Don’t be afraid to throw an elbow if you have to. I have to get back in the kitchen, but it was really nice to meet you, Lila. Jack would kill me for telling you this…but if he brought you here, he must really like you, and he’s fragile. Be gentle with him.”
“Fragile? Jack? Please. And we’re not dating anyway. I work for him. A temporary arrangement by his stipulation.”
Marie pursed her lips. “I have no doubt.”
At that she left, and Lila watched Jack move across the room toward her, a walking mystery she shouldn’t want to solve. Who was the real Jack?
When he took the seat across from her, she couldn’t resist probing. “I feel like I’m in A Christmas Carol. But we’re visiting the ghosts of your kitchen’s past. First your mentor, then your enemy, now your…honestly, when we walked in I thought it was going to be lover.�
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Jack grinned. “Impossible not to have a crush on her, but yuck. She’s like a sister to me.”
“So she would be the ghost of kitchen…”
“Survival. Ned left. My mother left. We stayed. I’m pretty sure Marie went into the business so she could keep some connection to Ned, but I’d never say that to her. She thinks I don’t know they hook up when he comes through town.”
Lila nodded, digesting that—another Calabrese man who enjoyed a temporary arrangement. Come to think of it, hadn’t Jack’s dad been married a half-dozen times? She wondered if Jack had ever been in a long-term relationship. Yet again, she felt an unpleasant twinge of jealousy. “What about Zane?” she asked, wondering how he fit into the mix.
Jack scowled. “Don’t get me started. I’ve never had anything that douche bag didn’t try to steal, starting with my teddy bear and ending with my father.”
Lila couldn’t repress a smile at his aggrieved expression. “Sounds like there might be a girl in there somewhere.”
“Or several.”
She sat back in the seat as a server arrived and set a tall parfait glass and a tiny bottle of cola in front of her. She identified the Long Island Iced Tea Float from the menu. She used a long spoon to sample each ice cream flavor, identifying gin and rum blended with lemon and tequila mixed with orange. Pouring the cola over the top and watching it froth and fizz, she bent to sip from the candy straw and couldn’t prevent a smile from breaking out across her face.
Simple concept. Clever execution. Pure fun.
Across the table, Jack was taking large bites of what looked like a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich. The edges had been rolled in toffee bits that had to be homemade. “Hold up there, speedy. Hand it over.”
He shook his head.
“You can have a sip of my soda,” she wheedled. “What kind of ice cream is that?”
“Irish Cream.”
Now she really wanted a bite.
