Just Add Spice (The Spice Series Book 1)

by Calista Fox

  “No,” he quickly interjected. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. Ever.”

  She continued to stare at him, seeing myriad emotions in his glowing blue eyes. Causing her to say, “I had no intention of making this harder on you. I wasn’t thinking about how my return would impact you when it comes to expectations. I just wanted to lend a hand, Rafe. And to see you again.”

  He nodded. “Trust me, I’m glad you’re here. Don’t think twice about that, Jen.”

  She smiled. “Well. The restaurant’s not opened this late at the Fairmont, so I guess it’s room service for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She turned to go, but only made it halfway across the dining room when she whirled back around, something intuitive urging her to do so. “Unless…”

  He grinned and a hint of relief flashed in his eyes. “Linguine alla vongole it is.”

  “No one makes it better than you.” She smiled. “I’m a sucker for your food. And your smirk.”

  He gave her one. Then he said, “I’m a sucker for everything about you.”

  Her teeth clamped down briefly on her lower lip. “I don’t want to convolute things between us. Make them worse.”

  “I’ll try not to read too much into it.”

  “That’s not really—” She shook her head. Swallowed a lump of emotion. “Okay.”

  “Besides,” he said in a lighter tone, as though trying to cut some of their tension, “I bet you won’t get a foot massage this late at the Fairmont, either.”

  “Not without a hefty up-charge. And it wouldn’t be nearly as heavenly as yours.”

  “I’ll lock up and we can meet at the loft.”

  She only had to wait a few minutes for him at his front door, having mailed back her key when she’d returned the divorce papers. He let them into the building and she shook out her umbrella before he helped her out of her overcoat. He hung it on the rack, along with his black leather jacket.

  They climbed the stairs to the second level. Rafe’s loft was expansive and airy. A wall of windows showcased the radiance of North Beach, the Wharf beyond and Alcatraz Island in the distance. Fat drops rolled down the glass panes from a light storm. The living room boasted leather sofas in a rich sienna color. Rafe flipped the switch for the gas fireplace.

  Jenna said, “I’ll pour the wine. Pinot Gris?”

  “I’ve got a couple bottles of the brand you like in the wine cooler.”

  “Perfect.”

  She crossed to the wet bar and retrieved a bottle from the tall, slim chiller. She poured two glasses and followed Rafe as he moved toward the kitchen.

  Spying the old-fashioned, hand-crank pasta maker sitting on the granite-topped island, she laughed. “You still use that thing? You can buy an electric one, you know?”

  “My grandmother gave that to me. There’s something very therapeutic about the hand-crank model.”

  “Authentic too,” she admitted.

  “As it happens, I made linguine last night.”

  “Lucky me. Homemade pasta.”

  “You know store-bought never enters this house.”

  “Oh, believe me, I know. That would be sacrilege. Rightfully so.”

  He told her, “I’m gonna take a quick shower. Make yourself comfortable.”

  While the water heated in the pot for steaming the clams, Rafe disappeared into his bedroom. He returned minutes later, wearing a pair of faded Levi’s that fit him sinfully well. Enough to make her drool. It was his bare chest and feet, and his damp, tousled hair that caused her nipples to tighten.

  Perhaps coming here had been a mistake…

  Rafe handed over a crisp, white dress shirt and said, “Slip into this if you want.”

  She stared at the offering, thinking it was much too intimate.

  “Rafe—”

  “Don’t get antsy on me. I’m not trying to get you naked.” He grimaced. “Okay, that’s a blatant lie. Just…you know. Relax a little. As if you were in your hotel room.”

  Those words helped her to breathe easier.

  Jenna took the shirt from him and said, “Thank you. I am dying to get out of these shoes and this dress.”

  She turned so he could work the zipper, then she left him, opting to change in the guest bathroom. She deduced leaving her bra and panties on was the most sensible way to go. Though, deep down, Jenna still wasn’t wholly convinced being in Rafe’s loft was the smartest thing for either of them, given the heat and attraction they both felt. As well as the obvious conflicting emotions.

  She wanted him. No denying it. But if she allowed them to travel that path again, they’d only end up at that T in the road she’d thought of the night before.

  Confusing Rafe more, or complicating his life, was not what Jenna wanted. Yet her fingers burned to touch his skin. Tangle in his hair. Wrap around his thick shaft.

  A soft moan escaped her parted lips. She couldn’t help but think of Rafe crushing her against his hunky body and kissing her deeply, passionately. The way he’d done before Tad had interrupted them with his phone call.

  “Hey.” Rafe’s rich tone eased over her like a sensual caress.

  Her gaze lifted from the line of buttons she’d absently fastened. She smiled at him in the reflection above the double vanity. All six-foot-three-inch dreaminess filling the opened doorway behind her, his shoulder propped against the wood frame, his arms crossed over his wide, smooth, chiseled chest.

  She choked down a sigh of longing.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Jenna nodded. “Sure. Just thought I should change in here.”

  “And deny me the visual?” He scoffed good-naturedly. “I may never forgive you.”

  She stared at him a moment in the mirror. Her stomach knotting. She asked, “Have you, Rafe?”

  Shoving away from the doorframe, he crossed to where she stood. She turned to him. His fingers grazed her cheek. “I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart. I wouldn’t call you every few weeks if I hadn’t.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I’m not the only one who got hurt, am I?” Rafe’s head dipped and he kissed her on the forehead. “There’s quite a bit of fault to be placed at my feet too. And speaking of… Dinner’s ready. We can sit on the sofa and I’ll rub those sore arches of yours.”

  She followed him into the kitchen to retrieve her glass of wine. He dumped pasta into a bowl and added the steamed clams and white wine sauce, gently tossing the pasta. Jenna took her dinner into the living room. Rafe followed, turning on the CD player, already having his favorite jazz music cued.

  “Duke Ellington,” she mused. “I haven’t heard him in a while.”

  “That’s because you’re still hung up on Billy Idol.”

  “I do like my bad boys,” she reminded him with a smile.

  He settled next to her. “Never thought I fit the category.”

  Jenna let out a hearty laugh, surprising both of them. “Please.” Her gaze slid to him. “The things you did to me when we were married? Even before that? No mere sweet Catholic schoolboy knows what you know. You are bad to the bone, my friend.”

  “What can I say? You make me that way. And we sizzled together.”

  “I’m surprised the sheets never went up in flames.”

  “Something to strive for,” he said, a glint of desire in his gaze.

  “Rafe.”

  “Jenna,” he countered.

  She balanced the bowl on a suede-covered decorative pillow and dug into her linguine, swirling around a forkful with the help of a large spoon at the tip of the prongs. She didn’t take her eyes off the bowl. Instead, she took a big bite and savored the fresh pasta and clams. Then she reached for her Pinot Gris.

  Rafe said, “You can’t tell me we’re not still ridiculously hot for each other.”

  She swallowed. “I never said that. I’m not refuting we have great chemistry.”

  “Great? Are you kidding, Jen?”

  “O
kay,” she conceded as she set her glass back on the coffee table. “But this is probably something we shouldn’t talk about.”

  She situated herself more comfortably against the plump cushions along the arm of the sofa and continued to eat. Rafe didn’t press her, but he did lift her legs onto the sofa. With her feet in his lap, he massaged them tenderly. Expertly. Knowing all the right spots that needed his skilled touch.

  “That’s divine,” she said in between bites. “Tell me what you do when you’re not at Sampogna’s.”

  “Visit my family and friends. Try new recipes. Browse the selection at the farmer’s market with Tonio. Go down to the Wharf and watch the seals at Pier 39. I don’t know, Jen. There’s a shitload of things to do. This is San Francisco. Sometimes I put the top down on my convertible and drive across the Golden Gate Bridge. Or take the ferry to Marin County. Spend the day in Sausalito or tour wine country.”

  “Sounds nice,” she confessed.

  “All things I wanted to do with you.” There was a slight edge to his voice. He cleared his throat. In a neutral tone, he asked, “Do you ever see the sights in the cities you visit?”

  “Not while I’m in the throes of a project.” She’d never discussed this with Rafe before and admitted, “When I was a kid, though, my parents were very big on sightseeing. We took day trips all the time, no matter where we were. Think I’ve seen every monument and national park in the continental U.S., including Mount Rushmore and the caves of the Ozarks.”

  “How often did you move around?”

  Jenna shifted, pulling her feet from his hands. She stood and took the bowl of pasta into the kitchen. She put cling wrap over the top and set it on a shelf in the stainless-steel refrigerator.

  When she rejoined him in living room, she told Rafe, “I don’t want to talk about my childhood.”

  He sat forward, resting his forearms on his powerful thighs. “Did you like traveling so much back then?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then why do it now?”

  “It’s different now that I’m older, Rafe. Besides, it’s what I know. It’s what I’m most familiar with, and… Look, not everyone is wired the same way. Some of us need our work to define who we are, and that means we’ve always got our nose to the grindstone. And for me, it also means I hop from place to place.”

  He regarded her contemplatively, then said, “When it comes to you, there’s more to the story. And we both know it. Problem is, you’ve never given me the unabridged version.”

  “Maybe I don’t like the unabridged version,” she told him honestly. “I compartmentalize, and that makes me happy.”

  “Happy.” He said the word with such disdain—directed at her—that she got the distinct impression he thought she’d never experienced that emotion.

  With a sigh, Jenna said, “There are varying degrees, Rafe. And what one considers gleeful, another might not.”

  “When, exactly, have you been happy in your life?”

  “I’m happy with my career.”

  “That’s not what I’m referring to, and you know it.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “I was happy when we met. When we got married. When we went on our honeymoon.”

  A dark brow crooked. “And after that?”

  “I was anxious, Rafe. Apprehensive. Overwhelmed. This,” she said as she spread her arms wide, “isn’t something I’m accustomed to. Nor is having an enormous, exuberant family. My God! They all speak at the same damn time!”

  Jenna dropped her hands to her side. In a decidedly defeated tone, she said, “I adore your family, Rafe. Never doubt that. But they’re so boisterous and demonstrative. And…” She shrugged. “It makes me feel like sitting in a corner and letting them all have at it while I sip a glass of wine and try to figure out the twenty different conversations going on all at once.”

  “They can be a little loud,” he admitted.

  “I’m not saying this in a bad way, Rafe. I love that they’re all so spirited. But it’s a bit much for someone like me. I grew up in an RV, for Christ’s sake. Just the four of us. My parents rarely even hosted barbecues at the campsites where we stayed. It was usually only us for dinner. Sometimes just me and Linney. And there were times when no one had anything new to say and it was very quiet.”

  “So being around all these people unsettles you. You never told me that, Jenna.”

  Her stomach coiled. “I know.”

  “And I certainly don’t see that when you’re managing a dining room. But… That’s because you’re working, right?”

  She nodded. “It’s not about me in those instances. It’s about the restaurant.”

  Rafe sat back and she could see he forced his shoulders to loosen. He rubbed his palms against the tops of his thighs and said, “How could I have helped you get a handle on our marriage and my family if you weren’t willing to tell me something so important?”

  He had a point, of course. “I couldn’t fully comprehend it myself. But people who are like me… Rafe, when you grow up the way I did, moving from town to town and living a gypsy/explorer life, settling down is great in theory. It was actually a fantasy my entire life. But the reality of it is damn-near impossible to cope with. I wanted to marry you. I wanted to come to San Francisco and live with you. Unfortunately, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the life you led. Still lead. It’s not my life.”

  His gaze locked with hers. “But, in theory—in fantasy—you wanted it to be?”

  “Yes,” she confessed on a sigh. “I wouldn’t have married you if I hadn’t been serious about trying to build a life with you. Then we came here and everyone gushed over me and talked over each other so I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. They wanted to throw a big party for us and your Aunt Vesta wanted us to recreate the wedding ceremony in church and… Good Lord. It was just all so much, all at once.”

  She turned away. Her hands shook as she wrung them. “I can’t explain how that made me feel.” Tears suddenly stung her eyes, surprising her. “It was like a fairytale come true in some respects. Instant family, you know? And a gorgeous prince who cooks and massages my feet and makes love to me like there’s no tomorrow. I loved every second of that part. But, in all honesty, I felt like everyone—and everything—was pressing in on me and I couldn’t breathe. I mean, sometimes, Rafe… I honestly couldn’t breathe.”

  “Okay, hold on a sec, sweetheart.” She heard him get to his feet and then he stood behind her, his large hands on her shoulders. “Breathe now. Right now.”

  Her entire body quaked.

  “Jenna.” His tone was low, but assertive. “Deep breaths.”

  She gasped for air.

  “Shit,” Rafe said. “You really were stifled.”

  “You don’t understand,” she eeped out. “I love your family, Rafe. They’re all so wonderful. But when their hands flap in the air and their voices raise and they’re speaking a million miles a minute, half in Italian and half in English, I just want to step away.”

  “You did step away. I’d go find you.”

  She nodded. “And I’d be so relieved to see it was just you. No one else. You’d bring me back here and I could breathe again.”

  His arms wrapped around her and she found comfort in his embrace. She relaxed against him, her back to his chest.

  He said, “I always assumed you were just exhausted from the long hours you put in. I didn’t realize you were suffocating.”

  “The thing is,” she said as her hands gripped his strong forearms, his steady presence helping to ease the trembling in her body. “It was all what I wanted, Rafe. My whole life I’d dreamed of walking into a large house with some delicious scent wafting from the kitchen because I was sick of takeout Chinese and processed turkey sandwiches. I wanted to hear laughter, not historical facts about our next destination. I wanted to be a part of something, not a tag-along. You gave all of that to me.”

  His warm lips grazed her temple as he said, “But it was all too much, too soon. Too fast.”


  “Too overwhelming.”

  He sighed against her ear. “Jen, you should have told me.”

  Tears crested the rims of her eyes. “It wouldn’t have changed the fact that I wanted to leave, Rafe. I needed to leave.”

  He remained silent for a while and his body turned rigid. Then he forced her to face him. “You were thinking of Sampogna’s as an unofficial assignment when you decided to come back, weren’t you? Not a home you’d missed.”

  “I don’t have a home.”

  “Yes, you do, Jenna.” Releasing her, he stalked over to the wet bar and poured himself a glass of scotch.

  She said, “Rafe, I’m here because I have the time to fill a void in your dining room, yes. But I’m also here because I’ve missed you.”

  He took a big gulp and winced from the apparent burn. “I don’t get how I can know you so intimately and not know you at all.”

  Jenna’s heart constricted. She said, “I’ve only let you know certain things about me.”

  “And I should be furious about that. We were married, for God’s sake.” He let out a hollow laugh. Tension radiated from him. “But when I look at you, Jen… Jesus. I know I’d do it all again. Fall for you, despite the fact you don’t tell me a damn thing about yourself.”

  “That’s not true, Rafe,” she insisted. “I told you all the time how I felt about you.”

  He drained his glass and scrubbed a hand down his face. Then he pinned her with an intent look and said, “Tell me now.”

  Her chest heaved. “Rafe.”

  “Tell me what it is that you miss about me, Jen. Why you’re really here. In San Francisco. The restaurant. My loft.”

  Jenna’s lips pressed together. Endless moments passed and she mentally urged herself to relax a little, so she could continue to breathe properly. And because telling Rafe how he made her feel—and how she felt about him—had never been a problem. Not in the least.

  She closed the gap between them and splayed her hands over his chest. Gazing up at him, she earnestly said, “There was never anyone before you, Rafe. You know that.”

  “You were a virgin when we met. A rather adventurous one. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t let me do to you.”