Hot to the Touch

by Isabel Sharpe

  “Still feel like dancing?”

  “I don’t think it matters what I feel like. I need to dance. What was that, about a week’s worth of calories?”

  “What do you care?” He grabbed her hand to steer her past a boisterous bunch entering the building, and didn’t let go.

  “I care because I shouldn’t gain any more weight.” She adjusted her fingers in his, loving the warm secure contact and, speaking of warm, was it her imagination or had the temperature actually risen from damp chill to less-damp chill while they were eating?

  “No. Don’t gain. Or lose.” Quinn sent her the sexiest sidelong glance any woman had ever had the pleasure of receiving. “You’re perfect.”

  Marie rolled her eyes. “You are too used to flattering women. How will we ever know if you’re telling the truth when it counts?”

  He stopped walking; her momentum took her a couple of steps past. He tugged her around until she was facing him. His hands landed on her shoulders. “Marie.”

  “Yuh.”

  “Listen to me. You are an attractive woman. And smart and funny and sexy. That is my sincere opinion and I’m sure the opinion of many other men. It is not flattery. Okay?”

  Marie stood stupidly, chin hanging down in surprise. “I. Well.”

  He looked exasperated. “Just say, ‘Yes, Quinn, I am all those things.’”

  “Yes, Quinn.” She spoke demurely, then burst into giggles from sheer happiness. Was there another man this wonderful anywhere else?

  “Promise me, no more beating yourself up.” He glanced to the side where a car had pulled up to the walk. “Here we go.”

  The driver got out, opened the back door and stood waiting. Back door?

  Marie followed Quinn, surprised when he gestured her in and joined her. “You’re not driving?”

  “After we killed off two bottles of wine? No, thanks.”

  Marie looked at him incredulously. “Dream Dance provides designated drivers?”

  “Nope.” He grinned. “I do.”

  She laughed, not because she thought the idea was at all funny, but because when he smiled at her like that, with such warmth and mischief in his eyes, she couldn’t help it.

  They were driven to The Jazz House in the Third Ward and dropped off to catch the last hour of the band. Marie loved to dance, had taken lessons as a kid on her mother’s insistence, but never found a decent partner. She and her ex, Grant, had danced at their own wedding, and a couple of times at other people’s, and that was it.

  Of course, of course, Quinn was a superb dancer, stylish, inventive and easy to follow. They took frequent breaks for big glasses of water and conversation. She hadn’t ever had so much fun with a guy. Ever.

  By the time the band slowed for the final dance, she was feeling giddy, but less affected by the wine, with a clearer head. She went into Quinn’s arms, comfortable with their easy friendship and enjoying his warmth and solidity, the smooth sway of their bodies, chaste inches apart.

  “Marie.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Will you go dancing with me again sometime?”

  “Anytime,” she murmured.

  “Good.” He pulled her closer, then loosened his hold, too soon for her taste. “I think you’re my favorite person to spend time with.”

  “You’re mine, too.”

  “Yeah?” He looked down at her.

  Marie met his eyes without hesitation. “Yeah.”

  The moment was perfect for a first kiss. The atmosphere, the dialogue, the way her lips tingled in instinctive anticipation, everything pointed that way. But this was Quinn, and their first kiss would never happen. For the first time she thought she felt truly at peace with that. Totally comfortable and able to be straight with him. On everything except being in love. “So tell me, Quinn.”

  “Mmm?”

  “What happens to us when you get that girlfriend you’re looking for?”

  His expression changed. “I’m…not sure how to answer that, Marie.”

  “Okay. I guess I’m going to put it right out there that I will be devastated if you leave me for someone else.” She strove for a light tone and to keep smiling, and managed both. Good for her. She was really doing this.

  “Then how about I don’t leave you?”

  Marie giggled. “Somehow I can’t see you happy with only a platonic relationship in your life.”

  “No. I couldn’t do that.” His speech had become clipped. Maybe it was better to drop the topic. She’d made it clear how she felt—up to a point. She wasn’t going to put him in the horrible position of admitting that she’d be stuck on the back burner when he found his Miss Perfect. All she could hope was that it would take him the next fifty years to find her. In the meantime, evenings spent with this god of a man would go a long way toward making her own life special until she got to the point where she could entertain starting a relationship of her own with a mere mortal.

  The band broke for the evening. After restroom visits, they piled into Quinn’s chauffeur-driven Lexus and headed back to Brewer’s Hill, stopping first at Marie’s house, which looked dark and anticlimactic after the evening of glitz and glamor. Still, it was where she belonged. Jezebel would greet her, she’d get back to planning the party with Candy, Kim and Darcy and the rest of her rich, full life would go happily on. What had Quinn said? Something to the effect that doing anything special too often made it less special. She wasn’t sure going out with him could ever feel ordinary, but maybe it could. And she already had Gladiolas midweek and next Saturday in Chicago to look forward to with him.

  With that delicious thought in mind, she nearly took Quinn out by determinedly shoving open her door, not realizing he’d come around to open it for her. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. You missed me. I’ll walk you to your door.”

  “You are so gallant.” She took his offered hand and got out of the car. “This was about the most wonderful and romantic evening of my entire life.”

  “Romantic?”

  She cringed. Did he have to get all defensive like that? “Champagne, fabulous food and service, dancing…what could be more romantic?”

  “Yes, well…” He followed her to her door, waited while she dug out her keys. “I had a wonderful time too, Marie.”

  She turned and smiled brightly. “Good.”

  “You’re still game for Chicago next weekend on top of dinner at Gladiolas?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Because I’m looking forward to spending more time with you.” He took her shoulders and leaned in; she puckered for a friendly good-night peck.

  Instead, his mouth was soft meeting her tight lips, which went slack with surprise. He lingered, lighting sparklers all the way down inside her.

  This was not a friendly peck. It was a kiss. A real one.

  Quinn was kissing her.

  She was still trying to wrap her brain around that concept when he pulled back, brushed her bangs tenderly off her forehead, and leaned in again for another briefer but just as sweet meeting of their lips. “Good night. Sleep well. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Yes. You, too. Sure!” She wanted to sound husky and sexual, but her voice came out all nervous and chirpy. Had she gone into shock? Maybe it had been too many months assuming Quinn felt nothing, so now she couldn’t act any other way. “You know me! I’ll be around!”

  For God’s sake, stop twittering, Marie.

  He looked disconcerted and backed away, sexy frown between his brows. “Yeah. Okay. Good night.”

  “G’night.” She went inside, feeling slightly hysterical. He’d kissed her. He’d kissed her. What did that mean? Did he have feelings? Did he…

  She threw her blue purse on her couch, kicked off her heels and stalked around her living room, muttering and gesturing in disgust.

  Enough. Enough.

  This was absolutely ridiculous. She’d spent a ridiculous amount of time tiptoeing around Quinn and her feelings.

  Gladiolas would be
too public, territory inhabited by people who knew her. But next Saturday she was going to tell this man the truth, a truth she’d owed him for some weeks now, a truth that could either cement them together or break them forever apart.

  She was absolutely crazy in love with him.

  10

  DARCY BURST INTO THE GLADIOLAS kitchen, shivering and dripping from rain she hadn’t expected, annoyed at arriving later than she’d wanted to. Especially because they had a wedding rehearsal dinner that night for twenty-five people. She’d slept late and then hadn’t been able to summon her usual focus to get the house and kitchen ready for her and Troy’s date that night.

  But what else was new? Since they’d met two and a half weeks ago, she’d barely been able to focus on anything but him. Things between them were going too well. Maybe she just wasn’t used to relationships that weren’t toxic, but she couldn’t help feeling some poop would have to hit some fan sometime soon. She wasn’t accustomed to being so happy, found she couldn’t trust the feeling or relax completely into it. When she was with him, everything was fine. On her own, the dark fears surfaced and played rounds of racquetball with her brain.

  When she’d been dating Jon, her boyfriend in college, and Chris, her boyfriend after, she’d been constantly coming up against issues, constantly aware of the problems and the ways they didn’t fit each other, all the danger signs of controlling and selfish behavior, so familiar from growing up with her father.

  So far, being with Troy was simply blissful fun. If there were any unhealthy patterns, she had yet to see them.

  Her staff was already at work, sous chef Sean, assistant Ben and dishwasher Ace preparing for a busy day, the heavy metal music she couldn’t abide blasting from the battered CD player perched on the counter. As soon as Ace saw her, he headed for the machine.

  “No, no.” She waved him away. “Leave it. It’s fine.”

  Ace blinked in surprise and shot a glance at Sean. Darcy took a few more steps and stopped at the sight of a plate of food at Ace’s station. “What’s this?”

  Ace looked guilty. “Lunch.”

  “Can I try?”

  Another glance at Sean and he grabbed a spoon and tossed it to her. “Sure.”

  Darcy scooped up some of the fish in a smooth dark orange sauce. The flavors burst onto her tongue—cardamom, garlic, red chili and peanut? She turned to Sean. “Who made this?”

  Sean pointed behind her.

  Darcy whirled around to stare at Ace. “You made this.”

  “Yup.”

  “Someone’s recipe?”

  Ace shook his head, tapping his temple. “From here.”

  She spooned up more to taste again. Complex layers of flavor, just enough heat, a little too much spice for such a delicate fish, but impressive nonetheless. “Ace, come into my office.”

  “Uh, sure.” He ambled after her, stayed on his feet as the door closed, looking wary as hell. “Look, chef, I was just—”

  “Sit.” She gestured to the metal folding chair set up on the other side of her desk.

  He sat, rubbing his hands nervously along his thighs.

  “The restaurant is doing well. We could use help. I’ve been thinking about having you on the line more often, Ace. I see a lot of potential in you, a lot of creativity. You’re good with a knife and you’re good with flavors. I’ve seen you quietly correcting dishes when Sean gets sloppy, which he does too often. I think you could have a decent career in this business if that’s what you wanted.”

  His blue eyes opened wider than she’d seen them in quite a while, if ever. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.” She leaned forward, folding her hands onto her desk on top of a pile of bills, wondering what had taken her so long to do this for him. “I’d like to help you, but there is one condition.”

  Wary again. Big-time. His surprisingly delicate brows gathered. “What’s that?”

  “On days you work the line in my kitchen, you come to work clean.” She held his gaze, watching the wheels turning…slowly…in his chemically altered brain.

  “Clean.”

  “I did it. It’s possible.”

  “You?”

  She nodded impatiently, not about to share more of her past with this kid. “Can you do it?”

  “Well…yeah.” The word came out uncertainly. C’mon, Ace. He frowned and then his face cleared. “Yeah. I can do that.”

  “Good.” She banged her palm on the desk, feeling more emotional than she expected to. She liked Ace; she wanted to help him. And it was wonderful to be in a position where she could do what chef Paul had done for her. “I’ll hold you to it. Now. We have a party tonight. Get out there and work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He got halfway to the door, which was all of a single step, and turned back. “Thanks, chef.”

  “Just don’t screw up.” She smiled at him.

  “You should do that more often.”

  “Tell you to get off drugs?”

  “Smile. It makes you look human. And your aura is amazing today. Has been for the last two weeks.”

  She rolled her eyes and pointed to the door. “Out.”

  Yes, okay, she was in a good mood. No, a great one. And she didn’t have to look far to know what was causing it. She hadn’t felt like this in so long. Actually, she’d never felt like this. Happy, yes, giddy in love, yes, but this time…she suspected that Troy would be someone she could lean on. Someone who just might go the extra mile to support her, instead of wondering only what she could do for him. Was that possible?

  No, she didn’t hate all men, only the type she’d always attracted. No, she wasn’t against relationships, just the self-destructive, soul-depleting ones she’d always had.

  Not hard to see why.

  This man…of course it was ridiculously early. They’d spent only a few weeks together, but the way he spoke to her, the way he respected her talent and seemed to respect her devotion to her career, never harping on all the time she spent away from him. His confidence in her ability to withstand the Raoul copycat restaurant warmed her, even if she didn’t think he was right.

  In short, today, she was full of the joyous bloom of love for humanity, for herself, for everyone. Could this last? Of course not. Every couple started out this way, putting best feet forward. Sooner or later the cracks would inevitably show. It was just that for the first time she had real hope the cracks would stay cracks, and not turn into enormous fissures that widened until they swallowed her completely.

  Her phone rang. “Gladiolas, Chef Darcy Clark speaking.”

  “Hey.”

  Her professional face melted into a smile that Ace would probably say made her superhuman. “Troy. What’s up?”

  “Wondered if there was anything you wanted me to bring tonight.”

  “Not a thing. What are you doing?”

  “About to go over to the club to work out. Everything going well there today?”

  “Very.” She tipped her head back, rested it on the back of her chair. “The staff is confused, though.”

  “Why’s that? Because it’s freezing in June?”

  “No, but it is. I’m having to delay our usual transition to hot weather food. Last night’s special was called June is the New March.”

  “So why is your staff confused?”

  Darcy smirked. “They seem to think I’m becoming human.”

  “Really.” He sounded distinctly amused. “How strange. Why do you think that is?”

  “I have no idea. They’ve certainly never thought I was before.”

  “Hmm. Anything new in your life?”

  “Well…” She ran her hands over her breasts, imagining Troy’s touch. “I do have this new young lover. Very hot.”

  “Mmm. Tell me more. Because I have a really hot lover, too.”

  “Ooh.” She brushed her hand between her legs, becoming aroused just talking to him. “Re-e-ally hot?”

  “Yes-s-s. Hot to look at. Hot to sleep with. Hot to touch.” His slow, deep voice w
as turning her into jelly. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll get burned.”

  Darcy caught her breath. Her hand stilled. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or kidding, but she knew exactly what he meant. “Maybe you should invest in asbestos gloves.”

  “I hope I won’t have to, Darcy.”

  “Yes.” She wanted to reassure him, tell him in a firm voice that she wouldn’t ever hurt him, but the words wouldn’t come. Who knew what lay ahead? She didn’t want to be hurt, either, but you couldn’t plan for that future, no matter how wonderful the present felt. Just ask her parents.

  “Tell me more about your day, Darcy.”

  “Let’s see.” She switched gears along with him, enjoying the simple pleasure of sharing life’s more mundane details with him. “I talked to Ace just now about assuming more responsibility once he’s clean. I think he’ll make an effort at least. Actually, no, I think he’ll do it.”

  “Good. Good for you, Darcy.” His enthusiasm made her wonder if he was thinking of his brother, Tom, lost to drugs in a way she hoped Ace never would be. “No more harassment from Raoul?”

  “None.”

  “I’d say you’re having a good day.”

  She pitched her voice seductively low. “I’d say it will get much better when it turns to night.”

  “Mmm. You keep saying things like that and I’ll come over right now and take you over your desk.”

  “Oooh.” She fanned herself. “You’re right, I’d better be careful. Because that would be entirely wonderful.”

  Troy laughed. “See you later, Darcy.”

  “Don’t work out too hard. I’ll need those muscles all night long.”

  “I promise.” He ended the call; Darcy hung up and stretched luxuriously, lifting her hair off the back of her neck and letting it spill down. Could she be any more of a cliché? Probably not. She loved that he called to ask about her day, seemed to care about what was going on with her as well as to report in on what was going on with him. Loved hearing his voice, loved that he liked her enough to be able to think about her once in a while.

  The phone rang again; she reached languorously for the receiver. “Gladiolas, Chef Darcy.”