Flirting with Felicity

by Gerri Russell

  “This isn’t a vacation, and you know it,” Blake replied. “You promised me an update on the Heritage Hotel.” He’d been in negotiations with a small hotel property in the Bay area that was built in the 1900s. The location was ideal. The hotel itself would be almost as expensive to repair and bring up to the standards set by Bancroft Industries as it would be to tear it down and build something new.

  “Jamison wants you to agree to restoration, not a teardown,” Marcus said.

  “I’ll agree to nothing except the purchase price.”

  Blake could hear Marcus’s frown, even though he couldn’t see it on the other end of the call. “Can’t you bend just a little this time?”

  “For seventy million dollars, I should be able to do whatever I want with the place.”

  “He’s seeking historical protection.”

  Blake groaned. Why did the owners of the older buildings always grasp at that straw? Felicity was no exception. Historical protection could not protect a building from destruction if the owner wanted it torn down. “All right. Raise the offer to seventy-two million. I want that building, Marcus.”

  “Done. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  Blake hung up feeling even more unsettled than when he’d left his uncle’s room. He clenched his jaw, wanting desperately to control this one area of his life. He might not be able to force others to abide by his wishes, but he could make it pretty damn hard for them to say no.

  Later that evening, Felicity told herself she still wasn’t waiting for Blake to come find her. It was only because she couldn’t sleep that she returned to the kitchen long after everyone else had gone home. When she couldn’t sleep, she did what she always did; she made her way back to the Dolce Vita to cook.

  With a rolling pin, Felicity pressed the sfogliatelle dough into a thin layer on her marble cutting board. The dough would be gathered like a jelly roll, cut into chunks, then formed into a flaky, layered pouch. She would eventually stuff each pouch with creamy ricotta filling.

  Setting down the rolling pin, she started to gather the dough when a sound came from the corridor outside the kitchen. She froze, and held her breath as the footsteps came closer and the kitchen door swung open. A thrill moved through her when Blake appeared, dressed in the same jeans and t-shirt from earlier today.

  “Hey,” he greeted. He stood there, neither coming forward nor retreating, but she could feel a tension in him that echoed in her.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “Too wound up from the day.” He leaned against the doorjamb. His t-shirt molded to his chest, and the material of his jeans clung to his muscular thighs and hips with blatant delineation.

  A tingle of appreciation moved through Felicity, and she hurriedly lifted her gaze back to his face. “Are you hungry?”

  He watched her from the doorway. “I’m sorry I disappeared on you earlier.”

  She dropped her gaze to the dough in her hands, pressing the delicate pastry with more force than was necessary. “You don’t owe me any explanation.” Felicity swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “Want some sfogliatelle?”

  At her invitation, he came forward, stopping inches from her. Her nerves flicked as his woodsy scent teased her. Despite his claim to sleeplessness, he seemed more at ease than he had earlier today. “What is it?” he asked.

  She moistened her lips. “It’s an Italian pastry—flaky with a hint of sweet.” She reached past him to select one of the pastries she’d finished that were cooling on a rack. She brought the treat to his lips and offered him a bite, and then fully realized what she was doing. Blake wasn’t one of her kitchen staff who would think nothing of the gesture.

  His lips parted. Her chest constricted. She pulled in a deep breath and slid the tip of the pastry into his mouth.

  Blake took a bite. He closed his eyes, chewed, and let out a soft moan. “It’s amazing. It might be the best pastry I’ve ever had.” She’d had plenty of time to perfect her cooking techniques over the years, working at any number of restaurants late into the evening while she attended classes during the day.

  He opened his eyes and took the sfogliatelle from her fingers. Instead of offering her a bite, he scooped up a dollop of the still warm orange-flavored ricotta filing. He held his finger out to her. “Your turn. Enjoy some of your own cooking.”

  Felicity hesitated for a moment before she parted her lips and closed them around his finger. The scent of him and the taste of sweet cream overwhelmed her senses. She found herself staring, unable to look away from those deep blue eyes. She could feel her heart beating harder, her skin warming as the blood ran faster in her veins.

  He popped the remainder of the pastry into his mouth and chewed, perhaps not knowing he gave her time to get her wildly vacillating emotions under control.

  “Where did you learn to cook like that?” he asked.

  “I spent six years in cooking schools locally and in California. It was from the Culinary Institute of America at Greystone that I received my degree. After that, I received a national scholarship that allowed me to spend a year in Italy working and studying. I worked for a variety of restaurants, but found my true calling in Naples. The food, the people, the countryside—they all spoke to me.”

  “Why did you return home, if you were so happy there?” he asked, his tone sincere.

  She shrugged. “I had obligations.” She looked away, not wanting to elaborate and uncertain if she would see compassion or suspicion in his eyes. “I brought the best recipes home with me. I’ve tried to re-create much of what I learned in Italy here at the Dolce Vita.”

  “No wonder Uncle Vernon ate here every night.”

  Felicity tensed, preparing for a round of insults about her relationship with his uncle.

  Instead, Blake hooked his finger underneath her chin and lifted her head until her eyes met his. “That was a compliment.” Something slid sideways, and suddenly his smile was charming, and his touch sizzled.

  Felicity drew a ragged breath. “What are we doing, Blake? I have no idea what to expect from you. One moment we’re getting along, the next we’re adversaries.”

  A bemused look crept over his features as his thumb moved down to her throat. “You are such a surprise. This would be so much easier, if you were like all my other competitors.”

  “I’m not like your other rivals?”

  His gaze locked with hers. “No, you’re not.”

  Her knees went weak, and she could feel heat rise to her cheeks. She should step back, away from his touch, but she couldn’t.

  He cradled her head, leaned in, and met her lips in a slow, gentle kiss that was nothing like Felicity expected. She’d braced herself for an assault, something more in line with Blake’s business practices. But his tenderness surprised her; it was a tenderness that melted her reservations. He might be her enemy, but she wanted this, she deserved this: a stolen moment in his arms.

  Felicity leaned into the kiss, demanding more.

  And he gave her exactly what she wanted. His hand traveled down her spine, stopping at the small of her back. He cradled her waist, and pulled her even tighter against him. His tongue traced along the seam of her lips, urging them to part, but when they did he didn’t plunge inside. Instead, his assault was just as devastatingly tender, which did more to fire her own desire than a steamy kiss might have.

  Time suspended until, with a groan, he pulled back. But he didn’t release her. He continued to cradle her in his arms as though he liked the feel of her against him.

  This was pure insanity. And yet Felicity couldn’t step out of his arms. Some strange force kept her there. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “Wasn’t supposed to, but it did.” His voice was raw, another surprise.

  She gazed up at him. “What do you want with me, Blake? I’m confused. Do you want the hotel or something else?” She couldn’t say the words . . . couldn’t ask him if he wanted her. His kiss said he did. But why?

  “I want the hotel. Ma
ke no mistake about that.” He kissed the top of her head, the gesture both charming and sweet despite his words. “But, if we are honest with each other, we both want so much more.”

  She went still. “What?”

  “We might battle over the hotel, but clearly we are compatible in other areas.”

  She frowned. “What are you saying?”

  “That we could be very good together.”

  A treacherous warmth slowly crept across her skin. She fought the weakness with all her might. She’d been down this road once before with James. She wouldn’t allow herself that kind of weakness again. “You want a physical relationship with me?”

  “Yes, Felicity. Sex.”

  A part of her urged a “yes” in return, but another part spoke. “That would be dangerous and foolish.”

  “Dangerous or not, I want you. We’re both adults. We can separate business from pleasure.”

  Maybe he could. Felicity forced herself to step back, out of his embrace. “Not until the Bancroft is settled between us.”

  He reached for her, but she took another step back.

  “It could be settled now, if you’d only accept my offer.”

  She shook her head, partially to clear the leaden effect of his words and partly because of her own foolishness. “Are you trying to seduce the hotel out from under me? Is that what this is?”

  “No.” He met her gaze. Something reflected in his eyes for a heartbeat, before it was replaced with desire. “For some reason, I can’t get you out of my mind. I think you feel the same way.”

  Felicity shook her head, trying to be convincing. She had experience in the realm of relationships, but she was certain even that experience had not prepared her for what Blake would demand of her.

  “Come here, Felicity. Why can’t we indulge in what we both want?”

  Despite doubts and more rational thoughts, an electrical shock went through her at the raw possibility. She found herself taking an involuntary step toward him, before she stopped herself. No, she couldn’t give in.

  “Think about it. No ties. No promises. Just passion.”

  She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “My first impression was right.”

  A frown furrowed his brow. “About what?”

  “You’re dangerous.”

  “That can be a good thing,” he told her with a twinkle in his eyes.

  He seemed certain he could separate their business from the pleasure. She wasn’t sure about her ability to do the same. When she committed to something, it was with her whole heart and soul. “No.” She moved farther away, hoping the distance would help her think more clearly. “We need to go back to our original agreement.”

  His brow rose fractionally. “Which was?”

  “You spend the day with me in my world, then I spend the day with you in yours. The only thing that happens between us is the hotel.”

  He returned her steady regard. “Are you asking for another day with me, because of the day’s interruptions?”

  “It seems only fair.”

  He hesitated, staring at her as though committing her features to memory. “I say we need to amend our original agreement.”

  “How?”

  A half smile hovered on the edges of his lips. “If we spend the day together again tomorrow, you’ll have had two days to convince me that the hotel belongs to you. I want equal time.”

  “A day and a half,” Felicity countered.

  He leaned forward, his face just to the side of hers. His nearness making her heart beat all the faster. “I want two full days, and that doesn’t include travel time,” he whispered in her ear.

  Her breasts tightened. Flight time to San Francisco could be easily accomplished while still giving them plenty of time to see his “world.”

  He lifted his hand to her chin again. His gaze held hers as he searched her face for something. “Two full days. Those are my terms.”

  Before she could move, he lowered his lips to hers again.

  Felicity moaned at the contact. This kiss was different than the last one. This kiss was demanding, inviting, blatantly sexual.

  And it made her burn.

  “You are so very tempting,” he whispered as he drew back. “Do we have a deal?”

  Her body on fire, she nodded, though she wasn’t certain if she had agreed to the two days, the sex, or both.

  “Back to the waterfront in the morning, then?” he conceded.

  She shook her head. “My sous-chef can take care of the fish and the market. Besides, it was obvious from the way you moved through Pike Place Market that you’d already been there many times. I wouldn’t be showing you anything new.”

  “I’ve never seen the market through your eyes,” he said with a grin, the one that made her heart speed up and her knees go weak once more. She gripped the prep table beside her for support.

  She couldn’t argue that the man affected her physically. The chemistry between them was undeniable. But just because there was chemistry didn’t mean she had to act on it. She’d felt attraction before. Not lately. She’d been far too busy these last three years to even think about men in that respect. “I have something else planned. Meet me here in the kitchen at ten o’clock in the morning.”

  There was a long hesitation, until he finally nodded. “All right,” he agreed, “as long as you promise to be cooperative with me when it’s my turn.”

  Too late, she saw he’d cornered her. Who knew the extent of cooperation? Still, she inclined her head. “I promise.”

  He reached over and snagged another sfogliatelle from the counter beside him and tossed her a self-satisfied smile as he headed for the door. “Until tomorrow then.” The words were spoken with a silken sensuality that warmed her to her core.

  Felicity watched as the door flap closed behind him. Who was she kidding? How was she going to keep him at arm’s length if whenever they were together she went up in flames at just a hint of a smile?

  She released a groan and tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. She was in so much trouble, more than she’d ever dreamed possible. Blake was her rival for the Bancroft, and yet all she could think about was the offer he’d made. He wanted her. It was sex, pure and simple. No strings. No attachments.

  A physical relationship between business adversaries? Was such a thing even possible?

  “Oh, Vern,” Felicity sighed. “Did you know what you were doing when you left me this gift?” She wouldn’t put it past that cunning old man.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Hospital waiting rooms were never Felicity’s favorite place to hang out. She clenched her ice-cold hands together, as though coupled they might generate some warmth. Leaning back in the stiff chair, hope tightened her chest until she could hardly breathe. The experimental procedure had to work. It had to bring her father back to her. She’d placed so many of her hopes and dreams on this procedure for so long.

  After what felt like hours later, a man in blue surgical scrubs pushed into the waiting area. His mask hung loosely around his neck and a cloth skullcap, featuring every Marvel action hero, covered most of his dark brown hair.

  He approached Felicity with a smile. “Felicity Wright?”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice as she pleaded silently for success. Blood roared in her ears, muffling the words. She took a long, shaking breath and balled her fingers into fists.

  “His brain activity has increased. Early signs look favorable despite the many years of damage.”

  A sense of euphoria threaded through all the questions racing through her mind, making her feel as though she had wings. “He’ll be okay?” she asked as tears of joy scalded her eyes.

  “It will take time, and lots of therapy, but it appears the procedure worked,” the doctor said softly. “We’ll need to keep him here for three days to monitor his progress.”

  Felicity took her first easy breath since she’d brought her father in early this morning. They finally had the money to cover not only the procedure, but hi
s stay in the hospital as well, thanks to Vern and his gift. If she got nothing else from being the owner of the hotel, even a temporary one, this was enough. Vern had given both her and her father a possible cure.

  Felicity smiled at the doctor. “Can I see him?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Follow me.”

  At his bedside, Felicity leaned over her father and kissed his cheek. “Hi, Dad.”

  He stared at the ceiling above him—the silver depths of his eyes showing no recognition at all. “You’ve had a busy day so far,” she said, reaching out and stroking his hair. She kept hoping against hope that he would hear her, blink his eyes, twitch a finger, something. But there was nothing except the droning beep of the heart monitor and the quiet strain of her own breathing.

  Felicity settled into the chair beside the bed and took his hand. All the busy talk she usually pressed on him died in her throat. She was very glad he’d gone back to eating, so the procedure could go ahead. There were no immediate results. And still she’d been so hopeful that it would bring the man her father had been back to her.

  Closing her eyes, she saw her father at her sophomore year father-daughter dance. He’d been so handsome in his dress merchant marine uniform with its shiny brass buttons and white hat. He’d come home that day with a surprise for her—a long, cream-colored dress purchased just for her. She’d felt like a fairy princess that night, dancing with him in the high school gymnasium under cutout paper stars. “You’ll be my princess forever,” he’d said, filling her heart with joy.

  A week later, her mother was dead. After her father had recovered from his physical injuries, he could move about, but usually ended up sitting in a chair by the window every day, watching the world go by, saying nothing at all. His brain had been damaged, the doctors had said. He might recover someday, but only with the help of an expensive treatment that she’d been saving for over the past ten years of working in restaurants.

  That day had finally come, thanks to Vern. And they would get the results they wanted eventually.

  Felicity smiled and opened her eyes. “Don’t worry, Dad. You just rest and let your brain do the rest. When you’re ready, I know you’ll come back to me.”