by Jill Shalvis
Whether Nathan caught on, or if he was just worried, he paused. Then said, “Remember, Em. Do whatever you have to do to get him. Hell, use your feminine wiles.”
Em looked at Liza in disbelief as she shook her head. “You did not just say use my feminine wiles.”
“Why not? By all accounts, he’s not bad to look at. You’re single. Sleeping with him wouldn’t be a hardship.”
No, sleeping with Jacob wouldn’t be a hardship. Too bad she’d be doing it for reasons entirely separate from the show. “Goodbye, Nathan.”
“You’re thinking about it,” he said.
She growled.
He laughed. “Seriously, stay tough. Remember the hair-in-the-food trick.”
Em hung up on him. She sighed and looked at Liza. “Here’s the problem.”
“You mean besides Nathan being a complete ass?”
“Yeah. I don’t think Jacob’s all that interested in his career at all, other than he enjoys what he does.”
“Wait a minute.” Liza narrowed her eyes. “Since when are you on a first-name basis with the chef?”
“Since that’s his name.”
Liza let it go, which meant her head still hurt, because it was unlike her to let anything go. “Are you sure he’s not interested?”
Interested in the show? Or Em herself? “He runs the show here. He likes that. I don’t see him happily letting a show run him.”
Liza carefully rubbed her temples, her beauty looking a little strained this morning. “This aspirin needs to hurry up and kick in. Look, Em, just put it out there on the table for him, see what happens.”
“I know.”
“Today.”
“I will. Eric,” she said in surprise when he walked by.
He stopped, then with his eyes locked on Liza, came up to them. “Hey.”
“What’s up?” Em asked. “Want to have a seat? We’re coming up with my plan of attack for approaching Jacob.”
“I know an approach,” Liza said as Eric sat. “Offer to have a wild fling with him. He wouldn’t turn you down. No man who finds a woman attractive would turn her down.” After having carefully avoided looking at Eric, she purposely turned her head to him. “Right, Eric?”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe he’d have his reasons.”
“What reason could possibly be more important than making that woman feel good?” Liza pressed. “Than helping her out in her time of need?”
He glared at her. “Look, I didn’t turn you down to insult you.”
Liza snorted.
“Okay.” Em stood up. “I’m going to leave you two alone—”
“Don’t go,” Liza said, snagging Em’s wrist without taking her eyes off Eric.
“All I’m saying is that there are reasons,” Eric said to Liza.
“Name one.”
Em tried to pull free.
“I said don’t go!” Liza snapped.
“Okay, that’s it.” Em gently but firmly extricated herself. “You two need to work this out, preferably by yourselves, without killing each other. Personally, I think you should work it out upstairs, maybe even in bed….”
Eric made some sort of strangled sound.
Liza just lifted a shoulder. “Can’t. Eric has an aversion to getting in my bed these days.”
Em put a hand on her friend’s tense shoulder. “Stop torturing him.”
“Tell him the same thing.”
Eric shook his head.
Em kissed his cheek, then Liza’s. “Be kind,” she whispered to Liza, and walked off.
Caffeine, she decided. Now. A few other people were moving around, sitting on the black sofas talking, taking in the incredible artwork on display. She stopped in front of a large painting near the elevators, done in the bold strokes and colors of an early art deco piece. It was of a woman, nude, her hands outstretched, a look of ecstasy on her face as a man and another woman, also nude, attended to her. From their positions, one could assume the man took pleasure at a breast, the woman between her legs.
It should have been lewd, should have made the heat rise to Em’s face, but instead she couldn’t tear her eyes off the thing, not off the bright colors, or the boldly painted, beautiful bodies. In fact, she found herself just standing there, surrounded by the tranquility around her, absorbing it, breathing it in, trying to find her own center, her own sense of self, which was all tied into her job, into getting Chef Jacob Hill. She had to do this. “I have to do this.”
“Really?” It was the same low, husky voice as last night.
Jacob had come up to her side to look at the picture, too. “Which woman did you want to be?”
Just his proximity made everything within her react, tighten in anticipation, leap to attention. A little shocked at the effect he had on her, she turned her head and looked into his caramel eyes.
Yum, thought her body.
Watch out, thought her remaining working brain cells, and there weren’t many.
He looked great, more than great, more like gorgeous in his work trousers, wool and gray and fitted to that long hard body, and a black dress shirt. His short, short hair seemed glossy beneath the lights. The scent of him alone should have been bottled and marketed as an aphrodisiac.
He arched a brow, waiting for an answer to his question, amusement swimming in his gaze. That look released something inside her.
She thought maybe it was the last of her resistance. “I didn’t mean…” Damn it, she felt herself blush as she gestured to the painting. “I didn’t mean I have to do that.”
“No?” Tipping his head back, he looked at the two women in the picture again. “Now that’s just a damn shame.”
5
To: Pastry Chef Ed Mohr
From: Sous-Chef Jacob Hill
Tonight send a basket with fresh makings for Bouche S’mores to room 1212, with my compliments.
JACOB WATCHED EM SHIFT her weight from foot to foot as she glanced again at the bold art deco painting of the threesome. It made him want to smile. God, he loved to ruffle her feathers.
“I really was talking about something else,” she said.
“Like I said, it’s really too bad.”
Embarrassed or not, she met his gaze straight on. “So it’s true. Men really do fantasize about two women in their bed.”
“Doesn’t have to be in bed.” She rolled her eyes, and he laughed. “You asked.”
“I thought it was a myth. That men couldn’t really be so…so base.”
“’Fraid not, and that we are.”
She cocked her head and studied him thoughtfully. “What’s the draw? Two women? Seems like a lot of work.”
“You mean ’cause there are two of every body part, and in some cases, four? Not work.” He grinned.
“Women don’t fantasize about two men.”
“Never?”
She squirmed just a little, went a touch red, and he knew she was torn between lying or admitting a truth she preferred not to.
A minute ago he’d turned in the staff schedules for the week, and had planned on spending the next few hours on his own before he had to get started in the kitchen, but he’d seen her standing here and had been drawn to her like a metal rod to a magnet.
What was it about her? He wished he knew. He’d always been attracted to beautiful women, the more outspoken and unabashedly sexual the better. Em was beautiful, no doubt, but neither outspoken nor unabashedly sexual, and yet she fascinated him. She stood there in a long floral skirt and cream angora sweater with a row of tiny buttons down the front, looking very together despite her blush and wry smile. She’d made an attempt at taming her hair, which amused him. The sides were pulled up in clips, but her long bangs had escaped, framing her jaw on either side. She wore gloss on her lips, something peachy, and he was hungry for it, for her.
Then there was the way she was looking at him, with a repressed yearning that stopped his jaded heart. Damn, her eyes were intoxicating, and suddenly, or maybe not so suddenly at all, he want
ed to know what made her tick, what her bare skin felt like, what it tasted like, every inch of it. He wanted to see her lost in him, coming for him, wanted to feel her wrapped around him, panting his name.
No, make that screaming his name.
Em turned back to the erotically charged painting, but he put his hands on her arms and pulled her around to face him. Her eyes were a little dilated now, the pulse at the base of her throat racing. She was every bit as turned-on as he was, which made his condition worse. “Let’s go.”
“What? Where?”
He looked into her wary, but undoubtedly excited, eyes. “You up for an adventure, Emmaline Harris?”
“An adventure? I don’t know…”
“Say yes.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “Yes,” she said softly, then hemmed when he led her to the front doors of the hotel. “Where are we going?”
“It’s an amazing day out there, have you seen it?”
“I haven’t been out yet.”
“Can’t stay inside all day. Not on a day like today.” Jacob nodded to the doorman. It was Jon, who grinned and gave Jacob the thumbs-up sign behind Em’s back.
As they stepped through the doors, a gust of wind wrapped around them in a chilly caress, and Jacob took a moment to admire how it molded Em’s clothes to her belly, hips, legs and breasts, which were not big but not small, either, just right.
Unaware of his perusal of her body, Em tugged a rioting strand of hair out of her mouth. “Jacob, there’s something I really wanted to talk to you about first. My work—”
“No work. Not yet. Look at that sky.” It was a brilliant, shimmering blue, and when Em tipped her head up, it brought a slow, beautiful smile to her face.
He stroked another wayward strand of hair from her cheek just for the excuse of touching her. “Come on. It’s too perfect a day to waste.” Taking her hand in his, he began walking.
Keeping up with him, she said, “Do you ever ask?”
“What?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think you do. You just do whatever you want.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I just can’t believe women let you get away with it. Why would they? Wait, don’t answer that.” She looked baffled and just a little off her axis at the same time. “You are a very spoiled man, Jacob Hill.”
“Spoiled?”
At that, she actually laughed at him at that, a sound he thoroughly enjoyed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You are not.”
That tugged a grin out of him. “How about some coffee?” He spread his hands. “Hear that? I’m asking.”
“You’re teasing me is what you’re doing. But yes. Coffee would be great.”
He loved that, quiet or not, she spoke her mind. No pretense. No games.
Traffic was a bitch this morning, nothing new, so he steered her through a throng of pedestrians, easily weaving her across the street between bikes and cabs and honking cars.
“Oh, my God,” Em grumbled beneath her breath when a car came close. “Crazy.”
“It’s New York.”
“In L.A.,” she gasped breathlessly, as she kept up, “cars actually stop for people.”
“Here, cars use pedestrians for parking spaces.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her to him when a cab nearly did just that with her toes. “Stick close.”
“Yikes,” she muttered, but stayed against him. Now the strands of her hair stroked his face, the scent delicious enough that he wanted to breathe her in. As her long legs moved in tandem with his, he enjoyed the feel of her thigh brushing against his every step they took. Her breast was pressed up against his ribs and he wanted to turn her to face him, to savor the full experience, but when traffic slowed, she pulled away.
Where was a speeding cab when he needed one?
They walked through the gorgeous Bryant Park, an oasis in the midst of chaos, and were only one block from their destination when a bicyclist came out of nowhere, barreling down the middle of the sidewalk, without any apparent concern that they were in his way.
Perfect. Jacob turned toward Em, put his hands on her waist and pushed her back against the wall of the building at their right.
The bicyclist sped past, swearing at them for good measure.
Em lifted her head, blew a strand of hair out of her mouth and blinked at him. “That man should get a ticket.”
“Not likely, not here.” He touched her chilly cheek, letting his finger linger on her soft skin. “Em.”
Her eyes flickered with something far more than irritation at the cyclist as she licked her lips and slowly raised her gaze to his. The pulse at the base of her neck beat like a poor overworked hummingbird’s wings.
“I’m not going to ask if you mind this time,” he said softly.
Understanding lit her gaze as he lowered his mouth toward hers. In spite of his words, he gave her the chance to stop him. Even a slight pressure from the hands she’d set on his chest would have done it. Instead she did the opposite, slowly curling her fingers into his shirt.
He smiled then, and as he kissed her, he thought, That’s the first time I’ve wanted to smile and kiss a woman at the same time.
LOGICALLY EM KNEW this was a mistake but once Jacob’s mouth touched hers, logic flew right out the window, and her body cut off all circulation to her brain cells, including the one that was supposed to say, “Don’t even think about it!”
With a low, rough murmur deep in his throat, his hands came up and framed her face, sliding into her hair to palm her head, changing the angle of the kiss, deepening it.
Oh. My. God.
Helpless against the onslaught of pure lust, Em did as any woman who’d already tasted heaven and wanted to savor it some more would have done—she pulled him even closer and held on for all she was worth. But it was more than just his kiss, his touch. He aroused her physically, no doubt, and yet her need for him came from her heart, too.
If she could think, she’d have been terrified. But she couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything other than feel.
When his tongue slid to find hers, she heard a throaty, desperate sort of growl and realized it came from her.
Oh, boy. She was a goner.
It wasn’t her fault, though. The man was the best kisser she’d ever been with. The best kisser on the planet. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a walking dream.
And she didn’t want to wake up.
So she tuned out the sounds of the streets around them—the talking, the footsteps, the honking of impatient drivers—and did what she knew she didn’t do enough: let the experience wash over her. And it did wash over her, everything, his scent, deliciously male, the feel of his long, hard-muscled body pressed to hers, her soft thighs spread by one of his, and his hands…the way they slowly, knowingly glided up and down her arms, then up her throat to hold her face. It all simply undid her.
Finally, when he’d thoroughly ravished her with the kiss, he raised his mouth a fraction and opened his eyes, filled with a searing heat and desire and that ever-present wry amusement.
“What could possibly be funny?” she demanded, her knees still shaking.
“It’s just that you kiss like you think.”
She blinked. “I what?”
Again, that fleeting smile, the one that flashed his dimple and crinkled his drown-in-me eyes. “You, Emmaline Harris, are a series of contradictions. You dress like a businesswoman, for instance.”
“I am a businesswoman.”
“But you have a very carefree, come-what-may streak. It’s sexy as hell, you know.” He ran his thumb, rough with work calluses, over her lower lip, which was still wet from his mouth. She had to stifle the urge to suck the pad of it into her mouth.
What was happening to her? She’d always managed to go for stretches of time without thinking about sex. Or having sex. She’d slept with her last boyfriend—what had it been?—only four months or so ago. Not so long. Surely not long enough
for this overwhelming longing, this heartbreaking ache to be sweeping through her body at the mere touch of his mouth or thumb.
“I see,” she said, but she didn’t. She had no idea where he was going with this, or where she wanted him to go with this, and yet when he spread his fingers over her jaw, she turned her face into his palm, pressing her lips there.
“I’m not sure what it is about you,” he murmured, his voice a little husky now. “You talk like a schoolteacher. A little uptight, a little reserved.”
Uptight? Reserved? She lifted her face away from his touch to look at him.
He smiled. “And yet you think things, things that have your eyes smoldering, things that bring heat to your face. Things that make me hot, Em.”
She stared at him, no longer sure what she was feeling, though it caused her tummy to quiver and an embarrassing dampness to gather between her thighs.
“A contradiction,” he whispered in that Southern honey of a voice that, along with his knowing smile, made her think of Matthew McConaughey in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. “Still up for caffeine?”
“Please.”
He took her hand. As they began walking again, his long-legged easy stride eating up the sidewalk, she risked a quick sideways glance at him. What was she doing? She needed to get across the fact that she wanted him to host her TV show, and yet all she’d done so far was stare at him dreamily.
And kiss him. Let’s not forget that. Sheesh. Good going.
“Here we are,” he said, and stopped in front of a small hole-in-the-wall Irish pub called Patrick’s.
Em stared at the Celtic sign swinging from the eaves. “But…it’s ten in the morning.”
“Yep.” He opened the door for her.
She stepped inside, and was surprised. Even at this hour, the pub was filled, and with the mahogany bar and raw-wood floors and ceiling, the place felt warm and welcoming, exuding a natural charm. The conversation that greeted them was a good-natured mixture of gossip, wit and discussion. She could imagine sitting here comfortably with a drink, and when she looked at Jacob, could also imagine him perfectly at home in the middle of a brawl right there on the floor.
