Too Hot to Touch

by Louisa Edwards

  To my Gram, who first introduced me to romance novels. I wish you were around to tell me what you think of this one! I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be too racy for a broad like you.

  Acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t have been possible without the faith and vision of my wonderful editor, Rose Hilliard. Thank you for believing in the Rising Star Chef series and for all your help along the way in making this book what it is. Jules is your girl! I hope you’re as proud of her as I am.

  Big love for my agent, Deidre Knight, who really went above and beyond on this book. Thank you for always taking my call, always holding my hand, and always making me a better writer! You’re the best, savviest, funniest, most inspiring guide a girl could have on this wacky journey through the world of publishing.

  They say writing is a solitary pursuit, but I’ve never found that to be the case. Thank God! My writer friends save my sanity every day, and provide invaluable support (in the form of slumber parties disguised as writing retreats), encouragement (in the form of nagging), and information (in the form of gossipy emails). I would be lost without you all!

  Candy Havens, Jaye Wells, and Ann Aguirre—you got me through this book in one piece, and mostly on time.

  Kate Pearce, Nic Montreuil, and Bria Quinlan—your comments on drafts of THtT were invaluable to me. I hope you can spot your fingerprints all over this story as clearly as I can!

  Megan Blocker, and Matt & Jaime Bartlett—anyone who cooks and enjoys the recipes in the back of this book should direct their compliments to you.

  As for my soul sisters, Roxanne St. Claire and Kristen Painter—without your company in the trenches, day by day and hour by hour, I’d be a total wreck. And I’d probably never write a word. Whenever anyone asks me about my muse, I think of you two.

  Thank you to my parents, Jan and George, who started reading romance because it’s what I write—but who, I think, are enjoying it more than they ever expected! And thanks to my sister, Georgia, who’s been my partner in reading for nearly fifteen years. Love you guys!

  Biggest love and thanks of all goes to my husband, Nick—you push me to do more than I think I can manage, and you believe in me when I forget how to believe in myself. Thank you for being the love of my life.

  * * *

  As always, any errors in the book are mine, and mine alone.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Too Hot to Touch Recipes

  Sneak Peek - Some Like it Hot

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles by Louisa Edwards

  Red-Hot Raves for Louisa Edwards’ Recipe for Love series

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Juliet Cavanaugh wrapped her arms around her ribs for warmth and stomped her feet as she walked. The stomping had two benefits; it kept the blood flowing, and it relieved some of the pent-up freak-out simmering in her chest.

  The boots she’d grabbed on her way out the door were her mother’s—stealing them was a last act of defiance, and she refused to feel guilty about it.

  Besides, they fit Juliet perfectly. At seventeen, she’d been as tall as her mother—and taller than most of the boys in her class—for the past three years already. Most of the time, it was a pain. But at the moment, with leather and shearling wool protecting her toes from the slushy sidewalk, Juliet was glad.

  She stomped on in a furious haze, not even sure at first where she was headed, until she was thrown from her trancelike march when her boot hit a patch of ice and nearly slid out from under her. Wobbling precariously, she managed to find her balance, and looked up to discover that she was on a very familiar corner.

  Barrow and Grove, tucked away in the heart of Greenwich Village.

  Old brick town houses lined the narrow street; only a few windows were lit. The biggest source of illumination was the large plate-glass pane at the front of the building on the corner across from her. Warm, yellow light spilled out and sparked along the edges of the words “Lunden’s Tavern,” scrolled across the glass in a splash of antique gold.

  The light seemed to beckon her forward, hinting at things like warmth and friendship and safety and home. Juliet clutched her elbows close to her body and tried not to think about that last thing.

  Home. The place she wasn’t allowed to go, anymore.

  Her mother’s flushed, angry face flashed against Juliet’s eyelids every time she blinked wet snowflakes out of her lashes, but she pushed it down and buried it deep, right beside that other thing she wasn’t thinking about, never wanted to think about again.

  Her left shoulder throbbed where it met her neck, as if she could still feel the imprint of rough, too-tight fingers grabbing and holding and pulling her closer …

  Shuddering, Juliet forced her eyes open and her mind as blank as the snow before it hit the dirty Manhattan streets.

  Lunden’s Tavern. Of course this was where she’d end up. Her best friend, Danny Lunden, lived above the restaurant. Danny had the kind of family Juliet had always dreamed about. Happy mom, dad who was always around … and, oh yeah, ridiculously hot older brother.

  The idea of running into Max Lunden brought her up short. Her heart stuttered at the thought of his wide, easy smile and laughing blue-gray eyes, but even her diehard crush couldn’t stand up to the humiliation of having him see her like this. She must look like … well, like a scared kid who’d been tossed out to wander in the snow.

  If only she’d looked this much like a drowned rat earlier tonight, when Oliver got home. Maybe then he would’ve ignored her, instead of coming into her room …

  Paralyzed indecision kept her hopping from one foot to the other for an agonizing minute until a cab drove past, going fast enough that its tires fanned out a spray of cold, dirty water. Jumping back to avoid the impromptu ice bath, Juliet decided she was being dumb.

  From her oh-so-subtle probing, she knew Max was home from culinary school, but that didn’t mean he was home home. On a Friday night? No way. He was probably out with his friends. Or maybe a girlfriend.

  In spite of everything that had happened tonight, the thought of Max with some pretty girly girl slid between Juliet’s ribs and pricked at her heart.

  But either way, it was beyond lame to stand around freezing to death just because a hot guy might see her looking less than her best.

  As if Max ever noticed her, anyway.

  Stumbling forward, Juliet headed for the comfort of the restaurant and her best friend.

  Danny will help me figure out what to do.

  But when she went around to the side entrance and pushed the buzzer for the Lundens’ apartment above the restaurant, no one answered.

  “Come on, come on,” she breathed, the words puffing from her in clouds of condensation. Blowing on her fingers to warm them up, she debated for all
of ten seconds before marching back to the front of the building.

  She and Danny were supposed to keep out of the restaurant dining room during business hours. But this was totally an emergency, she decided.

  I’ll just peek in and see if Danny’s there.

  When she nudged open the heavy wooden door, a wave of lovely, welcoming heat rushed out. Unable to resist, Juliet sidled into the restaurant and looked around.

  The dining room was empty.

  Are they closed? she wondered, blood pounding in her ears. But the door wasn’t locked.

  Standing in the entryway, Juliet shifted her weight and scowled at the uncertainty flooding her chest. She hated feeling like this, her emotions so close to the surface all the freaking time. Being a teenager sucked.

  Being at the mercy of the grown-ups in her life? Sucked worse.

  Drawing in a breath and feeling her lungs start to thaw, Juliet stared around the small, deserted room. Black-and-white tiled floors gleamed under the golden lights. Red leather booths curved invitingly against the walls, making her long to sink into one and just veg. There weren’t many tables; she thought the place might seat fifty guests at a time, but not too many more.

  A Manhattan institution for decades, Lunden’s was known for grilling the best steak in the city. Danny had given her a tour of the kitchen once, announcing his intention to take over as pastry chef one day, and make the best ever chocolate cake for the Broadway stars, politicians, and other famous people who came to Lunden’s.

  Juliet had been impressed by the speed and efficiency all around her as the chefs worked, but more than that, she’d been caught by the sense of camaraderie and friendship between them. They seemed almost like a big, loud family, and she’d longed to be part of it.

  While Juliet was trying to decide if she had the guts to curl up on one of those banquettes and rest there in the warmth for a while, a man poked his head out of the door at the back of the restaurant, the one that led to the kitchen.

  Juliet’s pulse leaped for an instant—Maybe it’s Max!—before she recognized Gus Lunden. Chef/owner of Lunden’s Tavern, and her best friend’s dad.

  “I thought I heard the door,” he said, a wide smile creasing his friendly face as he emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a white side towel. “How’s it going, kiddo? Danny’s not here—he and Nina are checking on my wife’s mother. She lives up on eighty-first, doesn’t get around too well, even when it’s not snowing and sleeting out. I told ’em to go ahead. After the fifth canceled reservation and the third no-show, I’m going to be closing up early anyway. Sorry you missed him.”

  “Oh,” Juliet said, feeling awkward. “I’m sorry to bother you. I should go.”

  “No, no,” Mr. Lunden protested. “Come in and get warm. It’s a mess out there. Where are your scarf and gloves? You kids, I swear. Gallivanting around Manhattan in nothing but a jacket over—what is that, a dress? Without any sleeves, even. And all the weather forecasters warning us about Snowmageddon!”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice,” Juliet muttered, tugging down the hem of the hated yellow dress. She wished she’d had time to change. Her skin prickled as warmth began to return to her body. Weirdly, she was shivering harder now than she had been outside, and of course, Mr. Lunden noticed.

  “You’re nearly blue!” Alarm widened the man’s eyes. “Come on, why don’t you take a seat. Let me get you something hot to drink. Right? That’s what you do when someone’s got a chill, isn’t it? I wish Nina were here. My wife always knows exactly what to do.”

  Mr. Lunden came forward with his hand outstretched, and even though she was sure it made her look like a spaz, Juliet hustled sideways to avoid being touched. She didn’t even mean to, exactly, but her skin felt jumpy and too tight for her body, as if she were trying to squeeze into last year’s jeans.

  He didn’t seem to notice, waving her over to a corner table and watching her drop down on the banquette, scarlet leather creaking under her.

  “Thanks, Mr. Lunden,” she managed. “Maybe just for a second, then I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Aw, kid,” he said, staring down at her, sympathy bright in his blue-gray eyes. His weathered face showed the lines of premature age, years spent in a professional kitchen, bent over hot cooking surfaces, but he still looked a lot like Danny and Max. The Lunden men all had strong jaws, storm-cloud eyes, and wide mouths, quick to grin.

  “I’ve told you before, call me Gus! Nobody calls me Mr. Lunden. Around here, it’s ‘Chef ’ this and ‘Chef ’ that, but ‘Mr. Lunden’ makes me look behind me for my old man.”

  There it was, that big, friendly smile, the same one that had first convinced her to set aside her shyness, just once, and say hi to the boy sitting next to her in math class. She’d gotten a distracted, absentminded version of that smile from Max once, and kept the memory in a treasure box in her mind, bringing it out every so often when things were bad to make herself feel better.

  She trusted that smile.

  Whatever tension or fear Juliet had been holding on to suddenly released in a torrent. A shiver raced through her, chattering her teeth together, and Gus frowned. “Right! That hot drink. You just sit here and concentrate on getting warm, and I’ll be back in a jiff.”

  He marched into the kitchen, a man on a mission, and Juliet leaned her head against the stiff leather cushion of the banquette to catch her breath. She blinked up at the intricate pattern on the stamped-tin ceiling. There were stylized roses, she saw, worked into row after row of diamond shapes. She’d never noticed before. Pretty.

  A clatter from the kitchen startled her into a jump but when the door swung open, it was only Mr. Lunden—Gus—with a round tray holding two steaming white mugs.

  “Here you go.” He slid one of the mugs across the table with a practiced move, the dark brown liquid inside sloshing but never spilling. Then, to Juliet’s surprise, he pulled up a chair and took the other mug for himself.

  “Um, thanks,” Juliet said again. “But you don’t have to … I mean, I’m sure I’ll be good to go in a minute.”

  “I’m sure you will,” he said, blowing on his drink. “But a little company never hurt anything.” Leveling a sharp look over the rim of his mug, he went on, “Seems like maybe you could use the company, too.”

  Nodding, Juliet took too big a swallow of molten hot cocoa and burned her tongue.

  “Careful, kiddo.” Gus’s gentle concern tightened something in Juliet’s chest to an aching knot.

  “It’s good hot chocolate,” she said, hating the hoarseness of her own voice. “I like it.”

  It was better than good, actually, thick and not too sweet, the rich, complex flavor coating Juliet’s tongue with liquid comfort.

  “Excellent,” Gus said, putting his mug down and pinning her with a serious gaze. “Now, supposing you tell me what a kid your age is doing wandering around in a snowstorm like this?”

  “I … wanted to hang out with Danny?” she tried, not sure what to say. Could she really tell him the truth? Shame burned lines along her cheekbones at the thought.

  His eyes sharpened like a set of the chef ’s knives Danny had gleefully demonstrated on that kitchen tour. “I don’t doubt you were hoping to find Danny at home, Jules, but what sent you out in the storm in the first place?”

  Only the Lunden family ever called her that. The nickname made Juliet’s throat close tight, as if she’d suddenly become allergic to chocolate. What was next, hives?

  “I had a fight with my mom,” she told him, hiding her expression by dipping her head for another sip of hot chocolate. She glanced up through her eyelashes to check his reaction.

  “Hmm,” was all Gus said. “I thought it must be something like that.”

  His calm acceptance gave her a burst of confidence. “Actually, it was worse than a fight. It was … I’m never going back there.”

  That made him press his lips together in a tight, flat line. “Family is important,” he said slowly. “Are you
sure there’s no way—”

  “Not ever,” she said fiercely, wanting to make him understand. “I left, because I couldn’t stay, but now I don’t have anywhere to—to go…”

  To her absolute horror, a loud, ugly sob choked out of her before she knew what was happening. Covering her mouth with one hand, Juliet slid down in the seat and wished she could disappear under the table. Tears wet the top edge of her hand, but she managed to force the rest of her sobs into whimpering breaths.

  “Hey now,” Gus said, looking alarmed. “No need for that. Here.” He leaned to one side, grabbed a linen napkin off the table next to them and handed it to Juliet.

  “Thanks,” she said when she could speak again. “Crap. I didn’t mean to get all girly on you.”

  Gus shrugged, concern still filling his expression. “Nothing wrong with a good cry. I’ve been known to indulge, myself.”

  For the first time since she came in, Gus looked tired, and Juliet blinked her tears away. Maybe she wasn’t the only one having problems.

  “How about you, Mr. Lunden? Gus, I mean. Are you doing all right?”

  Gus’s head reared back, his eyes wide and shadowed with something Juliet couldn’t understand. “What, me? Right as rain, kid. I’m … oh, fine. Just fine.”

  For the first time since she came into the restaurant, Juliet didn’t believe a word out of Gus’s mouth. Before the welling suspicion could set her jittery nerves jangling again, he sighed and said, “Okay, so I’m not fine. Had a little fight with Max tonight, and it’s got me on edge.” He gave her a determined smile. “But maybe my problem is your good luck.”

  Juliet blinked, thrown by the reference to Max. “What? I mean … what?”

  All the weariness melted out of Gus’s expression. His smile was only a little forced, and the kindness behind his gray eyes was real enough. “You need somewhere to crash, right? And as of an hour ago, I’ve got an empty room upstairs that’s yours for the asking. Maybe just for tonight; could be, tomorrow you’ll see things differently and want to give your mom a call.”

  Juliet shook her head instinctively, but Gus held up a hand. “That’s something to think about later. For right now, we need to find you a hot shower and some dry clothes, then bed. I think that’s the procedure. You’ll have to bear with me; my wife is the one who usually arranges things when we have guests come to stay.”