Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Dyann Love Barr

  “Okay, why don’t you explain that to me?” She could hear the faint tinny sound of Tyler’s voice. He didn’t sound happy.

  “She decided to find out what kind of weapon the killer used to murder Ethridge. It backfired on her. Now she’s got stitches and has been drugged to the gills, hence the babbling.”

  She reached for the phone. Jordan was quicker. “I don’t babble.”

  He turned away and looked at her over his shoulder. “Yes, you do.” He lowered his voice. “She’s not going to be in any shape for visitors this afternoon. I’m taking her back to the hotel. It’ll be morning before she’s able to do more than drool in her sleep.”

  “I don’t drool.” She shouted loud enough for Tyler to hear. “Nope, not at all.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell her.” Jordan ended the call and handed her the phone. “He said to take care, and he’ll check in with us tomorrow.”

  “You don’t know if I drool or not.” She felt a good grump coming on. How dare Jordan give Tyler the impression he was on intimate terms with her—really intimate. Kissing Jordan had opened a Pandora’s box of desire that she wasn’t sure she could handle. Her relationships with men were, well…Ruby said it best. Her judgment sucked. It had been four years of self-imposed celibacy to concentrate on her career and put her past romantic failures behind her. Now all the lust monkeys were free, screaming and jumping from tree to tree, or in her case, man to man. “Tyler will think I slept with you.”

  “And your point?” His brown eyes narrowed. “I’m calling a cab.”

  “It’s just that—” Nurse Annie came in with a wide smile directed at Jordan and a wheelchair for Tilly.

  “Here we go.” The nurse’s green eyes were on him the whole time she helped Tilly off the gurney and into the chair. Once she was settled, the nurse held out an instruction sheet to him, head to one side as she flirted. Tilly narrowed her eyes. She bet Nurse Annie’s mouth watered just fantasizing about sucking face with him.

  Jealousy did a tap dance on Tilly’s heart. “Don’t even think about it, sister.”

  The nurse blinked at Tilly’s command, her cheeks pinking. “Think about what? Is something wrong?”

  “Oh don’t give me that butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth look. Southern gals have that down to a fine art. You know you’d jump Jordan’s bones if he gave you the green light.”

  “Matilda.” The warning in Jordan’s voice crept through the fog and jealousy. “Stop it.”

  She glared back. “It’s true.”

  “Don’t mind her.” He held out his hand for the papers Nurse Annie held in her hand.

  Her face burned red as she gave them to him. “This is pretty standard. Keep the wound dry, change the bandage daily, it’s all here.” She got behind the wheelchair and pushed Tilly out the door. As if on cue, a cab pulled up and Jordan led her to the back seat. He scooted in beside her. Nurse Annie’s eyes ate him up as if she hadn’t had a meal in a month. “Call if you need anything.”

  “Will do.” Jordan leaned forward in his seat. “Take us to the Sherwood Hotel.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The cab pulled away and headed into traffic.

  “What is wrong with you?” He was furious. “Did you have to embarrass the poor woman like that?”

  “She didn’t have to be rude. Didn’t you see her stare at you like you were the best thing since cotton candy?” She shrank into the seat of the cab, her lower lip wobbling. “I was protectin’ your honor.”

  “According to you, I have no honor to protect.”

  “Maybe I was wrong.” She bit her lower lip to keep it steady.

  “Come here.” He sighed and pulled her to his side. “Put your head on my shoulder.”

  “I think there’s a song there.” Her brain weighed a ton, so she didn’t argue when his arm slipped around her. “From a long time ago. Ruby plays it all the time on the jukebox at the cafe. Paul Anka.” She hummed a few bars, heaved a deep sigh, and the lights went out.

  …

  The fog lifted, bit by bit. Tilly’s mouth tasted like old cigarette butts, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She should get up, brush her teeth. Nope, it was too much trouble to move, especially with the heavy weight holding her down on the soft, comfy mattress. A few more minutes in bed wouldn’t hurt.

  She snuggled closer into the surrounding warmth and something tickled her nose. She swiped at it, but the bandage on her hand made it impossible to get rid of the irritant. Her eyes opened all the way to find an expanse of tanned flesh and the source of the tickle. Jordan lay on the other side of the bed, shirtless, his arm thrown over her. Tilly glanced up into his chocolate brown eyes.

  He gave her a sleepy smile that set her body on DEFCON 1. She’d be blown to bits if he so much as touched her, kissed her. Did she want his mouth on hers? No. Yes. Maybe. Indecision and panic swamped her. She couldn’t deal with her body’s response at his nearness.

  “What the hell are you doin’ here?” Her cranky croak earned a smile from him. She licked her lips.

  “Good evening to you, too.” He chuckled and pulled her a bit closer until his breath feathered through her hair. The scent of sleep-warmed male urged her to follow his lead. Instead, she rolled away from him and threw back the covers with her good hand.

  “I asked you a question.” She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and rejoiced when the world didn’t buck or sway. Everything seemed to be okay, until she realized she sat there, half-naked, in her tank top and panties. “Well?”

  “You passed out from the drugs they gave you at the hospital.”

  She half remembered the cab ride back to the hotel. “Oh—yes—er, I suppose everything worked out okay seein’ as I’m here.” She pointed to where he lay. “Why are you sleepin’ in my bed?”

  “Tilly, Tilly, Tilly.” Jordan lay with his head propped up in his hand. The smile on his face was pure fallen angel. “I spent part of the afternoon in a chair watching some very bad television, so I decided to take a nap.”

  “There’s a couch.”

  “I’m too tall for the couch. Besides, I wanted to be right here if you needed something.”

  “I’m fine.” A pout trembled on her bottom lip.

  “You weren’t.”

  “Why did you take off your clothes?” She glanced over at the green and white striped chair. Her jeans and lavender camp shirt were there, along with his black T-shirt that lay in an inky pool on top of her things. “For that matter, why did you take off my clothes?”

  “I was hot.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  “So?” She pulled the sheet over her legs. “Turn down the AC.”

  “Normally, I sleep in the buff. Be thankful I didn’t get that comfortable.” He sat up, leaning in until his breath whispered over the sensitive skin of her neck. Goose bumps of excitement and fear of the unknown peppered her arms. For a brief second, his arm brushed against hers. The warmth of his skin set off little firecrackers of lust that choked the air from her lungs. She needed to get away from temptation. Fast.

  She got to her feet and wrapped a sheet around her waist. “That was considerate of you.” She dared to cast a look over her shoulder. It was true. The thought of a naked Jordan was too much for her drug-fuzzed brain to handle.

  He flopped onto his back but watched her every move. The twinkle in his eyes faded, replaced by the darker, richer glow of desire. She wanted to lean in, to taste the promise there, to relive the heat that had swamped her the last time they kissed. Instead, she took the coward’s way out and put some distance between them. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Need any help?” She’d heard the same growling purrs from big cats at a zoo, right after their keepers tossed them a good cut of meat. Jumbled memories of him unbuttoning her jeans in the emergency room warmed her face.

  She shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine. I’ve got to ah—do stuff.”

  He put his hands under his head and glanced over at h
er with the smoking hot smile still on his face. Dark blue denim hugged his long legs. One lay straight, while the other was bent. He didn’t have to paint on abs. His were real, so very real. And why hadn’t anyone ever told her a man’s bare feet could be so sexy? She looked away, both scandalized and intrigued by the direction of her thoughts. Had she turned into some weird fetishist overnight? Had the drugs she’d been given at the hospital eaten holes in her brain?

  His running shoes lay jumbled in a pile with hers at the foot of the bed. His black T-shirt draped over the arm of the chair in an intimate tangle with the rest of her clothes.

  She sorted through the pile for her clothes and made a mad dash to the bathroom in time to hear a knock at her door. Curiosity got the better of her. She hurriedly shoved her feet into the legs of her jeans, belatedly remembered that she couldn’t zip things very well with her injured hand. It took her longer to finagle the zipper with her left hand. The button was another issue. She tried but gave up and left it undone.

  She walked into chaos.

  Nick held up his video recorder. The red light stared at her with a baleful eye.

  “Well, isn’t this a cozy setup?” Miranda’s eyes swept the room. They zeroed in on the rumpled bed, Jordan’s bare chest, and Tilly’s half-closed jeans.

  “Get out of here.” Jordan’s snarl should’ve made Miranda back off—instead, it egged her on.

  “Neither of you seem to understand what this is doing for the ratings.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Hirschberg is shitting little gold nuggets of joy, especially after this morning.”

  Tilly thrust her arms into her camp shirt and let it hang open. “What happened?”

  “We got some great footage of you carrying Tilly to the front desk and asking the concierge for a wheelchair late this morning.” Miranda’s long brown hair slithered around her shoulders as she shook her head. Tilly half expected to see feathers sticking out from the corners of her mouth.

  “No.” She groaned and looked to Jordan for confirmation. Her heart sank as he shrugged.

  “Oh yes, Tilly Danes, Culinary Channel’s little Southern sweetheart, you looked drunk as a skunk.”

  “It was the painkillers.” Her insides turned to ice at the thought of the world thinking she was a lush. “Tell her it was the meds.”

  “She cut her hand and I took her to the emergency room.”

  “You should’ve let us know where you were.” Miranda gave her a smug smile. “It aired right after you got back. Our viewers ate it up—the ratings skyrocketed. We were even picked up by the national news channels. Wait until we announce she was in the hospital. It will make a better story. Draw it out a bit. Maybe we’ll focus on the romance angle.” She glanced down at her watch. “With any luck, it’ll make the ten o’clock news.”

  “Our private lives are off limits.” The last thing Tilly wanted was any hint of scandal touching her family.

  “Nope.” Miranda waggled her fingers back and forth. “You’re public figures. Anything goes.”

  “I don’t think so.” Jordan shook his head, his laugh faded into a growl. “We only agreed to let you film our part in the investigation. Detective Jericho isn’t the type to let you snoop around in his personal life, either.”

  Nick danced around them with the camera in an effort to get the best shot.

  “Get that thing out of my face.” Jordan crossed his arms over his broad chest, his hip hitched to one side, the expression on his face grim. “Unless you want me to shove it up your ass.”

  “Just doin’ my job, man.” The cameraman made a half circle around Jordan, oblivious to the danger lurking in his eyes. He aimed the camera in her direction.

  Jordan’s hand shot out so fast that Nick didn’t have time to react, other than letting out a shriek of horror as Jordan hurled the camera across the room. It hit the wall with enough force to shatter the lens and leave a small dent in the wall.

  “Oh man. Oh dude.” The cameraman scrambled over to the camera and fell to his knees. He cradled it in his hands with all the gentleness of holding a baby bird with an injured wing. “Why did you have to do that, man?” His mournful cry was cut short as he shouted into the mic of his headset. “Yes, I know. Dude, Kelly just threw my freaking camera across the room. No, you don’t understand. It’s dead, Jim.”

  “Jordan’s right.” Anger scalded the blood in Tilly’s veins. “If I want to tell the public what happened, I will. In my own way, but not like this.”

  Miranda rounded on Tilly, her hands curled into claws as if she wanted to rake them over Tilly’s face. “Think of this as payback for hitting me.”

  “Go ahead.” Tilly’s temper roared to life. She didn’t like confrontation, but by damn, she wouldn’t run away. She held up her injured right hand. “And I swear you will be on the wrong end of an ass-kickin’.”

  Nick looked around the room from Tilly and back to Miranda, trying to decide if he should stay or not. He inched closer to freedom.

  Miranda took a step forward and raised her hand to meet her challenge.

  Jordan was lightning fast. He grabbed Miranda by the arms and turned her around so quickly she came close to falling off her Louboutins. “I’d listen to the lady if I were you.”

  The cameraman grabbed the doorknob. “All right, I know when the wagons are circling.” He nodded at Jordan. “I’ve got no quarrel with you, dude. I’m out of here.”

  “Don’t you walk out.” Miranda’s shriek filled the room. “Don’t you walk out!” She turned and marched toward the door. She whipped around, fury burning in her green eyes. “I’ll make your lives a living hell if I lose my job because of this.” She slammed the door behind her.

  Tilly sagged against Jordan. “I think that woman is fuckin’nuts. One minute she’s hysterical over Ethridge’s death and now all she can think about are ratin’s. Talk about mood swings, and don’t tell me it’s PMS.”

  “Language, please.” Jordan’s chuckle faded, his brow wrinkled into a frown. He led her to the bed and sat down on the edge with her. “She’s on an emotional roller coaster, that’s for sure. Maybe Ethridge got tired of her drama.”

  She flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Jordan?” She turned her head to see him sitting with his hands hanging between his knees.

  “Hmmm?” He glanced up at her, his dark eyes questioning.

  “We’ve had words. A lot of them over the last couple of years.” She had to ask. “Do I sound like her?”

  “Never.” He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. “Besides, you’re cute when you get mad. She’s ugly and out of control.”

  She enjoyed the slight friction of his chin against her hair, the smell of his skin.

  “I really wanted to smack her.” He heaved a worried sigh. “It’s never once crossed my mind to hit a woman. That doesn’t say much about me as a man.”

  “You’d never hit a woman, not even her.” She listened as the anxious beat of his heart slowed, his breathing evened out. “Besides, I beat you to it. Her hysterics drove me to desperate measures. The only other person I’ve ever smacked is Jake. He deserved it. I don’t count the few times I had to swat Sarah’s rear.” She smiled up at him. “So see, I’m a lot meaner than you can ever be—in spite of your reputation.”

  “Matilda Danes, you’re something else.” His head dipped down. “There were times you’ve made me want to tear my hair out, but I’d never lay a finger on you.”

  Her heart sped up double time. “That’s too bad.”

  His eyes grew darker, if that were possible, a second before his mouth claimed hers. He tasted of mystery, passion, and Jordan. His tongue dipped past her lips, sampled, warmed her like no other man had. She clutched at his bare shoulders, afraid to let go in the maelstrom of emotions whirling inside. He leaned her back on the couch, his hand brushing from her hips to her waist, before sliding over the sensitive skin of her ribs. She wrapped her arms around his neck to take him deeper unti
l pain shot through her injured hand. “Oww.”

  He broke the kiss and rose up to stare down at her, the desire in his dark eyes turning to concern. “That’s not the response I’d expected. Are you all right?”

  “I bumped my hand against your shoulder.” She couldn’t tell if his kiss had left her lightheaded or if it was the aftermath of jarring the stitches in her hand. She wriggled back against the arm of the couch and sat up with a heavy sigh. “As Sarah would say, that’s such a buzzkill.”

  Chapter Ten

  Buzzkill was right.

  Jordan pulled in a long, slow breath to quiet the jungle drums beating inside his head. He swung his legs around, sat up, and leaned over to turn on the lamp. “Did you rip out your stitches?” He should be thinking about Tilly instead of his dick, but damn, he could still feel the silk of her skin against his fingertips.

  “I don’t think so. It just hurts like the dickens.”

  He held out his hand.

  She put her good one into his to steady herself as she sat up. “Sorry about the, well, you know.” Her face turned a lovely shade of pink in the lamplight. The sparkle in her blue eyes fueled his stampeding libido. She cradled her bandaged hand in the crook of her arm.

  “No problem.” That was a damned lie. His body ached with frustration, yet the grimace on her face, the white lines around her lips, told him the painkillers were history. He got up from the couch, hoping a little distance would cool him down. He walked over to the nightstand and picked up a small white paper bag he’d left there earlier in the afternoon. “Let me get you something to take the edge off.”

  “Not if it’s the stuff from the hospital.” She shook her head. “I don’t want another episode like this mornin’.”

  He chuckled and sat beside her. “It’s all over-the-counter stuff. I didn’t know if you prefer aspirin or not.” The bag rustled with his attempts to fish around for the pain-killer. He closed his fingers over the bottle, pulled it out, and gave it a shake. “Here it is.” He looked inside the bag at the various remedies he’d had the concierge pick up at a local pharmacy. “Plus some ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and last but not least—” he rummaged in the bottom of the sack, pushing other items he’d ordered from the nearest drug store “—we have naproxen sodium.” Bottles and boxes were lined up on the coffee table, along with an assortment of bandages and tape. He crumpled the bag into a ball and pitched it into the waste can with picture perfect precision. “What suits your fancy?”