Del shook his head. “In the face of their grief, it hardly seemed important.”
“But you lost your job—that’s so unfair.” Shaye turned sideways and slid her arms around him. She hugged him, pressing her face into his throat. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Del stiffened under her touch, but she didn’t pull away.
“Jessica could’ve died. If I’d never broken my own rule and gotten involved with her, things may’ve turned out differently.” He gently peeled her off and rose to his feet.
“You’re too smart to believe that bullshit.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He held out a hand. “C’mon then, cupcake. I’ll carry you over to the hotel.”
She shook her head and stood, smoothing down the billowy folds of her dress. “I can walk.”
They crossed to the front entrance of Due South in silence.
At the bottom of the steps, she turned and brushed a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Guilt nearly destroyed my family and screwed up my sister’s life for years. Don’t feed that wolf anymore, baby, it’ll fuck you up.”
Then she disappeared inside.
The motorcycle he’d borrowed off Ford was parked out back, so Del walked around the outside of Due South, glancing up at the rear corner window. Shaye’s light blinked on. His gut clenched low and hard. More than anything he wanted to climb those stairs and knock on her door.
But thinking about all this shit with Jessica churned through him like a bad dose of food poisoning. He was headed into the same dangerous waters with Shaye—more dangerous than the ones he’d dipped his toe in with Jessica.
Because this time, he wasn’t messing around with an attractive woman who kept his demons at bay. This time he was messing with a woman he could fall for big time…and never recover.
Chapter 16
“Cut—cut!”
Shaye looked up from plating her rib-eye to Henry’s red-faced fury. What now? She tucked the cloth into her apron and slanted a glance at Ethan and Del, the latter who also glared at the little director.
Henry stomped over and threw up his hands. “The bleeding hell is wrong with you today?”
Shaye reared back as if he’d slapped her.
“Don’t talk to my sous like that,” Del snarled, leaving his post at the burners with Ethan to stalk across the room. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Exactly. She hasn’t done anything. She’s a doormat, all ‘yes, chef, no chef, anything-you-fucking-say-chef.’” Henry bared his teeth like a terrier about to nip an ankle.
Shaye tilted her chin down to meet Henry’s gaze. “I’m no one’s bloody doormat.”
Del didn’t touch her, but the connection between them flared hot and bright. She’d tried everything this morning to disguise it in front of the cameras.
She’d focused her entire being on the lunch service rush—a fake rush, of course, since Henry had filled the front of house with pre-selected locals and tourists keen to be on the show. Fake. Everything about this production was faked except, she conceded, Ethan Ward’s skill in the kitchen. The man was brilliant.
With the camera crew underfoot, and the scripted feel of the whole service—including directions given to their “guests” on what to say when their meals were delivered—she’d begun to loathe her part in this production. Her big-girl panties were pulled up high enough to continue for Due South’s sake—for Del’s sake. Didn’t mean she’d allow the annoying little man to treat her like a cowering dog.
Henry sneered, leaning on the counter, getting in her face. “Viewers don’t want to see you and Del acting as if you are an old married couple. They want the kind of conflict we saw on the audition tape. Your snark and witty one-liners.”
Shaye narrowed her eyes, tempted to grab a roasting fork and stab his hand. A heavy palm landed on her shoulder, long fingers curling over enough to restrain her should she lunge.
“My sous has always behaved professionally while I’ve worked with her.” Del’s voice could’ve flash frozen a pot of boiling water.
“I think what Henry’s trying to say”—Ethan strolled to stand on her other side—“is we need a little more disharmony between the two of you for today’s shoot.”
She pasted on a small, tight smile, which Holly had nicknamed her I’m about to rip your face off smile, and turned to Ethan. “I’m doing my job, and I’m doing it to the best of my abilities with a bunch of strangers in our kitchen.”
“I understand. And no one”—Ethan glared at his director—“is suggesting you’re not.” He squeezed her arm. “You’re doing great for a first timer in front of a camera.”
Del’s grip tightened a fraction. She needn’t be a telepath to understand he didn’t like Ethan touching her. Kind of flattering and irritating at the same time.
Shaye stepped to the side, pulling away from both men and walking around the counter to stand in front of Henry. Being a good two inches taller than him, she used her ram-rod spine to her advantage.
“What you saw in the audition tapes were teething difficulties and not my normal behavior. Del and I have sorted out our differences in the kitchen, and we work well together. We’re a team.” The words blurting out of her mouth were a revelation to her, as well.
The most truthful sentences she’d spoken all morning.
Once Del got past being an arrogant jerk, and she’d gone beyond trying to prove her balls were just as big as his, they actually did work well together. They were a team.
Henry’s lip curled, but before he could speak, Ethan interrupted again. “That’s wonderful, Shaye. Really.” He spread his hands. “But for now, we need the viewers to see the tension and conflict between head and sous chef. Give them discord, so after I swoop in to help, it’ll appear you’ve made enormous progression in your working relationship.”
“Not to mention your personal one,” said Henry drily.
Shaye’s jaw sagged. Oh, God. Were they that obvious? Her gaze zipped to Del, who looked at Henry as if the man were something Del’d scraped off his shoe.
“Now you’re a team, and all.” The director switched on a blindingly insincere smile. “I can come up with a few bitchy lines for you, love, if you need.”
Shaye stared icicles down her nose, hoping they’d stab him in the eye. “I know how to be a bitch without your lines.”
Henry muttered, “Good, let’s see it then,” and went to instruct Joss and Cruz.
Ethan winked at her and turned back to the burners.
Shaye slapped her hand on the bell to summon Lani. “Run to table seven.”
Del’s shoes scuffed behind her. He ducked his head and breathed into her ear, the whiff of basil and cedar wood drifting into her nostrils. “Do your worst; I’m man enough to take it.”
Only she could hear his next words over the rattle of pans, the chatter of Ethan’s crew, and the hiss and sizzle of the grill. “And tonight, I’ll make you pay for each and every bitchy word.”
***
Okay. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that second glass of bubbly on a nearly empty stomach. Shaye dumped the rest of her champagne down the sink and set the plastic flute on Kezia’s kitchen counter, next to the empty plates and trays from Piper’s hen party. The flute slid off and clattered to the floor. Dammit, why hadn’t her brother fixed Kez’s counter? It obviously wasn’t level.
Shaye rubbed the toe of her strappy sandals in the few drops of golden liquid spilling out of the flute. They didn’t magically evaporate. Whoops. She twisted around to look for a dish cloth.
The room tilted the teeniest bit.
Whoa, now.
She grabbed the top of a dining chair and glanced over at the women in Kezia’s family room. Thankfully, nobody noticed. Hen party games over—her gift of handcuffs and crotch-less panties the subject of many good-natured barbs slung at her big sister—many of the guests had already left. Some, like Denise Komeke and Caroline Russell, to collect their men from West’s bachelor night, held down the road at Due S
outh.
Shaye and Piper had given West grief about having a bachelor night at the pub. Her future brother-in-law had rolled his eyes.
“Jeez, you two,” he’d said. “Ben and Del aren’t planning a girly night with pin-the-dick-on-the-fireman and party favors. We’re going to get righteously smashed, and everyone’ll congratulate me on what a hot babe I’m marrying this Saturday.”
“Sounds like fun,” Shaye had muttered and left them to make kissy faces.
And Piper’s party had been fun. Being in the most fabulous, loosy-goosy mood after Del had rocked her world the night before—and not even another day’s stressful filming could dull her glow—Shaye had let her guard down after the first round of Pin the Dick on the Fireman (yes, it had been her idea, and screw you, Ryan Westlake) and accepted a glass of champagne. Then, of course, she had to have another to do the toasting thing, plus another half, because let’s not forget to toast the groom too. Well. She hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said to Del that a couple of drinks and she was anyone’s. She wasn’t anyone’s, but she sure wasn’t thinking with icy clarity.
Actually…the only thing she could think about was missing Del. Would he be having fun with his brother and the guys? She hoped he’d let his guard down enough over the last few weeks to realize he’d been accepted into the empty spot missing from West, Ben, and Ford’s little circle of mates.
Though none of them would ever admit such a thing.
Men.
Shaye snagged the wrap she’d worn over her cute, fifties style, rose-print tea dress and slung it across her shoulders.
“You off, sweets?” Holly said from beside her.
Shaye whipped around, wobbled in her heels, and righted herself. “Yep. Heading home to hit the sack.”
Holly’s brow crinkled. “You okay?”
“Just a little sleepy and light-headed—you know me. I shouldn’t have had that last half a glass.”
Holly bent down, taking off her bright yellow flip-flops with daisies on the straps. “Here, swapsies. I let you walk home in those heels and you sprain your ankle, Piper’ll kill me.”
Shaye shot a sideways glance at the women surrounding her sister. “I’m not drunk; just a little tipsy—and I won’t fall on my ass walking back to the hotel.”
Holly raised her eyebrows.
“Fine.” Shaye toed off her heels.
Holly offered her arm, and Shaye grabbed it, sliding her feet into the flip-flops and picking up her small shoulder bag.
Holly squeezed her arm. “You want me to come too?”
Shaye shook her head. “I’ll just sleep it off, ‘kay?” She allowed Holly to tow her to Kezia’s front door and flip-flopped out onto the deck and turned—slowly, because she’d learned her lesson about sudden moves—to her friend. “Night, Hol.” Then she blew a kiss and carefully climbed down the steps to the garden path.
“Night, Shaye-Shaye. Be good.”
Shaye rolled her eyes and headed down the road to Due South.
Getting real tired of being good, especially since Piper and West’s wedding was in four days—ergo, the man she wanted to be bad with would leave town soon after.
Ergo, she didn’t want to miss any opportunity to get up-close and naked with him.
Ergo—Shaye stopped opposite the bar windows and stared inside. Del—even at this distance the glimpse of his smile fired off all sorts of yearny-achy feelings down low in her belly.
Shaye pulled the wrap tighter around her shoulders.
Ergo, a night alone was ugh, unappealing. Maybe she’d send him a text and get him to come up once the boys’ night was done. But biting her lip to stop from screaming Del’s name and waking the guests next door wasn’t the ideal way to spend one of their last night’s together.
Huh. She blinked blearily at the windows. What to do…what to do?
A sous chef prided him or herself on solving problems that arose, allowing the head chef to focus on more important things. And she was a damn fine sous—if she did say so herself. She’d solve this little privacy problem by hiking her butt out to Del’s place and climbing into his bed.
Thirty-minute walk? No problem. The fresh air would wake her up. Shaye flip-flopped past Due South toward Shearwater Bay.
***
Who knew he could make one beer last the whole evening and not give in to drinking a second? Who knew he’d not once feel as if he wanted a second beer, when he could only think about Shaye in her pretty flowery dress walking up the road to the hen party earlier.
Del checked his watch for the umpteenth time and caught a glimpse of the same flowery fabric outside the window. He glanced up to see the sway of Shaye’s hips disappear out of sight along the foreshore road.
Where was she off to?
A coil of warmth spiraled through his chest. Guaranteed she’d snuck out of Kezia’s place and was headed to his—and with any luck, into his bed. The warmth chilled as his brain registered two important things: pitch dark out and it appeared Shaye didn’t have a flashlight.
“That my sister?” Ben’s bulk leaned forward and peered out the window, blocking Del’s line of sight.
Del put his empty beer bottle—which he’d had Kip refill a couple of times with soda water—down on a nearby table. “Yep. Looks like it.”
“Where the hell is she off to at this time of night?” Ben’s eyebrows twitched together.
Damn.
Del straightened his shoulders and braced himself. “She’s looking for me.”
“What?” Ben’s voice contained a note of confusion as he twisted and rose up on his toes, trying to see beyond the outdoor umbrella one of the staff had forgotten to take down after dinner service earlier. “Why would she walk right past Due South looking for…?”
Ben jerked away from the window as if someone had shoved a cattle prod up his ass. Yep…he’d figured out the answer. Built like the proverbial shithouse wall, Ben Harland was the kind of guy you wanted on your side in a brawl. Not the kind of guy you wanted pissed at you for sleeping with his baby sister.
But he’d take whatever Ben decided to dish out. Long as he got it over with fast—Del didn’t like the idea of Shaye wandering around in the dark alone.
“She’s going to your place?” Ben glowered at him. “Aw, fuck no. Not you and Shaye.”
He met Ben’s gaze flatly. “Yeah, me and Shaye.”
Ben shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it standing up in wild tangles. “You’re gonna break her heart, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “Shit. Then I’ll have to rip your legs off, West’s little brother or not. It’s my duty, man. Sorry.”
Something hot like an over-spiced meatball lodged in Del’s throat and refused to budge. He didn’t give a shit if Ben wanted to pound him, but why the hell did everyone assume he’d be the one to hurt her? The woman had a spine of steel—as a teenager she’d single-handedly helped her mum through her grief, she was a dedicated sous who’d gone above and beyond her duties to support his father, and he’d watched over the last month as she’d taken care of everyone else in Oban but herself.
She was the strong one.
She was the one who’d wave him off at the ferry terminal with a smile. She was the one who’d stand, while he fell to pieces walking away from her.
He folded his arms. “I’m not going to break her heart.”
Ben narrowed his eyes and said nothing. Then he nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You know what?” The twitch turned into a smirk. “I believe you. Because you’re gone on her, aren’t you?”
Del’s jaw sagged, his mind going blank. “Uh. N-now, hang on a second.”
Ben’s smirk ratcheted up into a shark’s grin. “Mate, you are really screwed.” He moved around the table and yanked Del’s jacket off the back of the chair. “So move your ass before she gets lost, eh?” He balled up the jacket and tossed it.
Del caught it, opened his mouth, closed it at Ben’s raised eyebrows, and sighed. “Yeah. I’m moving my ass.”
&n
bsp; “Good. ‘Cause I’m still tempted to lodge my size thirteen work-boot in it.”
Del shot him a grimaced smile, and Ben cocked a finger in his direction. “I’ve been through this kind of drama once with your brother, so don’t make me come after you.”
“Remember, I’ve always been faster than you, Harland.” Del shrugged on his jacket.
“You have. But one day, you’re gonna have to stop running.”
With a sour taste in his mouth he couldn’t blame on beer, Del headed out of the bar and into the night. The breeze had picked up and clouds scudded across the sky, blocking what little light the moon spilled over Oban’s quiet streets.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he considered taking Ford’s bike. Nah. The walk would clear his head from all these crazy thoughts swirling around in it. He hustled past the last streetlamp, his footfalls echoing. A moonbeam broke through the clouds and illuminated Shaye’s silhouette about a hundred yards ahead. A silhouette definitely not walking in a straight line.
Prickles scurried down his spine, sucked into a gaping vortex left in his gut by the memory of seeing Jessica that last time. Del picked up the pace, easily gaining on Shaye, who appeared to be placing each foot on the road with studious care.
Suddenly, she whirled, something draped around her shoulders puddling to the ground. She tried to keep her balance, but her arms flailed. He sprinted the last couple of steps and grabbed her hand.
“Oh. Hey. It’s you,” she said. “My sexy chef with the very fine asssss.”
Del reeled her in, and she poured onto him like sticky toffee, draping one arm over his shoulder, the other snaking down to squeeze his butt cheek. He jerked, not just from the ass-squeeze, but from the cold nose jammed into the crook of his neck.
“Shaye, you’re freezing.”
He ran his hand over her bare arms, goosepimples tickling his palms. Freezing, but thank Christ, safe.
“Cupcake. Call me cupcake.” She snuggled closer, her limp weight knocking him back half a step. “I like it when you call me cupcake.”
Del wrapped an arm around her waist to support her and peeled her hand off his ass, his heart still racing fit to burst. He held her close, sucking down the scent of her—floral perfume, a hint of chocolate and orange…and the unmistakable whiff of champagne.
Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) Page 23
