Two hours later, Felicity was back at the hotel, back to her normal routine. Her burdens suddenly felt lighter, as though nothing could take away her happiness today—not even Blake’s absence could put a dent in her mood. Today was a great day.
“Here’s the last of it,” the driver of the delivery truck from the food bank said as he handed the overly large box down to Felicity from the flatbed of the vehicle.
“Looks like lots of celery was donated this week,” Felicity replied, glancing at the slightly withered vegetables in the box. What could she teach her students to make with celery?
“Thanks for your help.” The food bank driver nodded his appreciation before he jumped down and headed to the cab of his truck.
Felicity handed the box to TJ, one of the homeless men enrolled in her Hungry Hearts cooking program. He took the food into the kitchen through the back door. She followed, glancing at her watch one more time. It was already past ten, and Blake had yet to show himself.
Had her rejection of his offer last night been the end of his negotiations for the hotel? She’d made it pretty clear all she wanted out of their arrangement was the hotel and the restaurant. Blake was a billionaire. They were from two totally different worlds. Sex, or any kind of a personal relationship with the man, was out of the question.
In the kitchen, Felicity gathered her students around the prep table holding all the boxes that had been brought from the food bank. She’d worked with the food bank for the last year, teaching how to prepare healthy, protein-rich, and tasty meals with what was donated that day. She looked over the contents in the boxes. Finally an idea formed. “Today I’m going to show you how to make braised celery with onion, pancetta, white beans, and tomatoes. Grab a partner, and go to your stations.”
“TJ and Monica, would you give two heads of celery to everyone?” As she did every week, Felicity had set up several hot plates around the kitchen for the teams to use. Local businesses had donated not only the hot plates, but the pans and utensils her group used. The community was behind her and her unusual program. “When you get your celery, wash it thoroughly, then cut off the leafy tops. You can use those later to flavor stock. Remove the stalks from their base, and use the peelers to pare away most of the strings. When you’re done with that, cut the celery into pieces about three inches long.”
They all got to work. They knew the drill. This current group had been in session for seven months now, and it kept growing. She’d started with six students, but now she hosted between thirty and thirty-five students every Thursday morning. If the classes grew much larger, she’d have to add another day to her program. Felicity circulated around the room, answering questions and demonstrating how to use the peeler to take off the strings.
The primary purpose of the class was to teach the participants how to feed themselves and others. A secondary purpose was to teach them professional kitchen skills they could use to find entry-level positions in the restaurant industry. Soon, she’d be able to recommend several of her students for work in local kitchens. She’d hired Mary Beth, Michael, and Casper from the class herself. They’d all proven themselves to be exemplary students and now employees.
“May I help?”
Felicity looked up to see Blake standing not far from her.
He was dressed in a lightweight blue sweater that intensified the color of his eyes. “I’d like to help, if I may.”
“You know how to cook?” Felicity asked, suddenly acutely conscious of the way his sweater hugged his chest and flat stomach. She swallowed, reminding herself that Blake was not on the menu today, or any day.
“Toast, only, but I follow directions very well.” His voice had lowered, his tone provocative, challenging, demanding. A tone that, despite her vow to resist him, sent a jolt of desire through her veins.
She pointed to her left. “Toby needs a partner,” she said, grateful her voice did not betray her.
Blake headed toward the young black man who worked alone. He offered Toby his hand, greeting him as he would a business partner. The newly homeless young man took his outstretched hand with some hesitance. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
With an effort, Felicity returned her attention to the rest of the class. “Next, each of you will need an onion and four tomatoes from the boxes. Slice the onion as thin as you can. Remember the proper way to hold a knife. No fingers on the top of the blade.”
As Felicity gripped a knife from the prep station beside her to demonstrate how to hold the handle, her gaze sidled back to Blake. Why was she so acutely aware of him? She didn’t even have to look at him to see him in her mind’s eye. He was bent over the onion, demonstrating to Toby how to handle the blade. As he moved his arm up and down, she could see the muscles of his washboard-flat abs ripple beneath his thin sweater.
“He’s not bad,” Mary Beth said from behind Felicity’s shoulder.
Felicity turned around. “What?”
“I see the way you’re watching him,” she said with a mischievous grin. “I envy you.”
“There is no reason to envy me,” Felicity said, and even though she tried to look elsewhere, her gaze shifted back to Blake. Her senses should have been filled with the savory scents of celery and onions, yet the only fragrance that came to her was Blake’s woodsy scent. Felicity held back a groan.
“You’re crazy if you don’t appreciate what he has to offer.”
Felicity didn’t answer as she watched Blake scoop up the onions and place them in a saucepan. He handed Toby a wooden spoon, encouraging the young man to participate in the cooking. Even as Toby stirred, Blake’s gaze rested on her. She looked into his eyes, into the unwavering, unshakable blue, and felt her world slowly reel.
Mary Beth’s eyes cut between Felicity and Blake. “The temperature in this kitchen is getting hotter by the moment. That man couldn’t care one lick about the onions in his pan.”
Felicity pulled her attention from Blake and set the knife back on the prep table. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“You’d rather do things that don’t require talking?” Mary Beth raised her brows suggestively.
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Can we please get back to cooking?”
“Sure,” Mary Beth agreed, looking back toward where Blake stood, “but that won’t stop him from looking at you.”
She wouldn’t look at him again. There was no sense in torturing herself. She would ignore him and keep on teaching her students. He was here to get to know them, and hopefully feel compassion for them. If he cared about what she did with the hotel and restaurant, perhaps he wouldn’t try to take it away from her.
“While you finish slicing the onion, I’ll come around with the pancetta and a can of white beans,” Felicity said, pleased she sounded somewhat normal despite the warmth flooding her traitorous body. “If you don’t have access to pancetta, you can always substitute bacon, sausage, even chicken or tofu. Just use some sort of protein. Protein keeps you from being hungry longer than just vegetables or carbs.”
She made it around to three of the groups, delivering the necessary supplies before she slowly, helplessly, looked across the room at Blake.
He was staring at her.
She forgot to breathe.
Even from across the room, his gaze felt like a flame licking at her skin. She raised her chin, fought to concentrate on what she was doing. She struggled not to close her eyes and let her other senses stretch toward him, wrap themselves around him.
“What do we do with the tomatoes?” asked Rick, a young man in his thirties with a shaved head. Where his hair would have been, a coiled snake was tattooed on his skin, giving him a street-tough look when he was anything but.
Rick’s question gave her something to focus on. She drew a deep breath. “When the onions are sautéed a golden brown, add the pancetta and beans. While you wait for those to brown, go ahead and dice the tomatoes. You’ll add them last, and cook them until they’re warm.”
It wasn’t working. Her heart
rate sped up as his gaze caressed her face, her throat, then lower still. She could feel her nipples harden and the center of her womanhood tingle with an urgency she’d never experienced before.
“Felicity,” Mary Beth said from behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her a push forward. “Put the man out of his misery, and allow yourself some fun for a change.”
The words were enough to break whatever enchantment Blake had cast over her since entering the room. Felicity lifted her chin. She could resist him. She was capable of anything she set her mind to.
Grasping the thought, Felicity proceeded with the lesson, and succeeded in her task simply by not looking at Blake. She looked anywhere but at him. When the cooking was complete and the food plated, she escorted her students to the dining room, so they could enjoy their meal together.
Before she could circulate among her students, Blake stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Interesting use of your time and the hotel’s resources.”
“My time is mine.” She drew a tight breath. Her gaze slid to his. Her nerves stretched in telltale anticipation—anticipation that would never be fulfilled. “And, come to think of it, the hotel is mine, too. Everything but the pancetta was donated.”
He arched a brow. “I meant no offense. I happen to think the program is a brilliant idea. Yours?”
She nodded, relieved they wouldn’t battle over her use of hotel resources. She firmed her lips. Her hotel resources.
“You’re an intriguing woman, Felicity Wright,” he said in a low voice. “Far more intriguing than I gave you credit for.”
Her heart accelerated at the soft touch of his hand on her arm. She swallowed. “Thank you, I think.”
He must have known the effect he was having on her, because he slid his fingers along her sleeve to her shoulder until they came to settle at the base of her neck. He moved his fingers leisurely back and forth. “What else do you have planned for me today?”
Despite the thick fabric of her chef’s coat, her skin warmed at his touch, and her blood ran faster in her veins. “We’ll start with a tour of the hotel, then I want to introduce you to our housekeeping department, service staff, and our security team. When we’re finished there, you’ll shadow me while I prepare for the dinner rush. After that, we’ll relax with cocktails for two in the rooftop garden.”
He offered her a mischievous smile. “I’m all yours.”
She felt more than heard his words, as if they were a caress stroking down her body, warming her from the inside out. She knew he was waiting for her to reply, no doubt with something equally as playful and sexy. But she couldn’t find the words. She could barely find her brain, let alone assemble sufficient wit to compose a sentence, especially not with his woodsy scent invading her senses, and certainly not when he was touching her.
Felicity forced herself to straighten, to step away from his touch. With an effort, she drew a deep breath, regaining some semblance of mental and physical distance. “Let’s start right now with the tour of the hotel.” She walked away from Blake, heading toward Mary Beth. With her previous experience, the young woman often helped her finish up the class when Felicity’s other restaurant duties took her away. “Can you take over?”
Mary Beth’s eyes twinkled as her gaze shifted between Blake and Felicity. She took in Felicity’s heightened color and smiled. “Of course.”
Felicity turned to face Blake.
His blue eyes held hers. A moment passed, then he held out his hand. “Shall we?” His voice had lowered, his tone provocative, challenging, demanding.
She took his hand, felt a sizzle along her nerves. “It’s time for that tour.”
He smiled intently. “I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go.”
And Felicity knew she’d unwittingly accepted more than just his hand. The sensation of his hand in hers sent a jolt of electricity through her. She swallowed hard as she guided him out of the kitchen and down the long hallway into the lobby.
He arched a brow at her, as though he, too, felt the soft searing in his blood, but he remained silent.
She should be thinking about the hotel, about her employees, about anything other than the man at her side. A glance sideways at his lean, perfect body tempted her in a way she’d never been tempted before. Not that she’d had much time in her life to be tempted. She’d spent most of her teens and early twenties working as many jobs as she could, saving for the procedure her father had had this morning. Maybe that’s why Blake’s appeal was so strong now.
They spent the next hour with Edward’s wife, Marie, who paraded them through the various rooms on each floor. She proudly touted the skills of her staff as she introduced each maid to Blake.
They spent another two hours with the service staff overseen by Edward, watching the bellhops and porters, concierge and reception staff engage with the guests, providing a level of service that most hotels didn’t even strive for these days.
And while most of the time was spent in conversation with staff or patrons, Blake never lost an opportunity to stand close and brush his fingers across her arms, her back, or along the curve of her hip. The air between them all but crackled as they made their way through the hotel.
That afternoon, a couple was using the rooftop garden as the site of their wedding ceremony. She and Blake stood in the back, observing, while the couple exchanged their vows. Felicity hoped Blake could see through her efforts today that the Bancroft was so much more than just a place to sleep or eat. It played an important role in the community as an employer, a safe place for residents, a job training and education center, a place where shared lives began.
After the wedding concluded, she took Blake back down to the lobby and asked the question burning through her thoughts. “Have I convinced you of anything yet?”
“You’ve convinced me that you work very hard and that your employees are extremely loyal to you, even though you just took over the hotel.”
Raising a hand, she brushed back a flyaway strand of hair from her temple and noted his eyes followed her hand. “They know me from the restaurant. I’m a familiar face.”
“Unlike me.”
Once again they were close, and once again that excruciating awareness arced between them. “Yes,” she said. “You’re an unknown, and they’re wary of how you’ll change their lives.”
He reached up and gently touched the back of one finger to her cheek. “Change is inevitable.”
“Most people don’t like change. It scares them.”
He held her gaze. “Are you scared, Felicity?”
“Of you? Yes. No . . . I don’t know anymore,” she said in a rush.
His eyes flared and a look of satisfaction crept across his features.
She stepped back, away from his touch. “There is something more I want you to see—a part of history that is preserved right here at the Bancroft. Come with me,” she said, taking his hand.
She led him through the bar area and toward the back stairs that were almost forgotten and rarely used. Four steps down, she released his hand so she could unlatch the door. When the door opened, the scent of stagnant air greeted them. Felicity moved down the darkened stairway, reaching for the old-fashioned light switch at the bottom of the stairs on the left side of the wall. A sizzle of sound preceded the soft flood of yellow-gold light that followed.
“What is this place?” Blake asked beside her. “I’ve been in this hotel many times as a child, and I never knew this place existed.”
“It’s the old wine cellar. Probably not somewhere your parents thought to take you,” she said, stepping into the room. “This cellar was built for the original hotel back in the early 1900s.” Edward had helped her track it down. She stepped aside and allowed Blake to enter the room.
With interest, his gaze traveled across the arched red brick that made up the ceiling before dropping to the flagstone floor and the piles of wooden crates stuffed into every corner. “That’s an odd way to store wine,” he commented with a frown.
“It’s not wine. Go ahead, take a look,” Felicity encouraged. He took several steps away from her and bent to inspect one of the wooden crates. Felicity watched in the filtered light as he lifted up a flat wooden shoe with a jute strap, a parasol, and a china doll.
He twisted toward her. “These are someone’s possessions.”
Felicity nodded. “They belong to the Japanese families who lived in the Bancroft. Following the attacks on Pearl Harbor, when all residents of Japanese descent were forced to leave their homes, businesses, and communities and enter internment camps for incarceration, they left everything they had behind. These crates contain their belongings as well as the memory of their hopes and dreams.”
He set the china doll back on the top of the crate where he’d retrieved it. “These things belong in a museum.”
Felicity shook her head. “They belong to the two families who lived here during that time. I researched the guest register from that time period and found two family names: Fujimoto and Nishimura. It would be wonderful to find their descendants and return their possessions. But in the meantime, their history is preserved right here, undisturbed.”
Unfurling himself, he stood and came toward her, taking her hands in his. “You have a soft heart, don’t you?”
“I—” She startled at the feel of his hands. They closed around hers as though he truly cared and wanted to offer her his support. She couldn’t remember the last time someone touched her that way. She’d been the strong one in her shrunken family, for others at the hotel, for the community for so long, that she’d all but forgotten what it was like to take comfort from someone else. There was really no need for him to hold her hands. That he did scorched her all the way to her caged heart.
“I understand your need to preserve their memory, and your need to preserve the history of the Bancroft Hotel. I really do . . .”
She swallowed, then stiffened. She could hear the “but” coming. She pulled her hands from his. Was she foolish to think she could influence him by revealing the suffering of others? “Why can’t you make an example of green living out of one of your other hotels?”
Flirting with Felicity Page 8
