The Flirtation Game: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance

by Allie Burton

  “Which is why I started cooking regularly after Mom died. Starvation. A guy needs to eat.” He swung his legs back and forth. The nervous gesture was unusual. He stared straight ahead and gave the impression of picturing a different time, a worse time. “My dad hated everything to do with cooking. Including me.” His raw and wounded tone sounded as if the words had caught in his throat.

  “No. That’s not possible.”

  “We both did a good job of hiding the animosity.”

  She ached for him. He seemed so hurt and lost. A boy rejected by his father. She patted his sleeve, frustrated that through her mitten and his thick coat the contact went unnoticed. She dropped her hand.

  The chair continued to climb the mountain. The posts flew by. The trees thinned, hitting the tree line. The air and the atmosphere got thinner and colder. He appeared lost in his memories. Bad memories.

  Her mind scrambled. The dad he described didn’t fit with her memories, and Danielle had certainly never said anything. “Your dad hated you?” Isabel couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

  “He hated I wanted to cook, to be a chef.” His tortured tone ripped through her.

  “I didn’t know.” How had she missed it? She’d spent hours a day at the Marstrand house. Maybe because she was either talking to her best friend or observing Michael from a distance.

  “No one did. Not even my sister.” He swung his head to stare with an intense-determined expression. “Please don’t tell her.”

  The request sent a quiver through her. She shared everything with Danielle. They were best friends.

  “I won’t say anything.” Isabel knew he needed assurance. “You need to talk to her. Explain.”

  “Danielle thinks of Dad as a hero. He took her and Bri in and helped them.”

  The fact Michael didn’t want to ruin his sister’s image of her father even while he held a very different opinion made him a hero in Isabel’s mind. Her heart swelled. He was protecting his sister and niece. “I understand, but secrets are always destructive to relationships.”

  He jerked back as if she’d slapped him, and she didn’t understand what had caused such a strong reaction.

  “Dad made fun of me. Refused to help with culinary school.” His voice went hard. “That’s why when I left town, I vowed to leave for good.”

  She wanted to growl in frustration. Finally, he was confessing to her, they were growing closer, except the atmosphere didn’t lend itself to deep conversations or caring caresses. She’d have to dig deeper into his internal wounds at another time. If she got another time. They were almost at the top of the mountain and one important question had popped into her mind. “What brought you back?”

  He stiffened, and his expression went blank. His mouth closed tight. He fiddled with his goggles and gripped his ski poles. He lifted the safety bar. “Ready to go?”

  He was shutting down. Completely.

  With sagging shoulders, she followed him off the chair and down the slope. He yodeled like they used to do as kids starting a run. Maniacal laughter followed, as if he was trying to forget their serious conversation. She sped after him, following his mood-changing lead, wanting to enjoy this time together, wondering what had brought him back to Castle Ridge and if he planned to stay.

  She wanted him to stay, knowing if he did she’d probably be out of job. She couldn’t work by his side, even become co-head chef, and stay only friends. She liked Michael, wanted him, and the searing attraction would continue to grow and possibly become something more.

  Turn into love.

  * * *

  Michael raced like the devil pursued him. He couldn’t believe he’d shared his darkest, tortured memories with Isabel. He’d vowed never to return to Castle Ridge, and never to divulge what had driven him away. He’d broken both vows.

  His not-so-happy laughter echoed down the slopes.

  The first broken vow, returning to Castle Ridge, had been a calculated decision. To escape Los Angeles and save an about-to-be tarnished reputation. To help a friend. He didn’t plan to stay in town long.

  The second, divulging his father’s treatment, had spilled out of him like an over-boiling pot. Once the stream started, the words wouldn’t stop. Something about her tone had made him believe his secrets would be safe with her. How?

  She was a gossip and a flirt and his sister’s best friend. Was those things. She’d changed, matured. He’d shared his darkest flaws, and she’d sympathized and still respected him. That had to have meaning. His confused emotions towards her tickled, wanting to escape his mind. He forced the feeling back. He wasn’t willing to explore a relationship with her. She was off-limits.

  She zoomed next to him in tight ski pants and a happy smile. He wanted to be the reason for her smile. “Want to race?”

  He swooshed the snow and stopped. “I wasn’t going fast enough for you?”

  “Skiing? Yes, you’re going fast enough.” Raising her hand, she traced a finger around his lips—lips that had been cold now suddenly blazing hot. Under the goggles, her eyebrows rose in a suggestive fashion, signifying she wanted other things going faster.

  His internal body temperature spiked as if he’d been dropped into a preheated oven. Imagining how the two of them would cook together caused his shaft to harden. He wanted nothing more than to have an uncomplicated affair with her, yet there was so much more to consider.

  The hidden cameras. His attempt to return to his L.A. career. His sister’s anger.

  Shifting his feet, he tried to make his body cool down and get more comfortable. “Isabel, I…”

  Digging her poles into the snow, her teasing grin grew slowly. “Beat you to the bottom.” She shoved off and down the hill.

  He stumbled, his traitorous body finally catching up to what she’d done. She’d led him on to get the winning advantage. She’d used her flirting to catch him off guard. And it had worked.

  A rueful smile teased his lips, remembering similar tactics as a teen. She’d use her sexiness to distract and then rush forward to win a race or some other contest. She was good at distracting and flirting. As a dumb teenage boy, she’d annoyed him. As an adult, maybe he should take what she offered. A good time with no strings.

  His groin tightened and he shifted, bringing his body under control. He couldn’t make up his mind about her. If he decided to take her to bed, he’d need to be extra careful at work and in front of his sister. He headed down the slope, letting her keep the lead. He enjoyed watching the way her butt wiggled back and forth. He didn’t need to win this race.

  But the other race she’d hinted at? He couldn’t decide if letting her win would let him win too, or if they’d both end up big losers.

  * * *

  When they arrived at the bottom at the end of a fun afternoon, Michael’s legs were the consistency of marmalade. They’d had fun dancing around the moguls, racing down the slopes, and swishing through the tree runs. They’d laughed and flirted and skirted around their attraction. And for a while, he’d forgotten about his responsibilities and his promises.

  “Après-ski drink?” Bending down, she reached for her skis, pressing her plump cheeks in the air.

  His body responded. He wanted to grab her butt and press it against him. He controlled his body’s response, not his answer. “Sure.”

  Having a drink was the polite thing to do. They were in a public place. It couldn’t be too dangerous.

  After settling into cushy chairs by the bar, they ordered their drinks.

  Her cheeks were rosy from the wind and cool temperatures outside. She wore no make-up, and he liked this fresh-faced Isabel. It reminded him of when she’d been a teen. Her ski sweater sculpted to her upper body, not hiding anything adult about her. He relished this new, adult, Isabel better. Better than any other woman he’d dated.

  The bartender placed their hot chocolate and Bailey’s in front of them, breaking his trance. The hot liquid steamed into the air.

  She wrapped her hands around the mug.
“Fun day.”

  The day had been fun and unexpected and titillating. “Yes.”

  “So different than a day in a hot kitchen.” With her emphasis on the word hot, she must’ve noticed his ogling.

  He pulled at his too-tight collar. Even though they spent the afternoon in the freezing cold, he’d been warm all day. From the exercise and from being in her company. “The exact opposite.”

  The area around the bar was crowded. Many people enjoyed a drink after a hard day on the slopes. The happy-talk surrounded them, putting them in an intimate bubble of their own. The world conspired to push them together.

  Maybe he shouldn’t fight with the world as he normally did. Maybe he should enjoy and see what developed, instead of planning. Maybe taking a risk with Isabel would be worth it.

  She stirred her drink. “So, if you learned to cook to survive, how did you learn it well enough to be accepted into cooking school?”

  His hand clenched around the glass. Oh, no. She was trying to restart the conversation from the chairlift. If she only asked about cooking, things would be fine. “We didn’t always have the ingredients a recipe called for at home, so I started experimenting. I found rosemary worked better in some situations than thyme. Or basil added a little freshness to a sauce.” Only another chef would be interested in the specifics. “I learned following a recipe didn’t always have the best results.”

  “I get it.” She took a sip and her gaze glittered with mischief. “Following a recipe is similar to following the rules.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like following rules, either.” Her sly tone sent a shiver of suspicion through him.

  She slipped off a ski boot and it thudded onto the floor. The move wasn’t a striptease. For some reason he found his mouth watering, as if she’d uncovered his favorite dessert. Lifting her leg, she wiggled her toes in the wool sock, and rubbed her foot against his calf covered in thick ski pants.

  Streaks of flame spiraled up his leg to his shaft. The hot drink hit the back of his throat and he choked. “Are you referring to my kitchen rules?”

  The no-dating rule, specifically.

  She shrugged in a noncommittal way. “You said you liked to experiment.” Her foot traveled past his knee and inched up his thigh. “Me, too.”

  His body tingled and his cock hardened, imagining her foot going a little higher, caressing him. He wanted her to fondle him. He grabbed her foot to stop its progress. “Isabel.”

  His thumb moved automatically over the arch of her foot, back and forth. He knew how to make her feel good, wanted to make her feel good. He couldn’t decide whether to take the chance.

  “Hmmm?” She tossed him an innocent expression.

  Except he was no innocent. He knew this could only be a fling. “I think—”

  “Izzy!” A male voice called, using a familiar nickname.

  Too familiar. Michael couldn’t stop the streak of jealousy shooting through him, turning the heat to a deadly cold.

  One of the ski patrol guys she’d been with earlier waved. He had on his red-and-white uniform, making him appear impressive and authoritative. Michael couldn’t get a good look at the guy’s face with his helmet and mask, but the ski patrol member seemed younger.

  Michael iced over. He’d been tempted by a seductress to cross the line.

  She pulled her foot from his hand. Didn’t she want the guy to think they were together? She returned the overly-friendly wave.

  “Izzy, huh?” Gritting his teeth, he leaned closer to whisper even though he wanted to shout. “I saw you with him at lunch.”

  She’d joked and laughed, stood a little too close. And he hadn’t liked it.

  Her eyes widened and she tilted her chin. “Yeah, he—”

  “You should go talk to him.” Flirt with him. Sleep with him. He sounded hard. He wasn’t jealous, only angry their moment had been interrupted. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out being with a new flame. Or is he an old flame?”

  “He’s not a flame.” She angled away, her chin pulling in in surprise.

  Michael’s iced body became a glacier. Unmovable and unmelting.

  “Looks like he wants to be.” Michael took money from his pocket and slapped it on the table to pay for the drinks. He picked up his helmet. “You haven’t changed, Isabel.”

  He’d been thinking about taking a risk with her, of going against his rules. He wouldn’t take a chance for a one-night stand. He wanted more, but not much more, though. If she only wanted a hookup, she could have it with one of her many ski patrol admirers.

  She grabbed on to his arm. Her stiff hand held him in a firm grip. “What’s that supposed to mean.” Not a question, a demand. Temper blazed from her flashing emerald orbs.

  Her temper didn’t crack his façade. “You were a flirt in high school, and you’re a flirt now.” He didn’t want her to know how he really felt. Inconsequential. He yanked his arm away. “How many male hearts have you broken over the years?”

  Her lips puckered into a frown. Hurt dimmed her eyes. “I could ask you the very same question. I read the gossip pages.”

  His breath stopped and restarted. She couldn’t be referring to his legal troubles. The settlement included silence. Had his former business manager squealed? Or was she talking about his over-the-top Hollywood dating?

  Chapter Fourteen

  A flirt?

  Isabel couldn’t stop the flutter of pain, remembering Michael’s accusation yesterday. The only reason she’d been a total flirt in high school was because she was trying to get him to notice her as a girl, not his sister’s annoying friend. A teenage girl who’d had a crush on him throughout high school.

  Now as adults, he finally was noticing her, and believed she was a terrible tease. She could accuse him of the same thing. Sure, she’d had plenty of dates in the past, but she wasn’t loose. She’d had relationships, although never found that special someone.

  Probably because she’d always compared the men in her life to Michael.

  She sighed. She was tired of acting the flirty, party girl. The persona was a way to sample many men, so she could find her true love. Obviously, it wasn’t working. She wanted to be taken seriously as a chef and as a woman. She wanted to be appreciated. She wanted to be loved.

  Her muscles firmed getting ready for battle. He felt something for her, too. She sensed it in his kisses. Except he kept withdrawing. Talk about a tease.

  She’d show Michael flirting. A flirting so intense and targeted he wouldn’t know what hit him. She couldn’t wait to get to the restaurant to put her plan into action. They’d had so much fun skiing. And they’d shared another incredibly powerful kiss. Surely, there could be something more between them.

  Slipping on the pink kitchen clogs in his office, she couldn’t stop the giddiness. He’d bought these for her. He’d rubbed her feet. They’d spent yesterday afternoon together. And then he’d acted the idiot. Was he jealous or just a jerk? She’d bet on the former. She only needed to draw him out, catch him unawares.

  She waltzed into the kitchen, letting the aromas soothe her tension and determination. She loved her job, loved this remodeled kitchen, loved…

  Her thoughts stopped when she spotted Michael.

  Wearing a black chef’s jacket, he sorted through the production box, searching for inspiration for tonight’s specials. Something she used to help Chef Françoise with, something she enjoyed. Holding a quart of salsa verde, Michael raised his head and their gazes connected. Locked.

  “Hey, handsome.” She sauced up her attitude, letting him know she wasn’t going to forget what happened between them yesterday and Sunday night. She wasn’t going to let him ignore the attraction.

  His expression hardened. “Chef.”

  His cold attitude sent a shiver down her spine. He wasn’t going to make this easy. She sauntered to him and trailed a finger across his muscular arm. “Hey, handsome Chef.”

  “Stop.” He pushed her finger off and glanced around, checking
to see if anyone noticed their exchange.

  “Are the specials inspired by the salsa?” She bumped him with her hip. “I know how to make things hot.”

  “How is the pasta prep?” His professional-only attitude hurt.

  She’d go with it. “Doughy.”

  “You need to make it elegant.” He slammed the quart of salsa down and started examining the piquillo peppers, effectively dismissing her. His harshness cut through, gutting her like a fluke fish. Ignoring the passion between them was one thing, criticizing her food was unacceptable.

  “Yes, Chef.” She spit between clenched teeth.

  Earl stopped measuring meat. Maria stopped chopping. Alfred clattered a pot onto the stovetop. The atmosphere in the kitchen tensed. She’d spoken too loud.

  “Tony! Where’s the Brinata?” Michael yelled, even though no one was far.

  “In the cold storage.” Tony practically saluted.

  “Well, go get it.” Michael’s super-slow speech demonstrated his impatience. “To be a good prep cook, you should be able to anticipate what’s needed.” He took his frustration out on the staff.

  Refusing to let his bad mood get to her, she leaned in and whispered, “I could anticipate your needs.”

  “Not now, Isabel.” He jerked away and picked up the tilt skillet.

  She wiggled her stiff eyebrows, already knowing she pushed too hard. “Then, later?”

  “Alfred!” Michael slammed the skillet down. “This isn’t clean.”

  Jumping, she ignored the insult-by-non-response. You’d think any man with an ego would love the attention. “Give him a break.”

  “No one gets a break. He has a job to do.” Michael picked up a knife and inspected the edge.

  Crossing her arms, she angled back and studied him. The mean-chef act was new. “What’s going on?”

  His furrowed brows and unsmiling face expressed his ugly mood. He’d been so happy while they’d skied yesterday. Had her supposed flirting set him off? Maybe the tactic was a bad idea.

  “This is a professional kitchen and I am a professional chef. I expect you and everyone else to respect that.” He lowered his head to speak into her ear. “And you need to act professional.”