“Don’t sass your mother.” She sat up and bunched the pillows behind her back for support. “I wanted to hear your voice. It’s been a hectic few days. Now the network wants Jordan and me to help the police as consultants. They think we might have some insight into the murders because we’re chefs.”
“Murders?” A small gasp sounded from nine hundred miles away. “That’s plural, Mamma. As in more than one.”
“Well, it’s not…” She started to fudge, but knew Sarah would get on the Internet and find out about it anyway. She sat up straight and hugged her knees with her free arm. “All right. All right. Another chef was found stabbed to death. Now the police, Jordan, and everyone wants to railroad a woman, who I know didn’t do it. You know I have a gut feelin’ about stuff like that.”
“Mamma!” She heard the fear and shock in Sarah’s voice. “You go straight home, take some antacid for your gut feelin’, and bar the doors. I wish Uncle Sugar could lend you his baseball bat.”
Her daughter grew up in the back of Ruby’s restaurant where Noah Sugarbush served as the night cook. He was stick thin, and just a few inches over five feet tall, but everyone in town knew better than to mess with him and his little friend Louie.
“Don’t worry about me.” She laughed at the memories. “I’ve got my trusty rolling pin.” She glanced over to the black nylon bag containing her personal cooking gear. It held her pride and joy. The long maple dowel that rolled out her first strawberry-rhubarb pie.
She decided it was time to bite the bullet and talk with her foster mother. “Could you put Ruby on the phone?”
“Okay, Mamma, but you know you’re going to get a talking to.”
“I can handle it.” She set her face into a smile and waited.
“What the Sam Hill do you think you’re doin’?” Ruby’s gravelly, smoke hardened voice rumbled. “And don’t give me any happy horseshit. You go to one of them big cities and look what happens. You need to get home and take care of that kid of yours. She’s grounded for smokin’.”
“Hi Ruby.” A frontal assault might derail Ruby’s train of thought long enough to gather her wits. She closed her eyes and could see Ruby in front of her, lavender hair set into a precise updo left over from the sixties, scrawny as a stick, and with more love than most people ever had to give.
“Not only do you find yourself knee-deep in murder, although I can’t say as how that Ethridge fellow didn’t deserve a good ass-whoopin’, but I’d draw the line at offin’ him. He’ll get his reward—probably in hell, but that’s for the good Lord to decide.”
“The Culinary Channel has Jordan Kelly—” A raspy phht interrupted Tilly. “Did you just spit?”
“Spit in the devil’s eye, my mamma always used to say. That Jordan fella is the devil, ain’t he?”
“No. He’s more…ummm…” Tilly tried to find the right word. “Fallen angel.”
“Don’t know that I like the sound of that any better.”
“It’s been a long time since I got all worked up over a man.” She nibbled on her thumbnail. The poor thing would be gnawed to the bone if she kept this up. “Now there’re two of them. Jordan is all bad boy and hotness, while the detective, Tyler Jericho, is stone solid. He’s a detective with the KCPD.”
“Go for the cop.” Ruby let out a sigh of exasperation. “I know what kinda trouble you get into with men. You’re goin’ for the bad boy, ain’tcha?”
“That’s just it,” she complained with a groan of frustration. Her feet hit the floor and she paced around the room in short jerky steps. “I don’t trust my judgment. I know it’s the last thing I need, but Jordan is one hell of a kisser. Nearly burnt me to a crisp.”
She closed her eyes and let the other bomb drop. “I think I might be fallin’ for him.” She opened her eyes. Nothing—crickets. “I get crazy when I’m around him. One minute I think I’ll die if he doesn’t kiss me, the next I want Sugar’s bat.” Still nothing. “Are you there? Say somethin’.”
“Jericho, Jordan, Jake, and what was the guy back in 2008? John something or other who stole your money and ran off with your grandmother’s diamond rings?”
“Well, there was that.” She hated when Ruby hit a sore spot. Jake and John blew up in her face like an overheated pressure cooker. How could she trust her judgment when it came to men? The simple answer was she couldn’t.
There was a long pause, too long.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m thinkin’.” Another pause followed before she answered. “What about the detective. Is he a good kisser, too?”
“I don’t know.” She stopped in front of one of the armchairs and let her finger trace the white stripe in the chair’s fabric. “We were supposed to go on a date before I ended up in the emergency room.”
“What! Honey, are you okay?”
“Fine, fine, I’m fine. You can tell Sarah I’m fine. I tried to kill a dead pig and the knife slipped. Jordan to the rescue, but no white horse, just a taxi ride. Everything is cool now. Oh, look at the time. Gotta go. Tell Sarah no phone for a week and rub Spook behind the ears for me. Bye.”
“But—”
She cut off the call before her foster mother could sass her any more than she already had.
First things first. She went over to her black bag of tricks and pulled out a plastic storage bag and freezer tape to cover her hand. Nothing could keep her from a hot shower. Jordan would be here at eight. Her body hummed with anticipation, every nerve ending alive as she turned on the shower. It looked like she’d made her choice.
…
Jordan lay in bed with his arm flung over his head, contemplating the patterns in the textured ceiling. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. It didn’t help that his mind wouldn’t stop mulling over the murders and his unexpected feelings for the crazy redhead. It didn’t help that his dick had a mind of its own. Murder, Tilly, erection, murder, Tilly, erection. The constant yo-yoing up and down made sleep impossible. He placed his hand over his uncooperative cock and took a deep breath in an attempt to will it into submission.
It wasn’t easy when everything reminded him of her, even down to the floral arrangement on his dining table. The silk daisies, white with little brown centers, were dead ringers for the flowers painted on her toenails.
Get a grip.
He scrunched a pillow under his head and picked up the remote to watch some television—anything to get his mind off daisies. One click and the local weather person’s forecast made him groan. Six-thirty in the morning didn’t warrant such cheerful optimism for showers later in the afternoon. He didn’t do chipper very well. The next story caught his attention.
“Olivia Vargas, the suspect who’s out on bail for the murder of the famed travel expert and food critic, Maxwell Ethridge, was arrested in the brutal slaying of local chef, Cesare Bolzano. Now fear of the Santoku Slayer can be put to rest.”
He sat up in bed. He frowned and watched the video of Olivia being led away in handcuffs, her attorney by her side. They walked through a jeering crowd and curiosity seekers outside the county jail.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” she shouted above the noise. Flashes from cameras and the red and blue lights of police cars colored the night like fireworks. Her frantic dark eyes looked straight into the camera. “I swear on my children’s lives, I didn’t kill either one.”
The hair stood up on the back of his neck, goose bumps riding on his arms. Tilly said Vargas was innocent from the beginning. The little seeds of doubts had grown until he questioned his own stance concerning the woman’s guilt. Things weren’t adding up. He had to talk to Tilly about Vargas. No, Jordan admitted, the murder was the secondary reason for seeking her out. He craved her company, the way she smiled and laughed. He needed her.
He got out of bed and slipped on some sweats before grabbing his wallet. He stuck his bare feet into his running shoes and went down the hall to her door. He knocked. She didn’t answer at first. He tried again. She opened the door after the t
hird knock. She peeked through the crack in the door. If he’d been a killer, she would’ve been toast. It scared the crap out of him.
“Do you open your door to everyone?” He scowled and pushed his way past her. “See how easily I barged in? What would you have done if it had been the Santoku Slayer? That’s what they’re calling the killer on the news. Do you want to end up as the lead story on Channel Nine?” He whirled around to see her standing before him in a big, fluffy white robe. A matching towel covered her hair. “You were in the shower,” he accused.
“Yes.” She held up her hand covered in a plastic bag. “Not the easiest thing to do with this.”
“You didn’t get the bandage wet, did you? Let me see.” He pulled the tape from around her wrist, then eased the bag from her hand. “It seems to be dry. I’ll change that for you later on.”
“Thanks.” She touched the palm of her hand. “It doesn’t hurt as much this mornin’. Itchy maybe, but no real pain.” A yawn crowded out her words. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night.” She pulled the towel from her head and ran her hand through her damp curls. “And for your information, I’m too short to look through the peephole without dragging a chair over here to stand on.” She shuffled into the living area of the suite. The couch complained with a little wumph as she plopped down into the cushions. “What brings you here, besides some unexplainable need to harass me first thing in the morning? I thought we had a breakfast date for eight a.m. You’re a little early. I haven’t even had a cup of coffee.”
“You don’t have coffee,” he scoffed. “It’s coffee flavored stuff.”
“See, see, there you go.” She waggled her finger at him and narrowed her eyes. “You can’t help yourself. This may come as a shock, but you don’t own me or employ me. I’m not even sure we’re friends.”
The last dregs of panic and irritation evaporated. His heartbeat slowed, but he couldn’t block out the different scenarios forming in his mind. What if she had opened the door to the wrong person? “Oh, we’ve gone beyond friends. Way beyond.” There, he’d said it, or almost said it. He didn’t want to rush things by saying the L word.
“Have we? I won’t lie. It would be so easy to go to bed with you, and Lord knows it’s been a long time, but that’s not enough.”
“It’s a start.”
“Why would I want to be around a man whose goal in life is to make me look like an idiot?” She looked at him with a hint of the Mona Lisa smile that drove him crazy. “Sarah suggested I take a baseball bat to you.”
He was taken aback. “That’s harsh.”
“She’s a calls-’em-like-she-sees-’em kinda gal.” She tucked the large robe around her legs. Everything was neatly covered except those damn daisies. She pulled a pillow into her lap and plucked at the fringe. He recognized it as a little cue to her emotional barometer. The way a slight furrow formed between her brows when she was thinking, the tilt of a smile at the corners of her mouth, or how she caught her lip between her teeth when worried. Her fingers worked the fringe back and forth. Tangling it, then smoothing it back into shape. She used the fringe as a touchstone to focus her thoughts.
He didn’t say anything. He wanted her to tell him what was going on behind her anxious blue eyes. He sat beside her on the couch and waited.
“I’m confused.” She sighed and threw the pillow aside. “I don’t know what to think when I’m around you.” Her startling blue eyes scanned his face. “Aren’t you goin’ to raise that eyebrow of yours?”
“No.” He glanced down at her. “I’m sorry I came on too strong just now.” Relief flooded him. She hadn’t pulled away or outright rejected him. He reached for her hand and entwined her fingers with his “Tilly, you aggravate the hell out of me.”
“What!” This time she tried to yank her hand from his, but he held on tight.
“You always have, and I suspect you always will, but the more I get to know you, the more I want to be with you.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the top of her hand. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Her cheeks pinked, her eyelids fluttered. “I—ah—I…” Her mink brown lashes hid her eyes from his questing gaze.
Damn it. He knew he’d pushed once too often. She’d rejected him.
“I didn’t come here to harass you.” He let go of her hand and stood. “I’ll leave.”
Chapter Thirteen
His words hit her with the force of Uncle Sugar’s baseball bat. She didn’t know which emotion was first and foremost—elation or pure, unadulterated fear. “What?” Had she heard right?
“I said I’ll leave.” He gave her a tight smile and walked in the direction of the door, head down, hands thrust in the pockets of his hoodie.
“No, no, no.” She dashed across the room in time to prevent his exit. She had to be sure she heard him correctly. Her heart skipped, her breathing hitched. “I want to hear it again. What did you say—before the ‘I’m leavin’ part?”
He frowned and cocked his head to one side with a puzzled look.
“You said I aggravate you…” She motioned for him to think back. “And…”
“You do. I never know what to expect.” His eyes widened. “Oh, you mean the ‘I’m falling in love with you’ part?” Somewhere she’d tumbled, along with Alice, down the rabbit hole. Nothing made sense, up was down, and she half expected to see the Mad Hatter sipping tea at the suite’s dining table. Had he said what she thought he’d said?
“That’s the one.” Her eyes must’ve shown the moment when his words finally registered. “You mean it?” She placed her hand over her heart to keep the poor fluttering thing inside her body.
“Yes. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” He took her by the shoulders, holding her close as if afraid she might bolt. “I don’t do the hearts and flowers thing.” His whispered warning stirred through her hair. “I’ve spent my adult life running my restaurants with little time for relationships. I’m good at casual dating, but the ladies I date know the score.” He cupped her face in his hands. Her heart turned over at the hint of worry in his dark eyes. “What do you want? Tell me.”
“I don’t know how I feel about this. It’s too soon. Besides, hearts and flowers are overrated.” She placed her hand on his chest. The steady rhythm under her palm sped up. “I’ve been sweet-talked by the best. All it got me was pregnant and thrown out on my own at fifteen. Then a con artist fleeced me blind.” She twined her arms around his neck and rose on her tiptoes. “Why don’t we take this one day at a time? I don’t trust the words.”
She brushed her lips against his in a soft caress. The affect was immediate and delicious. His body jumped to life against hers, hard and ready, prompting her to deepen the kiss. He’d awakened a hunger in her, one that had never been filled before. Now she feasted on his mouth without stopping. All the long years of doing without this heart-shattering desire imploded until nothing remained except a hot knot of need. Even Jake’s bad-boy charm paled next to Jordan’s tutelage.
His hand reached down to the tie on her robe. It opened to his seeking hands with one small pull.
His hand skated over the curve of her hip and upward, while the other caressed the sensitive nape of her neck. She couldn’t hold back her mewl of pleasure as Jordan’s hands slid down to stroke her breast. His tongue twined and danced within the heat of her mouth before his kiss softened, his touch gentled. He smoothed the robe from her shoulders. It fell in a soft white pool at her feet. He eased away to look at her.
Her nipples hardened under his intense gaze, but old insecurities rose up like quicksand to drown her pleasure. “I’ve had a baby. I’m not as—”
He placed a finger on her lips. “Matilda, you’re beautiful. Peaches and cream just like I’d imagined.” His hand trailed over the slope of her breasts. His head bent down to take a nipple in his mouth.
She gasped at the intimacy of his kiss, need coiling deep within her body as his lips left sparks of desire in their wake. “Jordan—”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Shit.” His terse expletive echoed her sentiment.
“Oh, oh.” She grabbed up her robe and winced when her bandaged hand snagged on the inside of the sleeve. Heat scorched her face. “Just a moment,” she called as she wrestled her robe into submission.
“Let me help you.” He pulled the lapels together and tied the belt. Another knock.
“It’s Tyler.”
“Son of a bitch.” Jordan glared at the door. “Son of a bitch.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and took her mouth in a hard kiss. The hormonal overload numbed her brain.
“Go into the bathroom. Please,” she begged. The last thing she wanted was the two men knocking heads.
“Why?” Jordan’s eyes sparked with irritation. “I’m not hiding. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Do it for me. Hmmm?” She gave him a little shove in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll get rid of him.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Tough. I want to talk to him alone.” She closed the door on a glowering Jordan. “Tyler?” She raced to the door and frantically finger-combed her hair into order. Her cheeks still felt on fire.
“Yes,” he answered. “Are you all right?”
“Er—ah—fine. Just peachy.” That was a bald-faced lie. Her body still hummed from Jordan’s touch. Her lips felt swollen and tasted of his kiss. Could Tyler tell?
She plastered on a smile and opened the door. He stood there with a coffee caddy holding two cups of coffee, a smaller cup with a lid, and a white bakery bag.
“Good morning. I thought I’d bring breakfast. I hope you like doughnuts. Kansas City is famous for Lamar’s. You can’t go home until you’ve had one.” His dimpled smile grew dim. “I know it’s early, but I wanted to talk to you. There’s been a new development in the case.” Gray eyes narrowed as he took in her flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called first.”
Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) Page 16
