by Caro LaFever
Chapter 17
“Where are we going?”
Nick smothered a smile before turning to confront a pair of suspicious female eyes. Out here on the sunlit sidewalks of San Francisco, he realized her eyes held not just blue and green and brown, but a dazzling splinter of gold in the depths as well. Jessica McDowell continued to astound him in so many ways. He’d gone from like and lust to something much more profound in the last few days. As he’d watched her grow into the role she’d been born to, as he’d seen her handle impossible problems with aplomb and finesse, as he’d watched her sleep and eat, talk and walk….
This was more than like.
More than lust.
A whisper of unease ran through him at the realization.
“Well?” Her tone grew sharp. “Where?”
“Demands, demands.” Grabbing her reluctant hand and pushing his thoughts away, he pulled her toward the approaching cable car.
She snorted, but still followed his lead. “Look who’s talking.”
He chuckled before pulling her up with him to sit on one of the wooden benches facing out on the street. This early on a Saturday morning, there wasn’t much traffic, and the cable car was only half full. By his reckoning, they’d arrive at the market right as it opened. He couldn’t wait to see Jessie’s expression when he told her what they were going to do.
“I suppose this is pretty cool.” Eyeing him, she then looked out at the street as the car started running along the tracks at a fast clip. “I’ve never ridden on one of these.”
“Didn’t some woman claim to have been all over this town?” he teased.
Her laugh filled the air between them, and made his heart take flight. He’d missed this sound for the last couple of days, when she’d been so serious and concerned. Hopefully, he could make her laugh like this again and again, today and tomorrow. Suddenly, it became his primary goal. Taking a chance, he threw his arm around her shoulders and tugged her into the heat of his body.
Her laugh slowed to a chuckle, and she gave him a quizzical look, but she didn’t pull away. Happiness curled around his light heart.
“You know,” he said, glancing at the bun of her hair. “You could do me a huge favor.”
“Could I?” His smart cowgirl noted where he was looking and gave him another side-eye. “Why should I?”
He grinned at her because she was as smart as he was. “For me.”
“Like I said. Why should I?”
“Just for today,” he coaxed. “You’re not working, and it’s time to let your hair down. So to speak.”
“Literally, so to speak,” she shot back.
“Please.”
“You know exactly what to say, don’t you?” Flashing him a disgruntled look, she still did as he wanted and tugged the tie out of her hair. “It’s going to fly all over in the wind.”
“Excellent.” He curbed his craving to reach out and touch. Winning one battle was good enough for the time being. “Hair like that is designed to fly all over.”
She gazed at him, a whisper of bewildered pleasure crossing her face. “You really do like my hair, don’t you?”
A chuckle of disbelief was his response. “Hasn’t it been obvious?”
“I guess.” With a careless flip, which he knew wasn’t careless at all, she took the strands of red hair and tossed them over her shoulder. Then, she grinned. A bright, sunny, brilliant grin that dazzled him as much as the gold in her eyes.
No longer like. Not merely lust.
He pushed aside the thoughts once more.
The cable car trundled up one hill and down another. The blue sky above held a smattering of gauzy clouds promising no rain. Another rise of a hill brought the splendid view of the bay, and he sighed in surprising contentment.
Her sigh echoed his. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
Glancing at her, he noted the way the sun glinted on the red of her hair and the cream of her skin. “Not as beautiful as you.”
He meant those words, with every fiber of his soul, yet she drew back with a jerk, her mouth firming, her eyes growing cool. “Stop it.”
There it was again—the disbelief in her own worth, her own beauty. He wanted to take her father by the neck and shake him, because no one else could have possibly had the impact on his Jessie that Clyde McDowell had. It stood to reason her lack of confidence was because of her father. Yet the man clearly loved his daughter. This situation was such a mess; a tangled web Nick would have to figure out at some point.
But today was not that point. He wanted to have fun and he wanted her to have fun too. Flicking a finger on her chin, he grinned. “I’m going to stop talking because we have shopping to do.”
Conveniently, the car jerked on the track and came to a slow standstill.
“Shopping for what?” To his relief, she became distracted.
“Come on.” Dragging her off the bench, he set a fast pace down the street lining the bay. “We’re close.”
“I’m not going to ask one more question,” she grumbled. “Since you don’t answer.”
“The answers are coming.” He grinned at her again. He couldn’t wait.
Within a few minutes, he spotted the tall, white spear of their destination. Soon, the green-and-white canopies of the street vendors appeared.
“That’s the Ferry Building,” she said.
“Correct. The woman does know her San Fran.”
The crowds were still light, as the farmer’s market had just opened. When he’d begun to make his plans for today, he’d tracked down the McDowell hotel’s head concierge who’d told him: Go early to get the best produce, make sure to get your cheese there, mushrooms are amazing, sausage even better.
“Food?” Her voice held a wary delight. “I am hungry.”
“Good.” Pulling her to the first stand, he eyed the tomatoes and peppers. Maybe they’d add some of these to their breakfast. “But you’ll have to wait until we return to our Painted Lady before you get to eat.”
“Huh?” She peered at the vegetables and gave the vendor a confused smile. “What do you mean?”
Time to announce his plans. “We’re cooking.”
Those mixed eyes of hers widened. “Cooking?”
“We have a kitchen, right?” Lacing his fingers into hers, he whispered his thumb across the soft palm of her hand. “And you told me you always wanted to cook.”
“Cook.” She blinked.
“Yep. I figured since we’re both newbies at this, we’d start with something simple. Breakfast.”
“Cooking breakfast.”
“Correct.” Pointing at two tomatoes and a green pepper that looked ripe to him, he paid the vendor before pulling her to the next one. “I thought omelets.”
“But…but…” Looking wildly around her, she tightened her grasp on him, as if she were afraid he’d walk away. “I don’t know how to cook.”
“Neither do I.” He marched through the lines of vendors to enter the building itself. The concierge had told him the mushrooms were in here.
“How are we going to cook, then?” she said with exasperation, and also a healthy level of amusement.
He’d hoped her humor would kick in. “We’re both fairly intelligent human beings. It can’t be that hard.”
“It can be that hard. I’ve watched chefs my entire life.” Her gaze landed on the mound of mushrooms he’d been aiming for, and her mouth dropped open.
Nick supposed he should focus on the mushrooms his tipster had raved about, but at the moment, all he could see was the pink loveliness of her tongue and the wetness of her inner lips. “Jesús.”
“I know.” Glancing at him, she smiled in obvious delight. “It’s amazing, the variety.”
That wasn’t what he meant, yet he couldn’t tell her that. Not at this point. Clinging to the last strand of his control, he turned his gaze on the produce. “I think a mushroom and sausage omelet sounds delicious.”
“So what are you going to do with the tomatoes and peppe
r you just bought?”
Scowling in pretend bewilderment at the bag he held in his hand, he eyed the barrels of portobellos and shiitakes in front of them. “That’s your job to figure out.”
Her laugh came once more, showering a shiver of exhilaration on him. Before he succumbed to the temptation of jumping on her and having her for breakfast, he waved over a clerk and began to choose what he wanted.
Jessie, being Jessie, made her own desires clear too.
By the time they’d ventured down the long hallway with its glass ceiling and dozens of stalls, they’d amassed bags and bags of artisanal cheese, organic coffee, and baguettes.
“Hey, cowboy.”
Grunting at her, he chewed on the last slice of sample sausage he’d been handed by an eager vendor.
“This is way too much food for two people.”
“I’m figuring we’ll have leftovers.”
“Leftover omelets?” A sniff of disdain was laden with playfulness. “Seriously?”
Hitching the half-dozen bags up high, he clambered onto the waiting cable car. A couple of hours had gone by and now the vehicle was practically full. No seating available. A frown of concern crossed his brow as he looked back at Jessie, who was also carrying several bags. “We should get a cab.”
“No way.” Her gaze met his, and in the depths of her eyes, he saw what he’d wanted to see since the moment he’d encountered this woman. A free, easy spirit filled with life and joy. “We can do this.”
“Yeah,” he drawled, trying to hide his own joy. “We can do anything.”
“McDowell and Townsend.” She scrambled to his side and grabbed a pole. “Together we can do anything.”
Nick hoped to God if she ever found out about his deal with her father, she’d remember this moment. Except that wouldn’t happen. The more he got to know her, the more determined he was to never let that happen. It would destroy this fragile confidence she’d started to build.
“Townsend and McDowell,” he joked, trying to quell the anxiety surging inside.
“Whatever.” Her voice was filled with sarcasm, yet the smile she gave him made him want to slay all her dragons.
But if he was honest with himself, he was her dragon. The wicked demon who’d made a deal with her devil of a father behind her back. The guy who had his claws in her hotels and the whip of his tail wrapping around her finger with a ring of possession. His thoughts pummeled him as the cable car rumbled up and down the hills of San Francisco. By the time they’d both climbed off and got to the Painted Lady’s front door, he’d managed to put the ugly thoughts away for another day.
Somehow, someway he’d keep his wickedness away from her.
“This better work.” She laid her bundles on the granite counter. “I’m starved.”
“O ye, of little faith,” he murmured. “Remember. Together we can—”
“Do anything. Right.” Gazing at the bounty of food, she flashed him a teasing glance. “So who’s going to be the chef and who’s going be the assistant?”
“That’s not how it’s going to work.” He’d known that after about ten minutes in this woman’s company. His Jessie wouldn’t put up with being dismissed or ordered about. “Partners.”
“Okay, partner.” Her drawl was a mocking copy of his own. “I’ll dice, you stir.”
With surprisingly little trouble, they produced two sausage-and-cheese omelets, with a side plate of fried tomatoes and peppers. The baguette was sliced thin and spread with a warm butter they’d found in one small specialty shop.
“I’m impressed with ourselves.” Jessie moaned, as she stuck another forkful of egg and cheese into her mouth.
“It helps to have the ingredients we chose.” He stuffed another mouthful in and moaned, himself. The bloom of sweet, spicy cheese mixed with the earthy ciauscolo sausage melted on his tongue.
“True.” Sipping the last of her coffee, she threw him a smirk. “I suppose next, you’ll be wanting to attempt a fancy dinner.”
“There’s a thought.” He eased back in his chair and patted his stomach. “But not at this time.”
“Then what’s on deck next?”
By the way a wisp of a frown crossed her brow, he could tell her thoughts were straying to her beloved, damaged hotel. He wasn’t going to allow that. “How about a nap together?”
Distracted again by his sly ploy, she swung her focus back on him and shook her finger. “Now, now. You’ve been a very good boy for days. Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m far from being a good boy.” Truer words had never been spoken. If his father had been around, there’d be a thunder of agreement. “It’s been a hard few days making you think I am.”
Chuckling, she slid down in her chair, the picture of complete contentment.
It struck him, just like that.
He wanted her like this forever. Happy and sated. At peace and safe. With him. Constantly with him. The sliver of realization he’d pushed away earlier this morning returned with a vengeance. But this time, he let it sink into him. No fighting or pushing back. Only acceptance.
His Jessie.
His love.
Chapter 18
They shouldn’t have tempted fate.
Even with all their McDowell and Townsend togetherness.
“Ah, Nick.” Jess gaped at the disaster sitting on the stove and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“What?” His voice echoed from the small dining room that lay off the side of the kitchen. He’d declared they were going to be fancy tonight in honor of their second foray into cooking, and he’d been busily lighting candles and pulling out pretty china ever since.
At least their disaster would be well lit and regally served.
“Um.” She tentatively flipped one of the blackened poblano peppers, hoping perhaps it would look better on the other side. It didn’t. The pepper was black all over. “I think we have a problem.”
“We are both made to fix problems.” Appearing in the doorway, he gave her his real smile and predictably her heart rate doubled. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
“You said ten minutes.” She threw him a token glare before pointing at their ruined dinner. “But look.”
He marched to her side and, to her confused frustration, his smile turned into a grin. “That’s perfect. My mamá would be so proud.”
By the time they’d finished putting away the breakfast leftovers and cleaning the kitchen, he had another jaunt planned. No worrying about work, he demanded, and only laughed when she reminded him about how she responded to demands. He’d pulled her out of the Painted Lady and went straight to the heart of the Mission District. They’d spent a couple of hours wandering the gardens of the old Delores Chapel before heading to another round of foodie shops, this time stocked with Mexican delicacies.
What had fascinated her was him, not the vast varieties of peppers, cheeses, masa, and beans.
Because for the first time, she’d glimpsed the young Nick. The way he’d slipped smoothly into Spanish with the tortilla shop owner. The way he eagerly snatched up a jar of salsa that he’d said his mother and aunts always used with their meals. The way his smile came fast and free instead of calculated and cunning.
Her heart had melted into a soft, gooey mess he so easily could form into anything he wanted.
Chiles Rellenos, he’d announced. That was easy enough to start with for new cooks, and would be a great meal, he’d assured her.
“They are burnt.” Jess waved at the mess on the stove, instead of focusing on the mess in the center of her chest.
“That’s the way they’re supposed to be.” Gingerly, he plucked up the steaming peppers one at a time and placed them in a ceramic bowl. “My mamá and tías cooked this a thousand times.”
She peered into the bowl and watched as he sealed it tight with plastic wrap. “They’re burnt, though.”
“Trust me on this.”
Eyeing him, she put on a pout. “I thought you said I was smart.”
“Are you sure you’ve never cooked before?” Suspicion ladled her voice.
“Nope. Not a lick.” He stopped fiddling with the stove to look at her. His expression turned oddly wistful. “In my mamá’s house, men didn’t cook. Neither did boys.”
“Only females.”
“Sí.” His focus returned to the pan, and the wistfulness disappeared in a concentrated frown. “You do the dicing of the onion and garlic. I’ll do the tomatoes.”
Letting him shuffle her over to the side counter with his hands on her hips, Jess tried to banish the soft spot threatening to engulf her. When she’d first met him, she’d been overwhelmed by his beauty and sexuality. She’d be the first to admit, she didn’t handle wildly attractive men with any kind of finesse. They intimidated her, although she never let them see it. But during this last week, as Nick had wined and danced her, threw her grins and took her on rides, she’d come to see beneath the beauty.
Beneath to his anger, his pain, his loneliness. His wistful desire for more.
The soft spot billowed, filling her straight into the center of the heart.
Oblivious to the turmoil going on inside her, he centered her next to an inlaid cutting board striped in maple and cherry wood.
“Knife,” he said, as he pulled out a drawer bristling with all sorts of blades.
Staring at the knife he’d chosen, she swallowed. “I don’t know how to dice. Especially with that.”
“I don’t know, either.” He gave her a wicked, challenging glance. “But we’re going to find out together if we can do this. We already did fine with the peppers.”
“Did we?” She looked at the bowl laden with black disasters.
“We did. Here. Behold. The onion.” His hand thrust out, holding the one onion he’d spent about a million years finding.
“The onion,” she intoned like she announced the entrance of a king.
His lush brows rose. “You realize the onion is all-important in Mexican cooking.”
“How could I, when I’ve never cooked Mexican?”
