by Cathryn Fox
Desperately, Lily kept her mouth shut even as her heart said, I want you to love me, but she couldn’t say those words. That wasn’t why he was there, as a traitorous part of her had hoped.
Into that brief awkward silence between them Dylan spoke, dropped a figure, the amount of money the network was willing to pay her.
She turned, looked at him incredulously. The number stunned her.
“Per year,” Dylan added, quietly, watching her.
Dylan knew what that kind of money would mean – financial freedom, independence from the bank that held her mortgage – and he wasn’t afraid to use it against her. He wanted this now almost as much as he sensed Evan did.
From his inquiries, he knew she was making money from the restaurant and her cookbooks, but she wasn’t rolling in dough.
He’d done a thorough background check on her and even Evan had been surprised by what the private investigators found.
They’d been more alike than they’d guessed, all three of them.
Like he and Evan, Lily had grown up rough, struggling.
From the reports they learned that at the age of twelve she’d bussed her mother’s tables at a local restaurant and been paid under the table. That kind of thing hadn’t been unusual in her hometown, a struggling rust belt village tucked away in the mountains.
The money was desperately needed at home. A single mom, her mother had three other children at home, all boys.
Lily hadn’t needed help with cooking, though. She’d had a passion, a gift, she could cook like no one’s business. Paying for her schooling was another matter, though. Vocational school had gotten her a scholarship to the Culinary Institute of America, the nation’s premier cooking school. Working after class, on weekends and on holidays, saving every penny, she’d scraped together enough to get there. The CIA had arranged for her to go to France and the Cordon Bleu chefs there. She’d studied with them for more than a year.
Born poor, trading on his looks although he hated it, Evan had gone to London and then to the States from Scotland for the opportunities. He’d traded on his face and modeled to raise the money to buy his first restaurant. Then he tried to shed that image while he built a reputation as a chef. Few now remembered how he’d started although the pictures were still out there and popped up from time to time.
Dylan had grown up in the bayous of Louisiana and worked hard to get rid of the soft southern accent that made some people think he was stupid. He’d held on to the manners and the sensibility, though.
That was something else they all shared, a determination not to forget their roots, where they’d come from.
Those memories of coming up the hard way were why Evan worked with so many charities. He remembered what it was to grow up in the wrong areas of Glasgow.
Like them, Lily was a poor kid made good, she’d fought and struggled to get where she wanted to be.
Yet she hadn’t bowed down and taken what everyone dished out. When push came to shove she’d kept her pride, her dignity. She’d walked away from everything Evan could offer and all the advantages he could give her. She’d made it the hard way on her own terms.
Dylan respected that.
So, whether he admitted it or not, did Evan.
Dylan watched her face as the numbers clicked in her head.
It was a lot of money.
With a glance at Evan, Lily reflected that deciding would have been easier if he wasn’t so damn beautiful. If she didn’t care so much about him. In her heart of hearts, she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t because she wanted another chance to be with him, to fool herself into thinking there might be something between them.
She couldn’t risk everything she’d worked for on that.
To have two such gorgeous men gang up on her, if not quite literally – mentally she rolled her eyes at the visual that thought produced even as her body went hot – was just a little distracting.
That didn’t help. She needed to concentrate.
It was a lot of money, too much money for her to walk away from easily. In a year rather than another ten years her restaurant could be truly hers. She could even consider making some of the improvements she hadn’t been able to justify, not yet.
Lily chanced another look at Evan from beneath her lashes.
He was even more gorgeous up close. His energy, his passion, charged the very air around him. She remembered the passion and fury very well. And damn if he wasn’t even more sexy when he was angry, raging at her.
As always, just looking at him made her heart beat a little faster, her nipples go tight within the lace confines of her bra. In her mind’s eye, it was far too easy to picture her fingers spread across the magnificent chest she’d once only glimpsed. Her pussy dampened and flexed at the thought. She’d always wanted him, wanted that passion unleashed on her, beneath her, on top of her.
That thought wasn’t helping either.
She smothered a sigh of frustration.
What did help was remembering the last time she’d seen him, the harsh words, his parting shot at her.
It had hurt then. It hurt now.
“If you leave now, your career is over,” he’d shouted. “You know it and I know it. I’ll have someone to replace you in a day.”
The words had stung, especially the last ones. Even worse because she knew they were true.
People would line up to take her place.
What she hadn’t wanted to admit was that she’d wanted him to want her to stay. It hurt even more that he hadn’t. Never once had he indicated otherwise.
In the end, he’d been wrong. Her career hadn’t been over, it had just been a lot harder for her to achieve. Far more importantly though, she’d proven she didn’t need him, didn’t need his stamp of approval on her career. Everything she’d done, from building her restaurant to establishing her reputation to publishing her cookbooks, had been accomplished on her own merit and not because she’d trained with Evan Taylor.
Turning on her heel, she looked Dylan Bryant in the eye and threw up her hands.
“Yes, it’s a wonderful opportunity. I can’t deny that. I have to ask you, though, do I look like a masochist?” she demanded.
She waved a hand at Evan.
“Did he tell you what happened? Why I left?”
If he didn’t remember, she did, all too well.
Known for his demanding perfectionism, Evan was one of the premier chefs in the world. Working with him had been an incredible break and she knew it. To be invited to work in his kitchen was a privilege, a divine opportunity to work with the Master. For her it had been.
His passion, his perfectionism, was well known. She respected that.
So was his temperament.
She could have, would have, taken the abuse if it had been about her cooking, but it hadn’t.
When he went into one of his towering rages though, he was as likely to target anyone, indiscriminately shouting at everyone. She’d been used to it she’d thought, until she had to ask a question in the middle of one of his tirades and he’d gone off on her.
Flinging out a hand in fury, he’d knocked the full plate from her hands.
The entire plate would have to have been redone, and quickly. Not an easy matter.
It was an accident, she’d known it even then, but it had been the last straw and she’d exploded right back at him.
It had been a shouting match to end all shouting matches.
Even worse, in the face of that rage she’d been oddly turned on by his intensity. She always was. Some part of her had wondered even then what it would be like to have all that passion wrapped around her, his mouth fierce on hers, his body hammering against hers.
Perhaps that had been part of it, that wild attraction.
She’d been in love with him even then, knowing that it was stupid, that half his staff was obsessed with him, but it was especially so when he paraded one gorgeous model after another through the restaurant on the way to one event or another. Like rock star
s and actors, dating models was a part of his mystique. He didn’t seem to care about any of them.
Even now she kicked herself mentally for it.
She never forgot the stunned, furious look on his face when she’d thrown her apron in it and walked out.
Now, remembering, she turned on her heel and walked away again, needing distance, and looked around the room instead.
This was her place, her restaurant. Hers and the bank’s. She’d worked hard for it, built it, established a reputation in the city and in her field.
The décor was French Provencal with a modern edge and without the kitschy elements so the look was antique, but clean. An outer patio allowed diners to eat al fresco if they chose. A fine, nearly invisible netting draped above and around the dining area to keep insects at bay, but allow a nice view of the surrounding mountains in the daytime and the stars at night.
Two days a week the restaurant was closed except for special events and her cooking classes while the kitchen was cleaned from top to bottom.
The restaurant was hers, but the money Evan’s show was willing to pay her would give her opportunities she’d only dreamed of. She’d be a fool not to consider it.
Idly, she dipped a finger in one of the sauces, brought it to her lips and tasted it before she tapped the tops over the pots of fuel with a fingernail to put them out. The sauce was quite good if she said so herself, a reminder she was a capable chef in her own right, with a line of best selling cookbooks to prove it.
Watching her walk away, Dylan mentally shook his head in response to her question. No, he didn’t think she was a masochist. He thought she was incredible.
Seeing her go toe-to-toe with Evan, standing nearly a foot shorter than he was, undaunted, her eyes brilliant, that sexy mouth snarling back at him, had been a surprising turn on. Watching her lick the sugary sauce from her finger, though, the sweet scent filling the room, had sent a shot of heat straight to his groin and brought his cock sharply to attention. Not that it hadn’t been more than halfway there already.
He didn’t want to think how close he’d come to missing this opportunity.
They’d been out at a club, he and Evan, both a little drunk when Dylan had carefully brought up the subject of making changes to the show.
He was worried, the ratings had dropped a little although Evan personally was as popular as ever, especially with the female fans. Nevertheless, the network execs were getting on Dylan to make some changes, spice things up, revive the excitement of the first season. Maybe find a way to bring in some male viewers.
“How the hell do I do that, Evan?” Dylan had complained after his fourth or fifth martini, “When you scare the crap out of everyone?”
It was nothing more than the truth. The restaurant where they did the filming, rebuilt and redesigned for the show, had constant turnover. Once or twice they’d even had to replace a cameraman or show staffer after Evan had gone off on them.
No one at the home office complained. The fans scarcely noticed. In fact, some cheered every departure. Others took odds on who would go next. Some of them were nuts. The posts on social networking sites were astonishing, some of which were mind-boggling. It was amazing what people would post publically. Evan’s e-mail was incredible. One or two of them were damn scary. Some of the women sent pictures. Explicit pictures.
To Evan’s shock and fury, he’d even attracted a stalker who left black roses for him, keyed his car on one occasion and flattened the tires on another. The personal style of the attacks and the closeness were disturbing. It had gotten so bad Dylan had moved into Evan’s apartment just to give his volatile star a buffer.
“Not everyone,” Evan had said in answer to Dylan’s statement, although the question had been rhetorical. “You’re not the only one who isn’t afraid of me.”
That had gotten Dylan’s attention.
“You mean there’s someone besides me who told you to fuck off?” he’d asked incredulously, intrigued.
Staring down into his glass, Evan had said, “Yes.”
“Damn, that guy had balls,” Dylan had said in admiration. “I have to meet him.”
“Her. Girl,” Evan had muttered, his expression dark. “Woman…”
Dylan had been speechless, completely floored. He’d goggled drunkenly at Evan for all of sixty seconds and then blurted loudly enough for the whole room to hear, “A chick? A girl told you to fuck off?”
The Great Evan Taylor told off by a girl. In Dylan’s inebriated state the thought was mind-boggling.
Evan had stared silently into his glass.
Sitting back Dylan had looked at Evan in astonishment.
“A girl. I gotta meet this girl,” he’d said. “Who is she? What’s her name?”
“Lily Cavanaugh.”
The name had sounded oddly romantic and a little familiar. Then it had come to him. She was the girl with the cookbooks he’d seen making the rounds on the talk shows, the hot one who’d attended the CIA and studied in France.
There had been a moment of silence as those facts passed through his alcohol-impaired mind.
Then, “She’s a chef?” he’d said in astonishment.
Not just a chef, but a Culinary Institute of America certified Paris trained Cordon Bleu chef.
That was all it had taken. She was perfect.
“Tell me everything,” he’d said.
Evan, his eyes on his glass, had.
What Dylan hadn’t anticipated was the real Lily Cavanaugh, the impact she would have on him once he met her.
It was one thing to admire her on some talk show, another to meet her, to listen to her as she taught her students or watch her verbally spar with Evan. What he hadn’t anticipated was how much he would want her.
And he did want her. Intensely.
Chapter Three
“It is the opportunity of a lifetime, Lily,” Evan said, his tone determined, at his most persuasive. “You know it and I know it. It’s a chance to establish your reputation for the world to see, to promote your cookbooks. You’d be the sous chef, but the network has already said it’ll give you free rein. You’ll be able to say what you want, do what you want. If you want to walk you can do that, too. I made sure of it.”
Lily turned, to find him standing right behind her, so close.
She looked up into his glacier blue eyes, at his beautiful sexy mouth and a rush of heat shot to her core so quickly her head spun even as her pussy tightened.
In an instant, she was breathless. He was too close. She could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his body against hers.
“Back off, Evan,” she said, desperately, placing a hand on his chest to make him keep his distance. “I can’t think when you’re so close.”
She took a step back herself, needing to create some distance of her own, only to find Dylan had come up behind her as reinforcement for Evan.
“He’s right, Lily,” he said, his tone coaxing, compelling.
Turning, she looked up into Evan’s handsome face, at his firm mouth. She was all too aware of the feel of his long lean body against her. Desire flashed through her. Her body was on fire. Her nipples ached.
“You too,” she said, echoing her earlier thought, “You’re just as bad. I can’t think with the two of you ganging up on me.”
Saying those words was a mistake, she knew it the minute she said them. The mental image of the two of them closing in on her sent another flash of heat racing through her, her thighs instantly damp from the flood of moisture between them. Betraying color rose in her face.
Suddenly Evan smiled and in that moment he looked wolfish, or devilish, and she knew she’d lost whatever advantage she’d had. She’d given herself away. He knew her too well.
Evan jumped on it.
“Can’t you?” he asked softly, and the intensity in his voice brought her back around to face him.
His eyes flashed. Like a wolf to the kill, he closed on her, the look in his eyes exhilarating and terrifying.
S
omething in those simple words, in that look, in the heat in his eyes, sent another rush of excitement through her. She nearly moaned, caught it back just in time.
She took a step back, only to find another wolf behind her. Dylan. His eyes were intent.
He’d caught her slip too, her inadvertent admission of desire for both of them.
Reaching out, Dylan tugged the ribbon from her hair slowly to free it.
She shivered, but couldn’t bring herself to stop him. Didn’t want to stop them. Wild fantasies raced through her mind.
Dylan drew her hair back from her neck, her shoulder. Warm lips caressed her skin.
She trembled.
“So soft,” he murmured, against the curve of her throat.
Then she did moan, she couldn’t help it. Her pussy went damp.
She looked at Evan and saw him smile a little.
Evan cupped her cheek, slid his fingers into her hair.
It had been a revelation for him to hear those words, to see the look in her eyes and watch her lips part.
She did want him.
Every nerve in his body came alive to know that, to know she wanted him too, and that he could shake that control of hers.
His cock was already hard. Her presence, even after nearly a decade, had done that. Knowing that the attraction between them was mutual? That he made her as crazy as she made him? His cock was rigid, throbbing.
To know she felt the same way about Dylan? That was something he’d never considered. Yet the idea turned him on more than he could believe.
Neither he nor Dylan had ever mentioned it, spoken about their desire to share one woman and there was no need to talk about it now. It was almost instinctual. He just went with it.
He watched as her mouth softened and went loose as Dylan’s lips brushed over her shoulder. She trembled. Seeing that only made Evan harder. Taking her soft mouth with his just seemed to close the circuit between the three of them, sent electricity racing through him.
In those three inch heels, she was just the right height for them to feast on her, to devour.
Evan didn’t just taste her mouth, he savored her the way he would a fine wine, swept his tongue through the sweet velvet depths, tested the texture, the flavor of her. She tasted of Lily, of the sugar and whiskey in the sauce she’d sampled. He groaned, wrapped an arm around her waist even as Dylan did, so they sandwiched her between them.
