by Melody Grace
That was his name. His reputation.
He tasted the new batch of sauce and smiled. Cloves. Now he was getting somewhere . . .
* * *
Declan stayed another couple of hours in the kitchen, tweaking and testing things for the week ahead. The menu at Sage changed on his whims, to the frustration of diners who’d read a rave review and driven miles to try the dish the critic had gushed over. Tough luck. They would have something else—and love it, too. The last thing Declan wanted was to become one of those old hacks, churning out the same plates year after year, playing the old hits because they couldn’t come up with anything newer, better.
Finally, he cleaned up and headed back to his apartment, retrieving his cellphone from where he left it on the counter. People complained about being tied to their phones like they didn’t have a choice in the matter. To him, it was simple: he preferred being unreachable, so he made it that way. Nothing to interrupt him while he was making magic in the kitchen—and nobody chasing after him when he wasn’t in the mood to be chased.
Take this apartment. The beachfront condo looked out over the water, with clean, modern lines as bare as the day he’d moved in—and he liked it that way. No clutter, no baggage. All he needed were fresh sheets on the king-sized bed and a 40-inch TV over the mantle, but for some reason, every woman he brought back over the threshold took one look around and decided it was a project, in need of fixing. And if he dared to invite them back a second time . . . Well, he had a whole closet full of the stuff they just happened to bring. Throw pillows, and candles, and tea-towels with hearts and flowers embroidered on the hem. He had more stuff than he knew what to do with; it was safer by miles just to hang out at their place, rather than come back to find tiny pouches of lavender all over the bathroom.
He took a shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, stepping out onto the balcony to breathe in the ocean tang as he listened to his voicemails.
“Hey babe, it’s Kenzie . . .”
“Declan, it’s Suze, I’m back in town . . .”
He skipped through the messages from old flames—and potential new ones—until he heard his literary agent’s familiar brusque tone.
“Let me guess, you’re out hanging ten?” Quinn said, sounding amused. “Well, when you can drag yourself off the beach, give me a call. Eve Bloom wants you for a guest spot on her summer cooking show. I got another book offer, if you can sit still that long, and they’re still yapping at me about that sauce line. Oh, and Rich Crawford called, the investor, wanted to set up a meeting. They’re looking for a new chef to launch a string of restaurants around, and he likes your style. Call me.”
Declan dialed and got her voicemail. “Yes, no, no, maybe.” He hung up. Short and to the point, just like Quinn.
A string of restaurants, huh?
Used to be you had to work years before that kind of opportunity came around. Climbing your way up in the best kitchens around before you opened your first location, then maybe expanding to another—but only five or ten years down the line, when you had a solid reputation and the books to back it up.
Now, all they wanted was some name recognition before they threw investment at you. Everybody was after the new hot thing, buzz they could ride all the way to an empire. And Declan had plenty of that. Sure, he’d paid his dues the hard way, starting out a kitchen grunt peeling potatoes back in Sydney before heading out to see the world. French, Italian, even a stint learning the ropes at one of the best sushi places in Japan—he’d seen it all. But opening Sage before he even turned thirty? That was the fast track, right there. And since then, things had gone into hyper-drive.
The press attention didn’t hurt: cover features and guest spots on TV shows. He knew that had more to do with his smile than his sabayon, but hell, once they got a taste of his culinary skills, they didn’t make the same mistake again. Sage was only a couple of years old now; he’d been so focused on making it the hottest restaurant on the Cape, he hadn’t thought ahead to his next step.
But if he wanted to move faster, think bigger . . . ?
Declan smiled just imagining it. Another city, another scene. He thrived off the challenge, picking up and starting over someplace new. Chicago, maybe, or Los Angeles . . . Cal always teased him about his itchy feet, but Declan had never known anything different. Even when he was a kid, his family was always picking up and moving on to the next town—usually after one of his dad’s risky business ventures crashed and burned. Pete Nash was a grifter in a good suit, always looking for the next easy dollar. He could charm anyone into giving him a break, but the good times never lasted, and sooner or later, Declan would get home from school to find his mom packing up the van again.
Pete sold it as an adventure, and Declan played along, but soon enough, traipsing after his parents to another fresh start got old, and by the time he turned seventeen, he’d had enough. He got his leaver’s cert, quit school, and decided it was time to travel—on his own terms. He headed to Sydney and worked his way from kitchen scut boy to assistant chef before taking his savings and striking out further still: southeast Asia, Europe, South America. With his skills and talent, there was always ready work, and if there was one thing he learned from his father, it was to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. His fortunes weren’t tied to the economy, or some boss in an office somewhere. No, all he needed was his knife kit and a pile of fresh produce.
And in a pinch, he could make magic with canned goods, too.
* * *
Declan dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and headed out for the evening. He liked to tease his friends about the small-town shenanigans on the Cape, but he secretly had a soft spot for all their celebrations. It seemed like every month there was a new festival or parade, but he wasn’t about to turn down a party—or the steady stream of tourists they attracted, who just happened to swing by Sage for dinner.
Tonight, it was the Summer Spectacular carnival, set up on a field just outside town. Just as Jenny had promised, there were booths, rides, funnel cake, and more, all lit up brightly in the twilight, under a swooping Ferris wheel. He bought a string of tickets at the front gate, and strolled the busy aisles, checking out the festivities.
“What’s this?” a teasing voice made him turn. A buddy, Riley, greeted him with a smile. “Declan Nash, participating in town events?”
“Are you kidding? I thrive off the competition,” Declan joked, nodding to the carnival booth, where teenagers were lined up, throwing hacky sacks at targets to win a fuzzy bear.
Riley grinned. “They sell them for twenty bucks by the main entrance, if you need to impress someone,” he said.
Declan snorted. “Whatever happened to equality? If she wants a bear, she better win one for herself.”
Riley gave him a look. “And you wonder why you’re still single.”
“No need to wonder, mate.” Declan paused to buy a pretzel from a snack cart. “It’s a blessing. Took a lifetime of training and discipline to get to this point.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Riley said with a smirk. The laid-back bartender been one of Declan’s first mates in town, matching him pint for pint—and conquest for conquest. But he’d fallen hard last year, and now was happily engaged and planning domestic bliss. “I’ll be leaving with the woman of my dreams tonight, while you’ll be rattling around that apartment of yours on your own.”
“Who said I’m going home alone?” Declan countered. He glanced around, assessing the crowd as he squirted mustard and ketchup on his plate. “Plenty of options, from where I’m standing—”
He caught a flash of blonde hair across the way, and a face bright with laughter.
Paige.
His fist clenched involuntarily, and the mustard splurted out in a blob, all over his shirt.
Riley snorted with laughter as Declan grabbed a fistful of paper towels. “Sure. You’ve got a romantic night with your laundry detergent waiting.”
Declan gave up dabbing. His T-shirt was officially a los
t cause, so he stripped it off, and tossed it in the trash, just as Cal and Eliza arrived.
“Is there a Chippendale show I don’t know about?” Eliza quipped, greeting him with a smile. “Wait, don’t tell me. I wouldn’t put it past Debra and Aunt June.”
“Nope, it’s just . . . you know . . . a thing.” Declan gestured vaguely, his attention focused on the woman trailing a few paces behind them.
He hadn’t seen her since that night on the beach, and he’d wondered if his imagination had run away with him, but seeing Paige now, backlit golden by the setting sun in a simple navy sundress, he realized it was the opposite.
His memory hadn’t done her justice, not even close.
Her hair was pulled back in a neat braid, but a few strands were already falling free, framing her face. He remembered how that hair had felt, silken, tangled in his grasp as her lips parted for him, and she’d made that breathy sound in the back of her throat—
“Declan. You remember my sister, right?” Eliza broke through his memories.
“We . . . met.” Paige finally met his eyes, and he could have sworn her cheeks flushed pink. “Briefly.”
That was one way of putting it. Declan cleared his throat and tried not to sound like he’d just been hit with an anvil. “How’ve you been?” he asked casually.
“Great,” Paige replied.
“You look it.” Declan flashed a smile, before catching a warning look from Cal.
OK then. Flirt but don’t touch. He could live with that.
The others chatted, catching up on gossip and town plans, but he couldn’t drag his focus from Paige. Their last encounter had been tantalizingly brief, just a glimpse of the passion hiding beneath her good-girl surface, but it was enough to grab his curiosity—and leave him panting for more. He knew she was off limits, but still . . .
They could have some fun.
Paige caught him staring. She arched an eyebrow, looking him up and down as he stood there in jeans and not much else. “What is it with today and naked bodies?”
Cal made a choking sound. Eliza thumped him on the back. “We’re going to try some rides!” She said brightly, looking like she wanted to laugh. “Come on!”
She dragged Cal away before Declan could say a word. He looked at Paige, puzzled. “Did I miss something?”
“Just the part where I walked in on them. You know . . .” Her cheeks flushed again, and Declan chuckled.
“Young love, ain’t it grand?”
He looked to Riley for confirmation, only to find they were alone in the crowd. Declan blinked. He had been so focused on Paige, he hadn’t even noticed him leave.
“Are you meeting someone?” Paige asked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt . . .”
“What? No.” Declan turned back to her. So, she’d taken him by surprise, showing up unexpectedly, but he wasn’t going to stand around blathering like an idiot all over again.
He had charm. He had moves. And it was time to show Paige Bennett what he was made of.
“In fact, you have perfect timing,” Declan continued, flashing her his biggest smile. “I was just about to prove my skills. I’m better with an audience.” He winked, and Paige finally smiled.
“Sure you are.”
“What do you say?” He strolled closer to the booth and assessed the prizes on offer. “Do you want the ugly bear or the hideous unicorn?”
“Hmmm . . .” Paige joined him, pretending to think it over. “Now that you mention it, what woman doesn’t dream about taking home a bright-purple unicorn?”
“Your wish is my command.” Declan nodded to the booth jockey and picked up a hacky sack. “One horned beast, coming right up.”
He aimed, threw . . . and missed.
“Just getting warmed up,” he told Paige, and he settled deeper into a pitching stance. “These old games, they take a little getting used to.”
“Oh really?”
He could hear the amusement in her voice as he took aim again. This time, he hit—the sign at the back of the booth. And then the side barrier. And finally, his last hacky sack bounced off the post and almost hit the poor guy in the face.
Declan had to laugh. “It’s rigged,” he protested. “There’s some kind of optical illusion, with the angle.”
“Shame,” Paige smiled back, and she gave an exaggerated sigh. “I had my heart set on that toy. Maybe I should take a try?”
“Knock yourself out.” Declan handed over another string of tickets and moved aside for her. Paige picked up a beanbag and weighed it in her hand with a thoughtful look. Then, in one smooth, elegant motion, she crouched in a pitching stance and hurled it at the target.
Bullseye.
A dinky alarm went off, sounding applause. “Rigged, huh?” she asked with a smile.
Declan gave her a slow clap.
“I pitched high-school softball,” Paige explained. “And if you look closely at the mechanics, the pulley for the trigger is off center.”
“Athletic and smart,” Declan whistled in admiration. “Be still my heart.”
Paige gave him a look. “You can cut that out,” she said, as the booth jockey presented her with the unicorn.
“Cut what out?”
“The charm. Your pick-up lines. It’s very flattering, but I’m not, you know . . . doing that.”
Declan would have paid every dollar in his checking account to hear Paige describe exactly what that was she was thinking about, but he wasn’t about to push his luck. “Yes ma’am,” he said instead, adjusting his smile down from “smoldering” to just plain “flirty.” “Anything else I can do for you?”
“You could put a shirt on, for a start.” Paige’s eyes drifted over his bare chest, and he could have sworn her cheeks turned a little pink. She coughed. “You’re distracting . . . the kids.”
He chuckled. “Sure. But I’m afraid I’m all out of clean clothes right now.”
Paige looked around, and then got a dangerous smile on her face. “Excuse me,” she asked the booth jockey. “Can I please make a trade?” she held up the stuffed unicorn. “I’d like . . . that one instead.”
It wasn’t until the guy fetched down her new prize that Declan realized what he’d gotten himself into. “Seriously?” he asked, as she held up the pastel pink T-shirt emblazoned with My Little Ponies.
Paige grinned. “Don’t think your masculine pride can take it?” she asked with an arch smile.
Declan laughed. “My masculinity is bulletproof, baby. I just don’t think it’ll fit over my enormous muscles.” He flexed, teasing. Paige threw the shirt at him. “Like I said, your wish is my command.”
Declan pulled the T-shirt over his head. It was way too small, hitting just above his stomach and stretched tight across his biceps. “Better?” He grinned, striking a pose.
Paige snorted with laughter. “Perfect. Pink is really your color,” she added sunnily.
“I’ve always thought so, too.”
They fell into step together, strolling the carnival. Declan was feeling pretty good about himself, about to suggest a trip through Lover’s Lane, when Paige came to a stop. “I should find my friends,” she said.
“We’re not friends?” Declan asked, teasing.
She gave him another look. “Do you make out with all your friends?”
“Only the beautiful ones,” Declan shot back, and Paige laughed.
“You really can’t help yourself, can you? With the flirting, I mean.”
“Do you want me to?” Declan asked, studying her face. He’d thought she was enjoying their teasing banter, but he wasn’t about to be an asshole if she really meant it.
Paige gave a reluctant smile. “I just don’t want you to think I’m leading you on. What happened on the beach, it was . . .”
“Wild. Fun. Hot as hell?” Declan provided helpfully.
Paige laughed. “An out of body experience,” she said finally, even though Declan had been pretty sure exactly where her body was—and how it had felt, pressed eagerly again
st him. “I told you, I was having a weird day.”
“Ah, yes, your brush with death,” Declan changed the subject, wanting her to relax again—and flash that infectious smile. “How’s your new life of reckless adventure going?”
Paige made a face. “Does eating junk food and forgetting to floss count?”
He laughed. “We can work on that. Starting with . . .” He pointed up at the Ferris wheel overhead, slowly coming to a stop as it delivered the last set of riders.
Paige looked up and blinked. “I don’t know. Is it safe?”
Declan snorted. “You think this town wouldn’t have had ten different safety meetings before they approved the permits?”
“Good point,” Paige said, but she still looked reluctant. “Are you sure I’m not keeping you from other plans? You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”
Babysitting was the last thing on Declan’s mind as he led her over to the ride. “What’s it going to be?” he asked, holding out his hand to help her into one of the cars. “Ready to take a ride on the wild side?”
Five.
* * *
Paige looked at Declan—his hand outstretched; a tempting glint in his blue eyes—and wondered how anyone was supposed to resist him. It really wasn’t fair. That handsome face was bad enough, but the body, too? Even that ridiculous T-shirt had done nothing to hide his bronzed, Adonis-like perfection. If anything, if just begged to be stripped off him, tossed aside, and forgotten in favor of other . . . activities.
