Hot to the Touch

by Isabel Sharpe

  “That’s all you can think of? Sex? My career could be going down the toilet.”

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  “Okay.” Troy backed off, hands up. “This is too weird for me. It’s late, Darcy, and we’re all tired and some of us are a little hysterical.”

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “I can’t leave this. I took your advice, I lowered my guard where Raoul is concerned and look what happened.”

  Troy stared at her. Who was this bitter woman and what had she done with playful, loving Darcy? “You’re saying this was my fault?”

  “Not directly.”

  “Even indirectly?”

  “You changed me. You made me softer. People said I was becoming more human.” She had her hands to her temples, looking ready to tear her hair out. “No, I mean—”

  “Oh, wow, human. Sorry, really, that must have been horrible for you.” Troy glanced at Ace, who was standing on the other side of the kitchen, head down, pretending not to listen. He moved closer to Darcy and lowered his voice. “Look, all you know is that Raoul said hi to the staff and made a phone call in your office.”

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Something more than that happened, Troy.”

  “Says a man who is out of his mind.”

  “He was clean when Raoul was here.”

  “You trust him.”

  She lifted her face, which even angry and frustrated, was still beautiful and still affected him deeply. “Yes.”

  “I’d like to be added to that list, Darcy.”

  “You have to earn a spot.”

  Troy’s turn for the closed eyes and deep breath. “By unconditionally agreeing with everything you say and do?”

  “By trusting me. Trusting that I know what I’m talking about.”

  He counted to three. Then five. Then ten. God help him, right now this pain was altogether too familiar. Instinct was telling him to run, far and fast, and it was shouting louder than his heart, which still wanted him to stay and protect her. How naive to expect he could heal and totally change the type of woman he went for.

  “I think I should go.” He had more to say, but he wasn’t going to say it now, late at night in a kitchen inhabited by a psychic—or psycho—pothead.

  She looked startled, then drew herself up tall. “Okay. So. I’ll get a ride from Ace.”

  He held her gaze a few more seconds, unable to see anything but cold resolve in her eyes. Not a flicker of uncertainty or of longing. Apparently, she was not kidding when she said she regretted becoming human.

  “G’night, Darcy.” He walked out the back door, got nearly soaked in the few steps to his car, and pulled away from the restaurant alley in one of the foulest moods he’d been in since…

  Since he was dating Debby. What a surprise. Why did the lows always come with the highs? Why couldn’t he be one of those guys whose greatest moment of emotional upheaval came when his beer ran out before the football quarter did?

  He drove home, scowling through the blinding thunder of drops on the windshield. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for relationships.

  Or maybe Chad had been right, and he wasn’t cut out for Darcy.

  “EVERYTHING SEEMS TO BE shaping up perfectly.” Candy lifted her face from her folder and gave a thumbs-up, nodding around their table at the Women in Power meeting to Kim, Marie and Darcy, who was trying her hardest to appear enthusiastic and interested while pain gnawed great holes inside her, like a swarm of carpenter ants hollowing out a log.

  A party for married and engaged couples. What fun now that she’d believed again in the fake promise of real and permanent happiness and had it ripped away.

  Whee.

  “We have enthusiastic sponsors. Milwaukeedates.com of course.” Candy grinned at Marie. “But also Bridal Boutique, Home Depot, Franny’s Flowers and Cakewalk Cakes. They’ll all donate certificates for prizes as well as help with costs. We have twenty-three confirmed couples attending and five undecided.”

  Darcy snorted. “Can’t decide if they’re coming or can’t decide if they’re couples?”

  “Can’t decide if they’re coming. And of course…” Candy smiled at Darcy. “There are other couples who might become qualified in the next few weeks.”

  “Hmm, yes, do we know anyone like that?” Kim nudged Darcy.

  “Don’t think so.” She pressed her lips together, brows raised, trying to appear brisk and unconcerned. That they knew she’d become involved with Troy didn’t surprise her. That they assumed because she’d been with him a couple of weeks, she and Troy were on their way to the altar, did. And that she was feeling empty and sad knowing there was no way she and Troy would be at that party as any kind of couple horrified her. She didn’t want to be married to Troy or anyone else. Especially not to Troy after the way he’d laughed at her fears and done nothing to help or support her when she needed him. When she left her last boyfriend, Chris, aka Mr. Cheaterpants, she’d promised herself no more men who prized only their own feelings. No matter how much she missed what was good between her and Troy, she was not going back into a relationship like that.

  Frankly, she was proud of her resolve and having made the decision so quickly and forcefully to get out of yet another no-win situation, but this time before she got in any deeper.

  However, the way her three friends’ attention immediately zeroed in on her, she could tell she’d failed to fool them that she was fine.

  “Is something wrong?” Marie, always the first to tune into people’s moods.

  Darcy shook her head too quickly, tears threatening; she grabbed her mug of coffee. As if that would help. “Nada.”

  A brief silence while they all didn’t believe her. The problem with good friends was that they were good friends, and didn’t put up with bull poop.

  “Things tough with Troy?” Kim, uncharacteristically taking the lead. Since she’d been engaged to Nathan she’d blossomed into newfound confidence and strength—though getting the big job with Carter didn’t hurt. Candy had bloomed, too, after discovering Justin.

  Finding men who brought out the good in women instead of the shrewish worst was a talent that had apparently passed Darcy by.

  “Things with Troy…” She bunched her mouth and shrugged as if she couldn’t begin to explain or care, while traitor tears snuck into her eyes despite strict instructions to stay away.

  “Uh-oh.” Marie reached across the table to squeeze Darcy’s arm. Her sympathy served as an invitation for more of Darcy’s tears to join the fun. “Tell us.”

  “Maybe we can help.” Candy’s brow was wrinkled in concern.

  “We’d really like to,” said Kim.

  “Will you stop being so nice to me?” The bravest tear dared to spill over Darcy’s lower lid and travel down her cheek.

  So much love at the table, so much support, so many worried friends so eager to help, advise and offer comfort. Why couldn’t guys behave like this when you needed them to? They were fine fixing toilets, but when it came to backing women up on emotional matters…

  “Troy.” She gestured helplessly. “He turned out to be a man after all.”

  Candy’s left eyebrow rose up. “And you were hoping for…?”

  “What happened, Darcy?” Kim reached for a muffin from the plate in the center of the table. “If you tell us, we can do better with our brilliant advice.”

  Darcy took a deep breath, fighting her instinct, which was to close up and keep her emotions private and safe, and explained as best she could. They already knew about her hopes for the restaurant, her hurt over Raoul’s betrayal; she could feel them with her, murmuring support, nodding in agreement.

  But as the story progressed to the events of last Saturday, she felt the sympathy and support ebbing. An exchanged glance between Candy and Marie. Kim no longer meeting her eyes.

  Worse, to her ears now, Ace’s suspicions sounded as paranoid and unfounded as they undoubtedly had to Troy.

  Had she made a horrible mistake? Was she actuall
y the same psycho girlfriend all her previous men accused her of being? Did she have no right to ask for Troy’s unconditional support on an issue that had seemed so important and so dire at the time?

  She wound up the story in uncomfortable silence, feeling shaky and disoriented, aware she was completely alone at the table of women. What was right here? What was important? Had she sacrificed her happiness with Troy for no reason? Did she have a hand in ruining all her previous relationships, as well?

  “I think—” Marie spread jam carefully onto the end of a blueberry scone “—that you need to talk to Troy about this. Tell him the facts are beside the point, that you needed support and he didn’t deliver.”

  Talk to him. Tell him what she needed. She’d done that and gotten nowhere, lowered her guard again and been punished for it. “I think I made it clear that he didn’t respect my feelings.”

  “Did you respect his?” Marie’s gentle voice carried all the power of a bazooka.

  Brutal honesty time. Maybe not. She’d been so closeted in her own feelings, in her own worries, so sure she was right to panic, that no, she hadn’t listened. Oh, God. She was a basket case. At very least a complete failure at relationships.

  “What was he asking you to do?”

  Darcy tried to block out the pain and dismay, probing her memories. He hadn’t bought into her suspicions, no, but mostly he’d been trying to get her to wait until morning before pursuing the matter. To calm down and think logically about the situation and Ace’s fears.

  “He was asking me to pay attention, to try and look at both sides.” Tears welled up, and this time she let them go. “Not so horrible, huh?”

  Kim looked down with a sympathetic half smile. Candy shook her head, barely perceptible. Only Marie made full eye contact, nodding encouragingly.

  “But…you know his last girlfriend was a piece of work,” Candy said. “According to Justin, she was always in some crisis or other that she wanted him to fix for her.”

  “But this was a real threat to my business.” She stopped, aware of the uneasy silence at the table. “It felt like a real threat to my business.”

  “Of course it did,” Marie said. “There are no bad guys here. Only two people struggling with strong emotion.”

  Darcy nodded, wiping tears, fighting to get herself back under control. What now? Call Troy, apologize for overreacting, for not listening to his side? Open herself up to trying again with this wound still festering, with the underlying fear that he was liable to turn against her when she needed him? Would he even want to be with her anymore now that she’d poured such familiar poison into their well of happiness?

  Her phone rang. She dug it out, feeling relief at the chance to escape the conversation. Her relief didn’t last long. Ace’s cell phone. Why wasn’t he calling from the restaurant?

  “Chef, sorry to bother, but I need to talk to you right away.”

  Oh, no. Darcy sighed, reminding herself to treat him with respect, but to be firm and objective, and not to let her fear carry her away this time. “What is it?”

  “It’s not good. Raoul’s new dishwasher is Sam, who happens to be a good friend of mine. I asked a while back if he could get me an advance copy of Raoul’s menu. This morning he dropped it by on his way to work.”

  “Okay.” Her heart was pounding. She didn’t even want to think about what he was going to say.

  “All the specials are yours. I was right. The bastard stole them.”

  Darcy gasped. “Oh, my God. Ace.”

  Kim, Marie and Candy stopped eating and stared in alarm. Darcy looked away, unable to bear their curiosity.

  “There’s more,” Ace said.

  “Tell me.”

  “Sean, the only person who knew the Chef Bible file password besides you, just accepted a job as sous chef at Raoul’s Place.”

  12

  MARIE AND QUINN WALKED OUT OF the theater where they’d just seen the glorious revival of one of Marie’s all-time favorite musicals, The Sound of Music. She’d be humming the tunes all week. “I love happy endings.”

  “I noticed that about you.” Quinn squeezed her hand, which he’d gotten into the habit of taking when they were walking in crowds. As far as Marie was concerned, they should spend lots and lots of time walking in crowds.

  They’d had a cozy drive from Milwaukee, a cozy dinner at Aria, an Asian fusion restaurant where Marie had roasted duck breast with coconut polenta that she could cheerfully drive down to eat at least once a week. Then the show. Now, maybe it was her imagination but as the evening wore on, Quinn seemed to get less and less talkative, seemed to be brooding over something. Of course Marie, with her infinitely large self-esteem, immediately had to talk herself out of the conviction that she was boring him and he was disappointed in the evening.

  The good news was that once she confessed her feelings tonight—yes, Marie and when exactly were you planning to do this?—at least she’d be over the suspense and the worry. Either he was open to returning those feelings someday or he wasn’t.

  They reached the garage in silence, got into Quinn’s car in more silence. Marie arranged her skirts, buckled her seat belt, then abruptly couldn’t stand it anymore. One of them had to talk.

  “Party plans are going really well for the Milwaukeedates celebration. Candy got a travel agent to donate a Caribbean cruise for an anniversary or honeymoon. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “That’s great.” His enthusiasm was honest but halfhearted. Something was definitely bothering him.

  “Darcy is planning fabulous food, too. Stuffed shrimp and spring rolls, puff pastry wheels and tiny baked brie sandwiches with roasted garlic.”

  “Yum.” He checked his rearview mirror, backed out of the space. “What’s going on with her and Troy? Have they worked things out after the latest disaster?”

  Marie groaned. Darcy and Troy’s troubles were weighing on her. “I don’t know. You saw her Wednesday when we ate at Gladiolas. She was obviously pretty miserable. She’d just found out that morning about Raoul and Sean. I don’t think she’s talked to Troy or that he knows yet.”

  “What, you haven’t called to tell him?” He slowed to let another car back out of a parking space in front of him.

  “I’m done meddling. I might have really messed up on this one, Quinn. I feel terrible. I should have listened to you and left it alone.”

  He made it the rest of the way out of the garage, paid the parking fare and emerged onto the city street. “I think you should meddle one more time.”

  “Say what?”

  “I’m serious.” He turned right, traveled the block and came to a stop at a red light. “I think Troy should know Darcy’s fears were justified. He should know she’s in pain. He’ll want to help, and maybe they can work things out.”

  “Quinn.” She was totally delighted. “You’re as bad as I am.”

  “Believe it or not, I was rooting for you to succeed the whole time.”

  “Were you?” She smiled over at him, noticing the somber expression he’d been wearing for a while now. “Hey, are you okay? Granted I’m yapping a lot, but you’ve been sort of quiet since dinner.”

  “It’s nothing.” He made another turn. “I’m a little tired.”

  “Okay.” Her spirits sank. Tired. That wasn’t it.

  “I was actually not looking forward to driving home. I was thinking we could—”

  “Do you want me to drive?” The second the words were out of her mouth she could have kicked herself. He might have been going to suggest they—

  “I was thinking we could spend the night here in town. I know a great place for breakfast. If that sounds feasible for you.”

  Feasible? Feasible?

  Marie pulled herself together. Yes, she thought that plan was quite feasible. “Sure. You shouldn’t be driving if you’re tired.”

  “Right.” He sounded slightly irritated. Marie wanted to reach across the car and smack him. What? He really was tired? That was all this overnight would be
about? Not spending more time with her?

  He’d given her a chaste kiss after their dinner Wednesday night at Gladiolas. Marie would have been more disappointed if she hadn’t known she’d see him again tonight. And if her declaration, which she’d now decided she’d make—for sure—at the hotel, went badly, that made last Wednesday their last perfect night together as friends, which made a chaste kiss the perfect ending. Because if Quinn didn’t think he could entertain romantic feelings for her, Marie was going to cut the cord completely. She couldn’t bear to think of the first several Friday nights that didn’t include Quinn and Roots, but…she’d survived her husband deserting her for younger blood, she’d sure as hell survive this.

  If the declaration went well and Quinn responded—butterflies shimmied up her stomach and into her chest—ha! She’d be calling to thank her louse husband for leaving.

  If, if, if. This was nerve-racking. So much that even she couldn’t think of anything more to say. They sat in tense silence from the theater to the front entrance of the downtown Hyatt Regency—oh, my goodness—on the banks of the Chicago River just before it emptied into Lake Michigan.

  This was not the type of hotel Marie generally stayed at. To put it mildly. She was more a Comfort Inn kind of girl.

  “This okay? I’m a member of their frequent guest program.”

  “Oh, sure. I don’t mind slumming occasionally.”

  He actually chuckled, which relieved the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes. “Good for you.”

  She remembered to wait for him to open her door this time, but before he made it, a uniformed employee graciously helped her out and offered Quinn valet parking, which he accepted before ushering Marie into the sumptuous glass atrium and lobby.

  Small-town Midwestern girl that she was, the atmosphere of luxury and wealth was dazzling, but with Quinn at her side, not overwhelming. Maybe she’d never feel she belonged in places like this, but she would love to keep trying.

  They headed for the check-in desk. Ten feet away, Quinn’s steps slowed. Slowed some more. Marie slowed with him, then turned to see him looking uncertain.