by Beth Ciotta
More acting? Another ploy? It griped the hell out of him that he couldn’t read this woman.
“Well, I wasn’t unnerved,” Gram snapped. “I know what these old eyes saw.”
“I need you to let me handle this, Gram.”
“Of course you do.”
“Do you want the Burkes to make your life miserable?”
Chloe reached forward and squeezed his grandma’s shoulder. “Let it go, Daisy. I overreacted.”
She snorted. “I still think Billy’s a jerk.”
“No argument there.” He’d never liked the guy, and not just because he was a Burke. “But unfortunately you’re not guilt free in this matter. Speeding. Assault. Goddammit, Gram.”
“Don’t you cuss at me, Devlin Monroe. And don’t tell me how to live.”
“I’m not … Forget it.” He’d said enough. At least to his grandma. He glanced back at Chloe—arms crossed, eyes narrowed, lips compressed. For once, her mind-set was clear. She was pissed.
Tough shit. So was he.
He pulled into Gram’s driveway, rounded the car, and handed her out. “I need a private moment with Chloe,” he whispered into her ear.
“It wasn’t her fault,” she whispered back, poking him in the chest for emphasis.
“Noted.”
She peeked around him and smiled at Chloe. “See you inside, kitten.” After another indignant poke at Devlin, Gram tottered toward the house in her pink heels.
“Didn’t want to read me the riot act in front of her, huh?” Smirking, Chloe stepped onto the SUV’s running board in those sexy heels.
This time when he tried to help her down, she dodged his touch. He waited until she stepped semi-gracefully to the ground—trying not to stare at her shapely legs—before unleashing his frustration. “What were you thinking? You’re supposed to chauffeur Gram, not the other way around.”
“I—”
“And that derring-do stunt you pulled. What if Gram had swerved or slammed on the brakes? If you have no regard for your own safety, think how she would’ve felt if you’d been hurt.”
“Message received. Are we done here? I have a dinner to prepare.”
No apology. No excuses. Just damned evasion. “Because of you,” he barreled on, needing to cement his point, “my grandmother, a seventy-five-year-old upstanding citizen with suddenly questionable judgment, was arrested.”
“Not formally. Charges were dropped.”
“They always are where you’re concerned. How do you swing that, Miss Monroe? Oh, wait. By crying foul. In this case, sexual misconduct.”
If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under. He waited for her to ask how he knew there’d been other arrests. Waited for her to plead innocence and spew some hard-luck story. Waited for her to lose her tightly controlled temper, to make a scene. Something overdramatic. Something worthy of an ex-actress, ex-publicist, ex–party girl (among a dozen other things)—a woman who manipulated men and situations via tears or seduction or some other calculated measure. Jayce’s report burned in his brain, and the sheriff’s suggestion that Chloe had lied in order to weasel out of trouble had burrowed under his skin.
Instead of ranting or bursting into tears, she crossed her arms and regarded him with quiet scorn. “Monica was wrong about you,” she said in a low, steady voice. “You don’t have a stick up your ass. You have a whole tree jammed up there.”
He blinked.
“For your information, I didn’t cry foul. I know when I’m being groped.”
“But you said—”
“I wanted Daisy to let it go, you obtuse … jackass. When we were sitting in the jail cell, she told me how Deputy Burke’s related to the mayor. Mentioned there’s bad blood between the Burkes and Monroes. Then you said the Burkes would make her life miserable. I don’t want to risk that, especially when I can’t prove anything. A cop’s word against mine. I certainly know who Sheriff Stone believed.”
Devlin’s already-burning temper flared. Billy groped her?
“As for my former arrests,” she plowed on, “I assume you learned about them from Sheriff Stone, although I don’t know how he learned about them, since my record was … I thought … whatever. It doesn’t matter. Obviously he chose to think the worst in spite of the facts.”
“Those facts being—”
“None of your business.”
He moved in, backing her against the Escalade, torn between shaking her and kissing her. Both urges sparked by her fiery defiance. “You’re living with and supposedly taking care of my grandmother. Everything you do, everything you’ve done, that may adversely affect her is my business.”
She jutted out her chin, taking him on. “I don’t answer to you. I don’t answer to any man.”
“No,” he said, caging her between his arms and leaning in, “I suspect they usually answer to you.” He thought about the rich daddy who’d supported her irresponsible lifestyle, then the sugar daddy who’d put her through culinary school. He imagined her working her charms, wrapping them around her dainty fingers. Did she always use the same ploy or switch it up? How did she plan to win him over?
He was so close he could smell her shampoo and the light scent of jasmine perfume wafting from her dewy skin. He could see the green flecks in her wide brown eyes, and the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. When her delectable mouth turned up into a coquettish grin, he thought he knew her weapon of choice. Manipulation by flirtation.
She leaned in and he braced himself for the brush of her lips. “If you treasure your nuts, Sausage Boy, you’ll back off. Literally.”
Not what he’d expected. Easing away, he regarded her with curiosity. “What happened to the sweet, flustered girl who voiced concern about my eating habits?”
“What happened to the charming gentleman who tried to put me at ease with a smile?”
Touché.
Raw sexual energy pulsed between them as they stared each other down. Conflicting emotions charged the air. Frustration. Temptation. Anger.
“Your attempt to physically intimidate me is as insulting as Deputy Burke’s unwanted attentions.”
The verbal slap struck hard. She was right. Fuck. He started to apologize, but she plowed right over him.
“I know you’re worried about Daisy. I am, too. You’re right. She’s reckless and forgetful. I’m trying to process the best way to handle that without making her feel like I’m taking control. Question her every impulse and decision, squash her passionate spirit, and she’ll eventually lose her sense of self.”
The fire and vulnerability in those beautiful eyes pricked his curiosity and conscience. Two sides to every coin, he heard Rocky say. “That last part sounded personal. Speaking from experience?”
She glanced away. “Let’s just say Daisy and I have a lot in common.”
“So I should worry about you, too?”
She snorted. “Right. You don’t even like me. Which blows my mind, since you don’t even know me.”
He knew enough to make him wary, thanks to Jayce. Plus he couldn’t get a clear read on her. Shy or feisty? Manipulative or misunderstood?
“I have enough going on in my life without obsessing on what went screwy between our first run-in at Oslow’s and our second at the Sugar Shack. Our relationship, for lack of a better word, has been on the downslide ever since.”
As if that were solely his fault. Increasingly uncomfortable with being declared an intimidating jackass where this woman was concerned, he defended his actions. “Excuse me for not showering you with praise and flowers for putting Daisy in jeopardy. Twice.”
“Some people would see the humor in those situations.”
“Some people would own up to their irresponsible actions.”
“I’ll just chalk it up to your overprotective nature where family’s concerned. Which should be charming. But isn’t.” With that she brushed past him. “See you for Sunday dinner?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
As she stalked toward the hous
e, Devlin watched, questioning his sanity as he envisioned those shapely legs locked around him, in bed. He’d never been so hot for a woman in his life. Chloe Madsion rattled the foundation of his stable world, tangled his emotions, messed with his family, invited trouble and chaos, and all he could think was, Bring it on.
TWELVE
Chloe mentally blasted Devlin the moment she stormed into Daisy’s house. It was that or scream. That or smash something. He was the most infuriating man Chloe had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and all she could think about was rolling around in bed with him for a day or three.
Naked.
Every time he touched her, she relived that torrid uncalled-for, unwise kiss. His lips. His tongue. His hands. No doubt he excelled at lovemaking the way he excelled at business deals. She groaned, thinking about all that ego, power, competence, and charm (something he doled out with an eyedropper) focused on giving her the ultimate orgasm. Devlin Monroe—controlling overachiever.
“You okay, kitten?” Daisy popped out from behind a set of heavy floral drapes. Clearly she’d been spying and, from her casual demeanor, felt no remorse.
Chloe, on the other hand, was mortified. Not because Daisy had witnessed the heated showdown, but because Chloe had just been imagining the woman’s grandson as a sexual paragon. “I’ve been better.”
“I blame my son.”
“For what?”
“For making Devlin grow up too fast. Too much responsibility, too soon. Too much emphasis on the family legacy. Too much pressure to be the smart one, the responsible one. The price for being a firstborn.”
Even though Daisy had issues with her grandson, apparently she still felt compelled to defend him. Sweet. Not that it softened Chloe’s present opinion of the man: bossy, judgmental bastard.
“Although, truth told, Jerome took his cue from Jessup.”
Daisy’s husband.
“I feel like a cocktail,” the woman said a little too brightly. “Join me?”
Chloe’s brain hurt. Daisy had the habit of changing topics mid-conversation. Devlin exhibited hostility one moment and concern in the next. She needed a break from the both of them. “Maybe later,” she said with a weary smile. “I need to change into something more casual. Time to start dinner. There’s a lot to do and—”
“I’ll help!” The old woman’s face lit up as she kicked off her heels and padded toward the kitchen barefoot. “Just tell me what to do.”
Chloe smothered a beleaguered sigh and hoped Daisy didn’t detect sarcasm when she mumbled, “Great.”
* * *
Barring Daisy from her own kitchen had felt incredibly rude, but it was the only way Chloe could prepare dinner. The woman kept rearranging the countertop, lining up ingredients and hauling out cookery in a way that defied logic—or at least Chloe’s personal routine. Daisy’s nonstop chatter was distracting, and Chloe was nervous. Yes, she’d already cooked two days’ worth of meals for her boss and yes, Daisy had applauded her efforts. But this was different. This was dinner for eight. Though Daisy had assured her it was a casual affair, Chloe assumed the guests would be expecting something extraordinary.
According to Monica, Rocky had told everyone in Cupcake Lovers that Chloe was a gourmet chef. It was not a title she felt comfortable with. Gourmet chefs specialized in fine, often foreign, cuisine and typically worked in upscale establishments. This was her first job as a professional cook and she was still honing her skills, yet this was a small town and word spread like wildfire. Rocky’s moniker stuck. Even though Chloe had corrected Vince Redding twice, he kept referring to her as a gourmet chef, saying he hoped Oslow’s stock was up to snuff. She’d assured him his small store met all of her needs and hoped he didn’t hear about her phantom trip to Pixley to purchase special herbs. The last thing she wanted was to insult Sugar Creek’s sole grocer.
Nor did she want to disappoint Daisy’s family.
Hence booting the woman out of the kitchen so she could concentrate on the meal. Nothing too fancy, but she hoped something that assured everyone she was—at the very least—deserving of the title personal chef. She especially wanted to impress Devlin. He’d made it clear he considered her a screwup. She wanted to prove she was capable of attending Daisy’s needs. That she was capable, period. Not just to him, but to the whole damned universe, including herself. She blamed Ryan and her dad for her unwelcome issues with self-confidence. She cursed Devlin for meddling in her attempt to reclaim her identity.
She’d show them.
She’d excel at cooking and become the best damn, most reliable “companion” on the planet!
Another reason for throwing herself into the fine art of cooking was to forget the embarrassment of being thrown into jail. For Daisy’s sake, Chloe had chosen to bury the frisking incident, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have her say with Deputy Burke. In private. At some point. She’d suffered frustration and humiliation the other two times she’d been hauled in by the law, but this was different. This time she’d been personally violated. Burke’s fingers had actually brushed her inner thighs, something she’d kept to herself, because at the time she’d been too stunned (Did he just…?) then embarrassed (He did!). She’d known by the smirk on his weasel face, the cocky glint in his squinty eyes, that no one would believe her. As she’d told Devlin, she had no proof. Daisy, who’d been standing on the other side of the car, hadn’t even witnessed the violation, just Chloe’s reaction.
She’d been hurt by Devlin’s suggestion that she’d somehow overreacted or misjudged the situation. Then she’d gotten angry. Did he think she was an idiot? Or that she’d somehow asked for it? Why did he think the worst? Sure, her former arrests were a stigma, but he’d been pissy with her long before today. Calling him names and threatening his family jewels probably hadn’t been the best way to elevate his opinion of her, but dammit, the man pushed her buttons! Instead of suppressing her anger, like she used to do with Ryan (something she didn’t want to contemplate just now), she’d stood up to Devlin, spoken her mind and stuck to her guns. He didn’t want her working for his grandma. He didn’t want her in Sugar Creek at all. Well, too damn bad. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
For now.
Pulling that derring-do stunt earlier today might have been reckless and crazy, but it had unleashed her repressed adventurous spirit. It had made her question her choices and actions over the past two years.
“Who are you, Chloe Madison? Really? And what are you doing with your life?”
Culinary school hadn’t been a mistake, but she hadn’t felt that “click” either. And if she was brutally honest with herself, she hadn’t “clicked” with Ryan either. But she’d wanted to. So much so, she’d relinquished a part of her soul. Examining the reasons now was too painful. She was too raw. Too unstable. The only thing she knew for certain, this moment, was that she’d been afforded a new opportunity. Instead of looking at her time in Sugar Creek as a time to heal, as Monica had suggested, Chloe would take an aggressive approach, embark on journey of self-discovery. She’d live in the moment and embrace the adventure. She’d stop worrying about living up to anyone’s expectations except her own. As soon as she figured out what they were.
“I declare this the season of me!”
Water splashed her shirtfront and she realized suddenly that instead of rinsing a Cornish hen, she’d almost scrubbed off its skin. Oops. Sighing, she placed the poor bird alongside the others and vigorously washed her hands.
“Focus, Chloe, focus.”
Placing her life musings on the back burner, she tightened her apron strings, cranked the volume on the portable radio, and concentrated on wowing her guests with a memorable meal.
One challenge at a time.
THIRTEEN
Patience had never been one of Rocky’s strengths and she’d been anxious to spend quality time with Chloe Madison for days. First Gram’s companion flaked out on Cupcake Lovers; then when Rocky stopped over for a visit the woman made herself scarce. She
was supposed to be at church today, in which case Rocky could’ve started up a casual chat afterward while Gram gossiped with her friends. But no. She and Chloe had skipped church in favor of grocery shopping in Pixley!
All Rocky wanted was some one-on-one time with Chloe. Hell, fifteen minutes would suffice. Time enough to plant a seed, enticing her to come to the next Cupcake meeting. After reading her witty food critique column, Rocky was certain Chloe could go head-to-head with Tasha while giving others, like Gram, a dose of confidence with her professional Forks Up on some of their recipes. Rocky just needed to educate Chloe about the club’s core mission and Tasha’s misguided attempt to launch them to fame. She’d only met the woman briefly, barely spoken, but she was pretty certain Chloe was a good egg—contrary to Jayce’s report and Dev’s assumptions.
Fifteen minutes. That’s all she needed. Fifteen stinking minutes.
She’d be lucky if she got two.
Sunday dinner at Gram’s usually topped out at four or five guests. Rocky and Luke were pretty much the mainstays while assorted other relatives revolved through. Tonight Nash had opted in as well as Dev. Not wanting Chloe to feel overwhelmed by family, Gram had also invited Monica and her husband, Leo. Including Chloe, that made eight people, which pretty much eliminated a stretch of private, uninterrupted conversation.
A woman of action and determined to have her moment, Rocky showed up at Gram’s an hour ahead of schedule. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one. Cursing under her breath, she parked her Jeep behind Nash’s pickup just as Luke rolled past in Gram’s Cadillac and pulled into the garage.
Rocky hopped out and met her cousin curbside. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Luke called and said he needed a lift to the police station.”
“What for?”
“To pick up Gram’s car.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
