Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Dyann Love Barr

  …

  Even the pounding of the scalding hot shower couldn’t erase the image of a very naked Jordan from her mind, or the feel of his hands on her body. Each needle-sharp sting beat against her sensitized skin until she wanted to scream uncle and race down the hall to his room. Naked women threw themselves at him all the time. What was one more?

  She blinked the water from her eyes and picked up the bar of soap. She gripped her lower lip between her teeth in a painful bite at the sensation of its slick slide over her belly and downward. How had she gone her entire life without experiencing an orgasm? She thought it was a myth served up by romance writers, women’s magazines, and sex therapists. She’d been dead wrong.

  No, no, no.

  She needed time to think of all the pros and cons of getting involved with him, or any man for that matter. Had she made the worst mistake of her life, or was there really a chance for something more than mind-blowing sex? Then there was the matter of Tyler. How could she face him after spending the last hour doing the horizontal mambo with Jordan?

  No miraculous answers appeared from on high or in the steamy glass of the shower doors. She gave the faucet a vicious twist before stepping out into the foggy bathroom. A quick rubdown with a towel dried her hair and body in record time. She glanced at the clock. There were only twenty minutes to make the press conference. The last place she wanted to be was standing between Jordan and Tyler, smiling like an idiot, while the media asked a bazillion questions.

  Fifteen minutes later she’d dressed, blown her hair dry into her famous flippy do, and dabbed on just enough makeup to keep her from fading like a ghost in front of the cameras. Jordan might be driving her out of her mind, but she didn’t have to look like the last clown in a clown car act. She grabbed her purse and made it down to the Cumberland Room without bumping into the media. They were probably all inside the ballroom, waiting for some red meat.

  The moment she walked through the doors, Tyler’s face lit up with a smile. She groaned inside. She’d need a passport for the long guilt trip ahead of her. Would he be able to tell she’d been in bed with Jordan? She plastered a smile on her face and walked toward the stage.

  Yes, indeedy, this is a nightmare in the makin’.

  Cameras flashed and reporters swooped toward her in unison like a school of fish—or sharks. Tyler came to her rescue with a stony frown as he took her arm. He led her to the stage set up at the back of the room, one that probably hosted more DJs for weddings than murder investigations. All of the reporters clamored for a statement to take back to their station for the six o’clock news.

  Jordan was nowhere in sight.

  Tyler stepped to the podium and held up his hand for quiet. “Everyone, take a seat. The press conference will start in five minutes.” He took her hand in his and gave her a worried smile. “I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  “I saw how things are going between you and Jordan.” He reached out and stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t let him hurt you—or is it too late?”

  Her face burned so hot she knew there had to be stigmata, in the form of a big letter J, right between her eyes. “I’m fine, really.”

  His brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you sure that there’s nothing wrong?”

  Wrong? Of course something was wrong. The whole world was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You know I had sex with Jordan. I had to be out of my mind wrong.

  “Ah, no. I had a bit of a scare because I’m late.” Her brain froze in her overheated head. What if he thought she meant she was late? “I meant that I ran late, that’s all.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions. It took everything, every bit of willpower she had, to keep from squirming under his close scrutiny. “Maybe I shouldn’t have hurried—looks like Jordan is AWOL.”

  Miranda saved the day by sailing into the small ballroom, dressed in an elegant black business suit along with her signature black, red-soled shoes. The tablet clutched in her hand looked more like a fashion accessory than an electronic gizmo. Her ever-present shadow, Nick, set up a tripod and camera in the choice spot reserved for The Culinary Channel. Several of the other cameramen from competing news outlets shouted out their protests about the prime spot going to an outsider.

  “Oh quit bitching and moaning,” she snapped, rounding on the gaggle of reporters. “The Culinary Channel paid through the nose for this spot. Either pony up the cash if you want to trade places, or shut the hell up.” She tapped the tablet in her hands a couple of times before glancing up at the cameraman. “Get some good shots.” She pointed at the stage. “Let’s make Hirschberg happy because, God knows, we have bubkes right now.”

  Tilly marveled at the way she could compartmentalize Ethridge’s death. She’d been hysterical a couple of days ago and now she was ready to mow down the competition.

  Miranda climbed the steps at the side of the stage with an ease that left Tilly in awe. Once there, she grabbed her by the hand, dragging her to one side of the podium.

  “You—stand here.” Miranda reached for Tyler’s hand, but stopped at his unyielding glare. Instead, she pointed to the spot next to Tilly. “Okay, Detective Jericho, that works. Where the hell is Kelly?” Her shout silenced the chatter in the ballroom.

  Nick turned his camera toward the doorway. Jordan walked in slow and easy, with what Ruby would’ve called a shit-eatin’ grin. He caught sight of her next to Tyler. One look told her that fireworks would fly if she didn’t keep her head down and Jordan under control.

  Miranda went running to him. “Damn it, you’re late.”

  “My love, you look stunning today.” Jordan’s flip compliment didn’t put a smile on Miranda’s face. She scowled and planted her hands on her hips. “I love the dominatrix look.”

  Her frown turned into a strained smile. “It’s an illusion. Maybe I need to carry a whip.” She glanced down at her notes and continued to tap away.

  “There’s a thought.” His smooth words, laced with innuendo, turned Tilly’s stomach.

  “We’ve got three minutes on the clock.” Miranda slid her arm through Jordan’s as they strolled over to the stage. “Why do you keep me so stressed out?” She tried for a light tone, but it held an edge sharp enough to slice everyone to shreds.

  “Part of the persona.” Jordan hopped onto the stage with a lithe bound. He gave Tilly a wink before wedging himself between her and Tyler. “People expect me to act like a—”

  “Jerk?” She narrowed her eyes at the feel of his hand snaking around her waist. A discreet wiggle failed to dislodge his steely hold.

  He let out a soft chuckle and gave her another quick squeeze. “I was thinking more—oh, Il Divo” He winked at Tyler. “How’s it going, Jericho?” His hands cupped her face and he kissed her before she could protest. “Miss me?”

  In spite of her earlier intentions, she melted against him.

  Cameras flashed.

  An afternoon romp, no matter how spectacular, didn’t give him permission to act like a caveman in front of the world. She hadn’t had time to process her emotions. She couldn’t deny that she was headed for the L-word, but was it enough?

  Tyler’s eyes zeroed in on Jordan’s tight hold. “Tilly?”

  She shook her head. “It’s all right.” The dark, amused twinkle in Jordan’s eyes told her that he enjoyed baiting Tyler. She glared up at him. “You and I are goin’ to have a talk as soon as this is over.”

  His mouth grazed the sensitive skin of her cheek, while his breath whispered in her ear. “I love it when you get angry. You spark like the Fourth of July.”

  The room erupted into chaos as the doors opened and the Chief of Police marched toward the podium. Once there, he stood behind a bank of microphones and motioned for the room to quiet. “Good afternoon. This will be a brief statement concerning the murder investigation of Maxwell Ethridge and Cesare Bolzano. We have the alleged killer, Olivia Vargas, in custody. Due to the fact that she’s a s
ingle mother with no close relatives, her two children have been put in foster care. We expect the judge to announce a date for the preliminary hearing. We would like to take this time to thank Tilly Danes and Jordan Kelly for their invaluable help with the case. There will be no questions.”

  Her heart sank. She and Jordan hadn’t done anything to warrant thanks. Guilt made her stomach churn. She was so sure she could prove Olivia wasn’t the killer, even Jordan had begun to come around, and now this.

  Everyone in the ballroom elbowed their way to the stage in a rush, shouting out questions and holding up cameras to get any final shots for the evening news. In the midst of a mob scene at the podium, Tilly noticed Austin Kenslo, Anthony Barrows, and Brad Gilmore at the back of the room. They had their heads together in animated conversation. Jordan zeroed in on them as well.

  “What’s that all about?” He frowned down at her, one eyebrow raised in question. “They don’t belong at the press conference. It’s for reporters only.”

  She pushed his hand away from her waist. “I don’t know.”

  Tyler followed her gaze to the trio of men. “Now that’s interesting.”

  “Interesting is right.” Jordan hopped down from the stage. “I think I’ll go over there and give them the old third degree. May I borrow your bright lights and brass knuckles?” He held out his hand to help her down.

  “Sorry, they’re back at the station in my locker.” Tyler jumped down as well, but he didn’t give her the chance to take up Jordan’s offer for assistance. Instead, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her down to the floor. The unexpected whirl made her dizzy. She stumbled against his broad chest the moment her feet touched the ground.

  “Whoa, there.” His arms went around her to hold her steady.

  Her nose caught an unsettling scent of citrus and sandalwood. She’d have to have a talk with him before the day was out about her new—whatever she had with Jordan. A little twist of her heart brought the burn of tears to her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Tyler. She wasn’t used to juggling two men. Hell, she had trouble dealing with them one at a time. Ruby would call her a hussy if she didn’t watch her step, and Ruby wouldn’t be far off the mark.

  “Here, I’ve got her.” Jordan pulled out one of the front row chairs for her.

  She waved it away and blinked hard. Maybe they’d think the tears were due to her sudden bout of dizziness. “I’m fine.” She straightened her chef’s jacket and smoothed the sweaty palm of her unbandaged hand on the leg of her jeans. “Really,” she insisted, as she headed for the three men clustered around a table with an urn of ice water and neatly stacked glasses. “I could use a drink of water.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’ll get it.” Jordan picked up a glass and filled it with ice cold water from the pitcher on the table.

  Austin Kenslo was at his sleazy best. He could smell it across the room. He wasn’t disappointed when the man sidled up to them with an oily smile that could put a snake oil salesman to shame.

  “Jordan.” Kenslo nodded in his direction before turning his attention to Tilly. The jerk grabbed her hand and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You look as gorgeous as ever.” He kept her hand in his.

  Her startled look set off warning flares as the agent continued to hold her hand. He knew she disliked the man. The guy was too familiar. Even Jericho picked up on the wrongness of the situation, and Jordan sensed the man tense, ready for action. Kenslo must have felt the tension in the air because he let go of her. He held out his hand to Jordan.

  Jordan didn’t acknowledge the gesture. Instead he handed the glass of water to Tilly.

  “Thanks.” She took a small sip and put the glass on the table. “That’s much better.”

  Barrows and Gilmore shuffled in an uncomfortable silence. This wasn’t their fight. They were wise enough to stay back from the shitstorm that was about to happen if Kenslo went over the line. No one wanted to be on Jordan Kelly’s bad side—ever.

  The agent’s smile broadened as he slipped his hands into his coat pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I saw you talking to Detective Jericho the other night, but you could’ve floored me when I heard you two were officially helping the police.” He gave a dismissive shrug. “Although I can’t imagine what you can add to an investigation. Knowing Hirschberg, it can’t be anything other than one big publicity stunt for The Culinary Channel.”

  “Ms. Danes and Mr. Kelly have been very helpful.” Jericho’s cop eyes flickered and went flat. What did he see that set him off? Hank told him that his instincts became honed over time until it was the little things, the tells that put someone on his radar. Did Detective Iron Jaw suspect the agent of being more than a slimeball? For once Jordan wanted to drag the detective away from the crowd and have a long talk with him. He started to open his mouth to ask Jericho out into the hall. As if on cue, Jericho’s phone rang.

  “Detective Jericho.” The expression on his face never wavered, but his eyes focused on Kenslo.

  Miranda headed their way, followed by Nick with his ever-present video camera.

  Barrows and Gilmore had deer-in-the-headlight stares as Miranda marched up on her ridiculously high heels. The silver studs on her black jacket gave her a dominatrix vibe that went with her pulled back hair and grim expression. The only things missing were the handcuffs and whip. He’d meant it when he told her the look suited her.

  “Oh good, this is unexpected. Everyone, listen up. I want to get some footage of you talking about the murder. Give me something positive about the deceased. Maybe along the lines of how his death has affected you. I want it natural—talk to each other.”

  “I’m not doing this.” Tilly stiffened against him.

  “You are,” Miranda took one look at Tilly’s set face and backed down. She grabbed Barrows and shoved him closer to Jordan. “Here. You two are on in three, two, one…”

  The unblinking red eye on Nick’s video bored into them. Barrows sucked in a deep breath. His dark face scrunched up, his dreads twitched like antennae as he tried to come up with an answer. The man had no interaction with Ethridge as far as Jordan knew, other than having his food panned in front of the entire convention. Miranda couldn’t possibly expect the guy to give a glowing obituary for the obnoxious food critic.

  “Come on, people.” She turned her viper green eyes toward Gilmore, who ran a nervous hand through his hair. “What about you, Flash?” Thanks to Ethridge’s less than damning praise, Gilmore had it easy compared to Barrows.

  “I—ah—well—ah.” He threw Barrows a worried help me glance. “Maxwell Ethridge was…was…”

  “He was one of a kind.” Sweat rolled off Barrows’s forehead and into his eyes. He wiped it away before giving the camera a strained smile. “Unique.”

  Jordan piped up to save both of them from bursting a blood vessel. “The nicest thing anyone can say about Maxwell Ethridge is that he can’t ruin people’s lives anymore.”

  “Cut!” Miranda’s screech attracted the attention of the few straggling reporters. They rushed over like sharks smelling blood in the water. “Don’t you dare get pissy,” she hissed. “Max is dead. He deserves a proper send off.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t get one?” The agent let out a bark of laughter. “Don’t badger these guys, sweetheart. Besides, the only one to give a rat’s ass about dear old Max was his mother.”

  She paled. Wide green eyes filled with shock. “That’s hateful.”

  “Truth hurts, babe.” Kenslo gave a nonchalant shrug of his Armani clad shoulders. “We all know it.”

  “That’s not true. I loved him. I still love him.” Her voice rose in pitch with each word, her face grew stark and haunted. “You have no idea what I’ve done for that man, and now he’s gone.” She whipped around and smacked the video camera away. “Get that thing out of my face.”

  “Owww.” Nick jerked back and lowered his camera, while his free hand rubbed at his eye. “Damn it. Now I’m going to have a s
hiner.” He sniffed and checked his camera for any damage. “At least I got some good shots of you.”

  “You use one second of that video and I’ll leave my Louboutins shoved up your ass.”

  “Temper, temper, fräulein.” Nick grunted in pain as he lifted the camera onto his shoulder again. “I might consider it if you wore my girlfriend’s size. She’s been after me for a pair of those things for the last two years. Too rich for me.”

  “N-i-c-k.” Her drawn-out warning had its intended affect. Nick swung the camera in the direction of Barrows and Gilmore as they made a move to edge toward the door, but Jericho stood in their way. She put on her best smile and struck a pose for the camera. “Detective Jericho, do you have anything to add that wasn’t released in the press conference?”

  “No.”

  His terse statement made her cool demeanor crack. “Look, I’m trying to make a documentary and I need something more than ‘the police are working on the case’.”

  “The police are working on the case.” The detective gave her a long, hard stare. “That’s all I have.”

  “I can see this is going nowhere.” Her glare said it all: she’d like to plant the heel of her red-soled shoe smack dab in the middle of Jericho’s eyes. “Nick! We’re out of here.”

  “Right.” Nick lowered his camera. “I want a look at the security office’s video of the camera feed on Ethridge’s floor. Maybe there’s something we can cull from that.”

  Her green eyes flickered with annoyance or uneasiness for a second. “Whatever.”

  “We’ve already gone over the CDs Security gave us.” Jericho turned to Nick. “Besides, you won’t get much off them. CSI says they’re going to have to do some work to get any good pictures.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think it necessary to tell me this?”

  “Why should I?”

  “The Culinary Channel—”

  “Can take a flying leap.” The detective’s stony face and equally hard voice made it clear that her budding rant wouldn’t make him change his mind. She wasn’t getting any pertinent information on the case.