Delicious

by Jami Alden

  Still looking uncertain, Trey handed her the card, and she made a big show of tucking it in her wallet so it wouldn’t get lost.

  Without a word to Katrina or anyone else, Gabe pulled her out of the bookstore and barely got a block before his simmering rage exploded into a high boil. Backing her into the dark doorway of a store, he hissed, “Are you completely naive or just incredibly stupid?” Before Reggie could form a comeback, he continued, “After everything that’s happened in the last few days, I thought you were taking this more seriously. But either your short-term memory is shot, or you lack the capacity to apply knowledge to other situations.”

  Pushing futilely at his chest, Reggie yelled, “I don’t know what your problem is. I was just talking to a nice guy while you were busy burying your face in that glamazon’s cleavage.”

  “You weren’t just talking to him. You practically drew him a map to your apartment.” He affected a high, singsong falsetto. “Oh, I live in Pacific Heights. I eat at Belelnut all the time. I get my coffee at exactly eight oh two every morning at the Starbucks on Lombard Street. If you pass my apartment at precisely seven oh two you can catch me coming out of the shower.”

  “It was nothing like that,” she snapped, swatting him across the chest. Deep down, she knew he was right, that she’d let her little fit of jealousy override common sense. But with images of Gabe’s head bent attentively toward Katrina seething in her brain, she wasn’t willing to concede just yet. “Besides, you said the stalker is someone who knows me. I’ve never met Trey before.”

  “How do you know? How many people do you meet every goddamned day of your life? Forget your show—you talk to everyone. How can you be sure you never met him in San Francisco? Maybe he’s been following you around. Maybe he works for the network and has access to your schedule.”

  He plowed his hands through his hair as though he wanted to tear out every strand. “And even though he’s probably not the guy, that’s not the point. The point is you’re a celebrity. Like it or not, people assume they have a relationship with you, whether you know it or not. When you go batting your eyelashes and shaking that sweet ass in front of every guy you meet, the crazier ones are going to get ideas!”

  Though she couldn’t tell for certain in the dim streetlight, Reggie thought maybe Gabe’s face had turned purple. “Are you saying I asked for the guy to stalk me?” Still royally pissed, she didn’t allow herself to be distracted by Gabe’s “sweet ass” comment.

  Gabe let out a frustrated sigh. “Reggie, I’m not blaming you. But it’s not safe for you to make eyes at every guy you meet and give him detailed directions to your bedroom.”

  Stepping back, he let her out of the alcove and started down the block to their hotel.

  “I don’t do that with every guy,” Reggie called. “Just the cute ones.”

  Gabe looked like he was about to argue further, then snapped his mouth shut, apparently thinking better of it. He walked her back to the hotel, saying nothing but a gruff “good night” as he dropped her at her door. Two seconds later, the door to his adjoining room slammed with enough force to rattle the mirror over her dresser.

  Reggie tried to work on her book, but she was too irritated and distracted by Gabe’s overreaction to concentrate. Flopping back down on the bed, she called Natalie.

  When her sister answered, Reggie quickly filled her in on the details of the past few days, including Katrina’s shameless flirting and Gabe’s behavior tonight.

  “I don’t know how I can stand him for another month, Natalie,” she sighed. “One minute I think we’ve settled into some workable relationship, and the next it’s like we’re walking on eggshells. He’s getting to be more of a distraction than the stalker.”

  “Poor Gabe,” Natalie laughed. “He wants you so bad he can taste it, but he’s trying so hard to maintain a professional distance.” She said the last so derisively Reggie could practically hear her eyes rolling.

  I wish. “I don’t think that’s the problem,” Reggie sighed, aimlessly flipping through the channels. “Besides, he wasn’t exactly fighting Katrina off, if you know what I mean.” The image of them sharing margaritas was still seared in her memory.

  “That redheaded cowgirl slut?” Natalie scoffed. “Trust me, Reggie. I could tell by the way he looked at you. He remembers exactly how good it was in Hawaii, and he wants it again. Bad. I’m surprised he hasn’t succumbed to temptation already.”

  A sudden image popped into Reggie’s head, of her, coming her brains out on the flimsy kitchenette table in New Orleans as Gabe heaved and growled above her. Followed by an equally vivid image of how he’d coolly apologized, as though he’d accidentally dented her car or something.

  Natalie was still talking. Like Reggie, once she got on a roll, she didn’t let up until she was sure she’d made her point. “As far as the guy goes tonight, Gabe was jealous. It’s so obvious.”

  “I don’t think so, Natalie.” No matter how bad she wanted it to be true. “You saw the way he treated that woman in San Francisco. Tonight was the same.”

  “That night you disappeared. Were you ever out of his sight tonight?”

  “No.”

  “You were in view, totally within his protection at all times. There was no need to pull you away from the guy, except that Gabe couldn’t stand the sight of you flirting with someone else.”

  “Did I not mention that Katrina was practically giving him a lap dance at this point?”

  Natalie made a scoffing sound on the other end. “And yet he still kept a close enough eye and ear on you to come running over when he thought you were getting too cozy. Trust me, Reggie. I only had to be in the room with you two for five minutes to see he’s still into you, big time. All he needs is the proper encouragement to break his stupid rules.”

  Maybe Natalie was right, Reggie thought as she hung up. Gabe had, after all, practically attacked her the other night. It wasn’t as though she’d been the instigator. Obviously there was some attraction there.

  But then the coldness afterward…maybe he was one of those guys who could casually fuck a woman and turn off the passion as soon as he was through. And maybe the other night had been about stress relief, with no more meaning for him than if he’d gone out for a jog. It wasn’t like their “relationship” in Hawaii had engendered any big commitments.

  Then again…

  Sometimes, like this morning, she did catch him looking at her.

  Digging through her suitcase, Reggie pulled out her favorite Ella Moss top and cutest, most flattering pair of Lucky Brand jeans.

  Maybe she’d get lucky tonight.

  She did a quick makeup check, twisted her hair up into a clip, and grabbed her key. Shifting nervously from one booted foot to the other, she rapped lightly on Gabe’s door. Maybe if she was really lucky, he’d answer it shirtless.

  “What?”

  Reggie stepped back at the gruff, abrupt greeting.

  Unfortunately, he still wore a blue cotton button-down, but a couple of buttons were undone. That vee of exposed tan skin was nearly her undoing.

  Remembering what she was there about, Reggie smiled up at him. “I didn’t eat much today and I’m starving, so I wanted to know if maybe you wanted to go downstairs and grab a bite to eat with me.” At his uncomfortable frown, she quickly added, “No big deal, just keep me company since I’m going crazy cooped up in my room.” And I’m wondering if, in fact, you want to jump my bones.

  Gabe shifted from foot to foot, not responding. God, he looked sexy. His short, dark hair was ruffled, as though he’d run his fingers through it. His surprisingly sensuous mouth was slightly pink and a little swollen. He almost looked like he was wearing…lip gloss?

  “Uh, Reggie,” he stammered, “I don’t, uh, this isn’t…”

  Her stomach cramped and started an abrupt slide to somewhere around her ankles even before the slender, feminine hand appeared to slide up the firm muscle of Gabe’s chest.

  An involuntary gasp escaped her l
ips as Katrina Garrett’s curly red head appeared over Gabe’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Reggie, but Gabe is ordering in tonight.”

  A smug smile glossed in rosy pink decorated Katrina’s beautiful face.

  It occurred to Reggie that she could pull rank. As Gabe’s temporary employer, she would be within her rights to demand that he boot Katrina out and accompany her wherever she damned well pleased. But she feared if she had to look at him across a plate of food, she’d either throw up or burst into tears. Or both.

  She swallowed heavily and self-consciously tucked her hair behind her ear. She stretched her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Whoops, didn’t realize you had company, Gabe. I guess I’ll just do room service as well.” She prayed they didn’t notice how her voice cracked at the end.

  Gabe reached out, guilt and irritation warring on his face. “Reggie…”

  She stepped back, nearly falling on her ass in her impractical stiletto boots. Holding up her hand, she said, “Really, Gabe, no big deal. You’ve been stuck with me all this time. You deserve a night of”—she gulped down the bile burning the back of her throat—“recreation.”

  Hurrying back to her room before she humiliated herself further, she closed her door and slumped against it. God, what an idiot. Jealous? Hah! She should have known better than to listen to Natalie. Like her track record was indicative of any deep knowledge about men!

  She started to take off her boots, preparing to change into sweats, then thought better of it. She couldn’t bear to spend another moment in this room, staring at the TV and torturing herself thinking about what Gabe was doing to Katrina on the other side of the wall. Picking up the phone, she quickly dialed Carrie, who agreed to swing by her room and join her in the bar downstairs for a couple of drinks. At least downstairs she’d have no chance of overhearing something that might make her sick, and maybe a couple of cocktails would take the edge off the sharp ache that pinched the center of her chest.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’m not kidding, Katrina, you have to leave.” Gabe rounded on her as he shut the door, his annoyance at Katrina for having followed him now compounded by the unwanted guilt he felt at hurting Reggie.

  The pushy bitch lounged on the bed and pouted in a manner she no doubt thought very seductive. Gabe was reminded of a temperamental three-year-old. “Come on, Gabe, we were just starting to have fun.”

  “Fun? I don’t know about other guys you date, Katrina, but I don’t consider being followed to my hotel room and orally raped much ‘fun.’”

  Katrina sat up then, insulted. “Orally raped? What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway? Most men would be flattered.”

  Gabe shook his head. Katrina had showed up fifteen minutes ago, having tailed him and Reggie back to the hotel and followed him stealthily up to his room. He cursed his distracted stupidity. If he hadn’t been so distracted by the idea of Reggie flirting with Joe Banker at the book signing, he would have known they were being followed. But as usual, Reggie fucked with his instincts and made his radar go haywire.

  When he’d answered the door, Katrina hadn’t waited for an invitation before shoving him inside and attacking him like a cat in heat. Before he could react, she had his shirt half off and her tongue halfway down his throat.

  For some asinine reason, he’d thought to spare her pride rather than throwing her out bodily on her skinny jean-clad ass.

  Unfortunately, she seemed convinced that if she just stayed where she was, Gabe would give in and fuck her.

  But now that she’d seen fit to rub Reggie’s nose in their supposed liaison, the gloves were off. “I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head, struggling to keep his temper under control, “if a guy did this to you, you’d be calling security and pressing charges. But because you’re a woman, I’m supposed to be flattered? You’re in my room and I don’t want you here, Katrina.” And now he’d inadvertently hurt Reggie’s feelings again. He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t banish the image of Reggie’s hurt brown eyes and soft, trembling mouth. Helpless rage surged in his chest at the thought of how she must be feeling right now, thinking that he’d invited Katrina up to his room.

  Some of his temper must have shown in his face, because Katrina’s expression took on a vaguely alarmed cast. Sidling warily off the bed, she kept an eye on him as she gathered up her purse and finally—thankfully!—headed for the door.

  She reached for the doorknob, tossing a glare over her shoulder. “Your loss.”

  The door clicked shut and he threw the deadbolt for good measure, rolling his eyes at her cockiness. Another time, another place, he might have banged Katrina out of sheer boredom.

  But not now. The fact was, his dick got hard for just one hot little chef these days, and unfortunately, he’d vowed to keep his hands—and any other interested body parts—off of her.

  Maybe he should call Reggie, take her up on that offer to go grab a drink and a bite, explain what really happened with Katrina. Sure, he’d vowed to keep his distance, especially after what happened in New Orleans, but wasn’t it in both their best interests to maintain a positive professional relationship?

  After all, he couldn’t let her believe he picked up women on the road and took them back to the hotel room she was paying for. She might badmouth him to other potential clients. Letting her continue to think badly of him would be way more unprofessional than joining her for a drink.

  He dialed her room, frowning as her phone went into the hotel messaging system. Maybe she was in the shower. He waited ten minutes, impatiently performing twenty complete circuits of the hotel cable’s eighty available channels before calling her again.

  Still no answer. He tried her cell, which dumped him into voicemail. Either she was avoiding his calls, or she couldn’t get to the phone to answer it.

  Grabbing the key cards off the dresser, he stepped out into the hall and knocked on her door. When she still didn’t answer, he knocked harder, calling her name, a knot tightening in his belly. He looked down at the other key card in his hand. Her room key. If she was inside and avoiding him, she’d be hugely pissed at the invasion of her privacy.

  Cold sweat trickled down his spine as it occurred to him how easy it had been for Katrina to follow him, how easy it had been for her to come straight to his room with no interference from hotel security.

  How easy it had been for the stalker to break into their room in New Orleans.

  He’d risk her wrath.

  After another sharp rap he slid the card into the lock and slowly opened her door. “Reggie?”

  Poking his head through the door, he suddenly wished he’d brought his Glock 9mm. But with the heavier security measures on airlines these days, it was too much of a pain in the ass unless a client was under appreciable physical threat. So his trusty Glock was locked in its case back in his apartment in L.A.

  He crept into the room, swiftly taking in every possible hiding place. Nothing. He stopped, listening for a betraying breath, Reggie’s voice, muffled behind a hand or a gag. Silence. He checked the bathroom, dark with its door slightly ajar.

  Reggie’s room was completely empty.

  “Fuck!” His curse echoed off the walls as he loosened his choke hold on the temper he fought so hard to keep under control. He nearly punched a hole in the wall before he got himself calmed down.

  His father’s decades’ old advice rang in his head: “Son, when you get hot, you get stupid. You’ve got to keep your anger under control and let your brain get to work.”

  Gabe took several deep, calming breaths, just as his father had taught him. As his molten temper cooled, so did his panic. His roiling emotions settled to a more reasonable level, and finally ceded control to his logic.

  He had a pretty good idea where Reggie was.

  Two minutes later, he stepped off the elevator into the lobby.

  Bingo.

  There she was, cute as hell, seated at the bar chatting with Carrie and a well-dressed couple in their fortie
s. Laughing and talking, hands waving as she emphasized some point. She giggled as she sloshed a little of her martini on her sleeve. By the flush on her cheeks, he guessed it wasn’t her first.

  His temper, just barely under control, threatened to flare to life again. He stifled it. At least she’d had the good sense not to leave her room alone, but Carrie wasn’t exactly what he’d call a protective presence. And he had to acknowledge his part. It was his carelessness, after all, that had allowed Katrina to get the jump on him. And he shouldn’t have let her leave when she saw Katrina in his room, should have explained at once instead of getting stunned speechless by the laser beam of guilt that shot out from her big, hurt-filled brown eyes.

  She was so engrossed in her conversation she didn’t even notice when he braced his hip on the stool next to her. He waited politely for her to finish her story, something about how when she was little her mother would only let her eat the middle of the pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving, claiming the crust was too fattening. “To this day,” Reggie said with a chuckle, “the crust is my favorite part of the pie.”

  “I’ll have to e-mail you the recipe for my grandma’s pie crust,” the woman said. “Lard and all, it’s the flakiest, most tender crust you’ll ever taste.”

  Gabe waved off the bartender’s inquisitive look and gently tapped Reggie on the shoulder. Her head snapped around and she visibly braced herself for his usual tirade.

  Keeping his tone quiet and polite, he asked, “Reggie, can I speak to you for a moment?”

  Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and she took a slow, deliberate bite of her olive. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m having a nice conversation here. Besides, aren’t you otherwise…occupied?” She scanned the room over his shoulder, obviously looking for Katrina.