Into the Fire

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Amanda Usen. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce,
distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary
rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Alethea Spiridon Hopson & Lewis Pollack
Cover design by Pamela Sinclair

Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-135-0

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition June 2013

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners
of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: A Christmas Carol; Burger
King; Chef Boyardee; Cleveland Clinic; “Googled”; June Cleaver; Katy Perry; New York
Times; Patron; Presbyterian Hospital; St. Germain.

Chapter One

Lila  slipped  away  from  the  crowded  graduation  party,  carrying  her  glass  of  wine  out  to
the  empty  back  porch.  She  felt  ridiculous  in  her  too-small,  borrowed  cocktail  dress  and
couldn’t wait to kick off her uncomfortable heels. How much longer did she have to stay
to justify all the work Jenna and Betsy had put into her hair and makeup? Getting dressed
up  had  sounded  like  fun,  but  she  couldn’t  take  a  deep  breath  without  risking  indecent
exposure, and her feet were killing her. Unlike her vivacious friends, she was never going
to be the life of the party. She belonged in the kitchen, making the party happen behind
the scenes. Or in her dorm room, going over her game plan for the culinary competition
tomorrow.

The door opened behind her. Please, God, no more small talk. Pasting a polite smile on

her lips, she turned. When Jackson Calabrese smiled back at her, her heart hammered. A
blush burned at the roots of her hair and blazed its way down to the ground, just as it did
each time she saw him.

He raised a bottle of wine toward her glass. “I brought reinforcements.”
“How on earth did you get a bottle of the Margaux?” she stammered.
He shrugged, giving her a wicked grin that made her feel faint. Of course. It was good

to be a Calabrese at the Culinary Academy. The president of the school would probably
put a case of the priceless wine in Jack’s car if he asked.

She took a sip to wet her dry mouth. “Are you ready for the big competition tomorrow?”

she asked, figuring she might as well mention the elephant standing on the porch with
them.

He grimaced, running a hand through his short dark hair. “I guess.”
She had expected him to boast and try to psych her out with trash talk. They were

competing against each other, after all, and most of their class was betting one of them
would take the top prize of twenty-five thousand dollars. The last thing she expected was
for Jackson Calabrese, golden boy of the Culinary Academy, to sound uncertain. She
cocked her head to the side and watched him take a large gulp of wine.

He tipped his head toward the house and shrugged. “It’s hard to be in there pretending

I’m not nervous as hell. I’m already having nightmares.”

“Why are you nervous? It’s not like you need the money. I know that’s a tacky thing to

say, but I can’t imagine you’ve got student loans to repay.” Winning the competition
would put a big enough dent in her loans that she might only be in debt for half her life,
instead of the whole thing.

He scowled. “No loans, as my father loves to remind me. Just the honor of the entire

Calabrese family. The old man doesn’t think I’m going to win. In fact, he’s sure of it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She rolled her eyes. “Even I think you’re going to win.”
She raised the glass to her lips to hide a sigh. Her crush on Jack had been instant, epic,

and excruciating. He was charming, utterly gorgeous, and so far out of her league it was
ridiculous.  For  goodness  sake,  her  father  had  mortgaged  the  house  to  pay  for  her
abandoned  art  degree,  but  Jack  was  so  rich  there  were  buildings  here  at  the  school
named after his family. Every time she passed the pub on her way to one of her part-time
jobs, he was in there surrounded by an adoring crowd well-stocked with beautiful women
from neighboring universities. Jack was tall, dark, and built like an underwear model, and
she  was…not.  None  of  those  discrepancies  stopped  her  hormones  from  doing  a  mating
dance, just like now, but she couldn’t afford to let him distract her tonight.

He smiled—not the charming grin she’d seen him use on the instructors during class

when he was being, well…Jack. This smile was real, and it made her heart stop.

“Oh no, you don’t. You’re not going to use the poor little rich boy act to throw me off

my game tomorrow. You’re not going to get me drunk, either.” She set her glass on the
porch railing and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “Unlike you, I do have loans to repay.
Big ones. You’ll have to forgive me for kicking your ass tomorrow.”

He didn’t react. In fact, he didn’t appear to have heard a word she said. His eyes roved

over her body, finally settling on her breasts.

“Hey! Up here.” She pointed at her eyes. “I’m talking to you.”
His gaze snapped to meet hers, and time stopped. His pale green eyes were

mesmerizing, and she saw something in them she had never imagined—desire. Every
nerve in her body zinged to life. “Sorry, did you say something?” He stepped close enough
for her to catch his woodsy scent. Her knees weakened, and she leaned back to brace
herself against the railing.

“You’ve been hiding from me,” he accused softly.
He didn’t know the half of it. When she saw him coming, she ducked behind whatever

was available, no mean feat considering her curves. Better to hide than to face him,
flushed with desire and breathless. In class, it was easier to act normal. She was wearing
her uniform, had a game plan, and knew all the right answers.

He set his wine glass next to hers. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation outside

of class before tonight. Why is that?”

Because my panties would start fires around campus. “Nothing in common?” she

squeaked.

“I don’t buy it. We’ve traded the top spot back and forth for two years now. We’re both

nervous about tomorrow. Obviously, we both love food. We have tons in common. Don’t
you like me?”

The ridiculous question shocked a chuckle out of her, but he didn’t smile. He seriously

needed an answer? For the second time that night, he looked unsure of himself, and it

gave her the courage to meet his direct gaze. “I like you. Always have.”

Something that looked like relief flashed across his face. “Excellent.”
He stepped forward, trapping her. She felt the early spring breeze ruffle her hair and

the porch railing press into her back. He touched her arms, making her shiver, but she
didn’t protest. She waited, watching the distance between them lessen, dead certain she
would catch fire when he kissed her.

His lips touched hers.
She melted, going liquid, then turned into pure flame as he wrapped his arms around

her. She welcomed the instant and all-consuming heat between them. When she felt the
flick of his tongue against her upper lip, she opened her mouth, inviting him deeper. For
long moments they explored each other. She exhilarated in his touch, loving the firm
caress of his fingers on her aching breasts and delighting in the impatient grasp of his
hands on her ass as he pulled her closer. Would any of the other party guests see them
making out on the porch? She didn’t care. She had wanted this for so long. She couldn’t
believe it was actually happening.

“This is silly,” he muttered.
She froze, eyes shut tight. She should have known it was too good to be true. Guys like

Jack didn’t need girls like her. She felt his teeth graze her throat then he lifted his head.

“I don’t suppose you want to get out of here?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and found his cool green gaze just as hot as it had been before he

kissed  her.  He  wanted  her,  really  and  truly.  Unmistakable  evidence  of  his  desire  was
cradled  against  her  belly,  and  she  had  ached  for  him  since  the  moment  she  saw  him.
There  were  many  reasons  hooking  up  with  Jack  was  a  bad  idea,  but  nothing  felt  more
imperative than deepening the connection between them. “Your place or mine?”

“Do you have a roommate?” he asked.
She nodded. It was cheaper to share dorm costs.
“My place then. I want you all to myself.”
Heat shot through her, and she grabbed her purse and followed him around the side of

the house to his car. The ride to his apartment was short, but seemed to take forever. His
hand clasped hers, caressing her fingers until she felt his touch everywhere. When they
got inside, she noticed he’d brought the bottle of wine with them. “Dutch courage?” she
asked lightly.

He shook his head, filling glasses and carrying them into the bedroom. He set them on

his dresser. “Waste not, want not. And you’re going to need the hydration.”

His blunt sensuality made her bold. She reached for her zipper then let her dress slide

to the floor. She stepped out of her heels. He looked hungry as he lowered her to the bed
and stripped off her bra and panties. She slipped buttons from their holes, unbuckling his
belt, revealing hot, hard flesh.

They both groaned as he settled on top of her, fitting their bodies together, the weight

of him sending a hot burst of pleasure through her.

She clutched at his shoulders as he shifted to the side, not wanting any space between

them. He caught her hands and held them over her head, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
“Let me enjoy you.”

No woman on earth would say no to that. She grew boneless as he kissed her again,

this time lingering, tasting every corner of her mouth. Her breath came in pants as she
imagined  what  else  he  might  do  with  his  tongue.  His  hands  were  busy  stroking  her
breasts,  belly,  and  hips.  He  thrust  one  knee  between  her  thighs,  easing  the  ache  and
making her sob from relief until he began to lick his way across her tender breasts. When
he reached her nipple, she whimpered, wordlessly begging him to suck harder and give
her  more  of  the  intense  sensations  that  were  making  her  simultaneously  want  to  climb
the walls and lie still so he wouldn’t stop.

He moved lower, scattering kisses across her belly. When he gripped her thighs, she

opened for him, feeling wanton and ready, and at the first touch of his tongue, she
screamed, shamelessly thrusting her hips toward his mouth. Pleasure flowed over her, a
hot cascade, and she surrendered, climaxing so hard her legs closed around him, and she
felt the rough scrape of his five o’clock shadow against her inner thighs. His movements
slowed, but didn’t stop, an intimate kiss that urged her to seek more pleasure.

She tugged him up to lie beside her and gave him a slow smile as she prowled over

him. Her pulse was a drumbeat as she learned his body with her mouth, tasting his neck,
licking her way down his rock-hard abs, and finally pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the
inside of his thigh. His harsh gasp filled her with bright satisfaction as she took him in her
mouth. She gloried in his taste and the feel of his warm length against her tongue as she
sought his rhythm.

Abruptly, he sat up. With one lunge, he flipped her to her back and reached into the

bedside drawer to get a condom. He swiftly rolled it into place. His urgency filled her with
greed. More, she wanted more of him.

She stroked her hands over his back and wrapped her legs around his waist as he

entered her, pulling him close, gripping him tight, tasting herself on his lips. He cradled
her shoulders with his forearms, holding her in place, making her feel utterly secure as he
rocked her higher and harder with his hips. Over and over he thrust into her, a rainbow of
fire bursting in her center and spreading outward. He shouted, clutching her impossibly
closer as they shuddered together.

Gradually she came back to earth and eased her hold on him, laughing slightly. He

gave her a sexy smile as he slid out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. She
watched him go, admiring his muscled back and his truly perfect ass. While he was gone,
she indulged in a long stretch, resisting the urge to pinch herself. Quickly, she crawled

under the covers, not wanting to put her dress back on but also not wanting to be quite
so naked when he returned. Would he want her to stay?

Her question was answered when he slid into bed and spooned her. His hand cupped

her breast, and his lips brushed the back of her neck. She shivered in delight. It was hard
to believe she was with Jack, who used to make her so nervous. Cocooned in his
incredibly soft sheets, with his strong arms wrapped around her, she was more
comfortable than she’d ever been in her life.

“God, I feel great,” he echoed her thoughts. “I wish we could start cooking right now.

My food would be awesome.”

She cast a teasing glance over her shoulder. “You’d certainly get high marks from the

judges if you served it naked.”

“I will if you will. On second thought, I’m glad we don’t have to be anywhere for a

while.” He leaned back, pulling her with him until she was half-lying over his body. His
hand slipped between her thighs. She made room for him, bemused that she could
become aroused again so quickly. A few flicks and strokes and he had her on the edge.
His fingers dipped and swirled in a more complicated rhythm, and she gasped, flying hard
over the peak.

He cupped her mound as she pulsed against his hand. “Women might be the weaker

sex, but your fast recovery time is a definite advantage. I’m jealous.”

It took a second for her jellified brain to process his teasing. With effort, she threw off

the covers and rolled to straddle him. “You should be jealous. Women are more flexible,
good at thinking on their feet, and very creative.” He didn’t look or feel as if he were in
need of any more recovery time, so she asked, “Want me to show you?”

His answer was to reach into the drawer and grab another condom. She took it from

him and opened it with her teeth. “We’re efficient.” She rolled it down his length and
followed it with her body.

“Determined.” She began to move. This was for him, so she set a swift pace. When he

gazed at her bouncing breasts, she grabbed his hands and held them to her chest. Maybe
this wasn’t all for him, after all. Pleasure took her up with him, and she drove them both
mercilessly, watching his expression tighten and his gaze become fierce. She felt new
tremors begin in her body. As he shuddered, he shouted her name, tipping her over the
edge. “And fast,” she moaned as she finished with him.

His voice was a rough whisper as she collapsed next to him. “Very good points, but you

still don’t stand a chance tomorrow. I might not even let you out of bed. My desire for a
Calabrese restaurant and my father’s approval gets weaker with every orgasm. I’m pretty
sure I have everything I need right here.”

His hand staked an intimate claim, and she laughed. “You lost me at restaurant, but I

understand all about wanting to please a father. Before my dad lost his job, he was

working sixty-hour weeks to pay off the loans from an art degree I never finished.” She
shifted away from him, uncomfortable at being held so close while she shared something
so embarrassing. “I’m on my own now, with massive bills and even bigger loans, so you
better watch out, buster.”

She put a pillow between them, but he edged closer. “Got something to prove, huh?”

He tossed the pillow to the floor and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at
her.

“Let’s just say finishing things isn’t something I usually do. An unfortunate incident with

my thesis advisor threw a wrench into my art degree. I thought we were dating, but he
just needed someone to research his papers. He published them without even mentioning
my name, and I was so mad I left the university and enrolled in culinary school. Food is a
little bit like art, and I know I can get a job somewhere. At least I’ve finished something,
and I won’t be a starving artist.”

Jack nodded. “I hear you. I’ve got something to prove, too. If I win tomorrow, my father

will give me a restaurant. The man has done everything but bar the door to keep me out
of his kitchens, but all that changes tomorrow.” He shrugged and fell back on the bed.
“Maybe.”

Why on earth wouldn’t Jack’s dad want him in his kitchen? She opened her mouth to

ask but Jack interrupted her. “So…what are you making for the competition? I’ll show you
mine if you show me yours.” His grin was wicked. “I’ll even go first. I’m making a
perfectly rare herb and goat cheese crusted rack of lamb with a zinfandel demi-glace that
will be rich enough to make you cry, paired with potatoes Lyonnaise and haricot verts.
Nothing fancy. Nothing crazy, but it will be a perfect showcase for classic techniques.” He
raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for her response.

She hesitated. Their recipes were a big secret. No one was supposed to know until the

judges announced each dish. Was Jack trying to trick her?

She realized she was frowning when Jack smoothed his finger over her brow. “Never

mind. You don’t have to tell me. No big deal.” He pulled her into his arms again.

Surrounded by his warmth, she felt safe and secure. What was the harm in telling him?

Her game plan was set, ingredients requisitioned and waiting for her in the kitchen. She
didn’t want anything separating them, not after what they had shared tonight, not when
it felt so right to be with him. She snuggled closer. “I’m going to do a play on Duck, Duck,
Goose with five-spiced duck leg, seared duck breast, and foie gras dumplings. I’ll drizzle
the sauce in a circle and garnish the plate with miniature vegetables. Do you think it
would be overkill to put a poached quail egg on top?”

A sharp breath shuddered out of his chest, and his body stiffened. She raised her head.

His eyes were dark, his expression hooded. She started to pull away from him, but he
held on, giving her a brief hug. “Nope, go for the egg. I think that sounds amazing, and I

can’t wait to see you make it happen tomorrow.”

She searched his expression for evidence of insincerity or criticism but could detect no

clue to his thoughts. Slowly, she settled beside him again, wishing she had kept her plans
to herself. He pulled the covers up around them and closed his eyes. When she turned
her back, he spooned her, but not quite as close as he had before. Or maybe she was
imagining the distance between them.

Her heart began to race, making sleep impossible. Was Asian-inspired duck overplayed?

Did he think her idea was stupid, but hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings? Or worse—did
he love the dish and plan to steal her idea and use it himself? That didn’t make sense.
Not only would they look like copy cats if they plated the same dish, her mouth had
watered when he described his rack of lamb. A straight-up favorite like that would make
the judges drool, too.

She’d be stupid to take a risk on a whimsical, played-out duck dish when he was

bringing the big guns to the table. Shit. She needed to win, but judging by what Jack had
told her about his dish, the competition was already over. No wonder he was sleeping like
a baby. He had her beat before they even got into the kitchen.

She slipped out of bed, feeling sick when she saw the clock. She had five hours to come

up  with  something  better  than  duck.  The  school  coolers,  freezers,  and  storage  rooms
were  well-stocked,  and  the  competing  students  had  free  run  of  them.  If  Jack  thought
seducing her ideas out of her would give him an edge, he was going to get a big surprise.
She  wasn’t  beaten  yet.  She  picked  up  the  clock  and  set  the  alarm  for  him.  In  a  couple
hours, she would show him the true meaning of creativity, and she didn’t want him to be
late.

Silently, she gathered her clothes, shoes, and purse. She dressed in the hall and waited

until she was outside to put her shoes on. As she walked back to campus, her shoes
rubbed painful blisters on her heels, but by the time she reached her dorm room, she had
a new plan. A better plan.

Jackson Calabrese didn’t stand a chance.

Chapter Two

What the hell was Lila doing with those pork ribs? She was supposed to be cooking duck,
but he hadn’t seen her anywhere near one this morning. She had to know ribs wouldn’t
get done in time. They only had three hours left.

He tried to catch her attention, but she ignored him. In fact, she hadn’t said a word to

him at all. Was she feeling shy about last night? Maybe the pressure was getting to her
and she wanted to stay focused on her menu. Since she’d crept out before he woke up,
she could at least throw him a bone…or a smile. Hell, he’d be happy if she just looked at
him.

As if to grant his wish, she turned.
The cold glare she leveled at him felt like a punch in the gut. He sucked in a quick

breath, then shut his mouth and returned her narrow-eyed stare. Clearly, she wasn’t
happy to see him.

As soon as she’d shared her game plan with him last night, he’d come to terms with

losing. Her concept was brilliant, and duck was easy to cook. Oddly, he hadn’t been as
upset at the prospect of losing as he thought he would be. She was right. He didn’t need
the  money.  As  far  as  his  father’s  approval,  well,  finally  getting  his  dad  to  acknowledge
Jack  was  a  chef  in  his  own  right  didn’t  seem  to  matter  last  night.  Being  with  Lila  had
eased something inside him he hadn’t known was tight enough to snap. She’d made him
feel  so  good  nothing  else  had  seemed  important.  Hell,  he’d  showed  up  this  morning
partly to be her cheering section.

With a last venomous glare over her shoulder, Lila covered her ribs with foil and shoved

them in the oven, snapping Jack out of his fog. Clearly, she wasn’t cooking a duck, but
what did that mean?

He went cold then hot. She’d lied to him. She’d come up with that Duck, Duck, Goose

dish on the spur of the moment, hiding her true plan for her menu. Holy shit, if she could
come up with something that good off the top of her head, what was she going to put on
the plate for the judges? His lamb was going to look like a lame duck next to her rib dish,
whatever it was.

Frustrated fury sent him stalking toward the walk-in cooler. Since everyone had gotten

their ingredients during the first hour of the competition, he could cool off where no one
could see him. Once inside the chilly space, he pressed his hands to his face. His rage
burned hotter when he thought about how many times his eyes had strayed over to her
station this morning.

She had totally blown his concentration. An hour had elapsed, and all he’d done was

clean a rack of lamb and get hard thinking about her body under that shapeless uniform.

She had twisted her long red-gold hair into a braid and stuffed it under her hat, but it
didn’t stop him from picturing how it had looked spread over his pillow last night. Even
when her blue eyes had shot daggers at him, he’d noticed how pretty they were.

He sagged against a shelf then jerked forward as his shoulder touched something wet

and squishy. He turned to see what it was then snorted when he saw a tray of defrosted
ducks. This particular walk-in cooler was stocked to the gills. Naturally he’d run into a
visual reminder of his idiocy. If Lila had seduced him in order to distract him, her plan had
worked like a charm. Now he doubted the sob story about her finances, too. However,
not everything she’d said had been a lie. She’d flat-out told him she planned to kick his
ass today. She had just fudged the details on how she was going to do it.

His gaze wandered to the duck again, and an idea occurred to him. Did he have time to

cook it? He looked at his watch. Yes, barely. Lila Grant might be creative, but he’d grown
up in kitchens, trying to impress his father. Very few chefs could match his speed. He
could do it, but he was going to have to really fly.

Galvanized by his shredded pride, he began to gather ingredients at warp speed,

thrilled it was so easy to find everything he needed. She’d made a fool out of him in more
ways than he wanted to count, but he was going to teach her a lesson. He’d take her
fictitious recipes and turn them into reality, and when he won the competition, she’d
regret messing with a Calabrese.

…

Lila was falling apart.

Her hastily cobbled together strategy had unexpected pitfalls, such as the

temperamental smoker and the dull blade on the spice grinder. Her smoked dry rub was
finally finished, but she had lost precious time. The clock ticked faster and faster, but she
felt like she dragged more every minute. Conversely, everyone else in the kitchen was
accelerating, especially Jack. She hadn’t dared look directly at him except for the one
time their eyes had locked. With one look, he’d set her body on fire, replacing her urgent
desire to get her menu prepped with an entirely different need. Even without looking, she
couldn’t help but be peripherally aware of him, working with a single-minded focus that
filled her with envy. If she didn’t pick up the pace, she was toast.

She checked on her ribs, glanced at the clock, and nearly burst into tears. She turned

the temperature up a few degrees and forced herself to focus. She couldn’t do anything
about the ribs. If she turned the heat any higher, the meat would turn into leather. She’d
have to let them cook until the last minute, at least that way they’d be hot, and rely on
her sides to carry the dish.

She grabbed a pen and made a list, something she should have done three hours ago.

Now she only had an hour left, and it was going to take a miracle to pull off a win. She

turned back to the stove, determined to find her zone.

With ten minutes left, she crossed her fingers and opened the oven. She peeled the foil

away from the pan and stuck a fork into the slab. Her heart sank. No miracle. They
needed another hour, at least.

“If you’re not plating now, you should be.” The judge’s warning silenced the busy

kitchen, and everyone moved faster.

Lila hurried back to her station. She used tongs to pull the slab out of the pan and then

cut it into sections. She arranged the ribs into an artful pile on each plate, adding
judicious scoops of truffled macaroni and cheese and a colorful baked bean medley that
was more bacon than bean. Then she added the final touch, a bright green garnish of
fried collard greens.

She stood back to take a final look. Something wasn’t right. The ribs were tough, of

course, but hopefully the judges were into chewy. What was missing?

“Two minutes.” The judges voice exploded in her head. Panic rose, threatening to

choke her, as she finally realized what she had forgotten.

The sauce.
Even with the dry rub, the ribs needed something more. She grabbed her pan, burned

her hand, and cursed. The cooking liquid was a thin, oily mess, and she didn’t have
enough time to skim it or reduce it. She didn’t even have time to slurry it with cornstarch.
She had to make a choice, and she had to make it now–no sauce or bad sauce?

Her ribs were looking drier every second. She grabbed a ladle and poured.
She just made it. The lead judge called time just as she stepped away from her last

plate. She stood back, feeling sweat pour down her back, and watched the cooking liquid
slide over the ribs and land on the plate, forming unappetizing pools of pale orange
grease. Unless the judges arrived at her station right now, it was going to congeal on the
plate.

No such luck. They were talking to Jackson, who looked cool as a cucumber mojito and

absolutely delighted with his offering. As well he should be, the bastard. Even though she
was sick to death of food and everything to do with it, the thought of his rack of lamb
made her stomach rumble.

The judges blocked her view of his table, but she was sure his food looked great and

tasted even better, the perfect showcase of classic techniques, just as he had intended.
She stared at the hot mess on her plates, bitterly regretting every decision she had made
since the graduation party last night. It was small consolation that she’d finished her
culinary degree before jumping into bed with someone who could ruin her. She wasn’t
going to win this competition, but at least they couldn’t take her diploma away from her.
As soon as this nightmare was over, she was going to get in the car and drive as far away
from Jack Calabrese as a tank of gas could take her. There was no way she was going to

stick around and let him lord his win over her.

“What do you have for us today, Mr. Calabrese?” the judge asked.
Lila gritted her teeth, barely restraining an eye roll. Naturally, she had to stand here

and listen to the judges praise Jack’s food while waiting for them to rip hers apart. If they
could even chew it, that is. Really, could it get any worse? When Jack looked up and met
her gaze, heat flashed through her, and she knew it could. An answering spark flashed in
his eyes, and she felt herself respond. After everything he had done to her, how could she
possibly still want him?

She closed her eyes in humiliation, and when she opened them again, the judges had

shifted position. His plates were clearly visible. Not a rack of lamb in sight.

“I call it Duck, Duck, Goose,” Jack said clearly, looking right at her.

Chapter Three

Lila leaned over the table of rich businessmen and attempted to display her tray of bite-
sized smoked salmon scones without exposing too much cleavage or toppling off her too-
high heels. So far, so good, but the night was young, and she had a lot of hors d’oeuvres
to pass around.

“Delilah Grant, is that you? You look…delicious.”
Her polite smile froze on her lips as her eyes focused on the source of that familiar

voice, smooth as honey, stroking across her nerves like coarse sandpaper. Wintergreen
eyes raked her from head to toe, sending her blood pressure skyrocketing and making her
cheeks burn.

Her nipples began to tingle and her breasts swelled in the tight top, shooting pleasure

through her center and starting a chain reaction that spread through her lower body. Her
response to Jack had always been extreme, but this was ridiculous. He was a liar and a
cheat. She shouldn’t be attracted to him at all, but her body couldn’t care less about
morality. It only remembered pleasure. Six months had passed since graduation.
Apparently, it was going to take longer to dull the memories.

He leaned back in his chair, gaze lingering on her breasts. “I never thought I’d see you

working in the front of the house, although I have to say a French maid getup suits you
way better than a chef coat.”

She felt the heat in her cheeks spread over her neck and chest. Naturally, the

supercilious bastard assumed she’d given up cooking for cocktailing. “One of the servers
quit, so I’m working doubles this week.” And she’d been horrified to discover the servers
raked in twice what the chefs made. Of course, if life were fair, she wouldn’t be working
at a catering company that used sex as a sales hook in the first place. She wouldn’t be
standing half-naked in front of Jackson Calabrese letting him ogle her goodies. And she
definitely wouldn’t be offering him a tray of her best hors d’oeuvres—she’d be smashing
them into his smirking face. If life were fair, New York would be big enough for the both
of them. But life wasn’t fair, and nobody knew that better than she did.

She bared her teeth in a brief grin. “We aren’t all born with silver spoons in our mouths,

Jackson. Some of us have bills to pay, remember?” Bills that wouldn’t be so bad if he
hadn’t sandbagged her the night before the school competition. But she couldn’t afford to
think about that now. If she did, she might remember how willingly she had fed him the
information he needed to win, and then she really would begin throwing food. Or knives.
Of all the nights for Jack to show up at a bachelor party catered by Personal Chef, it had
to be when she was on the floor with her boobs hanging out instead of when she was in
the kitchen, safely invisible.

Belatedly, she realized every man at the table had probably been born licking a silver

spoon, too. “My apologies, gentlemen. Mr. Calabrese brings out my worst side.” She bent
lower, showing off the hors d’oeuvres—and her boobs—to better advantage, hoping to
distract them from the foot in her mouth.

She was pretty sure she heard one of the men murmur, “Lucky Jack.”
Jackson took a scone and popped it into his mouth. He chewed, giving her a nod of

appreciation, and she resented the surge of pleasure that shot through her. She knew the
salmon scones were amazing. Buttery, smoked salmon-flecked pastry topped with sweet-
tart caramelized onion and fennel crème fraiche couldn’t be anything but fantastic. She’d
tinkered for weeks to perfect every item on tonight’s menu, just as she did for every
client. Having Jackson Calabrese in attendance tonight didn’t make her any more or less
glad she paid attention to details.

Once Jackson had shown his approval, the other men wanted scones too, and she

couldn’t get away from the table. She felt Jack’s gaze sweep her body again. He’d already
gotten a good look at her breasts, which were barely contained in the ridiculously low-cut
top, and now his lips curved as he examined the lacy apron wrapped around her skinnier-
than-it-used-to-be waist. Was he doing a mental before-and-after comparison? If so, she
was glad she had lost twenty pounds rather than gained them since the night she had
abandoned sanity and allowed herself to believe Jack wanted her for more than her
competition menu.

His voice was low as he spoke under the chorus of delighted exclamations over the

scones. “You know, Delilah, it’s been a long time. I’d love to get together and do some
catching up.”

She felt his words strike sparks deep within her, and she cursed him, then cursed

herself for her weakness. Hell no, they weren’t going to do any catching up. What was
the point? Kitchen jocks like Jack wanted cheerleaders, not competition. Unless, as she
had so painfully learned, the competition was willing to do his homework for him. Then
he was willing to make a one-night exception. She wasn’t falling for his line again. She
had bared so much more than her body to him that night. She had bared her heart. And
he had served it up to the judges with all the appropriate garnishes.

She made her voice breathy and soft. “You want to do some catching up with me?”
He nodded, a wary light entering his gaze at her simpering tone.
“People in hell want ice water, too.” She rose to her full height, glad for the first time

she was wearing heels. The other men at the table hooted, and she gave them her
brightest smile. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”

She took a step back as Jack stood and reached into his pocket. She didn’t trust the

wicked gleam in his eyes any more than he must have trusted her fake-sweet voice. She
heard paper crinkle, and her heart began to pound. If there was one thing she knew

about Jackson Calabrese, it was that he didn’t like to lose.

“In that case, get me a glass of water, sweetheart,” he said as he tucked a folded bill

into her tiny apron pocket. “And keep the change.”

She felt her stomach turn a full revolution as he put her neatly in her place. Hired help.

Second-class citizen. Runner-up. She wasn’t going to gain the upper hand in this situation
and they both knew it. She shouldn’t have even tried. Bile rose in her throat, and she
swallowed hard, pasting a smile on her face.

“Coming right up, Mr. Calabrese.” If sarcasm were a weapon, the tone of her voice

would have annihilated him, but he just winked and snagged the last scone from her tray.
She walked to the bar—the open bar, and he damn well knew it—and snatched the bill
from her pocket. She opened it, and then crumpled it in her fist.

The bastard had stuffed a hundred dollar bill in her apron.
Fury put the steel back in her spine, and she asked the bartender for a glass of water. If

she didn’t need this job, she’d march right back over to that table and dump it on Jack’s
head. Since she couldn’t afford to make grand gestures like his, she took the water and
flagged down another server.

“Take this to table fourteen and give it to the guy with the short, black hair, please.”

She set the glass on Sarah’s tray.

Sarah looked over at the table and grinned. “With pleasure.”
Lila couldn’t blame her. Objectively speaking, Jackson was smoking hot. She allowed

herself another glance at him. Even from across the room he made an impact. His close-
clipped hair emphasized his stark bone structure and intriguing pale-green eyes. His
mouth held an inviting curve. His strong jaw was shadowed with sexy stubble. His body
was tight, broad shoulders and strong arms sculpted with hard muscle. Treacherous heat
stole through her.

“Switch stations with me?” Lila begged.
“You betcha.”
Speaking in server short-hand, they caught each other up on the details of their tables.

Lila’s gaze strayed toward Jack’s table again. He was watching her. Deliberately, she
turned her back to him and slam-dunked the crumpled hundred-dollar bill into the
communal tip jar on the bar. Then she headed back into the kitchen for another tray of
hors d’oeuvres.

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of the only place big enough to hide it in her

damn uniform—her cleavage. An incoming chat request from Betsy made her smile. She
pushed through the kitchen door and hit view at the same time.

It’s raining and the French Quarter is flooding. Tell me something good…
Lila rested a hip against a stainless steel prep table.
You wouldn’t believe it if I told you…she quickly sent.

Before she could get her phone stuffed back into her bra, their other culinary school

BFF, Jenna, joined the chat.  Dish it. The three of them had bonded under pressure in the
mostly-male,  testosterone-poisoned  world  of  the  Culinary  Academy  and  had  kept  in
touch.  Despite  the  fact  Betsy  was  in  New  Orleans  and  Jenna  was  in  Los  Angeles,  they
hadn’t missed a Sunday afternoon conference call since graduation.

You asked for it. Lila took a quick shot of her outfit, bracing one knee on the table and

contorting her body so that they could appreciate the fact she was wearing high heels.
Her walk of shame from Jack’s apartment after the graduation party had made her swear
off uncomfortable shoes for life, and they knew it.

Filling in for a server and I just ran into Jack Calabrese…
She set her phone on the table and put on a real apron, one that covered more than

her  belly  button.  She  began  wiping  off  serving  trays  while  she  waited  for  a  reply.  She
knew  they  wouldn’t  be  able  to  resist  commenting,  and  she  wasn’t  disappointed. Give
Jack-ass  my  love,  Jenna  said, and  don’t  forget  to  spit  in  his  food.  A  second  later  from
Betsy: your spit is too good for him. Do you carry arsenic?

Lila laughed out loud, imagining Betsy’s threatening suggestion drawled in her slow,

sweet Southern accent. Elizabeth Contessa Mouton looked and sounded like an angel, but
her temperament edged toward the other end of the firmament. I wish, Lila typed. Gotta
work. Talk to you soon. She set the phone on the table again.

As tempting as it was to poison him, she wouldn’t. But she did indulge in a very

satisfying fantasy in which Jack was lying on a bed of hot coals, begging for water while
she hosed him down with…hmm. She got out the components for her Mediterranean
shortbread while she pondered the most painful substance to get in a burn. Vinegar?
Lemon juice? Vodka?

Yes, vodka. Nice and flammable.
As a smile spread across her face, she realized she was doing it again. Fantasizing

about Jackson Calabrese had stolen enough time from her. She wasn’t going to let him
distract  her.  She  had  hors  d’oeuvres  to  assemble  then  serve,  and  she  had  a  kitchen  to
clean up. In the morning, she had to be up at five in order to get the bagels and Danish
into  the  proofer  for  the  continental  breakfast.  After  that,  box  lunches  for  fifty,  then
another  cocktail  party.  Her  feet  hurt  just  thinking  about  it,  so  she  thought  about  her
bigger paycheck instead.

For a minute, she regretted putting Jackson’s tip in the jar. A hundred bucks wouldn’t

put a dent in her bills, but using cash instead of credit would have made her feel less
pathetic for a few days. Panic welled up hard and fast, making her vision narrow, and her
feet feel glued to the floor. She leaned over and braced her hands on the table. You are
making the minimum payments on your credit card. You are not in default on your loans.
You have health insurance. It’s okay. You’re going to survive.

So what if she wasn’t able to save any money? She was making ends meet. Barely.
“Shut up,” she said firmly as she began lining up the shortbread rounds on the trays.

The orderly, even rows reminded her of a painting she’d seen in college, and the shapes
and colors comforted her. Culinary school had turned her half-finished art degree into
something that would keep her from starving, even if the loan had increased her debt by
a zillion percent. Most cooking jobs offered a free meal, and she took full advantage of
the privilege. As if on cue, her stomach growled.

She liked the slimmer figure that had emerged after she left the rich meals of culinary

school behind her, but she’d trade it in a minute for enough cash to indulge her appetite
for good food. Was it time to give up on artistic expression and try her hand at something
with more earning potential? Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this either. Panic welled up
again. She popped an hors d’oeuvre into her mouth and discovered flavor was even more
comforting than shapes and colors.

An image flitted into her mind’s eye. The sensuous look on Jackson’s face as he chewed

her salmon scone had told her how much he’d enjoyed it. Not that she cared. And she
didn’t give two figs whether he liked her rosemary shortbread, either. The rapid jolt of her
pulse called her a liar, so she laid out more trays and picked up the pace, determined not
to give Jackson Calabrese another thought. She wouldn’t even look at him for the rest of
the night. Unless, of course, he happened to catch fire. Then she would reach for the
vodka.

…

The sight of Lila hurrying away from his table made Jack stifle a groan. He hoped she’d
hurry back with his water and give him the front view of all those hot curves in motion,
not that he would show his appreciation. Doing anything of the sort would likely get him
skewered with the closest available sharp instrument. Clearly, she was holding a grudge.

A too-skinny blonde set a glass of water in front of him and gave him a sultry smile.

Disappointment shot through him. He nodded his thanks but ignored the water, reaching
instead for the bourbon he had been nursing all night. He polished it off in one long
swallow and stood. She wasn’t going to get away from him that easily. Not when it had
taken him so long to find her, and he’d had to work so hard to get his buddy to hire
Personal Chef to cater his bachelor party.

He had Lila cornered now, and he wanted answers. He wasn’t expecting an apology,

and he certainly wasn’t going to give her one, but he deserved some sort of explanation.
He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain in his jaw. He should have known she was playing
him  for  a  fool  when  he  woke  up  alone…or  when  he’d  arrived  in  the  kitchen  and  she
wouldn’t look at him. Or  touch  him.  Unfortunately,  he’d  been  riding  high  on  pouring  his
heart  out  to  her.  He  had  told  her  things  he’d  never  told  anyone,  and  he  felt  like  she’d

actually understood him. God, she must have laughed her ass off watching him clean that
lamb rack and make googly eyes at her until he came to his senses. Well, he’d certainly
shown her.

Too bad she’d turned his triumph into a hollow victory by flat-out disintegrating during

the end of the competition. She’d barely plated on time and her rib dish, although
inspired, was obviously rushed. And what the hell had happened with her sauce? Curious
enough to ignore his pride and look for her after the awards ceremony, he found she’d
simply vanished. She hadn’t even shown up at graduation. She had disappeared, cut and
run, and her friends had refused to tell him where she’d gone. He would have insisted if
he’d known how much it was going to eat at him. But he’d finally found her, and now she
was going to give him some answers.

He made his way across the room to the back hallway where Lila had disappeared,

heading toward the kitchen, he assumed. He peered through the window on a swinging
door and saw ovens and a dishwasher. Bingo. He pushed through and found Lila standing
to his right, spooning tapenade onto small rounds of shortbread.

He walked up to the table. “Those look good.” He reached for one.
She scowled. “They’re not finished.”
He ate it anyway. It was rosemary shortbread, and it melted in his mouth. “You haven’t

lost your touch. Your recipes?”

“Why? Do you want to steal them?”
Definitely still holding a grudge.
He didn’t blame her. After all, he hadn’t exactly beaten her fair and square, but she

deserved it for lying to him. Only one of them could win the competition, and winning had
brought him a double victory. His restaurant would open in two weeks. The prize money
hadn’t meant much to him. It was a drop in the bucket compared to his trust fund, but
the restaurant meant…everything.

He decided to just get it out there. “Why did you tell me you were making duck for the

competition? Considering what happened between us, I think I deserved the truth.”

Her hand jerked and slopped tapenade all over the tray. “Damn it.” She cleaned up the

mess and began again, her motions focused and precise, a fascinating contrast to the
hectic flush that spread over her cheeks and chest. His fingers itched to trace the path of
heat flowing across her skin, so he clenched his hands into fists.

“That’s all you have to say?” he asked.
She continued to dollop tapenade on shortbread, making him want to snatch the spoon

and container from her hands, fling them to the tile, and force her to pay attention to
him. Finally, she raised her head. Her gaze was defiant and color blazed in her cheeks.
“Why do you think, Jack? It was a competition, and I needed that prize money. All is fair
in love and war, right?”

Disappointment punched a hole in his gut as he realized he’d been hoping she would

say something else, something that would give him an opening, maybe even an excuse
to touch her. Instead, it was just as he’d thought. She hadn’t trusted him to play fair.
Clearly, the connection between them had been one-sided.

He crossed his arms. “Money, huh? So does that mean your father really did lose his

job? Do you really have loans? I assumed those were lies, too,” he scoffed.

She put her hands on her hips. “Why don’t we talk about how you cheated and used my

ideas to win? Let’s focus on the fact I was right to not trust you.”

She looked astonished and furious—just as she had when he announced his dish at the

competition. Privately, he had to admit she was correct. No matter what had inspired his
actions, he had won using her ideas. He owed her something for that. “Why don’t you let
me give you some money—”

“Hell, no,” she interrupted, closing her fist over the handle of a paring knife.
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you planning to use that knife on me, Delilah? I don’t

remember meat fabrication as being your strong suit, but I suppose I could give you
some tips…up to a certain point, of course.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I won’t serve you up for dinner unless you do something that

makes you too stupid to live—like offer me cash to assuage your guilty conscience.”

“Exactly how broke are you, Delilah?”
“None of your goddamn business, and stop calling me Delilah.” She glared at him and

fingered the knife in her hand.

“But it’s your name, isn’t it? And it fits so well.” She was a seductress, just like her

namesake from the Bible, stealing his strength, ruining his concentration. “You aren’t
planning on giving me a haircut with that that tiny thing, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “As if I’d get that close.”
He grinned. “Too bad.” For a second, their eyes met and he felt it again, the connection

that had haunted him for six months. Then she looked down at her trays, leaving him
hungrily staring at her. Now that the novelty of the French maid uniform had worn off, he
realized she looked different.

“Have you lost weight?” He tensed, wondering if that were a safe question to ask a

woman holding a sharp object, no matter how small.

She snorted. “Only twenty pounds.”
“Why? You weren’t overweight.”
“Hunger will do that to a girl. It also helps that I never make that truffled mac and

cheese I couldn’t resist back in school.” Her eyes were blue and sharp as she raked him
from  head  to  toe.  “You  don’t  look  like  you’ve  spent  much  time  being  hungry,  but  I
imagine  the  prince  of  the  Calabrese  restaurant  empire  doesn’t  suffer  from  plebeian
problems  like  where  his  next  meal  is  coming  from.  You  have  more  important  things  to

worry about—like where to buy the biggest, fattest goose livers.”

He had more to worry about than that, but he wasn’t looking for her sympathy. He

picked up another hors d’oeuvre and stuffed it into his mouth. “Yup, got no problem
keeping my weight up.”

She snorted again and bent to cut even strips from a roasted red pepper. She set the

knife aside and coiled a strip on top of each shortbread. After the red pepper came a
lump of creamy goat cheese. He could imagine how good they would taste now. Woodsy
rosemary. Earthy mushrooms and olives. Sharp pepper and tangy goat cheese. He
reached for one more, but she batted his hand away from the tray.

All the way through culinary school, they’d battled for top ranking, his speed and

technical brilliance competing with her ability to take a classic flavor profile and turn it
into something new and exciting. He looked at the tray of exquisite hors d’oeuvres, and
tension shot up the back of his neck. If he had her gift for flavors, he wouldn’t be working
twelve-hour days and his new menu would be ready to roll.

He took a deep breath and slowly released it, dispelling the headache before it could

get its claws into him. He imagined her offering the tray of hors d’oeuvres to him with a
seductive smile instead of smacking his hand. He replaced her French maid’s uniform with
something even sexier—a silky, black negligee that displayed her magnificent breasts and
made her red-gold hair glow. He added a glass of champagne to her imaginary tray. Then
he added another one.

“Take a picture, it will last longer.” Her voice shattered the inviting image in his head.

He blinked and found her glaring at him. “Have you seen enough yet? Or have you run so
low on inspiration you want to see the rest of my hors d’oeuvre menu? Here,” she thrust
a paper into his hand, “let me spare you the time and trouble. You can have my notes,
with all the components neatly labeled. I’ll come up with some new ones.”

He feigned nonchalance as he glanced at the list, but every item made him hungry. “If

it were that easy for you, you would have beaten me.”

The cold fury in her blue eyes warned him to step back from the table. Instead, he

leaned closer. There was one more thing he wanted to know. Maybe it would help him
put this whole thing behind him. She was too good a chef to go down in flames without a
damn good reason. “Why did you choke during the competition?”

The anger in her eyes went from ice to blue fire. “That’s low, even for you, Calabrese,”

she hissed. “I don’t know why you came back here, but you aren’t going to get an
apology from me, and I’ll be damned if I’ll offer congratulations. How about this? You’re
welcome. Now get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“Make me.” He snagged an hors d’oeuvre from the center of her tray and popped it in

his mouth. It was every bit as good as he had imagined. His alluring mental picture of Lila
returned, but this time, she was in his bed. “Come on—I dare you to throw me out of your

kitchen. I bet we’ll both enjoy it.”

He didn’t think she’d actually do it, and her rough shove caught him by surprise. He

stumbled as she bulldozed him across the room, fortunately catching his balance before
they reached the door. He swerved to the right, spinning so that his back hit the wall
instead. Expecting to push him out into the hall, she kept going and slammed into him.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”

He expected her to protest, to yell, or maybe even slap him, but instead she gasped

and froze. Her eyes were shut and when she opened them, he saw the same stark desire
that had consumed him for months. He couldn’t have stopped, even if he’d wanted to. He
bent his head and kissed her.

Her lips opened instantly and he sank into her. He caught her moan in his mouth. Her

hands clutched his hair. He reached to untie the string on her long kitchen apron,
throwing it to the floor. A sound from the hall made him break their kiss. Anybody could
barge through the door at any minute and interrupt them. He hauled her up against his
body and moved them into a small dark room off the kitchen. The dry storage room.
Perfect. He kicked the stopper out from beneath the door. It swung shut.

“You have got to be kidding me. This is a cliché.” But her voice was faint, with need, he

hoped.

“This is brilliant,” he argued, kissing his way down her neck and across the tops of her

breasts. He felt like a starving man in front of a buffet that could disappear any minute.
He unbuttoned her blouse, groaning as the fabric parted to display her gorgeous breasts,
covered in sheer black lace. He tongued her nipple through the lace. She whimpered and
thrust her hips impatiently against his thigh.

He reached down to yank her skirt up to her waist. He cupped her mound through her

panties then slid one finger beneath, finding her wet. She arced into his touch. “This
means nothing,” she whispered.

“Nothing,” he echoed, falling to his knees. He glanced up. Her head was thrown back

and her elbows rested on a shelf next to number ten cans of tomatoes. Her shirt gaped
provocatively over her breasts. His gaze traveled down her body, and he sucked in a
harsh breath. “Oh my God. You’re wearing a garter belt.”

“All part of the uniform.”
He slid her panties down her legs. He couldn’t get them all of the way off, but he didn’t

need to. He met her gaze as he leaned forward, loving the electricity between them. Her
eyes shut, and she took a deep breath. When her hands caressed his head, it felt like a
blessing.

He pressed his mouth to her, seeking the fastest way to drive her wild. He wanted to

take her up fast and hard and not give her a second for regrets. He sucked, using his
tongue to tease her hard bud while his fingers traced a path into her body. The breathy

moans coming from her throat urged him on. He knew she was close. He could feel the
tension in her body as she sought her peak. He pushed deeper, memorizing the feel of
her, and she broke, spasming against his lips and fingers. He continued to stroke her as
he got to his feet.

She was panting. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right with you.”
He eyed the shelf. “May I make a suggestion?”
She opened one eye.
“Turn around.”
He grasped her hips as she turned and bent. Her ass was thrust out slightly, putting her

at the perfect angle. She braced her elbows on the shelf and looked over her shoulder.
“Condom?”

He nodded, fishing his wallet out of his pants. He extracted his emergency condom, and

unbuckled his belt. He unbuttoned, unzipped, and thrust his khakis to his knees. A second
later, the latex was in place, and he was poised behind her. As he slid home, they both
groaned.

He couldn’t interpret the look she gave him, and it didn’t matter anyway. He was too

far gone, and he was determined to take her with him. He reached to cup her breasts
then slid his hands down her body to the spot where their bodies were joined. Her head
dropped to her arms as she met his slow thrusts.

“Tell me when it feels good.” He moved his fingers, seeking the perfect pressure.
“There,” she gasped, clenching around him.
He kept his hand where it was and moved his hips faster. He shut his eyes, so the sight

of her wouldn’t push him over the edge. But the flames dancing on the inside of his
eyelids forced him to open them again. He was determined not to come until she did, but
every thrust into her tight body was both heaven and hell.

Her back arched, and he felt her walls ripple around him. With relief, he bent over her,

holding her tight as he surrendered to the fire barreling up his spine. “Does that feel like
nothing to you?” he asked, when he could speak.

He heard the kitchen door swing open.
“Lila?” a female voice called.
She stood up, swiftly separating them. She yanked her panties and skirt into place and

re-buttoned her shirt before his vision cleared of flames. Trays clattered. He heard the
kitchen door swing again. Then it was silent.

She stepped to the door and looked over her shoulder, giving him a wry smile.
“Thanks for nothing.” She left him in the dark and by the time he got himself together,

she was gone.

Chapter Four

Jack scowled at the paella in the bowl in front of him. He wanted to spit the saffron rice
in his mouth into the garbage can. He knew the Inferno menu was missing something,
but tasting Lila’s food last night had widened the wormhole of doubt inside him. The blow
to his ego hadn’t helped either.

He looked at the other dishes under the heat lamp. They would be as good as the

paella. He knew it just by looking at them because he knew every ingredient that had
gone into them. Not only that, he had personally hired every cook in the kitchen, so he
knew each dish had been cooked perfectly. The food was good, but it wasn’t the kind of
good that would make a name for him in the highly competitive New York restaurant
world. And it wasn’t his cooks’ fault. The blame rested solely on his own shoulders. What
had made him think speed and precision was enough to pull this off?

He heard a familiar bellow in the dish room and gritted his teeth. His father was coming

in  the  back  door,  and  Jack  needed  to  put  his  game  face  on.  The  timing  could  not  be
worse.  He  would  have  preferred  to  taste  the  dishes  and  talk  to  his  staff  alone,  but  it
couldn’t  be  helped.  He  couldn’t  throw  his  father  out  of  the  kitchen—not  when  dear  old
Dad had paid for every square inch of the space—but it was fun to imagine the look on
his father’s face if he did.

“Just in time for dinner, I see.” As usual, his father’s entry into the kitchen made Jack

feel small.

Jack straightened his shoulders and forced a welcoming smile across his lips. “We’ve

got a ways to go before we can consider this dinner, but it’s a start.”

“You need more than a start if you want to open your doors in two weeks.” His father

picked up a spoon and dug into the paella. Even though Jack knew it wasn’t going to pass
muster, he held his breath.

The old man chewed and swallowed. Then he grunted and tossed his spoon into a bus

tub. Jack tried not to care that he didn’t want more than one bite.

“Got a minute?” his father asked.
Jack nodded. As if declining were even an option. “I need to work my way through

these dishes while they’re hot and make a few notes, but I’ll meet you in the office. Want
coffee? Coke? A piece of cake?”

“I’ll get a glass of water.”
Probably to wash the taste out of his mouth. Resentment rolled through Jack in a

scalding wave that made his skin feel tight. He thought of the words his father had said
when he handed over the keys to Inferno. Don’t screw up.

Jack had to assume he was screwing up if his father wasn’t tempted by the other dishes

lined up under the heat lamp. Sometimes he thought his older brother had the right idea.
Just give up on pleasing dad and take off, try your luck in the big, bad world. Unlike Ned,
he wasn’t a hothead, and it had paid off. He’d played the old man’s game by the old
man’s rules, and now Jack had everything he had been waiting for—a restaurant of his
own and the opportunity to prove his father wasn’t the only chef in town.

If he didn’t screw up.
He sighed, knowing Inferno was ruined before it ever opened unless he could somehow

fix the menu. One way or another, he had to make it happen. The dishes were good.
They just needed tweaking. A new garnish. Maybe he would move the sides around or
add a sauce here and there. Add some color to the plate.

Not for the first time, he wondered how the creative gene could have skipped him. His

father clearly had the knack. He’d opened five successful restaurants. His mother was a
highly sought-after interior decorator. His brother had left home with a backpack and a
guitar, and now every teenager in America knew his name. And then there was Jack.

As he stood staring at the dishes in front of him, he realized his mouth tasted like

rosemary  and  butter  again,  like  Lila’s  shortbread.  He  swallowed  a  curse.  Lila  Grant
wouldn’t be having these problems with a menu. Nope, she’d cook up something wild and
wonderful and set New York on fire. He should have taken her up on her offer and stuffed
that  paper  in  his  back  pocket.  Maybe  then  he  could  figure  out  how  she  took  mundane
flavors  like  mushrooms,  peppers,  and  cheese  and  turned  them  into  something
extraordinary. He snatched a hot dish from under the lamp and took a bite of the roasted
chicken with herbed polenta.

Butter and rosemary invaded his senses again, making him growl under his breath.

After leaving him in the dry storage room, Lila had treated him like he was invisible last
night, and he hadn’t managed to catch her alone again. Why couldn’t he let it go? Let her
go?

He forced himself to taste the next dish.
The kitchen swirled and hummed around him as he evaluated each plate and jotted

down changes. Dishes clattered. He felt the breeze of his cooks working harder because
he was on the line with them. Abruptly, he’d had enough. “Pack it in, boys and girls. I’ll
give you notes tomorrow. Thank you very much. Enjoy your night off, and don’t worry—I’ll
still pay you.”

They cheered, but several of them frowned as they began cleaning their stations. He

could feel their worry press against him, but he left the kitchen. It wouldn’t kill them to
spend the night wondering how they could improve their performance. He left the dishes
where they were so his staff could taste them and draw their own conclusions.

He steeled himself as he strode down the hall. Undoubtedly, his father would feel

compelled to make suggestions, and Jack would nod and smile until he felt like his head

was going to explode.

When he opened the office door, his father jumped, almost as if he had been snoozing

in the chair. His dad stood and cleared his throat. “I’m going away for a week, maybe two
depending on how blue the water is in Fiji. You’ll have to keep an eye on the
restaurants.”

Not a request, but then, they never were. Jack assumed he should be honored to be

asked, and resented the fact that he was. “Sure, no problem. Couldn’t you have told me
that up on the line?”

“Then I wouldn’t have gotten a chance to look over your books. Do you need any

money?”

His dad thought lack of funds was the problem with his food? Jack supposed he should

be flattered. He shook his head, frowning. “Got plenty.” Thanks to his trust fund, he could
open a dozen restaurants without having to tighten his belt, as his father well knew, since
he had controlled Jack’s inheritance until his twenty-first birthday. However, Jack didn’t
want to branch out on his own, he wanted to take his rightful place in Calabrese
Incorporated, firmly supported by his father.

“The paella could use a little less salt.”
Jack nodded, already having made a note about that.
His father stared at him. Jack could tell he wanted to say more, so he stared back, a

steely challenge in his eyes. It had been said so many times, Jack could hear it in his
head. Is that the best you can do, boy?

His father nodded. “See you next week.”
“Have a good time. Who’s going with you? Candy? Bambi?” What was the name of his

father’s latest too-young-to-know-better blonde?

“None of your goddamn business.” His father’s cagey grin was unrepentant.
Jack shrugged. His father held out his hand, and he shook it.
Alone in the office, Jack caught the scent of rosemary again. It was time to admit his

dishes weren’t going to cut it. It was also time to do something about it. The idea had
been brewing in the back of his mind since this morning. If you can’t beat them, hire
them.

He gritted his teeth, sending pain skating down his jaw. The path to success was clear

but walking it was going to feel like sticking his arm under the broiler and watching the
hair curl.

…

The phone rang. Lila’s hands were covered with chocolate mousse, so she ignored it.
She’d overslept, exhausted by the effort of avoiding Jackson last night, and had been
running behind all day. The man was relentless. He’d even invaded her dreams last night,

making love to her from behind while whispering “liar” into her ear. She was trying not to
think of the sex, real or imaginary, but she couldn’t stop thinking about his accusations.
She couldn’t decide if his version of what had happened during the competition was
better or worse than the truth. Maybe she should be happy he thought she was a liar
instead of a too-trusting, psyched-out failure.

The phone stopped ringing then started again. Roxie was supposed to stay up front

until five. After that her boss didn’t care if Lila let the answering machine pick up.
However, it was four-thirty and the phone was on its fifth ring again which meant Roxie
had split early. “Damn it,” she said, and sprinted over to pick it up.

She pushed the talk button, trying not to get mousse on the phone, and braced herself.

She hated this part. No matter how she said it, it always sounded like a come on. That
was the point, of course, but it didn’t stop her from trying to make it sound professional.
“Personal Chef, at your service…what are you hungry for?”

A familiar low chuckle greeted her. “Seriously? Do you answer the phone like that every

time, or did you know it was me?”

“Every time,” she growled, dropping the pretense of civility, doubly pissed because her

heart had skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. She’d made a huge mistake last night.
“It’s a niche market.”

“I have to meet your boss. He’s a genius. Say it again, one more time, like you mean

it.”

“What do you want, Jackson? I’m covered with chocolate mousse.”
“This just gets better and better.” He laughed while she weighed the pros and cons of

hanging up on him.

There were no cons, she decided. “Good-bye, Jackson.”
“Wait…” He cleared his throat. “Lila, you know you’re too talented to work for a sleazy

caterer with a French maid fetish who makes you answer the phone like a call girl.”

“It beats minimum wage.”
“No one with a Culinary Academy degree is going to make minimum wage.”
She snorted. “You really need to get in touch with the real world, Jack. It’s New York.

There are hundreds of culinary school graduates just like me willing to work for less than
minimum wage just to get their foot in the door. Most of them are men, which gives them
an immediate advantage. Some of them still live with their parents, so they don’t have to
pay rent either.” The only thing worse than feeling the crush of debt would be living with
her father, who still hadn’t rebounded from losing his job. “Didn’t we cover this territory? I
need the money. I know that boggles your privileged little mind, but the rest of America
understands  completely.  Now  what  do  you  want?  I  have  desserts  to  finish,  and  I’m
running  late.”  He’d  better  not  want  to  talk  about  last  night.  Her  heart  pounded.  Hadn’t
she  made  herself  clear?  Nothing  had  happened.  And  it  sure  as  hell  wasn’t  going  to

happen again.

She pointed at the freezer as Sarah and Damon came in the back door. They could load

the truck while she finished the desserts. She ignored Sarah’s wink. The server had found
her phone on the table and her apron on the floor last night and had assumed the worst
—the truth.

“I have a proposition for you.”
She rolled her eyes and clamped the phone between her cheek and shoulder. The

chocolate mousse she had accidentally smeared on the phone was going to get in her
hair, but she needed to finish the chocolate cups. Maybe it would look like fashionable
low-lights.

He cleared his throat again. Was he nervous? In spite of herself, she was intrigued.

“Out with it, Jack. I’m a working girl, remember?”

“Exactly.” He spoke quickly. “I’d like you to work for me.”
“Hell, no,” she answered, just as fast.
“You know I’m opening a restaurant, right?”
She snorted again. Half of New York knew he was opening a restaurant. Heck, half of

New York knew when a Calabrese sneezed, and a new restaurant was bigger news than
that.

“We open in two weeks, and I could use some help with the menu,” he continued.
“Hold on.” She washed her hands and carefully wiped the phone. “Are you telling me

you open in two weeks and you don’t have a menu?”

“I have a menu.” He sounded tense. “It just needs some tweaking. After tasting your

hors d’oeuvres last night, I hoped I could talk you into consulting for me. It needs…
something. I don’t want to open just another restaurant. I want it to be the best damn
restaurant in New York.”

“A tall order,” she said, trying not to laugh while she framed a suitably withering

rejection.

“Yes.” Now he sounded relieved. He probably thought he had her. The man truly had

balls the size of watermelons to even ask for her help, and he had a brain the size of a
tiny green pea if he thought she would say yes.

A sudden suspicion horrified her. “Was that what the dry storage room was about?

Softening me up for your little proposition? God, I can’t believe I fell for the same trick
twice.”

“No! I swear I didn’t even think of it until this morning. I’d never do that.”
“Right.” Fury heated her veins, but she kept her voice low and controlled, not wanting

the servers to overhear. “But now you’re hoping I’ll come in and look at your menu?
Shake it up a little? Give it some zip?”

“Yes! That would be perfect. I don’t know how you do it, but you have a gift. I’ll pay

you, of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured. “That’s so generous of you, Jack. I mean, last time you

screwed me you stole my ideas and then took the money too. You’ve either turned over a
new leaf, or you are really, really desperate.”

She heard a sharp inhale. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
“It usually is,” she agreed, not without sympathy.
“You can’t enjoy working at Personal Chef. It’s demeaning.”
“Yup. But my boss knows that, and he pays us very well. The tips are good, too,” she

couldn’t resist adding. “Plus, he’s a businessman, not a chef, so I have complete freedom
over the menus. As you know, I have great instincts for food, so customer satisfaction is
at an all-time high now that I’ve taken over the cooking. I’ll probably get a raise soon.”

“How much is he paying you? I’ll double it.”
Of course he would. Money was never a problem, not to a Calabrese. It was a huge

problem for her, but it was reassuring to discover there were limits to what she would do
for the almighty buck.

“Jackson, honey, you can’t afford me.” She hung up the phone and stood staring at it

for a moment before she crossed the room to replace it on the stand. She took slow,
deep breaths until her hands were steady enough to refill the pastry bag and pipe
mousse into the waiting chocolate shells. The phone began to ring again, but this time
she let the machine pick up.

Damon appeared at her elbow, and she handed him the final checklist and sent him off

to make sure everything they  would  need  tonight  had  been  packed  in  the  truck.  Thank
God  she’d  made  the  list  yesterday  morning,  because  her  concentration  was  shot.  The
thought  of  putting  on  high  heels  and  serving  hors  d’oeuvres  at  another  bachelor  party
made her want to cry. At least tomorrow was Sunday and she had the day off. Only the
thought of what Betsy and Jenna would say when she told them about Jack’s offer gave
her the strength to hustle the chocolate cups into a box and carry them out to the truck.

Chapter Five

He’d gone to Personal Chef yesterday to find her, of course, but the doors had been
locked, a closed sign in the window. If he’d known where she had been working last
night, he probably would have gone there, too. She was right—he was that desperate.

Faintly, he heard a beep downstairs signaling the coffee was done brewing. He rolled

over and stared at the ceiling.

He had a perpetual knot inside his stomach the size of a grapefruit. Everything he put

in his mouth tasted like ashes, and he couldn’t tell his cooks how to fix it. He’d given
them notes on the latest versions of the key dishes yesterday and informed them that
someone would be coming in to give the final menu an overhaul. Now what was he going
to do? Tell them she wasn’t coming? He didn’t want them to lose confidence in him.

Had he played second fiddle to his father for so long he didn’t know how to lead? No.

Never. This was his dream, and he was going to make it happen. His restaurant. His way.
And it was going to become the “in” place in New York. There would be no cut corners.
High concept all the way. Classic martinis and truly inspired signature drinks. Steaks that
would melt in the mouth with a sauce that revolutionized red meat. Chicken that was
never boring. Absolutely essential desserts that tasted even better than they looked. He
would send one to every table just to show them off.

What was his problem? His ideas were solid. He had handpicked the best chefs in New

York to cook for him. His dream was so close to reality, he could taste it—but something
was missing. After seeing Lila again, he’d been reminded there was another level to
cuisine, and he wanted it for Inferno. He wanted her for Inferno.

And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to get her.
An idea exploded in his brain. He threw off the covers and stood, snagging a pair of

sweatpants from the chair next to his bed and sliding into them. He speed dialed his
lawyer on the way down the stairs.

As the phone rang, he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Blair? It’s Jack. I need you to do

something for me…”

…

As Lila had expected, her friends shrieked with laughter. “Oh my God, that’s priceless,”
Betsy gasped. “You have to do it.”

“Definitely,” Jenna was laughing so hard she could barely get the word out.
“Are you guys nuts? No way.”
“How can you resist? Well, make him beg a little more, of course. Don’t you want to

see his operation? The Calabreses may be the spawn of Satan, but they know how to

launch a restaurant. I’m hearing about Inferno all the way down here. No wonder Jack
the Hack wants you in his kitchen. He’s probably got opening night jitters.” Betsy’s voice
turned thoughtful. “And you know what they say…payback’s a bitch.”

Jenna laughed, clearly understanding what Betsy meant, but Lila was still in the dark.

“Spell it out, Bets.” It was noon, but working all week had taken its toll. She’d just gotten
out of bed and hadn’t made coffee yet.

Betsy’s voice was all steel. “Work for Jack. Take his money. And when the opportunity

presents itself, as it undoubtedly will in the restaurant business…move in for the kill. I
don’t mean cut him or burn him—”

“That’s a relief,” Lila broke in.
“Don’t steal any money, either. That can get complicated. But there are a dozen ways

to ruin someone in this business without leaving a trail. All you need is proximity.”

Lila shook her head. “You guys are nuts. I told him to shove it, and I hope I never see

him again. End of story. So…how’s the flood, Bets? And Jenna, don’t you have an
interview coming up?”

Lila heaved a silent sigh of relief as Betsy began complaining about her new job. She

tried to pay attention, but now that she wasn’t racing around a kitchen or collapsed in an
exhausted heap, she couldn’t stop thinking about Jack.

“So, Lila, any new crushes?” Betsy’s sly question got her attention.
“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling her cheeks heat, caught.
Her friends both laughed, and Betsy continued, “There’s got to be someone making you

stammer and blush. You told us all about that art professor in college. Then there was
Jack-off during culinary school, thank God that’s over. I figured you would have found
someone to put stars in your eyes and give you some inspiration.”

“Nope,” Lila said, working to keep her voice light. She hadn’t told them everything

about the art professor in college. She’d admitted to researching the papers Adam had
published without giving her any credit, but she hadn’t admitted to sleeping with him for
an entire semester. Even now, the thought of how she had allowed him to string her
along made her seethe. “Just cruising along, making fine hors d’oeuvres.”

“Well, keep us posted, sweetie,” Betsy said. “There’s more to life than food.”
“There is?” Jenna asked, sounding shocked.
Betsy giggled. “Yes, there’s alcohol. When are you two going to come for a visit? I’ll

take you on a stagger through the French Quarter.”

“Now you’re talking,” Lila said, even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to scrape

together the cash to visit the Big Easy anytime soon. “Gotta go, guys. Have a good
week.”

After ending the call, Lila made a peanut butter and orange marmalade sandwich. Even

though it was after noon, she ate it in bed and then slumped into the pillows. God, she

was still exhausted, and if she had to face another week like the last one, she’d better
rest up.

As she coasted back toward sleep, thoughts of Jackson went with her. His effect on her

now was both more subtle and more profound than it had been back in school. He didn’t
make her stammer or blush. Well, he did, but not in the way that sent her fleeing.
Instead, she burned in a different way because she knew him. She knew his skin was
silky and smelled faintly of a spicy soap. She knew his kisses started slow and went deep.
She knew she didn’t feel alone when he was inside her.

Heat washed over her, and she moved restlessly on the bed. She shouldn’t be thinking

about this, but what was the harm? It was just a dream.

It’s not a dream; it’s a memory. Her conscious mind warned as she descended, but she

was too far gone and already feeling his lips slanting over hers, his body pressing her into
the bed, his hips driving her toward ecstasy.

Pleasure, like nothing she had ever known before, rushed through her…now she was in

the kitchen and the clock was ticking. God, why on earth was she trying this technique for
the first time during a competition? She was running out of time, moving slower every
second. She wasn’t going to make it. She was going to lose.

As her dream morphed into a nightmare, Lila fought her way back to reality and found

the pillow wet beneath her cheek. Her body throbbed, and she groaned, fighting lingering
arousal and blaming her pumping heart on the too-real nightmare.

…

When Lila arrived at work on Monday morning, she was already on edge from a sleepless
night. Who knew it was so hard not to dream? She wanted to get straight to work and
talk to no one, but her boss was sitting on the bench in the back parking lot, smoking a
cigar. She grimaced. Nine o’clock in the morning was too early for a cigar, even for
Dennis.

“What’s up?” she asked, trying to stay upwind.
“All my hard work is about to pay off.” He beamed at her, looking like the cat that had

swallowed the canary—if the cat had a bad case of mange and buckteeth.

She looked down, wondering if he knew the top view of his comb-over gave him away.

Did he ever date tall women? Maybe she should warn him. “Dennis, I haven’t had my
coffee yet.” She waved the much-needed cup in her hand. “And as far as I can tell, you
make me do all the work.”

He looked injured. “It isn’t easy being a marketing genius.”
“Uh-huh.” She made a hurry-up motion with her hand. There were no parties today, but

the rest of the week was packed, and she needed to hire a new server. There was no
way she’d be wearing heels on her blistered feet this week, no matter how much Dennis

paid her. Enough was enough.

“I sold the business.”
“Oh, shit,” Lila sank down on the bench next to him, no longer caring about the smoke.

“You didn’t. Please tell me you’re kidding.” Dread built inside her. There was no telling
what a new owner would do. Would he fire her? Replace her with another chef? “What
about the parties this week?”

“You’ll have to ask him. I wasn’t going to ask too many questions with a deal like that

on the table. He offered three times what the business was worth, as long as I signed the
papers this morning.”

“Did you sign yet?”
“Nope, waiting for him right now.”
Maybe there was still time to talk him out of it. She turned to face him, but she didn’t

bother begging or pleading. The cigar and his beatific grin told her his mind was made
up. Well, that and the fact he wasn’t even waiting in the office. He was celebrating in the
damn parking lot. If she knew Dennis, he was going to sign his name on the dotted line
and bolt. She swallowed against a bubble of panic in her throat.

She couldn’t afford to lose this job, not when she was nearing her credit limit. What

was she going to do when she hit it? Would anyone give her another card? Of course they
would, she told herself, but the thought wasn’t soothing. Some helpful credit card
company would give her another card, then another card, until she had fallen so far into
credit card debt she’d never get out. She saw her life spiraling into a hole. Did regular Joe
citizens like her declare bankruptcy? Would she have to call one of those debt
consolidation companies advertised on the radio?

Mentally, she crunched the numbers again, trying to figure out where she could shave

off some expenses. She’d have to move. It’s not like she had enough money to enjoy
living in Manhattan anyway. It had been a pipe dream, one she might have been able to
live if her father had been able to pay for culinary school as they had originally planned.

She tensed as a town car with darkened windows pulled up to the curb. Was there any

hope the new owner would be an improvement? Hope stirred inside her. It wasn’t
impossible that he would have class and good taste. Maybe they would try to reach a
new segment of the market, people who didn’t want the wait staff to serve up glimpses
of flesh with the food. Maybe she’d never have to answer the phone in a way that made
every female caller hang up on her. Maybe she would have the freedom to make great
food and keep her dignity intact. Maybe…

Not.
Jackson Calabrese got out of the car. Her hope turned to fury, causing a roaring buzz in

her ears. Oh, that rat bastard. He couldn’t get her to help him by asking, so he thought
he could buy her? She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. It was exactly the kind of thing

he would do. Her jaw tightened, and her hand clenched the paper coffee cup until the lid
buckled. Hot coffee scalded her hand.

“Dennis,” she said helplessly. “Don’t do this.”
Dennis snorted. “Are you nuts? Don’t worry, Calabrese promised to keep you on staff.”
She pressed her lips tightly together to contain the hysterical giggle that rose from

some traitorous corner of her brain. Of course he had, but she’d have to quit now.
Resignation made even the fresh burn on her hand feel cold. Jack didn’t even glance at
her as he flipped pages while Dennis scrawled his initials. A wave of dizziness washed
over her when he signed and dated the final page. She watched them shake hands.

“Good luck, Lila.” There must have been something odd in her expression because

Dennis stopped himself cheery mid-wave and lowered his cigar from his teeth, peering at
her with what might have been concern, if Dennis had been a caring person. “Make sure
you ask for a raise,” he suggested.

She took a deep breath and stood, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to work for Jack,

not for a single minute. She turned to walk back down to her subway stop, but Jack
caught her hand and squeezed it. Heat shot through her, and she stumbled.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Dennis,” Jack said, holding her hand tighter.
Dennis chuckled and stood, grinning at them. “Like that, is it? I should have known,

clever girl. Well, you deserve it, kid. Thanks for everything.”

She ripped her hand out of Jack’s grasp and opened her mouth to tell Dennis it was not

at all like that, but Dennis had already turned his back.

She started walking. A strong arm around her waist hauled her backwards. Seriously?

There was no limit to the man’s nerve. “Get your hands off me.” She spun, ripping the lid
off her coffee, intending to dump it on him and hoping it was still hot enough to hurt, but
he didn’t let her go.

Reality merged with dreamy memory. His shoulders were broad, and she fit perfectly

within the shelter of his frame. He was warm and smelled fresh, like soap and clean skin,
and she wanted to press her lips against his neck. The last time they had been this close
she had given in to every urge. Now she knew what to expect—betrayal. “Let go of me,”
she repeated, and this time he did.

She stepped back and raised the cup.
He caught her hand so fast only a dribble slopped onto the blacktop parking lot. “Don’t

waste good coffee on me.”

His quiet tone surprised her. She had expected gloating. She raised her eyes to his face

and saw him gazing down at her with an unreadable expression.

“Stop touching me,” she said, baring her teeth.
“If I let you go, will the coffee stay in the cup?” he asked.
“Probably not.”

“I’ll take my chances.”
Only the thought of her dwindling resources kept her from showering him with the

expensive brew. “Why did you do this, Jackson? I’m not going to work for you.”

His lips twisted. “I’m prepared to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
There was no cunning in his voice, no cajolery or conceit, and if there was mockery, it

seemed to be directed at himself. Why was he behaving so strangely?

“Not possible.” But she didn’t sound as sure as she would have liked.
“You’re broke. You said so yourself. And I have more money than I know what to do

with. I will pay a fortune for a menu consultant. I cannot, will not, let this restaurant fail.
It means everything to me. I know you hate me, and frankly, I don’t like you very much
either, but that doesn’t make me blind to your talent. I will pay you a mutually agreed
upon, absolutely obscene amount of money if you help me launch Inferno.”

He was serious. In fact, she had never seen him look so grim. There wasn’t a trace of

laughter on his lips, and his eyes were so dark, they looked gray, not green. She frowned,
wanting to ask him why he was so sure he would fail, but he held up a hand. “I’m not
finished. I just bought Personal Chef, but at the conclusion of our contract, I’ll sign it over
to you.” She saw a muscle jump in his jaw. “It’s a good deal, Lila. I hope you’ll accept my
offer.”

She wanted to say no. Hell, no. She struggled to tap into the fury that had filled her

when he made his first offer, but she couldn’t find it. Instead, she was flattered, almost
tempted, and it was a dangerous feeling. Any bargain made with Jackson Calabrese was
a deal with the devil, but curiosity sparked in her brain. She had to admit she was dying
to see his menu.

He stepped closer to her, probably smelling blood in the water. “My lawyer will draw up

a legal agreement. The money and the business will be yours, fair and square, in three
weeks.”

“Three weeks? I thought you opened in two.”
“Our agreement will be contingent on a good review from the New York Times.”
And there was the catch. Naturally Jack would expect to rate an immediate review in

the Times. “Why the conditions?” she asked. “Isn’t my working for you enough, Jack?”

His expression was hard, eyes dark. “You need to have a stake in this too. There’s no

trust between us, and you aren’t exactly famous for sticking to the job. You didn’t finish
your art degree, and you didn’t bother coming to the Culinary Academy graduation
ceremony. I can’t have you creating a menu we can’t reproduce under normal working
conditions and then disappearing. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to screw me, Lila,
but that doesn’t mean I’ll let it happen.”

She looked up at him, trying not to betray her hurt. How dare he use her past against

her? And who was he to throw stones? He’d seduced her and stolen her ideas. Now he

was manipulating her into working for him. His character wasn’t flawless either.

“You will work for me,” he continued. “You will fix my menu, and document every

change in each dish, down to the very last ingredient. You will make sure my chefs can
cook each dish in their sleep before you leave. And I will pay you.”

Of course he would think she would screw him. That was how his brain worked.

Unfortunately, her mind worked the opposite way. She was too honest and upfront for her
own good, but that was going to change. She wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip
away twice. She thought of what Betsy had said about proximity and wished she’d
accepted his offer yesterday. Then he might not have drawn up a pesky contact.

“Well?” he asked. “How much do you want?”
“Hang on.” She wished she could phone a friend—or two. Or at least someone with a

calculator. She solved that problem by pulling her cell phone out of her purse and sitting
down on the bench. She took a sip of coffee then set it aside, wondering if he would
sweeten the deal and throw in a car, a house—heck, maybe a small country or two—if
she stalled long enough.

She began to add it up: the competition money, the balance of her school loans, her

credit card, her rent for a year, a few thousand for her Dad because he kept sending her
money even though he didn’t have any, plus a generous dining allowance because, damn
it, she lived in an amazing food city and she was hungry. Jack could afford it. The greedy
thoughts running through her head reminded her of game shows she had watched as a
child where panicked shoppers rushed through grocery stores, trying to get all the big
ticket items before the timer ticked down to zero.

She couldn’t look at him as she named a ridiculous sum.
“Done.” His reply was instant, making her think she had asked for too little.
“I’m not finished yet,” she added, mimicking the peremptory tone he had used earlier.

“That’s what I want at the end of the three weeks. You just eighty-sixed my weekly
paycheck. Some of us depend on those to live, you know. I want a hundred dollars an
hour, with time-and-a-half for anything over forty hours a week.”

“Fifty hours,” he countered, with the first smile she’d seen out of him this morning. “We

work in the restaurant business. There are no forty-hour weeks.”

“Fine.” She wasn’t going to quibble over ten hours. Anything less than sixty hours a

week would be a walk in the park anyway.

Jack held out his hand.
“No papers to sign?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
She felt a shock of desire as she slid her hand into his callused palm. He didn’t let it go.
“Tomorrow.” He tugged her to her feet, and it finally hit her.
She wasn’t going to be poor anymore. She would own her own catering business. Her

head spun with ideas, and she sat back down hard on the bench, feeling dizzy. She

couldn’t wait to tell Betsy and Jenna. Maybe her dad could move to New York and help
her run the business.

She felt Jack’s gaze on her as he gathered the paperwork and keys Dennis had left on

the bench. “I need a minute to process.” She reached for her coffee.

“Don’t take too long. We don’t have any time to lose.” He fit a key into the back door

and opened it.

She stared at him, confused. “Aren’t we going to Inferno?”
“I just bought a business,” he said dryly. “I thought I should see what it looks like.”
“Right.”
“Don’t forget Personal Chef has parties this week, and you’re still responsible for

making sure the prep gets done. Do what you have to do to get ahead. I expect you to
meet me at Inferno tomorrow to sign your contract and go over the menu.”

“Of course,” she said tightly.
“My father is out of town, so I have to keep tabs on the restaurants this week.” He held

the door open with his foot and pulled a card out of his wallet. “Here’s my cell phone
number and the address. Is noon good for you tomorrow?”

She nodded, realizing she was going to have to work all night to get far enough ahead

to leave at noon. Then she’d have to do it again tomorrow. And the next day. What had
she gotten herself into?

“My chefs work three to eleven, so we’ll have plenty of time to get you up to speed

before everyone arrives.”

“I’ll have to leave by four tomorrow.” He looked annoyed, and she almost smiled, glad

she was able to thwart him in some small way. “We’re down a server, remember? I have
to work tomorrow night.”

Jackson shook his head. “I’ll get somebody from one of the Calabrese restaurants to

cover for you. You have more important things to do now.” He opened the door and
disappeared inside.

She stared after him, stunned by his arrogance. It must be nice to be a Calabrese.
What would it be like to be able to buy anything you wanted—even a person? To never

be short on wait staff because you could always borrow someone from another
restaurant? To never have to worry about what would happen if you failed because there
was an enormous safety net of cash stretched out beneath your feet?

In the span of five minutes, Jack had rearranged her life. He had told her what to do

tonight, what time to show up at work tomorrow, how long to stay, and what she’d be
doing. She had no doubt every day of the next three weeks would follow a similar
pattern, and she’d better get used to it. Her time belonged to Jack now.

She gasped as the enormity of her decision caught up with her. She didn’t have a safety

net. She was going to lose everything, including her job, unless Inferno got a good review

in the New York Times. Holy gods, what had she been thinking? She let her head fall back
on the bench and closed her eyes, wondering if Jack would let her stay on staff at
Personal Chef long enough to get another job if Inferno bombed in the Times.

A deal with the devil demanded a price, and it was always nearly impossible to pay.

He’d cleverly tied her good fortune to something she couldn’t predict or control, and she’d
been so astounded by his offer that she hadn’t paid attention to the details. Even if by
some miracle she could work magic with the Inferno menu and score a good review,
there was no doubt in her mind the next three weeks working with Jack were going to be
hell. She took a deep breath and sat up straight on the bench.

Hell or not, she’d made a bargain and she was going to do her best to fulfill it—with

one exception. Jack had hurt her by throwing her past failures into her face. She was
going to make it her personal mission to discover his weaknesses and do him the same
favor. Betsy and Jenna were right—the restaurant world was full of challenges. If there
was going to be hell to pay, she was going to make damn sure she wasn’t the only one
paying it. Jack was going to suffer, too, in as many ways as she could devise over the
next three weeks.

Suddenly, she was feeling very creative.

Chapter Six

Jack watched Lila read every word of the contract, expecting her to find some fault that
would cause her to storm out of the dining room. There was no way it could be this easy.
All day yesterday, he’d expected his cell to ring and for her to tell him the deal was off.
He’d run around like a crazy man, visiting all the restaurants and making sure everything
was running smoothly, so that he could be here today. Even as he’d run on his treadmill
last night, unable to sleep until well after midnight, he’d been waiting for the ax to fall.

She slid a pen out of the pocket of her chef coat. “Free meals too, right?”
He nodded. “You could use some fattening up.”
She frowned and muttered something under her breath as she scrawled her name at

the bottom of each contract.

He countersigned. “You won’t regret it.”
She rolled her eyes and tucked her copy into her purse. “Are you kidding me? I already

regret it. Stop gloating and hand over the damn menu.”

He slid it across the table. If watching her read the contract had been difficult, this was

torture. He nearly squirmed as her eyes darted back and forth across the page. When she
reached the bottom, she went back up to the top and started over. This time, she read
even more slowly, and by the time she looked at him again, he was ready to climb the
walls.

She said nothing, but a shadow flickered in her blue eyes. Why was she hesitating? He

could take it.

“It’s boring.”
Or maybe he couldn’t. Suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Black spots obscured his

vision, and he forced himself to focus on the paper she shoved across the table to him.
He gritted his teeth, then winced as pain shot through his jaw. His dentist had warned
him. Unless he developed another response to stress, he was going to end up with
cracked molars. However, the future prospect of extensive dental work wasn’t as painful
as what lay in his immediate future: listening to Lila Grant rip his beloved menu apart.
This is why you need her, he reminded himself.

He loosened his jaw enough to grind out, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Clearly, she had expected him to argue. Since he didn’t, she scrunched her freckled

nose and leaned across the table to look at the menu again. “It’s solid. I probably don’t
have to tell you you’ve got all the classics covered. But somehow I don’t feel compelled to
order a thing.”

“Not even the truffled mashed potatoes?” He let his eyes drop to her waist, and then

wished he hadn’t, remembering the feel of her slimmer frame beneath his hands in the

dry storage room. Now it was hard to breathe for a different reason.

She rolled her eyes and ignored the question. “You need to mix it up a little.”
“I hope you aren’t talking about fusion food. That went out in the nineties.”
She stood and headed for the kitchen. “Imagination never goes out of style. Come on,

let’s go into your kitchen and throw everything up in the air and see where it lands.”

Her back was a tempting moving target. Maybe he should give in to the juvenile

impulse to pelt her with food every time she irritated him. Not solid food, though—sticky
stuff, like barbeque sauce, hoisin and honey. Yes, definitely honey. In her hair, dripping
down her neck. Honey everywhere. He remembered a movie he’d discovered beneath his
older brother’s bed when he was twelve, and suddenly Lila was naked in his imagination,
rubbing honey on her thighs.

“Jackson?” she called over her shoulder, already halfway across the dining room.
He grinned. His subconscious had provided an excellent antidote to stress. Every time

Lila pissed him off, he’d picture her naked. It would save his teeth and restore his good
humor at the same time. There only drawback to this plan—his erection. “Be right there.
Make yourself at home in the kitchen.”

She shrugged and disappeared through the door.
When she was out of sight, he stood up and walked across the room to the bar. He

grabbed a clean apron to cover himself. When that didn’t do the job well enough, he
pictured a starving kitten, but since he didn’t really like cats, nothing happened. Starving
puppies? Abused orphans? C’mon, boy, is that the best you can do? He snorted as his
father’s voice in his head produced the desired result—an instant wilt. At least his father’s
scorn was good for something.

He pushed through the door and entered the kitchen, where Lila had already grabbed

an apron and wrapped it around her waist. “What took you so long?”

“I had to call my lawyer,” he lied.
She yanked the reach-in open with such force he decided not to mention his lawyer in

her presence lest he risk having to call the repairman. For several long minutes, he stood
behind her while she examined every component in the cooler. “Got spoons?” she asked
without turning around.

He handed her a basket of tasting spoons as well as an empty basket for the dirty

ones. Impatience built inside him as he followed her through the kitchen, watching her
explore every nook and cranny. He wasn’t sure what was going on in her head, but she
looked at each dish in the dish room, every liquor in the bar, all the ingredients in dry
storage, and countless containers in the cooler. Her hair was tied in a knot on top of her
head, and by the time she was finished, he had memorized the shape of the back of her
neck.

Lila bent to reach lower in the cooler, and Jack shut his eyes. She might drive him crazy

with her superior attitude, but Lila Grant had a fantastic ass. When he was sure she was
standing upright again, he opened his eyes. He hadn’t thought much further than getting
her to agree to help him open Inferno. Now he realized he had another problem on his
hands—his dick didn’t understand his relationship with Lila had undergone major changes.
Not that a couple of hook ups qualified as a relationship, but whatever, she worked for
him now. He had to focus on something in the kitchen other than her ass.

Since their agreement was temporary, he couldn’t leave her to explore the kitchen on

her own. Any changes Lila made to his menu would get him through the rest of the
summer and fall, maybe even winter, but he needed to be able to deconstruct her magic
in order to create future menus. Nope, he was going to watch her every move. His father
wouldn’t be breathing down his neck for at least a week, and with Lila in the kitchen, his
menu was all but fixed. All he had to do was pay attention.

…

Lila was stalling. She could feel Jack’s intent gaze on her. Was he waiting for her to bend
over and pull a new, improved menu out of her ass? It wasn’t going to happen. In fact,
she had no clue how to fix his menu.

Because it wasn’t broken. In fact, it was brilliant, and she loved it, but she couldn’t very

well say that, could she? Not when it was so much fun to let him think she hated it.

She closed the door of the last reach-in and carried her spoons to the dish room. Jack

followed her, of course. “Back off, Jack. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Not at the moment, since you’re doing my job. I don’t want to miss all the magic.”

Why did he sound pissed off? She was the one who was scrambling to figure out how to
improve a menu that was already perfect.

She heard the back door open and a few seconds later, a stunning forty-something

woman with riotous salt-and-pepper curls and warm brown eyes walked into the kitchen.
Her chef coat was slung over her arm and her black t-shirt proclaimed her love of heavy
metal music.

“Lila, this is my pastry chef, Emily.” They shook hands. “Lila is…” This was going to be

fascinating. How was Jack going to explain her presence to his staff without damaging his
enormous ego? She raised an eyebrow and smiled, waiting.

“Lila is our secret weapon. She’s a wizard with flavor. I want her to put her creative

spin on the Inferno menu before we open. Please treat her as you would my partner.
Anything she says goes.”

Lila had to lock her jaws together to keep her mouth from falling open. She had

expected Jack to treat her as his underling, and he’d just given her the key to the kitchen.
She hoped her smile looked confident, not terrified.

“You got it, boss.” The older woman smiled. “Welcome to Inferno.”

Jack motioned toward the back. “Why don’t you two get acquainted in the bakeshop,

and I’ll introduce Lila to the rest of the guys when everyone is here?”

Lila nodded and followed Emily around the corner into the small bakeshop. Lila had

already been through her cooler and tasted everything, a fact Emily wouldn’t be able to
miss, since there was one bite out of every dessert except the chocolate cake. Lila had
eaten most of a piece of the airy, flourless confection topped with whipped cream.

“Sorry about that,” Lila said, pointing to the nibbled on desserts.
Emily shrugged. “Either you eat them, the jackals on the line get ‘em, or we take it all

down to the mission. A chocolate lover, huh?” Her smile was genuine.

Lila smiled back. “Guilty.”
“Me, too.”
“I can tell.” The desserts were heavy on the chocolate, but Lila wasn’t going to start

making suggestions until she got a feel for the dynamic in the kitchen. For all she knew
everyone was going to hate her. Even with Jack’s clear support, this could be more
difficult than she had imagined.

“So, how long have you known Jack?” Emily asked. She looked up to find the pastry

chef giving her a grin that could only be described as naughty.

“Excuse me?”
“When I walked in, you two were standing awfully close to one another. Jack keeps his

distance, so what’s the story? You two go way back or what?” Her chocolate brown eyes
gleamed with curiosity.

“I…uh…” Lila had clearly been working in the kitchen by herself for too long. She’d

forgotten that gossip was the rule, not the exception. Her natural tendency toward
honesty was not going to serve her well here. “We went to culinary school together,” she
finally said.

Emily nodded slowly. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have ever thought Jack would hand over

control of his kitchen to anyone.”

Lila blinked hard and took a deep breath, fighting her memories of Jack losing control

on top of her…beneath her…behind her. She felt her cheeks heat and knew she had given
herself away when Emily chuckled.

“Very interesting.” Emily tossed her backpack under the table and shrugged into her

chef coat. After it was buttoned, she twirled her hair into a tight bun, washed her hands,
and tugged a clipboard down from a shelf.

Lila surveyed the rest of the room, noticing the bakeshop equipment was brand new

and top-of-the-line. In fact, the entire Inferno kitchen was amazing, clean, well-equipped,
with plenty of refrigeration and ample storage. She thought of the tiny kitchen at
Personal Chef and anger burned inside her. Yes, it must be fun to be Jack, with an
unlimited budget to open his new restaurant. Jack, who only had to open his checkbook

to get what he wanted. Jack, who stole what he wanted if he couldn’t buy it.

She picked up a balloon whisk so delicate it could only have one purpose, to whisk egg

whites, and gave it an experimental twirl. Her soufflés would rise to heights unknown if
she had this whisk. Surrounded by so many fun toys, it was hard to remember she wasn’t
here to enjoy the facilities. She had three weeks to fix the menu and discover Jack’s
Achilles heel, starting now.

She hung the whisk back on its hook and turned to Emily, hoping the pastry chef might

be able to give her the scoop. “So…have you known Jack long?”

The older woman nodded. “Long enough to know he’d make a great boss. My husband

and I worked together at Breeze, Drew Calabrese’s flagship restaurant. He’s still there,
but I was thrilled to follow Jack to Inferno. Jack used to come into the Breeze bakeshop
all the time to hide from his father—not that he ever said that. He would have said it was
for the cookies.”

“But you knew better?”
“Honey, everyone knows better. Those two fight like cats and dogs. Well, Drew fights.

Jack walls up and turns his fury into food. He’s a tornado on the line. I don’t think he even
needs  the  rest  of  the  guys.  When  he  gets  going,  he  could  probably  work  every  station
himself.  But  cover  your  head  and  batten  down  the  hatches  if  you  see  his  father  in  the
kitchen.  One  of  these  days,  Jack’s  going  to  blow.  That’s  why  I  keep  the  bakeshop  well
stocked with cookies.” The other woman’s grin turned sly. “Maybe you should give him a
different kind of cookie.”

She looked so hopeful, Lila couldn’t help but laugh. Only in my dreams. The thought

caught her by surprise, and she realized she was feeling sorry for Jack. He didn’t deserve
sympathy for his family problems. She turned her thoughts away from the memory of his
vulnerable expression when he had confided in her six months ago. Knowing Jack, it had
been a ploy to gain her sympathy so she would throw the competition.

She thought of her bank balance and the stack of bills lined up on the counter and her

sympathy for Jack disappeared. “No cookies for Jack. Not from me.” But she couldn’t wait
to meet his father. “What are you working on today?”

“Special desserts. I’m thinking of a chocolate pots de crème for starters.”
Lila opened her mouth to speak, thinking of all the chocolate already on the menu, then

shut it. She wasn’t sure how Emily would take criticism from someone she had just met.

Emily gave her a direct look. “Spit it out. If Jack listens to you, then I will too. I can tell

you have a suggestion.”

Lila decided to take a chance. “There’s a lot of chocolate already. I happen to love it,

but you might think about creating special desserts for the crazy people who don’t like it.
Or are allergic.”

Emily gave her a rueful grin. “It’s a constant struggle to resist my go-to ingredient. I’m

working on that. Still too much chocolate?”

“Maybe something with nuts?” Lila suggested, relieved she hadn’t just made an enemy.
Emily made a note on the clipboard. “I’m all over it.”
Someone walked past the alcove then doubled back to peer in at them.
“Yo, Em! How the hell did you rate an assistant?” A small man with a meticulously-

waxed handlebar mustache gave Emily an offended look.

“She’s not my assistant, Chef Boyardee. She’s your new boss. You better start sucking

up.”

“No way. Did Chef sell the restaurant?”
Emily shook her head. “Let Jack explain, which I’m sure he would be doing already if

you weren’t late, as usual. Get your ass up to the line.” He gave Lila one last wary look
before he dropped his hoodie on a hook and shot back up toward the line.

A few seconds later, Jack bellowed her name.
Nervousness buzzed inside her, and she took a deep breath, trying not to show it.
“See you later.” She nodded at Emily and went to meet the rest of the staff.

Chapter Seven

Jack looked at his crew and wondered what Lila was going to think of them. They were a
ragtag bunch, but they were fast, clean, and consistent. They had their faults, of course.
Luis, his garde manger cook, was consistently late, but Perry came in early to get the
sauté station prepped and often got salad prep underway as well. Perry liked to have
something to hold over Luis’s head anyway, and Jack figured if the guy didn’t enjoy the
flak, he’d start coming in on time.

Roz, his grill cook, worked the middle and kept both of the guys in line, and Daniel, his

sous  chef,  seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once,  setting  up,  prepping,  tasting,  and
expediting.  It  was  a  small  crew,  but  a  tight  one,  and  he  had  faith  they  could  handle
whatever  Lila  threw  at  them.  The  hard  part  was  making  sure  they  knew  she  had
authority. He had all but swallowed his tongue telling Emily to take orders from Lila, but
he’d managed.

“Guys, this is Lila Grant. She’s here to put the finishing touches on our menu, or change

it completely, whatever she thinks is necessary. We want to set New York on fire when
we open, and I don’t think the menu is hot enough to do it yet. But it will be.” It had to
be. “Just do whatever she says.”

They stared blankly at him, then at her.
Lila glared at him. “Jesus, Jack. You make it sound like I’ve got a magic wand in my

pocket.” She patted the pocket of her checked pants and shook her head. “No magic
wand, people, and don’t worry, I’m not changing anything yet. I want to see it and taste
it first.”

A collective groan rose from the ranks. They’d been through this show-and-tell routine

too many times already and were dying to start working up some specials. To his
surprise, Lila laughed instead of administering the verbal ass-kicking he was tempted to
deliver. “Sick of the food, huh? Maybe Jack here should go out and get us pizza as added
incentive.”

His crew cheered. Daniel, the traitor, grabbed an order pad and a pen. Before he knew

it, Lila was nudging him toward the back door. “Loaded for me. Thanks, Jack.” The look
she gave him was loaded, too, and even though he could understand why she wanted
him out of the kitchen, it rankled. If she wanted to develop a rapport with his cooks, he
wasn’t going to stand in her way, but this was his kitchen. His staff. His restaurant. He
wasn’t going anywhere. He’d give her authority, but there was no way he was stepping
aside. He thrust the pad at Daniel. “Call this in for delivery then get back here.”

If Lila was going to make a power play, then he would, too. He turned to Lila. “You

planning on making them do all the work while you loaf? I have a better idea. Let’s show

these jokers how to cook. Side by side. You game?” He paused. “Unless you’ve been
catering so long you’ve forgotten how to hustle. I’ll understand if you’re afraid you can’t
keep up with me.”

Her smile was sweet, but her eyes were deadly. “I don’t think keeping up with you is as

hard as you think it is.”

Her double-entendre elicited an admiring gasp from one of his cooks.
He chuckled, surprised she’d gone there, but he was ready to dish it back. Unlike her,

he pitched his voice too low for the staff to hear. “That’s not what I remember, but I’m
glad you want to do it again.” Louder, he said “Pick your position, sweetheart. Ladies
choice.” He wasn’t at all surprised when she said, “Sauté.”

Sauté was generally the most complicated station in the kitchen, and Inferno was no

exception. “Give us some room, folks.”

His crew jockeyed for the best viewing positions on the other side of the window as he

and Lila squared off. He pointed at the menu hanging above the station. “Chicken
Alighieri.” He ducked to meet the eyes of his sauté cook. “What’s your best time on the
chicken, Perry?”

“Eleven minutes, boss.”
“Watch and wonder.” Jack went to work.
Lila studied his every move. He was hyper-aware of her standing beside him. Even with

all of the hot, greasy smells in the kitchen, he could still pick out her clean scent, like
melons and mint, as she mirrored his movements, one burner over. Their chicken breasts
hit the pans skin side down at the exact same moment. The sizzle of fat sounded like his
nerves felt standing so close to her.

A few seconds ahead of him, she slid her chicken breast into the oven to finish cooking.

“What’s it go with?” she asked.

“I’ll show you.” He got out the triangles of polenta and seared them in a pan. They

each pulled their chicken breasts out of the oven and checked them for doneness. She set
hers aside, while he heated vegetables and sauce, then plated his dish and slid it into the
window. He glanced at the clock and grinned. “Beat that.”

Perry cursed.
Lila was quiet, considering, then asked, “What’s your favorite thing about the dish,

Jack?”

He thought for a minute. “The herbs. The crispy chicken skin. It’s a warm dish.

Comforting.” He could almost see wheels turning in her head.

“What’s it need?” he asked. He had been asking himself that same question for a

month now. His crew was silent, having stopped their heckling to listen.

She stared at the chicken.
He gritted his teeth, winced, and remembered his plan.

She raised a fork to the chicken while he mentally removed all of her clothing except a

lacy red thong that clashed with her hair. He stared at her breasts, full, bare and tipped
with light pink nipples. His mouth watered at the memory, and he swallowed hard. He
felt his fingers curl into fists as he fought the urge to reach for her. He lifted his gaze to
her face and saw her looking back at him. Heat flared in her eyes.

She cleared her throat. “I’m feeling fall in the air. Fire. Burning leaves. Indian summer.

Corn. Yes, corn. We’re heading into fall soon, right?” She moved purposefully away from
the line. He resisted the urge to follow her, needing a minute to recover from his
thoughts. If he were a pile of leaves, he’d have already burst into flames. Had he
imagined the answering fire in her eyes?

She returned with an ear of corn, which she soaked with water then tossed on the grill.

Then she disappeared into the storeroom for a minute and returned with a can of
pumpkin. As soon as she got back to the sauté station, she reached underneath and
grabbed chilies in adobe sauce. Silently, she went to work on the dish.

Five minutes later, she put it in the window, transformed.
He stared. It had basically the same plate components as his, but now it made him

think of the late summer harvest. There were still root vegetables, polenta, chicken, and
rosemary demi-glace on the plate, but she had added roasted corn and garnished the
plate with a bit of husk, and there was pumpkin in the now-spicy sauce. It was exciting.
Perfect. And it stuck in his throat.

As his crew devoured the new dish, ignoring the plate he had made, he bent to whisper

in Lila’s ear. “You know I hate you, right?”

She tilted her head toward his. “Why? Because I’m brilliant? You knew that, Jack. That’s

why you stole my competition recipes.” Her breath feathered his ear, and he hardened
instantly. “That’s why you want me.”

God help him, he did. He couldn’t move away. It was all he could do not to wrap his

arms around her and haul her against his body. It had taken her ten seconds to figure out
what the dish needed. He’d tinkered with the chicken for months and made something
utterly forgettable. It was infuriating—and arousing.

She stepped away, leaving him in her sweet breeze.
“Next,” he growled, glancing up at the menu. “Beef tenderloin medallions.”
As he heated a pan, something tugged at his memory. “Wait—I didn’t steal your

recipes. I stole a lie you spun out of thin air,” he reminded her.

She frowned. “Mind your pan, hotshot. Your oil is smoking.”
Her comment sparked a volley of helpful cooking advice from his staff as he laid the

medallions in the pan. They howled with laughter when he responded—with his middle
finger. Lila slid her pan into the oven and bent to peer into the reach-in.

Jack kept his beef on the stove, wanting it rare, and thought about their conversation in

the kitchen at the bachelor party. She’d said she needed the prize money, but she’d never
actually admitted she’d lied about her menu. He’d drawn his own conclusions.

“Lila? Were you ever planning on cooking that duck menu for the competition?” he

asked quietly, not allowing himself to hope one of those ducks he’d seen in the cooler had
been ordered by her. Maybe she hadn’t lied to him. Maybe she had changed her mind.

She stood, holding cilantro and looking irritated. “Does it matter, Jack? It’s over. You

won.” She gestured at their avid audience, clearly hanging on their every word. “I’m not
discussing this now. Shut up and cook.”

“Later then.” He cut the flame, grabbed a pair of tongs, and put the medallions on a

pan to rest while he assembled the plate.

“Or not,” she retorted.
His suspicion grew. If she had changed her menu at the last minute that would

certainly explain why she had flailed during the contest. He’d changed his recipes out of
spite. Why would she have changed hers when she clearly had him beat? After all, her
menu, if not her actual cooking skills, had won the competition. Shame rose up to burn
him with flames hotter than the stove in front of him.

He pointed at his staff, then at the back door. “Smoke break.”
When he heard the screen door slam, he turned to Lila. “I would have won no matter

what I cooked.”

Her hand froze mid-chop. “You did not just say that to me.”
“You choked—hard.” He raised an eyebrow when she dropped the knife and spun to

face him. “Truth hurt? I’m familiar with the concept. I’ve had to live with a shit-load of
guilt for the last six months as well as the knowledge that even though I won, I didn’t
really win. I know I fucked up, Lila. Stealing your ideas was a terrible thing to do, and I’m
sorry. But I never would have done it if you had cooked the duck yourself. I freely admit
my original plan was boring compared to yours, but I would have finished it on time and
gotten it onto the plate. I know why I changed my game plan—I was pissed you lied to
me. I wanted to teach you a lesson.” He crossed his arms and followed his hunch. “Why
did you change yours?”

…

Lila froze, realizing her mistake. She should never have gotten close enough to Jack to
whisper in his ear. His body heat had scrambled her brain, making her forget he believed
she’d lied to him about her menu. Why did he care so much about the stupid competition?
He’d won and she was working for him now—a double victory. Why was he still rubbing it
in? First he’d forced her into this impromptu cook-off—which rivaled her nightmares of the
competition—and now he wanted to humiliate her further. If he thought she was going to
admit he had psyched her out of the win, he was nuts.

She turned to face him. “Is that how you sleep at night? By telling yourself you would

have won anyway? I bet that goes a long way toward easing your conscience.”

“Not as much as you might think.” He wore the same grim expression he’d worn outside

of Personal Chef the other morning.

She hardened her heart. Oh no, there was no way he was going to make her feel sorry

for him. He’d made his bed—right after he’d seduced her in it. Twice. The bastard
deserved every minute of uncertainty.

He stepped closer, trapping her between his body and the counter. “You didn’t answer

the question, Lila. Did you lie to me? Or did you change your game plan?”

She felt the heat of him again, threatening and seductive. He wasn’t going to let it go.

She met his gaze, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I lied to you about the recipes.”

“That evens the score a little bit, don’t you think?” A dangerous smile spread across his

face as he leaned forward to put one hand on each side of her.

“What are you talking about?” She tried to dodge to the side, but he held her in place.

“Jackson, stop it.” She tried to sound forbidding, but her voice squeaked on the last word.

“You wronged me first. You lied.”
“So what? You suckered me into talking about the competition after you seduced me.”
“Sweetheart, I did you a favor by seducing you.” His smug chuckle made her gasp, only

half in outrage. “And just to keep the record straight, you seduced me.”

She stamped her foot. He was so close, their knees bumped. “I most certainly did not!”
“The hot black dress? The fuck-me heels? The way you were looking at me?”
“You were looking at me, buddy!” she said through gritted teeth.
“Busted.” He grinned and closed the distance between them. His hands rose to clasp

her arms, stroking up and down in a way that reminded her of exactly why she found him
so irresistible. He had good hands—no great hands—unforgettable. “Let me go, Jack.”

“Nope.”
She raised her head, preparing to blast him, but she couldn’t get the words out because

he was smiling at her. His green eyes glowed with humor and tenderness just as they
had that first night they made love. His hands settled on her hips, pulling her closer, and
she wanted to sink into his embrace so badly she groaned. Every inch of her skin was
hungry for him. He clasped his arms around her waist and bent his head. All it took was a
touch, and she was lost. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him take her.

His lips moved over hers, demanding and satisfying. His teeth nipped her bottom lip,

telling her he was hungry, too. She opened her mouth and he drove inside with his
tongue. His hands were urgent on her back, sealing her body to his. She thrilled to the
evidence of his arousal pressed against her belly. She felt him groan and caught the echo
in her throat, aching with emptiness. Only Jack made her this empty, this ravenous, and
she wanted him.

The thought was so sharp and startling, it shocked her into awareness. She opened her

eyes and saw wicked satisfaction in his green gaze.

Her heart plummeted.
She should have expected something like this. Jack had used her ideas to win the

competition and he was going to use her ideas on his new menu. Trust Jack to push his
advantage and think he could take this from her, too. Kissing wasn’t part of their contract.
She struggled away from him just as the cooks clattered through the back door.

“No need to stage a seduction this time, Jack. You’re paying me, remember?” Her chest

was heaving, and she knew her cheeks must be flushed, so she turned her back to the
rapidly assembling crew and pretended to wash her hands at the sink until she felt
normal again.

She avoided looking at him while she dried her hands, trying to remember what the hell

they had been doing before she lost her grip on reality and started making out with him
in the middle of the kitchen. Amazing how fast she’d been ready to forgive him when he
had his tongue in her mouth. The man was her kryptonite. She risked a glance at him and
saw he was plating beef like nothing had happened between them.

“Shit!” She raced to the oven. Shrunken hockey pucks in a sauté pan greeted her. She

cursed again.

“Forget about something, sweetheart? I should take that out of your paycheck.” Jack

taunted only loud enough for her to hear. She growled and restarted the dish, noticing his
was a perfect rare.

He liked rare beef, huh? She would do her medallions rare, too, and they would be

better than his, she vowed. The other cooks would cry when they tasted her beef. They
would ask for a sidecar of her sauce so they could drink it. Jack was paying her to
improve his menu, and by God, she would do it. Instinct had made her grab the cilantro
from the reach-in, but now she knew what she was going to do with it.

She grabbed the herbs and got to work.

…

How many times was he going to put himself out there for her to smack down? Their
physical connection was as potent as ever. It wasn’t one-sided, either. She’d responded
to his kiss. However, her sarcastic rebuff had been a sharp reminder that their emotional
connection was all in his head. The only hold he had on her involved his checkbook.

The sound of a plate sliding into the window pulled him from his thoughts. He picked up

a fork and knife and carved a bite.

Zesty. Salty. Sexy. His taste buds leapt to awareness. Instantly, he craved more. His

Cabernet sauce was as good as a Cabernet sauce could be, but it didn’t compare with her
spicy, garlic-laden chimichurri.

Jack turned to Perry and Luis. “You boys got that?” They nodded furiously. “Get the

recipe,” he commanded.

“Does that mean you like it?” Lila batted her eyes at him.
She knew he did. He had unconsciously boxed out his cooks, guarding the plate like a

dog with a juicy bone. Reluctantly, he stepped back.

The crew jostled for position, and everyone but Daniel ignored a knock at the back

door.

“Pizza’s here,” Daniel called.
No one moved.
Jack fished out his wallet and handed over a wad of cash. “Get me when you’re done.

I’ll be in the office.”

He turned on his heel and headed toward the back.
“Need a cookie?” Emily drawled as he passed the bakeshop. He snorted and hung a left

into her alcove, dropping onto a stool.

“Better make it two.”
She laughed. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”
“I do not,” he said, mouth already full. She pulled a gallon of milk out of her reach-in

and poured him a glass. “This is how I used to keep your father from getting ulcers too.”

Jack grunted. He didn’t want to talk about his father.
“Lila seems nice. Smart. Pretty, of course. Seems like she can cook, too.”
“Don’t start, Emily.”
“Whatever you say, boss. I’m just wondering why you brought her in here. Seems like a

strange time to be rocking the boat.”

He couldn’t tell this woman who had enough faith in him to follow him to Inferno that

he thought the restaurant might fail without Lila. “Stop fishing, Em.” He grabbed his milk
and headed for the office. Her laughter followed him. He shut the door.

After a performance like that, his crew would worship Lila. He almost wished he’d gone

to get the pizza like she’d asked instead of sticking around like a dog in the manger and
getting his ass kicked on his own line. You asked for it, he reminded himself. In fact,
you’re paying for it. He certainly was, in more ways than one, and she clearly didn’t need
him around in order to do the job. She’d only rub his nose in what he knew already.

He might be fast. He might get the job done. But he lacked the one ingredient so

essential  in  a  fine-dining  kitchen  that  without  it,  Inferno  was  never  going  to  make  it—
creativity.  Creativity  she  had  in  truckloads.  Creativity  he  would  do  anything  to  gain,  to
learn,  to  acquire,  but  as  she  had  pointed  out,  he  was  paying  for  it.  Maybe  it  wasn’t
necessary to stick around while she sharpened her knives on him. After all, he’d spent all
afternoon following her around and  was  no  closer  to  figuring  out  how  she  created  such
memorable combinations. He’d had enough torture for today.

He downed his milk and took the glass with him as he headed back to the kitchen.

Walking up the short hall, he heard Luis say, “Too bad it’s too early for beer.”

“Shut your yapper. He’s finally happy. We’re going to make it.” Roz’s retort hit him like

an icy fist, and he stopped to listen. Had his crew been worried they might not make it,
too?

“Drinks after work to celebrate?” Perry asked.
“No celebrating until we fix the menu,” Lila said.
Luis’ cheer turned into a groan. “You’re worse than Jack.”
“Nope, I’m better than he is,” she shot back.
Jack stepped into sight, hoping his presence would keep his staff from agreeing with

her.

Lila raised an eyebrow when she saw him. “Back for more, hotshot? Let’s go.”
Her smart-ass grin made him want to jump behind the line and grab a sauté pan, but

he shook his head. “I have things to take care of at the other restaurants. You’re on your
own. Keep working. I expect to see a finished menu by the end of the week.”

Her blue eyes lost their teasing look and turned chilly. “Do you want fries with that?”

she asked politely.

“Only if they’re four-star fries.” He left the kitchen, forcing away thoughts of anything

but work and wishing he could feel for her what she felt for him—nothing.

Chapter Eight

By Saturday night, Lila was ready to do a swan dive into the fryer. Working at Personal
Chef all day and Inferno all night was killing her, and even though Jack’s end-of-the-week
deadline had spurred her on, she had zip to show for it. Usually her creative process
worked much faster than this. She loved food, and she came up with her best ideas when
she was pondering what she would like to have for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Maybe
that was the problem. She wasn’t hungry.

Her stomach growled. Apparently, she could lie to herself, but her body was not going

to be her willing accomplice. She left the line and headed for the bakeshop, craving the
intense, instant comfort of Emily’s chocolate cake. She’d had a piece every night this
week. Why stop now?

Emily laughed when she saw her. “Right on time. How’s it going?”
Lila shook her head and groaned. “Better make it a big piece, with lots of caramel.” She

could use the sugar rush for inspiration. Where was all of the creativity that had been
pumping through her brain earlier in the week? Had it disappeared with Jack?

After Tuesday’s impromptu cook-off, she had only seen him twice, in passing. At first,

she  had  been  glad  he  was  keeping  his  distance.  It  had  been  bad  enough  to  have
repressed memories of what happened between them taunting her in her dreams. Now
she  thought  of  their  kiss  every  time  she  walked  by  the  line.  Her  body  tingled  to  life
remembering the tender look in his eyes before he kissed her. She felt weak when she
caught  a  whiff  of  his  spicy  scent.  No  matter  how  many  times  she  told  herself  Jack  was
only looking for another way to use her, her body clamored for his.

Ridiculous.
She stared mournfully at the enormous cloud-like chocolate confection Emily placed in

front  of  her.  The  pastry  chef  had  been  on  fire  this  week,  and  the  chocolate  cake  now
sported an eye-catching tangle of handmade chocolate ribbons. She took a bite, jealous
that  Emily  had  managed  to  improve  an  already  heavenly  dessert  while  Lila  had  made
zero  progress  on  the  dinner  menu.  The  bittersweet  chocolate  soufflé  cake  was  now
intensified by caramel sauce so dark Lila was sure it must be burned, but no whiff of the
devil lingered on her tongue. The chocolate curls provided a crunch the dessert had been
lacking,  and  the  lightly-sweetened  whipped  cream  eased  the  decadent  richness.  In  a
word, it was perfect.

Nothing Lila had made this week was perfect. She sighed and shoveled cake into her

mouth. After spending the week chatting with his staff, she’d deduced the best way to get
to Jack would be to exploit his insecurities. His menu and his father were obvious sore
spots, but she couldn’t torture him if she never saw him. If Inferno was so important to

him, why hadn’t he spent more time there this week?

She glanced up at Emily. The pastry chef had dropped several more pro-Jack hints, and

Lila didn’t want to encourage her, but enough was enough.

“Have you talked to Jack?” Lila tried to sound casual.
“He’s tied up at Breeze—huge fire yesterday. I also heard a rumor about a grease trap

leak at Elements. Jack’s been pretty busy taking care of everything while his dad is out of
town.”

“Is everyone okay at Breeze?”
Emily nodded. “Just a scare and some toasted wiring. It happened before service, and

my husband said they got everything cleaned up in time to open the doors.”

Lila could understand how a fire could pull Jack’s focus, but he could have at least

called. Maybe he figured Inferno was her problem now. If so, they were both screwed.

A wave of frustration killed her appetite. She pushed her half-finished cake away from

her. She should have known the minute she’d first seen Jack’s menu there was nothing
she could do to improve it. Soon, they’d know she was a fraud. Did she really want to be
around when they figured it out?

No, she decided, getting to her feet. “Thanks for the cake, Emily. Best one yet.” She

picked up her plate.

“You’re not going to finish it?” Emily looked shocked.
“I just lost my appetite.” She stepped out of the bakeshop.
Her heart pounded in her throat. All she had to do was walk out that back door and

Inferno wouldn’t be her problem anymore. She wouldn’t get the money or Personal Chef,
but she also wouldn’t have to face Jack and feel like a failure. That felt like a fair trade
right now.

She set her plate in a bus tub, hoping no one would ask her why she was getting her

purse. Maybe they would assume she was taking a smoke break, even though she didn’t
smoke. The cooks were working on specials today and didn’t even look at her. She
walked through the dish room and out the back door.

She paused to take a deep breath filled with relief and regret. Jack was going to be

furious. Why did she care? She wanted to hurt him, and this would hit him hard.
Strangely, the thought inspired sadness, not glee.

The door opened, and she jumped, startled.
Emily stepped out, carrying a bag of garbage. “Hey Lila, I’m starving. I don’t suppose

you’d be willing to make me dinner?” She didn’t notice Lila’s purse, or if she did she didn’t
mention it.

“Uh…I was just going to, uh…get some fresh air,” she finished lamely, unable to admit

her true intentions to the woman who had been working so hard this week. “Are you
hungry for something in particular?” she asked, surprising herself. For the first time that

week, she felt the spark of inspiration and realized she would love to make dinner for
Emily.

“I’d kill for some of the seafood I saw in the walk-in.”
“You got it. Spicy Asian? Creamy Italian? American regional? What kind of food do you

like?” Ideas began to spin in her head. Mentally, she reviewed the contents of the walk-
in, reach-ins, and storage room as Emily described her favorite dishes. “I’m all over it.”

As Emily tossed the garbage into the dumpster at the end of the alley, Lila noticed the

bag was light, barely half-full.

She raised an eyebrow as Emily held the door open for her. The pastry chef’s smile was

serene. “After you.”

Lila stepped through the doorway, laughing softly as the idea for a rice dish that would

make Emily swoon took shape.

She headed for the line, grabbing cooked saffron rice, seafood, and fresh ginger from

the walk-in on her way. She could taste it now, paella, redolent of the earth and the sea,
with extra garlic, ginger, and just a kiss of fish sauce. She worked swiftly, filled with a
sense of purpose, glad Perry was taking his break so she could have the sauté station to
herself.

Her muse had returned, and she shimmied a bit as she sautéed onions and peppers

with the aromatic garlic and ginger. When the vegetables were cooked, she added a swirl
of wine, clam sauce, and fish sauce, then the briny seafood, a hefty handful of homemade
chorizo, and the rice. Her mouth watered, and she felt a prickle across the surface of her
skin that told her she was in the zone, creating something that Emily would love. She
savored the feeling, letting it buoy her.

She tasted it, and grinned. Perfect.
She poured the steaming paella into a shallow bowl and garnished it with scallions and

cilantro. The bright yellow rice looked gorgeous with the small pops of green and red
from the peppers. The shrimp tails curled in festive spirals and the plentiful chunks of
chorizo and white fish guaranteed satisfaction. She carried it back to the bakeshop. After
handing the dish to a delighted Emily, she went down the hall to the office to think about
her close call. What had just happened, and how could she make it happen again?

Slowly, she realized Emily’s appetite had inspired her, and the last time she’d felt that

way Jack had been talking about the Chicken Alighieri. He’d looked wistful and passionate
and she’d imagined sweet corn, singed on the grill, and the heat of chilies. That dish had
been a shoe-in for the new menu.

The same thing had happened with the beef dish. Jack hadn’t said a word but she’d

seen him smile when he cut into the rare meat, and she’d thought of chimichurri. Jack
had eaten half her steak before pausing. A spark of joy flickered inside her at the
memory. A big part of what she loved about cooking was the happiness it brought others.

In fact, each of her Personal Chef hors d’oeuvres had been created based on a request,
and she never got tired of trying to please a customer.

Now she was furious Jack hadn’t been around this week. She could have used him for

inspiration and finished the menu by now. Now there were only a few days left to pick his
brain.  Her  stomach  fluttered  at  the  thought  of  spending  time  with  him.  She  thought  of
their  kiss  and  the  incomprehensible  way  her  body  craved  him  despite  his  repeated
betrayals.  After  Adam  had  taken  advantage  of  her  abilities  in  college,  she  had  sworn
never to let it happen again, but this was different. She was getting something out of this
—financial security and a catering career—but she had almost shot it all to hell. To pay
off her debts and take over Personal Chef, she needed to work with Jack.

Cool certainty settled her nerves, and she walked back to the bakeshop.
“Save a bite of that for me, okay?” she asked. Emily bared her teeth and growled,

making Lila smile.

She continued up to the line to find Daniel.
The sous chef had been a blur all week, ordering and organizing. He looked up from his

clipboard as she paused beside him.

She hesitated. Maybe she could talk to Daniel and the other cooks and use them for the

inspiration she needed to tweak the menu. Maybe she was making this more difficult than
it needed to be. Did she really have to talk to Jack?

Anticipation sizzled through her.
When she was in the kitchen with Jack all she had to do was look at him—the tension

in his jaw, the heat pouring off him in waves, the way his gaze sharpened right before he
laid a pan on the fire—and ideas came pouring out of nowhere. Talking to the crew would
give her a reflection of Jack’s vision, but she needed the real deal. In order to have a
prayer of pulling this off in the few days she had left, she had to mine the source.
Somehow she would find the strength to resist both her treacherous memories and the
craving that had been building inside her all week.

“Something I can do for you?” Daniel prompted, and she realized she’d been standing

there trying to get her nerve up while he waited politely.

She took a deep breath. “I need Jack.”

…

Jack stared blearily at the coffee pot, trying to remember whether he was supposed to hit
the button once or twice to make it brew. He’d only been in charge of his father’s
restaurants for a week and all hell had broken loose—the fire at Breeze had come close
to shutting the place down. The Elements dish room had resembled an oil slick earlier in
the week. How did the old man do it? Jack was thirty years younger and needed a nap.
He grappled with the coffee maker, wondering if there was any way to open up a vein

and get an IV drip of caffeine for the rest of the night. Daniel said Lila needed to see him
and that couldn’t be good.

He looked to his left and saw her in the bakeshop, standing at the stove talking with

Emily. The glass-front reach-in was full of spectacular desserts and Daniel had texted him
pictures and glowing descriptions of every item Lila had made this week. He’d been right
to hire her, and he should be ecstatic she had made so much progress on the menu.

Instead, jealousy ate at his gut. Immediately, he pictured Lila naked.
It had begun as a way to control his resentment, but it had turned into a full-time

obsession. Every time he saw her, he wanted to strip her down. Her red-gold hair twisted
on top of her head made him want to pull out the pins. Her bulky chef coat made him
imagine the curves that lay beneath it. His gaze traveled the length of her body and hit
her shoes, and a vision of her in her chef coat, clogs, and nothing else popped into his
head, making his cock stir.

Lila turned from the stove and caught him staring. Hot coffee spilled on his thigh. He

righted his cup, then cursed as he overcompensated for the tilt and spilled coffee on his
other leg.

Lila stalked toward him, calling over her shoulder, “No cookies for him.”
He blinked, trying to clear the image from his mind before she stopped in front of him.

He failed. Fortunately, she kept her eyes on his face. “I hope you aren’t talking about me.
I’m starving. I want cookies.” He heard a snort from the bakeshop. Was Emily laughing at
him?

Lila shrugged. “As my grandmother would say, it’s okay to want.” She held up a spoon

and he realized she was also carrying a nearly empty bowl. “I have something better than
cookies. Open wide.”

Cautiously, he opened his mouth. The rice was cold, but robust flavors exploded in his

mouth. Shrimp, sausage, saffron and… “Ginger?” he asked, astonished.

She nodded, looking smug, but he didn’t blame her. He reached for the spoon and took

another bite, snagging a scallop this time. If the rest of her offerings were this good,
Inferno was going to take New York by storm. The thought should have filled him with
glee, but all he felt was resignation. Maybe he was just too tired. He scraped the last bite
from the bowl. “What’s next?”

Lila cleared her throat. “Nothing. I don’t have a new menu to show you yet.”
“What do you mean? Daniel’s been sending me glowing reports all week.”
She shook her head. “Nothing is good enough to put on the menu. I’m glad you like the

paella, but I just came up with that today.”

“Lila, Inferno opens in a week. We need a finished menu. What on earth have you been

doing with your time?”

“Cooking, but I had an epiphany today…I can’t do it.”

“Don’t even think about backing out of our deal. I’ll make sure no chef in New York will

hire you.” Panic made his words sound harsh, but why the hell had she waited until now
to tell him she couldn’t do it? She had to do it.

She had the nerve to laugh in his face. “I appreciate you making this easier for me by

being a dick, but I meant I can’t do it alone. I need to pick your brain, Jack. It’s your
restaurant. The food has to be yours, but you haven’t been around long enough this week
for me to find out whether you like rice or potatoes, green vegetables or root vegetables,
steak or fish.”

“I like them all,” he said. “Why does it matter?”
“Because I’ve been killing myself trying to make improvements and I can’t do it alone.”

Her expression was as sour as the coffee curdling his stomach. “If you want a new menu,
you’re going to have to help me.”

He glared down at her, seething. Was she fucking with him? Rubbing his nose in his

failure again? “I gave it my best shot, Lila. And it wasn’t good enough. I thought I made
that clear. I don’t know how you expect me to help.”

“Talk to me about food.” She nearly spit the words. “Believe me—I don’t like the idea

any more than you do.”

Talk to her?
He couldn’t even lay eyes on her without wanting to rip her clothes off, and she wanted

to have a conversation? Fat chance. He’d stayed away from Inferno partly because the
other restaurants needed him but also because it flat-out pissed him off that he couldn’t
control his reaction to her. It was humiliating that she’d taken over his kitchen and was
succeeding where he had failed. He refused to completely abase himself by following her
around the kitchen begging for her attention. Not when all she wanted from him was a
paycheck.

He snorted. “You realize the irony, right? I hired you to fix the menu, and now you’re

asking me to help you do it. That doesn’t seem fair.”

Her cheeks reddened. “As it turns out, creativity doesn’t respond to a contract. I need

inspiration.” Her eyes flashed blue fire as she put her hands on her hips. “It’s your menu,
Jack. Inspire me.”

He blinked, surprised into a snort of laughter. Had she really just said that to him? He

wanted to inspire her, all right, and not only in the kitchen. Her sweet scent drifted up to
him, melons again, mixed with herbs, and he fought the urge to step closer.

Frustration roiled inside him. This was bullshit. All of it. His resentment of Lila, the

messes he’d had to mop up this week because someone had been too lazy to properly
maintain equipment, his father taking off for Fiji and dumping the restaurants on him
when he needed to be at Inferno, the fact that he had a half-dozen eateries under his
care and he hadn’t eaten a single thing today—it was all bullshit, and he needed a break.

The Calabrese empire wouldn’t fall apart if he took a night off.

Satisfaction coursed through him, and the exhaustion of the week began to recede. His

panic was gone. Now he was glad Lila hadn’t been able to fix his menu so easily because
it gave him an opening. She wanted to talk about food, huh? Well, he wanted something,
too.

The high color in her cheeks and the defiance in her gaze told him he wasn’t the only

one aware of the attraction between them. That kiss had been hot. They both knew it
could get hotter. So what if they didn’t like each other? They had incredible physical
chemistry, and he’d heard how hard she’d been working this week. Yes, he decided, she
could use a break, too. If she wanted to talk about food, she could do it on his terms.

He set his coffee on the counter and grinned. “I have a proposition for you.”

…

Lila felt her jaw drop. Hell, no. Not again. “The last time you proposed something, I said
no, and you ran roughshod over my life. I’m not real fond of your propositions.”

“Don’t knock it. That particular proposition is going to make you a wealthy woman…if

you can fix the menu. But you just said you need my help to do it. You want something
from me. I want something from you, too. Let’s negotiate.”

He made it sound logical, but she didn’t trust the gleam in his eyes. Maybe she could do

the menu without him after all. Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough. In fact, she had a
great idea for another chicken dish right now. She turned her back on him and headed for
the line.

Jack followed her. “It isn’t going anywhere,” he said quietly, as she pulled marinated

chicken halves out of the lowboy.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“The attraction between us. It isn’t going anywhere.”
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she fought a wild urge to pinch herself. She was

awake, right? Her dreams about Jack had become so real, she woke up aching, wanting
him more than she wanted her next meal or even her next paycheck, but that was
fantasy Jack. This was real Jack. Real Jack was a user, and since it was hard for her to
fight her natural inclination to be helpful, she had to resist him. No more propositions.

She ignored him and laid the chicken breasts on the grill.
He took the tongs out of her hand. “I propose we declare a truce.”
She tried to snatch the tongs back, but he held them out of reach. In order to get them,

she’d have to climb straight up his body. Heat flashed through her. The thought was so
tempting, she went to the dish room to get another set of tongs.

When she turned back toward the kitchen, Jack was standing directly in front of her.

“Move,” she commanded, staring at the center of his broad chest.

He didn’t budge. “You want to talk about food so you can fix my menu. I propose we

have some fun while we do it.”

“Fun?” She was having trouble focusing on his words and even more trouble stringing a

sentence together. He smelled good, like rosemary in the sun. The gap at the top of his
chef coat displayed his tan throat, making her remember how good it had felt to press
her lips to the hollow where his pulse beat. It didn’t make sense. She did not like this
man. He was arrogant, manipulative, and utterly used to getting his own way. She should
not want to kiss him. Kissing Jack was dangerous—like drowning in something that tasted
good. He was like the chocolate cake she couldn’t resist, full of artery-clogging butter and
heavy cream, heaven in her mouth but hell on her heart.

“Fun.” His eyes gleamed, and a wicked smile crossed his lips. A strangled sound

escaped her throat. She clamped her lips shut. He chuckled. The bastard knew exactly
what he was doing to her. The heat between them was undeniable and impossible to
ignore. She was trying, though. He could cut her a break and try a little harder, too.

“Jackson,” she warned. “Get out of my way.”
His throat was so close to her lips, her mouth watered.
“Remember the graduation party, Delilah? The dry storage room? Remember how much

fun we had? Before all the other stuff got in the way…”

“You mean before you used my ideas, bought Personal Chef, forced me to work for

you…”

“The sex part is good, Lila. The best.”
“Stop right there.” He couldn’t possibly be proposing what it sounded like he was

proposing…could he? She looked around for witnesses, but they were alone in the dish
room.

“You hate my guts, but you like the rest of me just fine. I know you want to be mad at

me, and I suppose I deserve it, but let’s declare a truce. One night. Let’s get away from
Inferno. Let’s go out to dinner. Hell, I’ll take you on a tour of my favorite restaurants in
New York, and we can talk about food as much as you want. And then I want to take you
home and make love to you again. For hours. With no competition in the morning and no
interruptions. Nothing but us and this…whatever it is that makes it impossible to think
about anything but kissing you, touching you…being inside you. We fit together. When we
aren’t arguing, we do some pretty amazing things.”

She stared up at him. He wasn’t touching her, yet she felt aftershocks of every one of

those amazing things. “You’re actually serious. You want me to forget about everything
that’s happened between us…and have sex with you?”

”Every time I look at you, I see you naked. I can’t walk into my own restaurant without

getting a hard-on. I am losing my mind.”

“Clearly.” He’d been picturing her naked?

He pinned her with a look. “Don’t try and pretend it’s only me. You’re practically

drooling. If you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t be standing here discussing my proposition
when you have chickens on the grill.”

“Shit!” She pushed past him and raced for the smoking grill. She flipped them just in

time. “I hate you even more now.”

“No, you don’t. You want me. And you hate that you want me. I know exactly how you

feel. Let’s get it out of our systems and go back to hating each other next week.”

He hated her? She was the one who had been wronged. Repeatedly.
Jack stroked a hand down her arm and turned her to face him. “Please say yes…but not

because I’m forcing you. Say yes because you want me. Say yes because of this.” His lips
were a whisper away from hers, but he didn’t kiss her. She could hardly breathe. Her
pulse roared in her ears, and it was impossible to care about anything except the ache in
her center. She could deny it all she wanted, but it didn’t change the truth. He was right.
She wanted him. Under his convenient truce conditions, she could have him. She could
have everything, the menu, the money…and Jack.

“A truce. Purely physical. No strings attached.” His eyes darkened to slate. “I promise

you won’t regret it.”

“I’ve heard that before.” She shook her head. “Pick me up at seven.”

Chapter Nine

She heard a knock on the door and wanted to pretend she wasn’t home.

She wore her anger like armor when she was around Jack, and she didn’t know how to

behave during a truce. She’d been crazy to think they could do this. The temptation had
been overwhelming, and she’d lost her mind for a second. It had been stupid to borrow
this little black dress from her neighbor and stupid to curl her hair and put make-up on,
too. She should have quit when she had the chance.

She was going to tell him to forget it.
She jammed her feet into her hated high heels, knowing she would do no such thing.
Going out to dinner with Jack would give her tons of ideas for the Inferno menu. A great

menu would give her a good Times review and a secure future. Spending time with Jack
one-on-one would also give her plenty of time to exploit his weaknesses. She couldn’t
make him miserable during their truce, of course, but she still had two weeks. She’d had
every reason to say yes.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t thought of a single one of those rational reasons until about

an hour ago. She heard another knock, this time louder. Her reason had been pure,
simple lust, hard to resist in the heat of the moment and equally difficult to summon in
cold blood. She stared at the door, wondering how he felt waiting on the other side.

He wanted her. She took a step. He’d admitted it, and there was no faking the hunger

in his gaze. He didn’t have an ulterior motive this time—she did. She was in control, not
allowing him to take advantage of her. She could do this.

She unlocked the bolt and opened the door.
Crap. She inhaled sharply. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, an expensive-

looking t-shirt, probably with silk in the blend, but still a t-shirt. Had she misunderstood
the plan? “I thought we were going out,” she said. “Please tell me your favorite
restaurants aren’t dives.”

His slow grin made her stomach do flip-flops as he stepped into her apartment. He

turned, shut the door, and locked it. Then he grabbed the back of his t-shirt and pulled it
off over his head. His grin grew wicked as he waved the white shirt at her then dropped it
on the floor, advancing. “Truce, remember?”

She stepped back, feeling outmaneuvered already. And now overdressed.
He grasped her arms, lightly caressing them. His palms were rough, toughened by

calluses, and they awakened every nerve in her body. “I can’t sit across from you at
dinner and enjoy the food until I kiss you again.” She didn’t know whether to be offended
he was so bold or relieved he had spared her the excruciating experience he had just
described. She was both, sort of.

“That’s all you want to do?” she asked slowly, trying to find her balance in this sudden

shift between them.

He shook his head. “Not even close.”
His eyes blazed green fire, hot and dazzling, and she felt her blood heat. His bare chest

was gorgeous, every bit as tan and muscled as she remembered. Her fingers tingled with
the desire to run her palms over his smooth chest, down his lean sides, and over his hard
arms. His spicy scent warmed the air between them, and her mouth watered, eager to
taste his skin.

It was much easier to hate him than to want him.
She swallowed, unable to pretend. “I can’t do this. There’s so much between us…”

None of it settled, none of it sweet.

“Not tonight. Tonight, there’s nothing between us but this.” She didn’t resist as he

pulled her into his embrace. “It’s been a hell of a week, hasn’t it?” His quiet chuckle
turned into a sigh.

It was his fault her week had been rough, his fault for hiring her, kissing her, leaving

her alone. There was no reason why leaning against him should make her feel better. But
it did. “This makes no sense at all,” she whispered, sighing.

He hugged her tighter. “Nope.”
Her arms stole around his waist. Their bodies fit together, her curves against his

hollows. He rocked her lightly back and forth and the brush of their bodies made desire
beat through her in a quickening pulse. She wasn’t going to listen to reason tonight. She
wasn’t going to give. She was going to take.

His fingers played over the bare skin of her back, explored the dip of her waist, and

brushed her breast. His hand rose to cup the side of her neck, and he dipped to lightly
brush his lips over hers, a gentle taste. “I love your dress, but you won’t need it.”

Her muscles were melting like butter under the heat of his hands, and she didn’t care

about dinner anymore. His arms closed around her, squeezing her tight enough to make
her lose her breath as he swept her off her feet.

“Bedroom?”
She pointed down the hall.
When he reached her room, he pushed the door wider with his foot and carried her to

the bed. He laid her on top of the comforter, kicked his shoes off, and stretched out
beside her. He traced her body from shoulder to thigh, and she moved restlessly under
his touch.

“Just let me touch you. I’ve been dying to,” he whispered.
Need flared through her at his admission, but she lay still as he brushed his fingers

through her hair, then ran his fingertips over her jaw. He leaned forward and tasted her
lips, then outlined them with his tongue. With every touch, she fell further under his

sensual spell. She could feel each breath expand her lungs. Her blood ran through her
veins like thick molasses. Time slowed down, and she felt as if every separate heartbeat
was an eternity in itself as he explored her body.

She moaned, a low sound of pleasure, as he cupped her breast through her dress. His

thumb found her nipple and stroked back and forth. She moved to his rhythm, responding
to his touch and her own growing urgency.

His hand drifted lower, to the hem of her dress, and she felt the silky material slide up

her thigh. He pressed her backward, and she opened to him. His finger slid beneath the
edge of her panties. A strangled sound escaped her throat when he stroked between her
thighs. He cupped her, holding her inside and out, while he kissed her deeply, claiming
her.

“Naked,” he groaned. “You need to be naked.” He tore his mouth away from hers and

reached down to yank her shoes from her feet. She sat up, fumbling with the bottom of
her dress. There were no zippers or buttons, thank God, but it was difficult to get the
tight material over her head when he had just melted every bone in her body. She felt his
hands stroke her sides and suddenly the fabric was flying toward the floor, and she sat on
the bed in her strapless bra and panties. He reached behind her, and her bra sailed after
her dress. He hooked one finger in the lace of her panties. She lifted her hips.

“Yes, just like that.” His eyes had darkened, and his gaze touched every part of her.
He shifted until he was lying on top of her. Arousal burned through her. His jeans felt

rough on the inside of her thighs, and she could feel his belt buckle against her stomach.
She closed her eyes as he kissed her, completely focused on his mouth. His breath was
warm and tasted like him, sweet and spicy. “You like this,” he whispered into her mouth.

“Yes,” she gasped.
His hand found her breast and squeezed. “Me, too.” He moved his hips in a slow, short

movement, grinding into her. She tilted her hips in answer, widening her thighs,
desperate to ease the ache he was creating. “But right now I want you to be still.” He
moved his hand to her hips and pressed down. “Just so we’re clear—I don’t want you to
talk back to me or give me any attitude, and if you roll your eyes at me, it had better be
because you are coming so hard you’ve lost consciousness.”

His autocratic tone shot heat through her core, but she resisted. “That doesn’t sound

like a truce to me. That sounds like surrender.”

“Who cares what it sounds like?” He slid one hand between her thighs. “How does it

feel?”

She gasped as he found her clitoris and began to draw slow circles around it. Then he

flicked back and forth across the sensitive tip with the pad of his finger. It felt like the
wings of a butterfly beating softly, steadily, and lightly. She wanted more. He kept
stroking her, maintaining the same intensity until she thought she would scream.

She looked up to find him watching her closely. “How does it feel?”
“Good…but a little harder and it would feel great.”
A faint smile creased his face. “Maybe I want to torture you a little now, in the most

pleasant way possible, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated faintly, reaching up to stroke her fingers along his tight jaw.

“How long will this torture last?” She might be willing to surrender for now, but she had
plans for later. She wasn’t going to lose out on the opportunity this night offered,
especially now that he had given her an idea. Two could play his game.

He glanced at the clock next to the bed. “Hard to say, but if I had to guess, about a half

hour. It’s getting late, and I did promise to feed you.”

“Takeout?” She asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “Our first stop is Brill.”
She gasped and sat up, pushing away from him and grabbing a pillow to cover herself.

“How on earth did you get reservations at Brill at the last minute?”

“I didn’t. I called in a favor. We’ll pop in the back door after the rush dies down, say

hello to the chef, and eat in the kitchen. I don’t know about you, but I hate getting all
dressed up to go out to eat. Too formal. That’s not my world. I like the kitchen. Plus, we’ll
get to see them cooking, and maybe you’ll get some ideas.” His laugh was knowing.
“You’re torn now, aren’t you? That’s why I got you naked before I told you where we’re
going.”

He thought she might want food more than him? “Are you kidding? Sex first, then

dinner—and I don’t have to wear uncomfortable shoes? Sold.” But she held up a hand as
he leaned toward her. “Not so fast. You basically just demanded I surrender to you before
dinner. In fact, it sounded like you were special-ordering sex off a fast food menu. This
isn’t Burger King, Jack. You don’t get it any way you want it…not all the time. I call the
shots after dinner.”

A dangerous grin curved his lips. “Are you sure that’s what you want? If you aren’t in a

complete food coma after dessert tonight then you didn’t try hard enough. I want to
make love to you now so we can stuff ourselves silly for the rest of the night. Are you
sure you don’t want to call the shots after I cook you breakfast tomorrow morning? That
might be more practical.”

She felt the air rush out of her lungs at the thought of him cooking her breakfast. The

man had a diabolical understanding of women—but give Jack an inch and he’d take
everything. “Dinner. Take it or leave it.” Oh dear sweet God, please take it.

“You’ve got a deal.”

…

He toppled her to the bed. God, she was beautiful. Her fiery hair spread across the pillow,

and he grasped it in his fists. Her makeup had smudged, giving her sexy shadows around
her eyes. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, practically begging for more. He was
happy to oblige.

He shifted to ease the pillow from between them so that he could cup her breasts. He

ducked to spend several long minutes working her tight nipples with his tongue. She lay
still, panting. He moved lower, tracing his finger through her folds then following with his
tongue. He stretched out between her thighs, tempted to forget about dinner and make
her his only meal.

No, he’d keep his promise. Quick now…slow later.
He sucked on her clit and thrust two fingers inside her tight passage. She screamed,

thrusting her hips toward his mouth. Her scent surrounded him, her salty-sweet taste his
favorite combination. He ate at her greedily, using his tongue and his lips to drive her as
crazy as she had driven him this week. He was going to show her who was the boss by
taking command of her body. He’d known the minute he’d opened the door, he wouldn’t
make it through dinner without having her.

“I need…I want…” she sobbed. He sat up and ripped open the button of his jeans,

grabbing a condom from the pocket before he shucked his pants to the floor.

He covered himself and settled on top of her. He braced his weight on his elbows and

twined his hands with hers, looking into her eyes as he sought her heart. They both
gasped as he slid inside. He sealed his lips to hers, overwhelmed with gratitude for her
warm welcome. She was wet and tight, and he almost lost it, but he held on to his
control only because he wanted to make it good for her.

A flush spread across her chest. She clutched his hands and moaned. He pressed

harder, moved faster, learning her body all over again. “You are so beautiful.”

Her eyes flew to his and grew bright. The moment intensified, and he felt as if she

could see into his soul. The world stopped spinning just long enough to throw them into
the universe, shuddering and quaking, burning up together.

He felt her surrender and gave her his, holding her tight.

…

Lila didn’t know how long she’d been lying spooned by Jack. It could have been minutes
or an hour, but her stomach growled, telling her some amount of time had passed.

“Hungry?” Jackson ran his hand possessively over her stomach as if searching for the

source of the noise. She rolled over and draped her arm across his chest and her leg
across his thigh.

“Starving,” she said. “But I don’t want to move.” Or talk. When they didn’t talk, they got

along just fine. Better than fine. If they ignored everything and just had sex for hours on
end…

He rolled on top of her. For once the glint in his eyes didn’t irritate her. Instead, it made

her heart race. He rocked against her, fitting their bodies seamlessly together. She
stopped thinking and closed her eyes, ready to give him anything he wanted, but he only
kissed her then pushed off the bed, leaving her cold. She reached for the blanket, but he
snatched it out of reach. “Dinner time,” he declared.

She groaned, snuggling into the pillows.
“The wonders of Brill await. I’ve known Guy Franklin my whole life and the man’s first

language is food. Our second stop is Standing Room, and I know for a fact Zane has
loaded purple potatoes on the menu…with black truffle oil. Don’t tell him I like them,
though. I can’t stand the guy.”

Curiosity made her swing one leg over the side of the bed and get to her feet. It was

dangerous to want to know more about Jack’s world when she was only going to be a
part of it for two more weeks, but who could resist a peek into his privileged circle?

She looked into the bathroom mirror and groaned, quickly grabbing a towel to wrap

around  herself.  All  of  her  mascara  had  migrated  below  her  eyes,  and  her  hair  was  a
wreck. She twisted it into a knot and secured it with pins. She wasn’t going into anyone’s
kitchen with her hair flying everywhere. She smeared lotion beneath her eyes and used a
tissue  to  get  rid  of  the  mascara,  noticing  her  eyes  looked  dazed  and  gleaming.  Would
everyone  who  saw  them  know  what  they  had  been  doing?  Jack  looked  smug.  She
looked…well, ravished, for lack of a more politically-correct word.

She turned her head as he walked into the bathroom behind her and caught a whiff of

his scent, now imprinted on her body. “I smell like you.”

“If you’re trying to turn me on, it’s working, but I told Guy we’d hit the back door by

nine.” He smiled at her in the mirror then tugged at her towel. “Of course, I could text
him and tell him we’re not coming.”

She slapped his hand. “No way. You dragged me out of bed and now you’re going to

feed me.”

“Wear something comfortable,” he called after her as she dashed into the bedroom to

find clothes.

She took him at his word and pulled on a pair of jeans that were the opposite of skinny.

She grabbed a black bra and a low-cut red top that wasn’t too tight around the middle.
Maddeningly, he was still ready before she was and was waiting at the small dining table
just off the kitchen when she emerged from the bedroom.

Her heart skipped a beat when he took her hand and said, “Let’s go.”

Chapter Ten

He paused at the curb, and a black limo pulled up in front of them. Naturally, he had
arranged for transportation. She tried not to be impressed, but it was impossible.

He held her hand when they were seated. Every movement of his fingers on hers struck

echoes in her memory. When his thumb brushed her wrist, she remembered how he had
held them while he drove into her. Just being near him inspired the urge to get closer.
Gradually, she succumbed, drifting to rest against him, thigh to thigh, shoulder to
shoulder, hand in hand.

Should one of them be making conversation? “So, tell me about your week,” she began.
Jack chuckled, sounding uncomfortable. “I’d rather hear about yours.”
“Not until you tell me what was so important you spent the week doing something

other than finishing your menu. You threw me to the wolves, buddy. If I hadn’t figured
out I needed to talk to you, we’d be toast.”

“But you figured it out, and wolves, my ass. My cooks love you. I heard you went out

with them every night last week.”

“I’ve been talking to them in order to do my job.” And pumping them for personal

information about Jack. She shifted away from him, feeling inexplicably guilty. “You
certainly weren’t around for me to ask.”

“You have my cell phone number.”
“Jack, I was standing in the middle of your kitchen. I shouldn’t have had to call you.

You should have been there.”

“I’m here now.” The limo coasted to a stop. “And we’ve reached our destination.”
Jack opened the door and got out, pulling her after him. “We’ll be about an hour, Bill.”
“Yes, sir.” The car rolled away from the curb, and Jack tugged on her hand.
She followed him down a dark alley. “You sure about this, Jack?”
“Positive.” He stopped in front of a screen door at the end of the alley and rang the

bell, one quick buzz, one long burst, then another quick buzz. A few seconds later, she
heard a bolt slide, and a dark-skinned man with wiry black hair opened the door.

“Jack, my man, c’mon in. We were starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“Got distracted. This is Lila Grant, my…”
It was fun to watch him flounder but Lila was hungry. “Chief distraction. Nice to meet

you.” Jack gave her a grateful smile, and it soothed the hurt she’d felt when she realized
he didn’t want to admit they were working together.

“I’m Guy Franklin, welcome to Brill.” She tried not to look star struck as he shook her

hand then led them through the kitchen. Cooks were scurrying around, intent on reaching
their destinations, completing tasks, and getting food out of the kitchen. She paused to

watch a cook stream oil into a vinaigrette, admiring his economy of motion as much as
his velvety emulsion. By the time she looked up, she realized Jack and Guy were waiting
for her. She caught up with them in front of a small room that held a table set for two.
Instead of a wall, a large window separated the room from the kitchen. They’d be able to
see everything the cooks were doing.

Before they could enter the room, a woman called Jack’s name. She looked over his

shoulder and saw a beautiful blonde in a sleek gold dress moving toward them. Lila
stepped aside, feeling out-classed and invisible.

“I’ll just be a minute.” Jack gave them an apologetic look as the blonde wrapped her

arms around him and pulled him away.

Guy motioned her into the small room behind the observation window. “The owner’s

daughter.” He grimaced, looking as unsettled as she felt. “She’s a handful.”

“I can see that.”
“Can I get you something to drink? An aperitif?” She had no idea what Jack had planned

and said as much.

“Jack asked me to make my best things for you. How about I bring you my new favorite

cocktail, even though it’s a bit girlie and I only drink it when no one’s watching?”

She smiled. “Sounds perfect.”
He left her in the room, and she became mesmerized by a cook painting a plate with at

least ten different colored sauces. Guy reappeared just as the cook piled something
brown and crispy on the plate and put it in the window. He grabbed it and carried it into
her room.

“My God, that’s gorgeous,” she said.
“Thanks—it’s for you. And here’s your drink. We call it the blackberry smash.” He pulled

out a chair for her and she sat, wondering if he was planning on joining them or if he was
taking pity on her since Jack had abandoned her.

She pulled a ring of calamari from the pile and popped it in her mouth. “Oh my God.”

She stared at the simple pile of fried food.

“I know, right? I bet you were trying to figure out how this is my favorite thing on the

menu. Now you know.”

She dragged another bite of juicy, tender squid through the sauces. If Jack didn’t get

back here fast, she was going to eat it all and mop up every drop of sauce just out of
spite.

She heard a sound and looked up to see him entering the room. “Are you moving in on

my girl, Guy?”

Guy shrugged. “You made it easy.”
“If I’d known you were making the calamari, I never would have left her alone.”
She rolled her eyes. “Because that’s all it takes to impress a woman.”

“This dish has gotten me laid…” Guy began counting on one hand, moved to the other,

and gave up, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ve lost count. If it isn’t doing anything for
you, don’t burst my bubble.”

Jack sat down and took her hand. “Here’s hoping it does something for her.”
She jerked out of his grip. He only wanted it to do something for her so she could fix his

menu. She sat back and took a gulp of her drink. The tequila hit her first, followed by
lemons and the dark sweetness of blackberries. She took another, slower sip.

In a different way, the drink was as amazing as the calamari. “Brill is for Brilliant, isn’t

it?” she asked, smiling at Guy. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Jack frown.

“I like this girl.” Guy snagged a piece of calamari and headed for the door.
“Would it be possible to see a menu?” she asked, before he could escape.
“Sure.” He stuck his head out the door and shouted. A second later, a server thrust a

leather-bound menu into his hand. He walked back to the table and handed it to her. “If
you see anything you like, don’t hesitate to ask. Otherwise, I’m going to send in the
handkerchief ravioli.”

“Yes,” she said instantly, making him laugh.
When he left, she kept her eyes on the menu so she wouldn’t have to look at Jack.

They were having a truce, not a relationship, she reminded herself. Not only that, she
worked for him. And it was temporary. If he wanted to disappear with a dozen gorgeous
blondes, that was his prerogative. She didn’t belong in his world of beautiful people and
money, anyway.

“Sorry about that,” Jack said, seeming to read her mind. “Natalie and I are just friends.”
She looked up at him. “Not a problem.”
“Then why do you look pissed?” He polished off the calamari in a few bites and picked

up the drink Guy had left for him.

Because it was a problem. “Because the Inferno menu isn’t as good as this one.” She

deliberately hit him where it would hurt and waited for him to lash back.

His cool green eyes stayed mild. “Then it’s a good thing we’re out trolling for

inspiration.”

She searched his face for a clue to his emotions. “I expected you to chain me to the

stove when I told you I hadn’t made any progress. Inferno opens in six days.”

“And in six days, the menu will be perfect.” He didn’t say or else, but she heard it

anyway. “Relax, enjoy the food.”

But the smile he gave her was not reassuring.

…

He grinned, getting a kick out of her perplexed expression. She was one of the few
people on earth who knew damn well he never relaxed about anything related to food or

business, but the minute she’d opened her door and he’d seen her in that insanely hot
black dress, wearing high heels and red lipstick, something had eased inside him. He
wasn’t wrong; she wanted him, too.

He wished Natalie hadn’t dragged him away like that, but he’d enjoyed Lila’s jealous

expression when he returned. He wasn’t going to analyze why that made him cheerful,
and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Lila that Natalie was just trying to get Guy’s
attention. Poor Guy was going to be in trouble when Natalie stopped playing games, but
the bastard deserved it for so easily earning Lila’s admiration. Brilliant, huh?

He responded to Lila’s observations and answered her questions about the menu. He’d

known Guy forever, practically grown up with him, but this was the first time he’d ever
envied the man. He didn’t like the feeling. He wanted Lila to talk about his food the way
she talked about Guy’s.

Two servers entered the room and deftly swapped the empty calamari plate for a

stunning plate of ravioli. Each large dumpling held a unique pattern of herbs pressed
between two paper thin sheets of pasta. They reminded him of the sun catchers his
mother kept on her window, the ones with colorful pressed flowers trapped in the glass.
He repressed a sigh at Lila’s amazed expression. Yes, Guy was brilliant.

She picked up a fork. “It feels like a sin to eat something so beautiful.”
“They taste even better than they look.”
“Then beauty is fleeting.” She delicately cut a ravioli in half and scooped it up with her

fork. As she chewed, she reached for the other half. Her greedy enthusiasm filled him
with longing. She closed her eyes, moaning softly.

Tension shot through him, so he replaced the blissed-out look on her face with another

expression of rapture. What color underwear was she wearing? Cotton or lace? And would
it be easy to get off in the car? The pain in his jaw eased as he discovered his relaxation
technique was much more effective when satisfaction was guaranteed. In fact, he vowed
to have the answers to his questions before their next stop.

He reached for a fork. While he’d been lost in thought, she had demolished most of the

ravioli.

“You can have the last one,” she said with a satisfied smile. The servers had delivered

a tasting of wine with the dish and he watched her swirl and sniff. “Oh, man, that is so
good.” She eyed the last ravioli, and he was tempted to let her eat it, but it was more fun
to watch her want it.

He ate it in one bite, but didn’t taste it. He tasted her, smooth and silky under his

tongue. He leaned toward her, wanting to taste her again.

Guy swept in the door. “No kissing in the kitchen. Company policy. If you two start, I

won’t have a prayer of controlling my staff.” He patted Lila on the shoulder. “No need to
blush, sweetheart. My ravioli has that effect on everyone.”

Jack reached for his wallet. He wanted to get her in the car. Now.
“Don’t even think about it,” Guy said. “Your money is no good here. Feel free to return

the favor next week.”

“It’s a deal.” Jack held out his hand, and Guy shook it.
“Thank you for the exquisite appetizers,” Lila said. “Your food is wonderful. You take an

item and make it absolutely the best it can be. Then you pair it with things that
complement and contrast, and you trust the diner to understand and appreciate the food.
No smoke and mirrors. I can respect that.”

“You got that from a couple of dishes?” Guy asked.
“And from reading your menu.”
Guy looked at Jack. “Keep this one.”
Jack couldn’t do that, but he nodded. He wished she was talking about him, but Lila’s

ability to capture the essence of Guy’s food in a few words made him want her even
more.

Guy walked them toward the back and opened the door. “You need any help with

Inferno, Jack? I remember what a nightmare it was to open this place.”

Jack shook his head, urging Lila forward. “I’m all set.”
Guy snorted. “Of course you are. You wouldn’t admit it if you weren’t, but don’t forget

I’m here. Where are you two headed next?”

“Standing Room.”
“Really?” Guy looked shocked.
Jack shrugged. He wanted Lila to see the food New York loved, at least this week, no

matter who was cooking it. Guy was still shaking his head as they headed into the alley.
“Have a good night, you two.”

The driver was waiting. Jack opened the door and climbed in after her. With a touch of

a button, they had privacy, and he pulled her in for a kiss. She tasted of wine and herbs,
a heady mixture. He reached for the button of her jeans. “I’m still hungry.”

He eased her zipper down then reached behind her waist and tugged her jeans down to

her knees, glad they weren’t the super-tight style everyone seemed to be wearing lately.
Methodically, he slid her shoe off, removed the leg of her pants from one ankle and
settled himself between her thighs.

She stared down at him. The tension between them made the air feel alive, as if every

move he made would impact her and vice versa. He gripped her thighs and bent his head
to nuzzle her. She was wearing tiny red lace panties, just as he had imagined last week.

Her thighs were tense, knees angled and upright. She sat straight on the leather seat.

He breathed against her and watched her fingers curl into fists. Her lips pressed into a
thin line. He stayed still, unmoving, simply breathing between her thighs, enjoying her
warm scent and waiting for her to forget about the fact they were in a car on their way to

a restaurant. He reached forward to take her hands, twining their fingers.

He looked up and saw her blue eyes begin to heat.
“A truce is a beautiful thing,” he whispered against her thigh.
Her head fell back against the seat, but she still watched him through hooded lids as he

hooked her panties to the side and leaned in to taste her. Perfection. He would happily
spend hours just like this, breathing against her, barely moving. But since traffic was
light, it wasn’t going to take them too much longer to reach their destination. He sought
and found the spot that made her moan. He gripped her hands tighter. Still, she watched
him.

He closed his eyes, focusing solely on her response to the slight movement of his

tongue as he teased her. He felt tension build in her thighs, and she squeezed his hands
harder. He pressed forward, capturing her with his lips, moving his tongue faster, driven
by the urge to make her his.

When she gasped and pulsed against his mouth, triumph roared through him, and it

took every ounce of restraint not to reverse their positions, shuck his jeans, and pull her
onto his lap. He was rock hard and aching, but her wrecked expression gave him all the
pleasure he needed.

The car stopped. A soft buzz signaled they had arrived. He reached for her foot, hooked

her jeans around her ankle and slowly worked them up her thighs. With effort, she lifted
her hips, zipped, buttoned, and buckled, all without opening her eyes.

He threw himself onto the seat beside her. “Ready for more?”

…

Lila opened her eyes, feeling like Jack had just shattered every bone in her body. So
much for keeping her mind on the job. One little tug on her panties, and she was begging
for him.

He sat beside her with a faint smile on his perfect lips. She blushed, remembering what

those lips had just done to her. He brushed a finger across her cheek, making her shiver.
Then he reached past her and opened the door.

“Out you go. You’ll love Standing Room. Everyone does.” There was an edge to his

voice that had been missing at Brill, even when she had deliberately goaded him. Jack’s
food had so much in common with Guy’s menu it was bizarre that neither of them seemed
to know it, even when she put it into words. How could Jack not understand his own
food?

She climbed out of the car and stood on the curb while he talked to the driver.
“No back door this time?” she asked as he held the huge wooden door of the pub open

for her.

Jack made a face. “No way.”

The place was enormous, almost filled to capacity, an impressive feat, but there were

still a few tables open. A hostess immediately greeted them. At Jack’s request, she
guided them toward the bar that spanned the length of the room. They took the last two
empty seats.

“Since we’ve been drinking tequila, may I recommend the St. Germain margarita?” Jack

asked.

She nodded, accepting a menu from the server. She still felt a little weak from what he

had done to her in the car, and it was hard to resist the urge to lean on him. Instead, she
opened her menu.

“Looks like fun food. Very different from the Inferno menu.” She gave him a cautious

look. “Is this what you want from me? Guy’s food I could understand, but this is a whole
different ballgame.”

“But it’s selling very well. This place is packed and I do like the menu. It’s fresh and

imaginative.”

“Can I quote you on that?” A deep voice cut through the hubbub.
Jack stiffened and scowled over his shoulder at a man in a chef coat. “Off the record, of

course.” He stood. “Zane, this is Lila Grant. Lila, meet Zane Brampton, the chef of
Standing Room and my father’s former employee.” Jack finally smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Lila.” Zane gave her a friendly nod then turned back to Jack. “How is

the old man, anyway? He didn’t seem himself on the golf course the other day. I was
worried about him.”

Jack sat down. “Same as ever. He’s in Fiji.”
“And he left you in charge? Must have lost his mind.” Zane grinned at Lila.
She grinned back. As she heard a low growl from Jack, she recognized in Zane the

same urge that drove her—the desire to get under Jack’s skin. Lila pressed her lips
together to keep from laughing as Zane continued, “If you need any help or advice about
how to run a restaurant while the old man’s gone, feel free to give me a call.”

The look on Jack’s face was cold enough to freeze alcohol as he turned his attention to

the menu. “All set, thanks.”

Zane’s gray eyes glinted with laughter.
Lila took pity on Jack. “I heard a rumor about truffled purple potatoes. Any entree you

recommend?”

Zane motioned to their server, who scurried over. He took the order pad and made a

few notations. “I’ve got just the thing. Jack? Anything special for you? What’s your
favorite thing on my menu?”

Jack looked like he’d rather slit his throat than answer. “Habanero Shrimp.” A quick

smile flashed across Zane’s face, but it was gone before Jack looked up.

Zane turned his attention to her and waggled his eyebrows like a villain in a silent

movie. “If you’re still hungry after your snack with Jack, I’ve got something sure to satisfy
your appetite.” His innuendo was so outrageous she burst out laughing, but Jack looked
furious.

“Not this time, buddy,” Jack snarled.
“At least not yet.” Zane winked at her. “Enjoy your meal.”

…

Jack snapped back to his senses as soon as Zane left the table.

“What was that all about?” Lila asked.
“Long story.”
He took a slug of his just-arrived drink. Instead of chilling his fury, it exacerbated it

because it was an excellent margarita. Goddamn Zane anyway. Hitting on Lila in front of
him. Asshole.

Lila squeezed his thigh. “As the cliché goes, I’ve got all night.”
He shook his head and picked up the menu again. He didn’t want to rehash ancient

history about his feud with Zane or whine about the fact he’d never been on a golf course
with his father. He and Lila were here to talk about food.

Resolutely, he began dissecting the menu. She joined in, reluctantly at first, but with

growing enthusiasm as they shot ideas back and forth. When their food arrived, they had
even more to discuss. He might hate the chef, but the Habanero Shrimp was kick ass,
and Lila’s truffled potatoes provoked a reaction even more sensual than her food-gasm at
Brill. Already hot from the chili peppers, Jack began to ache for her again, but it seemed
they’d never be able to leave.

Zane sent complimentary dish after dish to the table, which is just what he would have

done in Zane’s place, the bastard, and Lila loved them all. They ate until there was
nothing but crumbs left on the plates and the thought of dessert was almost, but not
quite, painful.

Jack tucked a fat pile of bills into the check cover, way more than the cost of the meal,

knowing it would infuriate Zane, who had never had much spending money when they
were kids. Still, he didn’t expect the guy to stop them at the door. Jack waited for him to
speak, hoping Zane wasn’t expecting him to blow sunshine up his ass. The food hadn’t
been that good.

Zane cleared his throat. “Look, I know we aren’t friends anymore, but I was serious

when I said your dad seemed strange last week. Out of breath. Flushed. Has he had a
check up lately?”

Pain shot up Jack’s jaw. “And I was serious when I said he was in Fiji. He’s fine. Ornery

as ever.”

“Yeah, okay.” Zane didn’t look convinced.

Chapter Eleven

Lila sprawled on the seat. “I’m stuffed,” she groaned, fighting the increasingly strong urge
to lean on Jack.

“Too stuffed to go to Drink Your Dessert?”
“Is every dessert a drink?” She could probably find some place to put another drink.
“Every dessert has booze in it,” he clarified. “You can get a wicked buzz off the

tiramisu, and the chocolate martinis are killer. But if there’s only one Tipsy Toffee
Wheelie left, you’re out of luck. It’s mine.”

“Got a sweet tooth, huh?”
“Several.”
He put his arm around her, and she gave up fighting the good fight for just a minute. It

felt good to be warm, full, and safe. As her eyes slid shut, he nudged her. “Hello, we’re
on a date here. Aren’t you supposed to entertain me or worry that you’re boring me? I’m
pretty sure sleeping on dates is verboten.”

She rolled her eyes. “I already put out, what do you want from me? And it’s not a date.

It’s a truce. You promised me a food coma. I’m starting early.” He chuckled, pulling her
into his lap.

She caught her breath. No one could enter a food coma while sitting on the lap of a

man who clearly had more than food on his mind. He pulled her down for a kiss. Desire
overwhelmed her. She held onto his shoulders, giving and taking in an exchange that
seemed as natural as breathing.

She’d learned so much about Jack by talking food with him all night, and it was hard

not to want to know more. Why didn’t he have faith in his menu when other people had
so much faith in him? Guy treated him like an equal, and considering Guy had one of the
top  restaurants  in  New  York,  that  was  saying  something.  Zane  obviously  valued  his
opinion in spite of whatever bad blood lay between them. She’d seen him spying on their
table  several  times  tonight,  watching  their  reactions  to  each  dish.  Jack’s  employees
worshipped him to such a degree that working at Inferno was like participating in an all-
Jack-all-the-time  love  fest.  If  she’d  heard  his  name  from  their  lips  one  more  time  this
week, she might have screamed.

She lifted her head, looking down at him. His hands moved to her waist, touching her

with a possessive familiarity that shot heat through her center. She stroked his cheek,
enjoying the rasp of his rough jaw against her fingers. Slowly, she bent to kiss him and
the sweetness with which he met her lips was devastating. She heard the low buzz that
signaled they’d reached their destination and pulled away from him, heart pounding.

This was one night, she reminded herself. One night.

“We’re here,” Jack climbed out of the car and held his hand out to her.
She took it, and he led her straight through the throng clustered outside the door of

Drink Your Dessert. Several people gave them dirty looks, no doubt looking forward to
watching them get bounced right back to the end of the line. They weaved to the front of
the crowd and stepped into a room that looked like a soda fountain.

Lila heard a squeal just before a small hurricane engulfed Jack. When the hug was

over, Lila felt breathless, too. From the proprietary way the petite woman pressed up
against Jack, they were clearly friends, probably more. And Lila was not jealous.

So what if the woman was everything she was not—tiny, small-boned, exuding the kind

of confidence that told Lila she had never entered a social situation she didn’t dominate?
She was born to be the center of attention. Lila doubted she’d ever decorated a wall,
hoping someone would notice her. She probably had to beat off admirers from the minute
she entered a room. Clearly, Jack adored her.

Finally, Jack held the woman far enough away from him that Lila could see her face. Of

course she was beautiful. Dark eyes snapped in a heart-shaped face. Her grin was wide,
almost too wide, but that only contributed to her appeal. She was decked out in a dress a
woman from the fifties might wear, and it was covered with a vintage apron. She was
positively beaming and giving off such welcoming vibes that even though Lila wanted to
hate her, she couldn’t. She sighed, assuming she was about to meet Jack’s on-again off-
again girlfriend, future wife, or at the very least, his best friend.

“Lila, meet Marie, my favorite babysitter of all time.”
Of all the things she had expected him to say, that was the last. She felt her jaw drop.

The two of them stood grinning while Lila searched Marie’s face for some sign that she
could possibly be old enough to make that statement true.

“No way,” Lila said.
Jack chuckled. “I know, right? My brother took off and his poor, heartbroken girlfriend

hung around so long, Dad put her to work. First keeping an eye on me and then working
in the bakeshop, a match made in heaven.” Jack arched an eyebrow. “You heard from
Ned lately?”

Marie shook her head. “Not unless stalking him online counts.” A shadow crossed her

face and, for a split-second, she looked old enough to make Jack’s story true—then she
was back to Katy Perry channeling June Cleaver again.

Jack gave her a brotherly pat on the arm and a look of sympathy. Lila blamed the

tequila for the odd emotions streaming through her. Marie and Jack clearly weren’t an
item. It was silly to be envious of their shared history. “It’s nice to meet you,” she finally
said.

Jack pointed across the room to the restrooms. “I’ll be right back. Can I leave you alone

with her without you telling her any embarrassing stories from my youth?”

Marie shook her head. “Of course not.”
Jack paused, as if weighing his options, then shrugged and looked at Lila. “Don’t

believe anything she says.”

They watched him walk across the room. Marie had affection and fondness in her gaze,

and Lila didn’t want to know what her face betrayed. Marie’s lips twitched, as if she were
trying not to smile.

Marie led her to a table that was tucked into a corner behind the counter, grabbing

menus as they walked. There was something about this woman that made her want to
confide in her, but she clamped her jaws shut. Marie was firmly in Jack’s camp. She asked
a question instead. “So how old was Jack when you babysat him?”

“Eight. Not quite old enough to be left to his own devices.”
“So you’ve known him for almost twenty years?”
“Just about.” Marie handed her a menu. “Since I knew you were coming, I saved two of

everything.”

Lila focused on the menu. “It’s hard to choose.” She glanced around at the full tables to

see what other people were eating and wanted one of everything. Her lust must have
been evident because Marie laughed.

“How about I send my two favorites and then you can choose a few more?”
“More?” Lila gasped.
“You’ve never seen Jack eat dessert, have you? Don’t be afraid to throw an elbow if you

have to. I have to get back in the kitchen, but it was really nice to meet you, Lila. Jack
would kill me for telling you this…but if he brought you here, he must really like you, and
he’s fragile. Be gentle with him.”

“Fragile? Jack? Please. And we’re not dating anyway. I work for him. A temporary

arrangement by his stipulation.”

Marie pursed her lips. “I have no doubt.”
At that she left, and Lila watched Jack move across the room toward her, a walking

mystery she shouldn’t want to solve. Who was the real Jack?

When he took the seat across from her, she couldn’t resist probing. “I feel like I’m in A

Christmas Carol. But we’re visiting the ghosts of your kitchen’s past. First your mentor,
then your enemy, now your…honestly, when we walked in I thought it was going to be
lover.”

Jack grinned. “Impossible not to have a crush on her, but yuck. She’s like a sister to

me.”

“So she would be the ghost of kitchen…”
“Survival. Ned left. My mother left. We stayed. I’m pretty sure Marie went into the

business so she could keep some connection to Ned, but I’d never say that to her. She
thinks I don’t know they hook up when he comes through town.”

Lila nodded, digesting that—another Calabrese man who enjoyed a temporary

arrangement. Come to think of it, hadn’t Jack’s dad been married a half-dozen times? She
wondered if Jack had ever been in a long-term relationship. Yet again, she felt an
unpleasant twinge of jealousy. “What about Zane?” she asked, wondering how he fit into
the mix.

Jack scowled. “Don’t get me started. I’ve never had anything that douche bag didn’t try

to steal, starting with my teddy bear and ending with my father.”

Lila couldn’t repress a smile at his aggrieved expression. “Sounds like there might be a

girl in there somewhere.”

“Or several.”
She sat back in the seat as a server arrived and set a tall parfait glass and a tiny bottle

of cola in front of her. She identified the Long Island Iced Tea Float from the menu. She
used a long spoon to sample each ice cream flavor, identifying gin and rum blended with
lemon and tequila mixed with orange. Pouring the cola over the top and watching it froth
and fizz, she bent to sip from the candy straw and couldn’t prevent a smile from breaking
out across her face.

Simple concept. Clever execution. Pure fun.
Across the table, Jack was taking large bites of what looked like a chocolate chip cookie

ice cream sandwich. The edges had been rolled in toffee bits that had to be homemade.
“Hold up there, speedy. Hand it over.”

He shook his head.
“You can have a sip of my soda,” she wheedled. “What kind of ice cream is that?”
“Irish Cream.”
Now she really wanted a bite.
A slow grin spread across his face—the smile that experience taught her preceded

something that was going to make her nervous. “It’s too messy to put down,” he said,
holding it across the table.

Lila loathed being fed, but she really wanted a bite, enough to lean across the table

and meet him halfway. As her teeth met the treat, a flash of light blinded her. Ice cream
dribbled over her chin as Jack dropped the cookie and dove out of the booth after the
photographer.

Too late.
The guy must have been ready to run when he took the shot because he was out the

door before Jack was halfway across the room. She mopped up her face and reached for
the dessert Jack had abandoned. One bite was not enough.

“Hey, give that back,” he protested as he slid back into his side of the booth.
Reluctantly, she slid the dessert back to him.
He took a savage bite, looking grim.

“What was that all about? I see you in the gossip column once a month at least. That’s

certainly not the first picture someone has snapped of you on a Saturday night.”

“But it’s the first one they’ve snapped of you.”
“Oh.” Of course he wouldn’t want to be seen with her. He was the king of lettuce-

loving, haute-couture blondes, not jean-clad, former heavyweights horking down ice
cream. She bent to suck soda, wishing it could wash away the sick feeling inside her.

Jack polished off his wheelie and scooted toward the edge of the booth. “Let’s get out

of here.”

Hell, no. She still had ice cream. “I’m not going anywhere until I finish my dessert. But

you’re free to leave if you’re afraid someone might get another picture of us together.
You should have thought about your reputation before you dragged me all over New
York. Or at least you should have asked me to put my fancy dress back on.”

He looked at her like she was nuts and then he laughed, the bastard. “Spoken like a

woman…with ice cream on her lip.”

When she reached for a napkin, he grabbed her hand, pulled her across the table, and

kissed her. His tongue stroked her lip in a firm caress. “Problem solved.”

She yanked her hand away and sat back, wiping her mouth.
“Lila, the only reason I don’t want a picture of us in the paper is because I don’t want

anyone digging into the reason we’re together. If it gets out that I need help with my
menu, Inferno is doomed. I didn’t think about it before that guy shoved a camera in our
faces. We should have stuck to the kitchens tonight.”

She assumed he was trying to make her feel better, but it didn’t work. He wasn’t

ashamed to be seen with her, but he didn’t want anyone to know she possessed a skill he
needed. Another timely reminder he was using her.

She pushed the parfait glass away from her. “Jack, we need to talk about the menu.”
He reached across the table and took her hands. “We’ve talked our way through three

menus and ten times that many dishes tonight. My father will be back in town on
Monday, and I promise you will have my full attention in the Inferno kitchen Tuesday
morning. I don’t want to talk about food anymore.” His thumb stroked up the center of
her palm.

Lust stole through her, treacherous and irresistible, undermining her already weakened

defenses. Her lips still tingled from his sudden kiss, and she felt a sharp desire to have
the hot length of his body pressed against hers. She needed to keep her mind on the
menu. Otherwise, she was going to give him too much of herself again.

Suddenly, she remembered the deal they had made before dinner, and her misgivings

vanished. She didn’t have to worry about giving him too much. After dinner, she wasn’t
giving him anything. She was taking.

She sucked the last bit of cola through the straw and pushed the glass away. “Check,

please.”

…

Jack wasn’t worried about the check. Free dessert for life had been part of the contract
when he’d invested in Marie’s business. He was far more interested in getting Lila back to
his place as fast as possible. He stuck his head into the kitchen just long enough to say
good-bye and ask Marie to wrap up a couple pieces of chocolate cake.

When he returned to the table with a to-go container, Lila looked horrified. “You have

got to be kidding me.”

“You’ll thank me later. Emily told me how much you love chocolate, and this cake is not

to be missed.” When they emerged from the shop, the car pulled to the curb. Jack didn’t
often borrow his father’s driver, but the service had certainly come in handy tonight. Not
only did it save them the trouble of finding parking, it also gave them a quick escape if
the photographer was still lurking outside the building.

He wished he had anticipated the possibility of someone snapping a photo of them. He

was lucky no one had discovered them at Standing Room. Zane wouldn’t have hesitated
to give Lila’s name to anyone who asked. Marie would keep her mouth shut. She hated
the press digging into her private life even more than he did.

He put his arm around Lila and bent his head to press his lips against her hair. How

could she have thought for even a minute that he didn’t want to be seen with someone
as gorgeous as her? Her natural beauty, combined with her sensual response to the food
tonight, made him crazy. And that was before she opened her mouth. Her food
knowledge was encyclopedic, and it gave him a hard-on every time she got that zealous
light in her eye. There had been a couple of moments at Standing Room where he had
thought she might barge into the kitchen and commandeer a stove to try one of her new
ideas for the Inferno menu. He would have paid to see the look on Zane’s face while he
watched Lila cook. Watching her cook was even more arousing than listening to her talk
about food, and she belonged to him.

Tonight.
The thought drew him up short.
He looked down at her. Sensing his gaze, she turned her head. A slow smile tilted her

lips. She looked pleased about something. “What are you thinking about?” He wondered
whether it was related to the Inferno menu or if, like him, she was anticipating spending
a few hours thinking about something other than work.

Her eyes gleamed. “I’m thinking it’s after dinner, and you’re all mine now, Jackson. We

made a deal, remember? That’s not all I’m thinking, though.” The car pulled up in front of
his building, but he didn’t take his eyes off Lila. She reached past him to open the door.
Her breast pressed into his arm, sending an arrow straight to his groin. “I’m also thinking

Chapter Twelve

Jack led her straight up the stairs and into his apartment. It was huge and posh, but she
didn’t have time to process any of that because he dragged her up the stairs and into his
bedroom. He flipped on the light and yanked the comforter to the bottom of his king-
sized bed.

Sudden fear sucked at her. What was she going to do with him?
He must have seen the doubt in her eyes because he chuckled. “Don’t chicken out now,

Delilah. I’m intrigued.”

She pushed her fears back below the surface. She had Jackson Calabrese at her mercy.

She wasn’t going to waste it. She tugged his t-shirt up over his head, exposing his torso.
It made sense to start at the top, right? His chest was rock-hard and warm under her
palms. His arms were sculpted with smooth valleys for her to trail her fingers through. His
abdomen was ridged with muscle and she wondered how many crunches it took to get
abs like his. She didn’t want to know.

She reached up to kiss him, and it was heaven to feel his arms steady her. She felt

herself melting, trying to get closer. His mouth opened hers, and his tongue stroked the
sensitive underside of her upper lip. He tasted sweet and smelled faintly of chocolate.

He whipped her shirt over her head, breaking their connection.
“Hey! I’m in charge.”
“Sorry.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t look sorry.” But he would, she promised herself.

“Take your pants off.”

He didn’t move.
She snapped her fingers in mock impatience. “Not so easy when the shoe is on the

other foot, is it? C’mon, strip.”

A wide grin split his face as he toed off his shoes and socks. “Oh, you are so wrong

about that. I just couldn’t believe my luck there for a minute.” His hands made quick work
of his buckle, button, and zipper. He shucked his jeans and underwear to the floor. “I
thought I was going to have to beg to get you back into bed.”

He’d planned on begging? “Don’t rule that out just yet.” She moved forward and gave

him a gentle shove onto the bed.

She started to follow him down, but she felt silly in her jeans. Slowly, she got rid of

them, feeling his intense gaze on every bit of skin she uncovered. The amount of food
she had consumed weighed heavily on her mind.

“Close your eyes, Jack,” she whispered.
His brows drew together, but he obeyed. He looked glorious stretched out on his zillion

thread-count sheets waiting for her. She sat beside him, stroking her hands over his body.
He lay quiet, obviously enjoying the attention. She leaned to nibble the path her palms
had taken. Every so often she would linger on a particularly succulent spot, and his
breathing would hitch and become harsh. At the moment, she hovered near his belly
button.

Her hand drifted lower, stroking the springy hair on his thigh then the tender inside of

his leg. When her hand closed over him, his eyes shot open.

“No peeking,” she admonished.
“Guys like to watch,” he growled.
“Oh,” she frowned, letting him go. “That’s a shame.”
His eyes slammed shut.
“That’s more like it.” She put her hand on him again. His hips bucked. She bent her

head to taste him. Salt coated her tongue as she slid deeper. His thighs were tense. His
hands were fists. Every part of his body was responsive to her, and it gave her a heady
sense of power. She wanted more. Arousal pooled low in her belly, and she drew him
deeper.

Jack flung an arm over his eyes, probably to keep them shut. Maybe she would let him

watch…in a minute.

She scraped her fingernails down his thighs, making him groan. She experimented with

her tongue, watching him as she stroked one way then the other. She rose to focus on his
tip then sank to see how far she could go. He groaned and grabbed her arms. “If you do
that…” he warned.

She slowed but didn’t stop.
His mouth fell open, and his shallow pants increased her desire to see him lose control.

She hoped for luck and opened the drawer of his bedside table. An open box of condoms
lay on top. She grabbed one. At the sound of foil tearing, he jerked beneath her. She
smoothed the condom down his length and slid out of her panties. Then she moved on
top of him.

As he filled her, uncertainty punched through her center, stealing her breath. He

reached for her, and she grabbed his hands, holding them. She had burned for him in her
dreams so many times. She had thought being the one on top would make her the one in
control, but she had never felt more vulnerable in her life. She couldn’t hide her emotions.
She was taking him, but she felt taken as well, exposed by her desire.

“You can open your eyes now,” she said, hearing the plea in her own voice.
His eyes flew open and his gaze met hers, filling her with confidence again. She bent to

kiss him, and the connection grew stronger. His features were drawn, making his
cheekbones stand out starkly in his shadowed face. His eyes were luminous and tender.

Did he know? Would he guess she was living out her fantasy? There was no stopping

now, even if he did. She rocked over him, her entire being focused on the connection
between them, becoming stronger by the second, driving them harder together. He thrust
up to meet her. She looked into his eyes and caught fire.

Ecstasy rushed through her, and she ground against him. She heard herself scream.

Intense spasms shook her legs, and she collapsed on his chest, unable to do anything but
survive the blaze. He rolled her beneath him, and she clung to him, wrapping her knees
around his hips, her arms around his neck, her mouth open against his neck, taking him in
as he continued to move inside of her, stroking fire through her body.

He moved fast and hard, and her body began to tighten again.
His gaze pierced her for one endless second before every muscle in his body tensed and

he surrendered. His climax sparked another fire within her, as if he had lit a fuse. She
hung on as the spasms, harder this time, wracked her again.

He groaned, clasping her tightly and slowly falling to the side. Under the weight of his

arm, she floated and tried to piece her world back together again. What in holy hell had
just happened between them? She caught her breath. The moment when Jack looked
into her eyes had shaken her down to her foundation. There had been nothing adversarial
about it. They had been two people coming together seeking connection. Lying here with
him, she felt like they had found it.

She closed her eyes as he rolled off the bed and padded toward the bathroom, sudden

knowledge settling over her like black water. She was in over her head. She wasn’t wired
for one night of no-strings sex. This overwhelming urge to give Jack everything and more
wasn’t going to end tomorrow. She’d fallen in love with him. Hell, she had probably fallen
in love with him six months ago.

Jack was a force of nature. His effect on her defied explanation. She had gone to work

at Inferno believing him to be an arrogant ass, but all of the people in his circle who
loved him, all of the amazing things he had accomplished at Inferno, and the way he took
control of the company in his father’s absence had changed her perception of him. She
couldn’t spend one night making love with him and go back to hating him.

Jack had swept her off her feet.
Now she understood her recurring dream wasn’t entirely about sex. It was also about

sharing emotions, feeling needed and desired, and having her needs and desires met by
Jack. She didn’t want to make him miserable anymore. She wanted to break through to
the man she remembered, the passionate man who had shared his ideas and dreams
with her, the man who had made love to her and changed something inside her, the man
she had believed him to be before the competition. Their time together had erased her
resentment of him, leaving in its place the desire to understand him.

Her feelings about Jack reminded her of the time she had waded into the ocean to the

edge of the sand and stood firm. Every wave that hit her shins had washed a little sand

from beneath her feet until she lost her balance. She felt as if every minute spent with
Jack washed away a little more of her resolve. She needed to make a decision. Step
forward or race back to firm ground?

She watched him walk back to the bed.
He climbed in bed and covered both of them as he pulled her into his embrace. His skin

was warm and soft. She felt every breath coming in and out of his lungs. His heart
thumped beneath her hand, and she felt its echo in her body. Pure comfort overwhelmed
her. It wasn’t tomorrow, and she didn’t have to make a decision yet. She relaxed against
him and slid into deep sleep.

…

Bit by bit, Lila became aware of something warm pressed up against her back, a hard
arm around her stomach, a hand on her breast. She relaxed, enjoying the familiar dream.
Her body had already kindled, and the heat built slowly, following a path from breast to
belly, lower. She shifted, leaning back, and met resistance.

A low voice rumbled in her ear, “Ready for breakfast?”
She jumped, but she couldn’t scramble away from the arm wrapped around her hips,

the hand that was still stoking her fire. “I thought I was dreaming,” she gasped.

“Is this a dream you have often? I like that.” His hand was busy between her thighs.

She couldn’t answer him. At some point, she must have been dreaming. How else could
she have reached the point of no return so quickly?

She felt his lips on the back of her neck and arched to give him better access. His

fingers moved swiftly to take advantage. “Yes,” he whispered as she opened to him.

He thrust one arm beneath her. The twin assault of one hand on her breasts and the

other sliding between her thighs was impossible to resist. He had no mercy and no
intention of allowing her to escape. His arms tightened around her, and she held tight,
letting him take her.

His fingers plunged and dipped into her then settled with relentless attention on her

clit. Brilliant colors burst beneath her eyelids at the almost painful pleasure he drew from
her. He pinched and she screamed, seeing only bright, white light as she climaxed, held
nearly immobile in his strong grip. Just as quickly, the tension in her body ebbed, leaving
her soft and yielding. He eased her forward and reached over her head. She heard a
drawer open, and anticipation built within her again. She began to turn toward him, but
he grasped her wrists and pulled them over her head. She felt mindless as he eased her
legs apart and lowered his weight onto her back. “Is this okay?” His rough whisper made
her shiver.

“Yes.” She clenched as he sought entrance, arching her back to take him in.
He was in no hurry this time. He moved his hands from her wrists to the bed on either

side of her head. She lay beneath him, quiescent, as he slowly thrust in and out of her
body. A strange pressure began to build as he stroked inside her. The sheet rubbed her
hard nipples, arousing her further. She was lying at the edge of the ocean again, and the
waves were reaching for her. She grew unbearably sensitive. Jack thrust harder, and she
whimpered, wanting the waves to hit higher. She screamed when they did. Ecstasy
crashed over her, dragging her in every direction, nearly splitting her apart.

She knew Jack was with her. She felt him in every part of her and heard him gasping

her name as he curled over her. Slowly, the waves receded, leaving peace in their wake.

Jack rolled them sideways. She felt him reach between them for the condom, but he

didn’t pull away. Instead he leaned to whisper, “Coffee.”

She smiled without opening her eyes. “You’re trying to turn me on again, aren’t you?”
He slid out of bed. “Worth a shot.”
A few minutes later, he came out of the bathroom. “Come downstairs when you’re

ready. I’ll make you breakfast. If we stay up here, we’ll never make it out of bed, and you
must be hungry.”

As if on cue, her stomach gurgled, and he laughed, pressing a kiss just above her belly

button. “Can’t have you going hungry.” He padded toward the door, grabbing a pair of
pajama bottoms from the chair on his way out.

She stared after him for several long moments, trying to recover her equilibrium.
Finally, she sat up in bed and glanced around the room with curiosity. The walls were a

rich purplish-gray, and the wall-to-wall carpet was a lighter shade of gray. The furniture
was dark and spare, dominated by the leather headboard and an enormous television on
the wall. She slid out of bed, and her feet sank an inch into the plush carpet.

Her apartment would fit into his bedroom. Likewise, she assumed his fridge would be

stocked with breakfast options instead of holding the bare minimum to keep her alive
when she wasn’t working. She walked into the bathroom and eyed the Jacuzzi tub and
the luxurious glassed-in shower tucked into the corner, more evidence that her world was
not his world.

She would love to lounge in that tub, but she didn’t want to keep him waiting. He didn’t

seem in any hurry to kick her out, but she’d take a quick rinse and get dressed anyway.
She turned on the taps then doubled back into the bedroom to find a hair band in her
purse. As she searched, her phone began to ring. She glanced at the display. Was it
eleven, already? Slowly, she hit reject, then sent a quick text to Betsy and Jenna, telling
them she was too busy working to talk today.

Guilt rushed through her. She knew exactly what they would say about her feelings for

Jack. They were right, but she wasn’t quite ready to hear it yet. She piled her hair on top
of her head, found a clean towel in the closet, and stepped into the steam. The hot water
felt amazing, but she forced herself to keep her shower brief, only taking the time to

snoop through his toiletries and find the source of his scent—a pricey-looking shaving gel,
the scent that haunted her dreams.

Quickly, she toweled off and dressed, admiring the décor of his enormous apartment on

the way down the stairs.

He stilled when she entered his gleaming kitchen. “Going somewhere?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered, watching him.
“All the restaurants are closed today. I don’t have plans.”
Was that an invitation? Her heart skipped a beat. “Jack, we said one night…”
“We already blew that to hell this morning.” A wicked grin curved his mouth, and heat

shot through her. He set a cup of coffee in front of her and added a dollop of cream, just
how she liked it. She bit her lip and looked away, so tempted. How much could she give
before she lost too much? He tipped her chin and bent to press a whisper-soft kiss on her
lips. “I make a mean frittata.”

“So…just breakfast?”
He shook his head. “Breakfast isn’t going to satisfy my appetite.” She was mesmerized

by the warmth in his gaze. “There’s a fantastic restaurant in Fort Tryon Park. After lunch,
we could take a nap and catch up on our sleep…or maybe some chocolate cake.” He
pointed at the container on the counter. “I also have a DVR full of shows I haven’t had
time to watch and access to any movie you desire. I would love to have dinner
delivered…and eat in bed.”

It was hard to remember this wasn’t real. It was fantasy, seductive yet temporary. She

felt some of the old resentment creeping back. “Inferno opens on Friday, Jack. I have a
lot of work to do.”

“I know.” He kissed her again, sliding a hand under her shirt to cup her breast. Her

nipple hardened under his thumb. “One more night, Lila.”

A chill shot down her spine. He only wanted one more night. “We should talk about the

menu,” she insisted, not fooling herself and wondering if she would fool him.

“We will.” He ducked to nibble a trail of cool fire down the side of her neck. “Tomorrow.

Let’s take the day off. No shop talk, especially not in bed. It doesn’t work out so well for
us, if you remember.”

She flinched and pushed him away. “You mean it didn’t work out so well for me.”
“For either of us. I lost—”
“Don’t.” She placed her hand over his mouth. She didn’t want to hear any convenient

lies or excuses. Falling in love with him was a disaster, but she could enjoy it for one
more day as long as he didn’t lie to her about his intentions. She would keep from falling
into the abyss by holding on to his detachment and remembering their truce wasn’t about
love for him.

For a moment, she wavered. The thought of waking up tomorrow, looking into his eyes,

Chapter Thirteen

Jack woke to the blaring of his alarm. He struck the snooze button and fell back on the
bed, reaching for Lila. The bed was empty beside him. He knew she was gone. Still, he
listened, hoping to hear noises that would tell him he wasn’t alone. Silence mocked him.

He glanced at the clock and saw a piece of paper on the nightstand. At least she’d left

him a note this time. He didn’t look at it yet. Instead he let his mind run in bits and
pieces over the previous day. His delight in Lila’s enjoyment of the tiny bits of bacon and
fried potato in her frittata. Her happy smiles at lunch. The way she had snuggled up to
him on the couch as they had drowsed the afternoon away. Her reaction to the chocolate
cake and his insistence on feeding her the rest of it from his fork. The way she had come
apart in his arms afterward…

The note couldn’t say anything good, or she would have stayed to say it in person. He

steeled himself and picked it up.

Our truce was very inspiring…I can’t wait to show you the new menu! See you soon,

Lila.

Clearly, it hadn’t been inspiring enough to keep her in his bed.
It was silly to be disappointed. The truce had been his idea, after all. They had both

known it had an endpoint. She had gotten the inspiration she needed from him and was
undoubtedly at Inferno, hard at work creating the menu that would earn her big payoff.
He had gotten what he wanted, too, but he hadn’t thought it would make him feel used.

His cell phone began to buzz on the nightstand, and he grabbed it. It wasn’t her.

“Hello?”

He was out of bed and grabbing clothes before Emily’s husband finished telling him

about the power outage that had thawed every cooler at Breeze last night. They’d have
to close for lunch, and his father was due home at noon. Even though Jack had no control
over the wiring damaged in the fire last week, his father would find some way to blame
him for this and every other disaster that had happened on his watch.

He turned his mind away from Lila and the time they had spent together. Whenever he

was around her, he lost sight of his goals, and he couldn’t afford distractions. She had
some sort of weird ability to make him want things that had never been on his agenda,
like a day off and someone to talk to. She made him feel content, a dangerous emotion
for a man who had no guarantee of success. He needed to strive to be better, faster, and
more efficient every day. He left the note on the nightstand, grateful she had left him
such a pointed reminder that it was time to get back to work.

The coffeemaker beeped just as he finished dressing. He had programmed it last night,

thinking they would both need an impetus to get out of bed. He poured a cup into a

travel mug, and the scent of the rich brew reminded him of the taste of Lila’s lips before
he’d taken her back to bed yesterday morning. Cursing, he left the cup on the counter
and slammed out of his apartment, scooping the paper off the mat on his way out the
door.

…

Lila walked quickly toward the subway station, trying to convince herself she had done
the right thing by leaving before Jack woke up. Would he be glad she’d spared them an
awkward ending to their truce? She knew it would be much easier for her to face him
again when she was dressed and in the kitchen, hopefully well on her way to presenting
him with a perfect Inferno menu.

Determination swept away her lingering uncertainty. Jack might only want her body for

a few nights, but by God she would give him a menu he wanted to keep forever.

She reached for her phone and dialed quickly, knowing it was too early for a conference

call but calling anyway. As soon as they were all on the line, she blurted out, “I slept with
Jack.”

Her friends groaned in unison.
“Here we go again,” Jenna yawned. “Spill it.”
“And talk fast, I’ve got customers,” Betsy added.
“What are you doing at work so early?” Lila asked.
Betsy laughed. “The French Quarter never sleeps. Quit stalling.”
Lila started with the paella and ended with the nearly impossible to write note. Silence

greeted her confession. Then Jenna asked, “Where are you now?”

“On my way home to change before I go to Personal Chef.”
“And where is Jack?”
“Still sleeping.”
“Oh, honey.” The unexpected sympathy in Jenna’s voice made her eyes sting.
“Did you brainstorm a new menu, at least? Did you get the goods?” Lila envied Betsy’s

ability to focus on the next step. That’s why she had called. She needed a new game
plan.

“Yes.” Lila could feel the perfect Inferno menu coalescing in her imagination.
The flavors Jack loved, his colors, garnishes, and plate presentations had danced and

spun themselves into new combinations while she was making love to him. The menu
was uniquely Jack, but it was also her, inspired by the passion between them.

Betsy snorted. “You probably could have just had a long conversation over coffee with

him, you know. A twenty-four hour catered sex marathon seems a little excessive. Was it
worth it?”

Lila felt her cheeks burn. She was so screwed. She was going to get Jack that four-star

New York Times review, and he was going to write her a check, shake her hand, and tell
her good luck with Personal Chef. Her heart was going to break. Again. Panic blossomed
inside her.

Before she could get control of her emotions, Jenna broke in, scoffing “Are you kidding

me? It could never be worth it. He’s a chef, which makes him a bad risk, but even worse,
he’s a Calabrese. That means you’ve got a guy who works all the time, stays out late,
and drinks too much, crossed with a guy who has more money than sense, buys whatever
he wants, and isn’t used to being denied. It’s a recipe for disaster, sister.” Lila was
surprised to hear cynicism from her usually sunny friend.

A deep voice traveled across the line and Jenna hurriedly said, “I’ve got to go.”
“Who’s that, Jenna?” Betsy asked. “Are you indulging in a little disaster yourself?”
“It’s complicated. Good luck, Lila. Stay strong.” Jenna hung up.
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Betsy giggled.
Lila heard a klaxon sound in the background, and Betsy groaned. “Duty calls. I’ve got to

go, too. Please be careful, Lila. Jenna’s right. Jack betrayed you once, and if you get in his
way, he’ll do it again.” Betsy had experience on both ends of betrayal. The woman had
more skeletons hiding in her closet than a serial killer, and Lila sighed, knowing she was
right. “I have a train to catch.”

“Chin up, sweetie. Get cooking.”
“Thanks, Bets.” The train was on time, and she barely made it, but at least rushing

around kept her from thinking about anything but work. She blazed through the morning
at Personal Chef, eager to get to Inferno and begin work on the new menu. She hoped to
have a few of the new dishes made before Jack arrived at work. Having something to
discuss would help reestablish the professional dynamic between them. Maybe if she had
food in her mouth, she wouldn’t fantasize about having Jack’s tongue in her mouth.

She used the short subway ride to Inferno to jot down a game plan on the back of a

receipt she found in her purse. What should she make first? A week of working with Jack’s
cooks had been enlightening. Part of the reason they worked so fast and kept the kitchen
so clean was because they did every task in the most efficient order, a skill that came
with experience. Luis, Roz, and Perry were all at least ten years older and had tons more
experience than she did, but she’d learned a lot this week.

The ribs, she decided. She would start with them because they would take the longest

to cook. As she walked down the block toward the restaurant, she couldn’t help but think
about the last time she’d cooked ribs—the competition. They’d been tough because she
hadn’t put them in the oven in time. How much of the blame for her crash and burn
belonged to Jack and how much was her own fault? He hadn’t forced her to change her
game plan, and he admitted the only reason he’d changed his was to punish her for lying
to him. He was right. She’d choked, hard.

The back door was open, so she went straight to the office to get rid of her purse. She

found that door open, too, and when she looked inside, a man with silver hair glanced up
from the desk. She’d seen pictures of Andrew Calabrese, but he was even better looking
in person. Was Jack going to turn into a silver fox, too? Her heart fluttered at the thought.

“Um, hi.” She tucked her purse behind the door. “I’m Lila Grant.”
“Andrew Calabrese.”
She nodded. “Is Jack here yet?”
He shook his head. “He’s at Breeze, up to his eyeballs in electricians.” And Mr.

Calabrese did not look happy about it. Lila gave him a brief smile and backed out of the
office, wondering why Mr. Calabrese wasn’t at Breeze, too.

Once she reached the line, she forgot about everything but the new menu. She had the

ribs in the oven, soup at a simmer, and three different things on the grill by the time she
heard the back door open. She glanced at the clock. Too early for the line cooks. Her
pulse picked up speed, and she busied herself at the grill.

Jack came in the door, and the sight of him sent a frisson of excitement through her.

He was in whites already with his sleeves rolled up, and he looked every inch the working
chef. Down, girl. She eyed him cautiously, recognizing barely leashed fury in his eyes.

He flung a newspaper down on her cutting board and pointed to a picture, scowling.
“Oh, shit.” She caught her breath, leaning down to read the caption. Chef Jackson

Calabrese escapes the heat of his soon-to-open restaurant to enjoy cool treats at Drink
Your Dessert. Drowning his jitters, perhaps?

Not good, but not catastrophic. “At least they didn’t mention my name. All publicity is

good publicity?”

“Small consolation. Now we’ll be under more scrutiny than ever.”
She tossed the paper back at him. “From whom? New York gossip column addicts? At

least you aren’t the one with your mouth hanging open in the picture.” The photographer
had caught her mid-bite, and it was everything she had feared and worse on D-6 of the
New York Times. She would have given the photo a different caption, something along
the lines of Jackson Calabrese has Lila Grant eating out of his hand. Thank God Jack was
too annoyed by the real caption to notice the way she was looking at him in the picture.

Jack’s eyes were cold as winter. “Fix the menu. Now. Today. Make it perfect.” He swept

down the hall toward the office.

She stared after him, doing a slow burn. Clearly it was back to business as usual for

him. The last vestige of guilt she felt over not waking him up to say good-bye this
morning disappeared. “Truce over.”

She wondered if he knew his father was waiting for him in the office. If not, it served

him right. She certainly wasn’t going to warn him. She kept cooking, hiding a grin when
he strode back up the hall even faster than he’d left.

Jack headed for the stove, and she glanced sideways. “What are you making?”
“Lunch for my father.” His voice was clipped.
Apparently, his dad wasn’t watching his weight. Her mouth watered as Jack breaded a

thinly pounded veal cutlet and heated oil in a sauté pan. In another pan, he fried onions
and bacon. She’d been so busy cooking today, she hadn’t eaten anything.

When he added heavy cream to the pan, she almost moaned. Was he trying to drive

her crazy? She peeked at his expression, but didn’t see any humor there, just tight
concentration. He dropped green beans in boiling water then drained them and tossed
them with butter. She hoped he didn’t hear her stomach rumble. As soon as he left, she
was going to make the exact same thing for herself. Classic comfort food.

Jack plated up the schnitzel and carried it toward the office. She reached for the veal,

but her timer went off, telling her to check the ribs. She realized she’d better check the
grill while she was at it. Then after she got the meat under control, her soup had come to
a boil and needed skimming. No schnitzel for her, at least not yet.

While she was working, she saw Jack head into the dining room. A minute later, his

father emerged from the back, holding a full plate. He looked around and then tipped it
toward the garbage can.

“Hold it right there,” Lila exclaimed.
Mr. Calabrese ignored her and dumped the food into the can. He set the plate in the

bus tub and went back the way he came. A split-second later, the doors from the dining
room swung open, and she quickly turned back to the soup. Out of the corner of her eye,
she saw Jack look in the bus tub. A faint smile lifted his lips. Then he glanced into the
trash, and his face fell so fast, her heart ripped in two.

Jack turned on his heel and stormed back into the dining room.
She might be pissed at him, but no one deserved to be treated that way. Jack’s hurt

had been palpable, and she never wanted to see that shattered look on his face again.
She cut the heat under the soup and headed for the office.

The door was closed, so she knocked sharply. She didn’t wait for a response before she

opened the door. Mr. Calabrese frowned as he looked up from the computer screen.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she demanded, shutting the door behind her.
“Starving.” He turned his attention back to the screen.
“So you’re just being an asshole?”
“What?” He jerked around to look at her again, but she doubted it was because of her

coarse language. The man owned restaurants. He’d heard it before and had probably said
worse.

“Your son made you lunch. He idolizes you, if you haven’t noticed. You all but tossed

the plate back in his face. Why didn’t you at least pretend to eat it? I’m guessing it’s
because you’re a heartless bastard who doesn’t give a shit about his son’s feelings.”

He raised one eyebrow, looking amused. “Jack’s tough. Tougher than his old man,

apparently.”

“What makes you say that?”
Mr. Calabrese gave a self-deprecating laugh and sat back in his chair. “I wasn’t in Fiji

last week. I was in the Cleveland Clinic. Bad heart. Ticking time bomb. Without
angioplasty, you will be absolutely right—I’ll be a heartless bastard. The damn thing will
explode. All of the foods I love are conspiring to kill me, but don’t tell Jack. He’s got
enough on his mind right now with the opening.”

She stared blankly at Mr. Calabrese. “Angioplasty?”
“I told them they’d have to wait until Inferno is open. I’m going to be laid up for a

while, and I can’t ask Jack to take over Calabrese Incorporated until then. He’s got
cooking in his blood.” Mr. Calabrese’s pride was obvious. He continued, heedless of her
disbelief. “And he stuck around for all these years to get his restaurant. The least I can do
is let him have his moment of glory.”

There were so many things wrong with what he had just said, she didn’t know where to

start.  Postponing  surgery  for  a  restaurant  opening?  He  thought  Jack  cared  more  about
Inferno than him? For God’s sake, he thought Jack had stuck around for a restaurant? Jack
had  enough  of  his  own  money  to  open  a  dozen  restaurants.  It  wasn’t  a  restaurant  he
wanted from his father, even  she knew that much. “I’m sorry to hear about your heart,”
she finally said.

He shrugged, looking so much like his son she could only stare, feeling sympathy for

both of them. “I can’t help you with your health, but I can make you lunch. No need to
stress your already taxed system with low blood sugar. What can you eat?”

Mr. Calabrese made a face. “Rabbit food. Lean protein. No fat, cholesterol, or flavor.”
“We’ll see about that,” Lila promised.
She shut the door behind her, filled with purpose. Black bean cakes, heart healthy and

full of fiber, sizzled in her imagination. Limes and cilantro. Lettuce, of course, but not just
any lettuce. Arugula, to suit Mr. Calabrese’s gruff disposition.

It was perfect for the Inferno menu, a double win because she needed another salad.

She also needed two more entrees, but she would worry about that after she finished the
salad. She was going to blow Andrew Calabrese’s silver hair back. He’d never say rabbit
food had no flavor again.

The crew was straggling in the door as she entered the kitchen, so she began calling off

orders as she started the new dish. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Jack’s face when
he saw his menu, transformed, sitting in the window tonight, and she put everyone to
work helping to make it happen.

When Jack came back into the kitchen, she considered putting him to work, too. He

didn’t give her the chance, striding with purpose toward the office.

For a second, she almost followed him, but then the last two pieces of the menu puzzle

snapped into place. She hurried to the cooler instead.

Each new dish on the menu was a blend of their cooking styles, but his spare brilliance

and her playful whimsy occupied opposite corners of the universe. She would showcase
that by making their original competition dishes—the rack of lamb he had described to
her the night before the competition and the duck dish he had stolen from her—and
putting them both on the menu.

Fix it, indeed. She was all over it. The menu and the men of the Calabrese family had

better watch out. Lila was going to whip them all into shape. As raised voices thundered
from the back, she hoped they didn’t kill each other before she had the chance.

…

“What the hell is that?” Jack asked, grabbing her arm as she walked by. She was
supposed to be working on the menu, not taking a lunch break.

She shook him off. “A little something for your father.”
He looked at the plate and snorted. “Salad? Good luck with that. He never eats

anything unless it’s been wrapped in bacon, drowned in heavy cream, and fried.”

She shrugged. “Worth a try. Maybe his tastes have changed.”
“Why do you care about his tastes?” Their truce was over, so she was moving on to a

bigger fish? Blinding pain ricocheted from his jaw down the back of his neck. Lila was
wearing jeans and a chef coat. What was she wearing underneath? He imagined her in
ice-blue lace the same color as her eyes. Lust ripped through him, taking him to an
entirely new level of tense. He stared, watching her lips move but not making sense of
her words.

“Hey.” She snapped her fingers in his face. “I asked you a question. Have you ever

asked your father what he wants to eat?”

“Hell, no.” That was part of their game. Jack had to come up with something he

couldn’t resist.

“Try it sometime.”
She left him standing there. Jack clenched his teeth and decided it was time for a drink.

Just as he’d expected, his father hadn’t been pleased by the disasters in his restaurants
this week. Nor was he happy when Jack pointed out that a little simple kitchen
maintenance would have averted all of them.

Jack stomped into the bar, poured a shot of Patron, and tossed it back. It didn’t help,

especially when he remembered Lila’s salad had been Mexican-themed. He reached for
the rum instead.

He should be thrilled. If Lila could please the old man, then she could fix his menu. His

father hadn’t eaten a single goddamn dish that had come out of the Inferno kitchen,

including that perfect schnitzel. If his father liked the new menu, Inferno would open to
rave reviews.

He assumed the old man was here to check up on his progress, since Jack knew first-

hand how much work needed to be done at the other restaurants. Had Lila invited his
dad to taste the new menu? Is that why he was sticking around?

Jack poured another shot. Lila had announced the new menu would be ready soon. He

couldn’t wait. He sipped this shot, letting it calm him. He couldn’t hide in the bar while his
cooks worked their asses off, so he went back into the kitchen. Another empty plate
mocked him from the bus tub, but there wasn’t a single leaf of lettuce in the garbage.

Chapter Fourteen

An hour later, Jack stared at the plates in front of him. “What the hell are you trying to
prove?” He wasn’t surprised to see she’d prepared her duck dish—the one he had used to
win the competition—but what the hell was his rack of lamb doing under the heat lamp?
“Get this shit out of here.”

Lila grabbed his hand as he reached for the first plate. Her blue eyes were blazing, and

she had a smudge of grease on her pink cheek. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she
asked.

“I hired you to come up with new dishes, not rehash the past.” They were drawing an

audience, but he didn’t care. After all the inspiration he’d provided over the weekend, this
was all she could produce? He pointed at the plates. “Is this the best you can do?” As the
words left his mouth, his father’s voice rang in his ears.

“Goddamn it.” He reached for the dish again, but she hip checked him then inserted

herself between him and the plates in the window.

“Don’t touch those plates,” she called over her shoulder as she gave him a hard shove

into the dish room and maneuvered him out the back door. She kicked the door stop, so
the heavy door shut behind them, giving them privacy from the kitchen staff.

They glared at each other for a long moment before she said, “No, that’s not the best I

can do. I’m just getting started. You asked me to recreate your menu and put my stamp
on your food, and I did. But I needed a starting point and I think those two dishes are
perfect.”

“Your dish is perfect. You said it yourself—my food is boring.”
Her blue eyes clouded, and he looked away, not wanting to see her pity when he

asked, “How did you do it? How did you make something my father liked? He ate every
bite of that salad, and he hasn’t eaten every bite of anything I’ve made since I graduated
from culinary school.”

“Is that what this is about? The salad? Your father? Because shouldn’t you be talking to

him, then?”

“We don’t talk. We yell.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
Her blue eyes were too perceptive, so he changed the subject. “Is the menu finished?”
She nodded.
“Great.” Instead of feeling excitement or relief, he felt a stab of despair, just like when

he’d seen that empty salad plate. With the menu done, she was one step closer to gone.

Silence swelled between them until it seemed to fill the entire alley, taking up all the

space and pressing them together. His awareness of her grew until he ached. She

smelled like green things and garlic, the scent of his kitchen, and he wanted to taste salt
on her skin.

He focused on her mouth and saw her lips part. She licked them, dragging her teeth

over  her  lower  lip.  He  heard  her  swallow,  a  choked  sound  of  desire,  and  he  stepped
forward, trapping her against the alley wall. Her head fell back and he caught her next
breath on his lips. Her presence in his kitchen was purchased with the contract. She had
come  to  his  bed  to  finish  the  menu.  She  wanted  him,  but  she  didn’t  care  for  him.  How
many  times  did  he  have  to  wake  up  alone  before  he  got  the  picture?  But  none  of  that
mattered as their bodies met.

He pressed her against the wall, crushing her breasts against his chest and claiming her

mouth with a rough kiss. He expected resistance, but she opened for him in welcome. He
swept inside, seeking her tongue. He closed his eyes as he sank into her, taking control
of her mouth and breath, molding her body to his.

It wasn’t enough. He reached for the overlap of her double-breasted chef coat and

pulled. Cloth buttons gave way, baring her white tank top. He yanked it up over her
breasts and sought her nipples through her pale pink bra. They were already hard, and
she moaned when he took her mouth at the same time.

The kitchen door flew open, startling them both. Lila grasped the lapels of her chef

coat, covering herself. He angled his body to block hers.

Daniel hooted. “Get a room!” The door slammed. A half-second later, he heard the bolt

slide home. His crew had just locked them out of the kitchen.

Lila’s face was beet red. She batted at his hands as he reached for her. “Are you

kidding? Forget it.”

He cupped her breast and rubbed his hard cock against her hip. “The way I see it, we

might as well finish what we started.”

“Everyone knows now.” She sounded breathless.
“Then we better give them something to talk about.” He silenced her with another kiss.
The alley was dark, the only light coming from the window on the kitchen door. She

looked like a disheveled angel leaning against the brick wall, coat undone, and hair falling
out of its knot. Swiftly, he tugged the pins and shoved them in his pocket. Her hair
tumbled over her shoulders, and he tangled his fist in it, drawing her head back. He ran
his tongue up the long line of her neck, groaning as he tasted sweat and skin.

“I have three things on the stove.” He felt the effort it took her to speak.
“If Daniel didn’t check the stove and the ovens when he locked the door, I’ll fire him.

Later.” He thrust one thigh between her legs and pulled her forward. Rocking his hips, he
ground against her.

She gripped his biceps hard. “You don’t fight fair.”
“Are we fighting? I like that idea. Let’s have the make-up sex first.” He continued to

push her, rubbing his leg between hers. His fully erect cock nestled in the hollow of her
hip, and every movement shot fire through his veins in anticipation and memory. He
needed to be inside her.

“Yes.” Her whisper was a breath of warm air against his lips. “On one condition.”
“Name it.” Negotiation was familiar ground for them. He surged forward, wrapping his

arms around her back to protect her from the rough bricks as he worked their bodies
closer together.

“Ask your father why he didn’t eat the schnitzel.”

…

Jack stepped away from her so fast, she was glad to have a wall behind her to catch her.
“What the hell kind of crazy condition is that?” he asked.

She silently cursed the inspiration that was going to cost her hot sex in an alley, but the

pieces  of  the  Jack  puzzle  were  coming  together  as  fast  as  the  Inferno  menu.  The  past
week  spent  gathering  information  about  him  had  brought  her  to  a  new  understanding.
Yes,  he’d  stolen  her  ideas  during  the  competition,  but  Jack  was  a  competitive  bastard,
and he thought she’d lied to him. She could see how he would think her duck dish was
fair game. Sure, he’d manipulated her by buying Personal Chef, but Jack had been raised
by  one  of  New  York’s  most  successful  businessmen.  He  didn’t  know  any  other  way  to
operate.  He’d  negotiated  a  truce  to  get  her  to  sleep  with  him  because  he  thought  the
only way she would agree was if she was getting something tangible out of it, too—menu
ideas.

Well, the menu was finished, and she wanted something else from him now. She

wanted him to make a place for her in his life for more than a few days, more than three
weeks. She wanted him to love her. She closed her eyes and sagged against the bricks,
blind-sided by the enormity of her desire.

“Lila?” His voice was furious.
She opened her eyes. Jack wore the tense, unhappy expression he always wore when

someone  mentioned  his  father.  Determination  rose  inside  her.  She  stood  up  straight  to
face  him,  more  certain  by  the  minute  that  the  key  to  Jack’s  heart  was  hidden  by  his
inability  to  see  himself  clearly,  a  misperception  that  was  tied  to  his  father’s  approval.
“You need to talk to your dad, Jack. Talk, not yell.”

Jack shook his head. “If you like him so much, you talk to him. Make him another

salad.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, no deal?”
Every line of his body screamed rejection. She could still walk away, but if she did she

would never know if her love for Jack could become something more, something shared
by both of them. She felt the earth shift beneath her feet, and she stepped into the

abyss. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “Worth a
shot.”

He took a sharp breath. She slid a hand under his chef coat and t-shirt to touch the

bare skin of his back. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Moving on to the make-up sex you mentioned a minute ago.”
“But I didn’t meet your condition.” The confusion in his voice warmed her.
She tilted her head to look up at him. “Hasn’t anyone ever given you more than you

bargained for?”

“Never.” His arms tightened around her.
She pressed a kiss to the warm hollow of his neck. “There’s always a first time.”
“How can I be sure I’m going to get what I want if we don’t make a deal?” His voice

sounded like poured gravel.

“I guess you’ll have to trust me.”
His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them they were flat and hard. “You lied to

me. Every time we go to bed, you leave without saying good-bye. You’ve got me bent
over a barrel with this menu, holding the power to make or break my career. Now you’re
cozying up to my father, a man who…” He broke off, pinning her to the wall with his cool
green stare. “Tell me why I should trust you.”

She had to tell him. She couldn’t demand honesty from him while offering less, but the

thought of exposing herself this way made her blood run cold. He thought she had
power? If she told him this, he’d know everything. He’d know she had lost faith in her
competition menu and changed it. He’d know she left him in bed alone because she didn’t
want to see rejection in his eyes when he woke up. If he thought about it, he might guess
she loved him.

She took a deep breath but paused when she heard a bolt slide and the kitchen door

opened again. “Yoohoo! Anybody out there?” Emily’s voice rang down the alley. “Ding!
Ding! Ding! Dinner time!”

“Coming,” Jack called back.
When he looked down at her, his eyes were coldly amused. “Saved by the bell, but this

discussion is not over.” He trailed a hand down her body, making her shiver. “Come home
with me, Lila. Let’s talk about this somewhere more comfortable. In bed. Or at least not
in an alley.”

She sighed in mock disappointment, inwardly grateful for the reprieve. “I was looking

forward to the alley, but I guess I’ll settle for your bed,” she said lightly, as she tugged
her shirt back down and buttoned her coat. The flare of heat in his gaze made her sizzle,
but it was hope that warmed her as she followed him back into the kitchen. How could he
not love her after he tasted the new menu?

…

Jack surveyed the wreckage of two dozen perfect plates. Lila’s menu was incredible. Each
dish was a showstopper and a heart stopper. Bold flavors, pungent spices, and fresh
herbs put together in combinations that were playful and imaginative yet never stepped
over the line into weird. It was exactly what he had wanted from her.

His cooks were as bowled over as he was, slapping Lila on the back with effusive

congratulations. Jack saw his father smile when Lila handed him a bowl of soup, a hearty
broth-based  vegetable  medley,  and  damned  if  he  didn’t  sit  down  and  slurp  his  way
through  the  entire  bowl.  Jack  couldn’t  blame  him.  It  was  the  best  meatless  vegetable
soup  he’d  ever  tasted,  but  it  still  rankled.  How  could  vegetable  soup  be  better  than
schnitzel?

For a minute he was tempted to do as Lila suggested and ask his father what had been

wrong with the food, but he knew from experience his father wouldn’t mince words while
giving his opinion. It was hard enough to make peace with the fact Lila had made his
menu better, he didn’t need to get a lecture on how and why.

He listened to Lila give notes to his cooks and felt his cock harden. Even his jealousy

couldn’t kill his desire for her. She had him by the balls. Now that the menu was set, he
realized she’d had him by the balls all weekend. He should have been in the kitchen
cooking, but he’d been buried deep in her. Thank God it had worked out for the best.
She’d come up with a killer menu, and his cooks had knocked it out of the park.

Lila clapped her hands. “All right, everybody, great job. Clean up and go home. We

have a lot of work ahead of us before the big day. You can safely expect to work like
dogs for the rest of the week, so get some rest tonight.” His staff scattered, grabbing
plates and carrying them back to the kitchen. By the time the dining room was cleared,
the kitchen was halfway clean and it didn’t take long to put the place to bed.

Jack grabbed a broom and started sweeping, an idea brewing in the back of his mind.
He’d been as close to Lila as a person could get, talked food with her for hours and

watched her work, but he was no closer to figuring out how she had worked such
wonders with his menu. Would she be willing to stay on staff and consult on future
Inferno menus? What could he offer her that might keep her here?

He tucked the broom and dustpan into the corner of the dish room. A few minutes later,

his dishwasher dumped the mop bucket and hung the mop on its hook. His cooks were
gone. Jack turned out the lights and waited for Lila.

“Goodnight and thank you.” He let the dishwasher out the back door with a smile that

had nothing to do with a job well done. He and Lila might fail to communicate about
work, but they had a perfect connection in bed. She had a tremendous effect on him, but
he knew he affected her in an equally powerful way. After such a busy day, they could

Chapter Fifteen

“All right, boys and girls, this is it. Opening night. You want to know who will be sitting
out in the dining room?” A tense grin creased Jack’s face. “Everyone.”

Lila watched him pace down the length of the line and wondered how he was going to

keep himself from jumping back there and cooking everything himself. She could feel the
energy pouring off of him. His cooks could feel it, too. They were raring to go, impatient
for the first ticket to hit the kitchen as they listened to Jack’s pep talk. “Tonight you will
be feeding the people who pay attention to food in New York. They are expecting
mistakes. Don’t make any.”

Over the past week they had shown incredible focus. They had mastered every tweak,

every nuance. Each dish was a work of art. Seasonal produce put bright colors on the
plate, and rich sauces added shades of the coming fall. Edible garnishes added height and
whimsy. She had poured her heart and soul into creating food Jack would love.

She looked across the kitchen to where he now stood over the ticket printer, all but

frothing at the mouth, daring it to throw something at the kitchen they couldn’t handle.
She wanted to put her arms around him.

She felt her eyes sting and her heart swell. One more week left at Inferno. God she

hoped  the  New  York  Times  reviewer  was  in  the  house  tonight  to  put  Jack  out  of  his
misery. She had tried every carnal trick in the book this week to get him to have a calm
discussion  with  his  father.  He  had  responded  with  equal  eroticism  and  superior
stubbornness.  Then,  she  had  hoped  Mr.  Calabrese  would  drop  by  Inferno,  so  she  could
talk to him again. Jack needed to know about his heart condition. She had been tempted
several times to tell him, but that would only increase the tension between Jack and his
father. Unfortunately, Mr. Calabrese hadn’t even appeared once.

Surely he’d come for Jack’s opening night. If he didn’t, she was going to hunt him down

and lock him in the office with Jack until they found a way to actually communicate. She
hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Jack appeared in front of her, and she smiled at him. “Ready, champ?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, thanks to you. Listen, there’s something I’ve been meaning to

discuss with you. This week has been really great, and I appreciate your hard work and
support. You breathed life into the Inferno menu, and I’d like you to help me with the
next menu, too.”

Her heart skipped a beat, stuttered back to life, and then sank. “Are you offering me a

job, Jack?” she asked evenly.

“Well, yes, sort of. I know you’ll be busy running Personal Chef, but I’d like to continue

working together.”

“Working together? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” She watched his

eyes darken. Hard as it was to turn down more time with Jack, she wanted more from
him. “A job offer? Is that the best you can do?”

He flinched. “Forget it. Never mind.”
She grabbed his arm when he turned to go, wondering why her gibe had provoked such

an extreme reaction. When he tried to pull away, she tightened her grip. “I’ll consider
your offer.” She only had a week left to get Jack and his Dad to shape up, so she wasn’t
going to waste this opportunity. “In fact, if you have a nice long chat with your father this
week, I promise to accept it.”

…

Jack stared down at Lila, still smarting from his father’s words coming out of her mouth.
Is that the best you can do? She just wouldn’t give up. All week he’d waited for an
opportunity to reopen negotiations with her, but every time he edged their conversation
around to work, she started talking about his father. She’d just done it again.

His phone rang in his pocket, giving him an excuse to ignore her. He picked up when he

saw the name on the display, assuming his mother wanted to wish him luck. “Hey, Mom.”

“Jack, your father—” The clatter of pans made it difficult to hear, so he walked into the

dish room. “What did you say?”

“Your father had a heart attack. He’s at Presbyterian. Unconscious. He never should

have left the Cleveland Clinic last week. Stubborn fool.” She sounded furious and terrified.

Cleveland Clinic? Not Fiji? Goddamn it. Of course his father wouldn’t trust him with the

truth. Jack clenched his teeth and looked around the kitchen, feeling helpless. The first
order would come through any minute. Unbelievable. His father had figured out a way to
ruin this for him too. Even as he had the thought, guilt besieged him. “I’m on my way,” he
told his mother.

He dropped the phone in his pocket and turned to find Lila beside him. “My father had a

heart attack. He’s in the hospital. I have to go.”

She put her hand on his arm. “I’ll go with you.”
“Jack!” The maitre’d called from the dining room. “I need the specials menu. The doors

are about to open.”

Jack closed his eyes, feeling sick. What if his father died without knowing if Inferno was

a success or not? His thoughts swam endless circles in his head, making him dizzy. How
could he be so damn petty as to think about his damn restaurant when his father might
be dying?

“I’ve got the menus,” Lila said. “You go. Call us when you know anything.”
“We’ll make you proud, Chef.” Daniel urged him toward the back door.
Jack took one last look at the line. Knowing his father, Jack would appear at his bedside

and his dad would ridicule him for leaving his restaurant on opening night. In fact, he
hoped that would happen. He imagined his father threatening to get out of bed and go
cook the damn food himself, and Jack regretted dodging his calls all week. His skin
prickled, then went cold. It was the same sensation he got when his brain acknowledged
a bad burn the second before his synapses fired in pain. How bad was it going to hurt? It
was his own damn fault. He should have listened to Lila.

He turned to find her beside him. “C’mon, Jack. I’ll get you a taxi.” She took his hand

and  led  him  up  the  alley.  As  they  reached  the  curb,  a  yellow  cab  pulled  up.  Several
people got out. “Chef Calabrese!” a man held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.
Manfred  Harris,  New  York  Times.  Are  you  standing  outside  to  welcome  your  biggest
fans?”  The  man’s  eyes  twinkled  with  good  humor,  but  hopelessness  struck  Jack  dumb.
The  food  critic  of  the  New  York  Times  was  about  to  watch  him  drive  away  from  his
restaurant on opening night. Professional suicide.

Lila slid her arm around his waist and squeezed. “Our poor chef is having an attack of

nerves and needed some air. You know how it is with temperamental chefs.” She rolled
her eyes. “I’m not sure whether to give him a pat on the back, a slap on the butt, or a
shot of tequila.”

The critic laughed. “All of the above.” Two more taxis pulled up to the curb and another

half-dozen people piled out of the cars. “Here’s the rest of my party. We can’t wait to see
your menu, Chef.”

Jack’s smile felt like concrete. “I hope you love it as much as I do.”
He felt sick as he watched them file through the front door of Inferno. When the last

customer disappeared through the door, Lila gave him a shove. “Go, Jack. We’ve got
this.”

He climbed into the car. “Presbyterian Hospital,” he mumbled.
Tires squealed. As Jack buckled his seat belt, he felt something tickle his cheek. He

brushed his face, and his hand came away wet. He stared at his fingertips, stunned. He
hadn’t cried since his mother left. What did it mean that the mere thought of losing his
father, a man who’d rarely had an encouraging word for him in his entire life, reduced him
to tears? Would he never grow up?

…

Lila watched the taxi speed away.

She’d watched Jack’s face when he spoke to the critic, and his miserable expression had

frozen her heart. It was the exact same expression he got when he talked about his
father, but he’d been talking about the menu.

Hell no. She gasped with sudden understanding and flew back down the alley. If

Inferno opened to bad reviews, Jack would be devastated. But running the new menu

would be even worse. He would never feel like a success. Just like he didn’t feel he had
deserved to win the culinary competition because he’d used her ideas, he wouldn’t feel he
deserved  any  accolades  for  Inferno  if  they  served  her  menu.  His  original  menu  was
flawless.  There  had  been  absolutely  no  reason  to  alter  it  except  to  make  him  feel
inadequate, and now her goal had changed. She wanted him to know the truth—his food
was amazing. She held his future in her hands tonight, and she would do this for him—
even  though  it  might  destroy  his  trust  in  her.  Her  heart  hammered  in  her  chest  as  she
brushed away a tear.

She was going to end up hurting him, after all.
She burst in to the dish room and strode to the front of the line. “All right, people. The

show must go on. Are you ready to do this?”

The crew nodded, but she had never seen a more miserable-looking group. Luis’ dark

eyes were snapping with frustrated grief and the usually easy-going Perry was pacing in
the sauté station. Roz’s eyes were red-rimmed and watery, and she looked one sad
thought away from a crying jag.

Lila crossed her arms and leaned against the salad station. “Well, I’m not.”
As one, their gazes snapped to her face—wide with disbelief, then suspicion.
Suspicion was good—that meant they knew more about what was going on here than

they were supposed to. Suspicion meant they wanted to protect Jack. So did she. She just
had to convince them of that.

Lila took a deep breath. “Oh, we’ll open the doors, all right, but we aren’t going to

prepare  any  of  the  food  you’ve  been  training  to  cook  for  the  last  week.”  She  looked  at
each  of  them  in  turn,  watching  shutters  slam  in  their  eyes,  concealing  their  thoughts.
“Exactly.”  She  answered  their  unspoken  condemnation.  “I  agree  one  hundred  percent.
The first time I saw Jack’s original menu for Inferno, I wanted to weep at its perfection.
Simple,  stripped-down  food,  thoughtfully  paired  in  winning  combinations  with  classic
sauces.  Nothing  over-the-top.  Nothing  crazy.  Nothing  that  would  ever  disappoint.  Its
brilliance lies in the way the food is cooked. Perfectly. Consistently.” She smoothed a few
escaping strands of hair back into her bun. “It broke my heart to ruin Jack’s food.”

She heard a noise behind her and saw that Emily had joined them. “So why did you do

it?”

“We don’t have time for all that, but you all know Jack, right?”
Five heads nodded.
“Then you know he probably did something to deserve it.”
One stifled chuckle.
“My thoughts are with Jack and Mr. Calabrese right now, but we’ve got a job to do.”

They were with her. She could see it in their eyes. “I want to cook the original menu.
Jack’s menu.”

For the longest ten seconds of her life, all she heard was silence. Then a cheer broke

out.

“No offense. Your food is good, too,” Daniel said.
She snorted. “Damn straight it is. But it isn’t Jack’s food. Inferno is his baby. Time to

give it life. Work your magic, guys.”

“We’re all over it,” Perry called, already heading for his end of the line.
Roz nodded from the middle. “We’ll make you proud.”
Luis said nothing, but he was moving through the garde manger like a tornado.
“I know you will. Best crew in New York.” Lila stepped back and watched them fly into

action. As she listened to Daniel rattle off instructions, she wondered if her subconscious
had planned this all along. Yes, she had added to Jack’s food, but she hadn’t taken
anything away. She hadn’t changed the nature of a single dish. It wasn’t going to be a
snap to change it all back in the span of a few minutes, but it wasn’t going to be
impossible, either.

Emily touched her arm. “I’ll grab the original menus and talk to the wait staff.”
“Thank you.” She turned back to Daniel. “Can they do it?” It had been two weeks since

the cooks had done it Jack’s way.

His grin was reassuring. “Are you kidding? Jack drilled them so many times before you

got here, they can cook his dishes in their sleep. We’ll keep the new soups for now, but
the rest will be a piece of cake.”

She bit her lip, besieged by doubt. “What about the wait staff? If they can’t

communicate the dishes to the guests, we’re screwed.”

“Same deal. All of the servers came over from other Calabrese restaurants. They are

absolute pros. If they can’t memorize a menu in ten minutes, I’ll fire them,” he said
cheerfully. “However, let’s put an incentive in place, just to make sure. Hey!” He called to
the nearest server. “Spread the word. A hundred bucks to the server who makes the
fewest mistakes tonight.”

Lila grinned. “You are a genius.”
“Part of the job description.”
“You need anything from me?” she asked.
He glanced at the chaotic, barely-controlled frenetic fury of the Inferno hot line and

shook his head. “I think you’ve done enough.”

Lila laughed.
Daniel’s expression became serious. “You did the right thing.” He took a breath. “But

Jack is going to kill you.”

“I know. I just hope he forgives me when the reviews start rolling in.” She shooed him

away. Daniel needed to be in the eye of the storm directing the action, not standing
talking to her. “Go on, get in there. Make it happen.”

As he zipped out of sight, a terrifying possibility occurred to her. Her knees buckled,

forcing her to brace a hand on the counter for support. What if the reviews were bad?
Changing her competition menu at the last minute had resulted in disaster. What if she
was making a huge mistake again?

Her gaze darted around the noisy kitchen, settling on the cooks hustling behind the line

who were clearly thrilled to bring Jack’s vision to life, and joy rose within her. Her
conviction returned, and she knew it stemmed from both her faith in Jack’s brilliance and
her love for him. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, signaling a text. Jack. She hit view. Still
waiting. Everything under control?

Jack would never see this as a gift of love—he would see it as betrayal. Heart

pounding, she texted back. Absolutely.

Chapter Sixteen

“He asked for you.” His mother was sitting by his dad’s bedside, holding his hand. The
image struck a chord in his memory. For the first eight years of his life, they had often
held hands, but he hadn’t even seen them in the same room together for years.

The nurse had told him only one visitor was permitted, so he had meekly entered the

visitor lounge then doubled back to find his father’s room when she wasn’t looking. The
old man looked pale. His silver hair was swept back from his forehead. There was an IV
in his hand and electrodes taped to his chest. He looked frail…until he opened his eyes.

Even in his weakened condition, his dad’s hazel gaze cut through him. “You shouldn’t be

here.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” It was ironic that he had felt an irresistible

compulsion to rush to the side of a man who didn’t want him here.

“But I’m glad you are.” His father’s voice trailed off, leaving Jack staring at him in

disbelief. His heart felt lodged in his throat, too tight to allow the passage of anything,
even words. His eyes began to sting, but now that he knew what crying felt like, he
staved off the tears.

“You’ll need to watch the restaurants.”
“Of course.” Disappointment turned his grief to irritation. His father was glad he was

here so he could give last minute instructions, probably hoping there was something he
could  say  to  keep  Jack  from  mucking  up  the  business  while  he  was  under  the  knife.
However,  even  if  he  was  cruel  enough  to  antagonize  his  ill  father,  he  knew  nothing  he
said would make any difference. Jack could do a stellar job running all five restaurants,
and  his  father  would  never  admit  it.  Nobody  could  do  anything  better  than  the  great
Andrew Calabrese.

His father’s eyes slowly opened. “Jackson…I was wrong.” A machine began to beep

faster in the background.

His mother held up a hand. “Andrew, I’m all for mending fences, but you should

probably wait until they clean out your arteries.”

His father shut his eyes again. The machine slowed down, and Jack breathed a little

more easily. “I wasn’t in Fiji. I was in Cleveland with your mother. At the heart clinic. I’ve
been trying to control the progress of the disease with drugs, diet, and exercise, but it’s
time to take more drastic measures. But you need to know that’s why I haven’t eaten
more than a bite of anything at your restaurant. Lila told me I hurt your feelings. I’m
sorry.”

“It’s okay,” was all Jack could manage. His father had told Lila about his heart

problems?

“There’s something else—”
“Drew,” his mother broke in. “You are picking just about the worst time possible to

have this discussion. Jack knows—” A sound at the door made her pause.

A stacked blond nurse stood with a chart in her hand. She cast a practiced glance over

the bank of machines next to his father’s bed then glared at Jack. “Sir, I told you only one
visitor is permitted.”

Jack looked down at his mother, holding his father’s hand. “I’ll be in the lounge.”
His mother stood up and sighed. “No, you stay. He’s not going to listen to me anyway.

He never has.”

His father opened his eyes and looked at the nurse. His smile was a pale imitation of

his usual devilish grin, but it was still effective. “I just need one minute with both of
them. Then I promise to behave.”

Jack watched the nurse soften.
“One minute,” she warned. “I’ve got my eyes on you.”
Jack met his mother’s gaze and shared her amused exasperation. Only his father could

accomplish the improbable with a smile, especially when there was an attractive blonde
involved. He supposed his mother fit the bill as well, although her usual cool chic was a
bit rumpled. Strands of blond hair were falling out of the knot at her neck, and her
makeup had run, leaving black smudges around her eyes.

Jack relaxed, assuming the nurse wouldn’t have been willing to bend the rules if his

father’s life were in danger. His mother gave him a gentle shove into the chair and then
crossed her arms, looking first at him, then his father. “You two drive me nuts.”

Both her ex-husband and her son stared up at her.
“What did I do?” Jack asked.
“You grew up just like him, and now I’m stuck with two stubborn, arrogant fools. Make

that three. Your brother is on my list, too.”

Jack was surprised to hear a dry chuckle from his father. “That’s not very nice, Elaine.”
“I’m not feeling nice. You were a pain in the ass in Cleveland. You’ve delayed giving our

sons information that pertains to their health. And you just had a heart attack, which
scared the hell out of me. Now that the doctor has told you it wasn’t as serious as he
thought, you want to postpone surgery. I’m done being nice.”

His father gave her the same smile he gave the nurse. “I’m always a pain in the ass, as

you’ve said so many times over the last forty years. I didn’t think the heart condition was
anything to worry about—”

“Bullshit, you didn’t want to admit you were mortal.”
His father ignored her. “And Jack has a restaurant to open. He doesn’t need the added

responsibility of the other five.”

“Or maybe you don’t trust him to take care of your restaurants. That’s what he

believes, I guarantee it.”

Jack looked at her in astonishment, wondering how she knew.
His father scowled, and a machine beeped. “That’s ridiculous! He accomplished more in

a week than I’ve been able to get done in six months. All the shit that hit the fan while I
was gone was due to negligence on my part, and he fixed everything. Every restaurant is
running like a top now. I’m goddamn proud of him.”

His mother’s smile was both sweet and vicious. “I assume you told Jack that?”
“No.” His father spoke through gritted teeth. “But I was going to.”
Pain shot through Jack’s jaw. He automatically thought of Lila but that made it worse

because she knew more about his father than he did. The salad. Now he knew why she
had tried so hard to force them to talk. His father had trusted her with information about
his health, but he hadn’t told his own son. He stood and pushed past his mother. “I’ll be
back in a minute.”

Clearly, his father was out of the woods if they had given him the option of postponing

surgery. His father had some color in his cheeks, and no one was rushing into the room in
response to the beeping machine. The doors at Inferno had opened half an hour ago.
There should be something on the web by now. Jack opened the browser on his phone
and Googled Inferno. He clicked the first link.

Jack stared at the picture of the roasted chicken entree. Where was the corn? The

husks? He clicked another link and saw the beef medallions…with no chimichurri. The air
left his lungs in a painful rush. He gasped. Black lines waved around the edges of his
vision. He sank to the floor, resting his head on his knees.

Lila had screwed him. She’d run the old menu. How had she managed to get everything

prepped? Why had his staff allowed this to happen? She must be laughing her ass off
right now. He flinched as a link from the New York Times popped up with a slideshow.
The reviewer must be posting live from the dining room. Jack felt faint. The words blurred
on the tiny screen.

“Jack?” his head snapped up at his mother’s voice. “Your father wants to talk to you.”
He got to his feet. Previously, only his father could hurt him this badly, this deeply, but

Lila’s betrayal had devastated him on a level he didn’t even know he had. Too late, he
realized what that must mean. She had probably planned this from the minute she signed
the contract, and he had played into her hands beautifully, desperately.

He stepped into the room and looked at his father lounging on the bed like he was a

king on vacation, sending an emissary to take care of his kingdom. His mother returned
to the side of his bed and clutched his father’s hand. Her eyes were wet.

His father took an audible breath. “I’m not sure I have the strength for this, but I’m

afraid if I don’t do it now, then we’ll get even farther off course. It’s all my fault. Every bit
of it. I tried to force your brother to be like me. I wanted him to take over the restaurants

and run Calabrese Incorporated. He wanted nothing to do with it.”

For once, Jack could see nothing but honesty in his father’s gaze, man-to-man leveling,

and a pleading look that drove all thoughts of Inferno from his head.

“I lost him, Jack. Then I lost your mother because of what I did to Ned. I didn’t want to

lose you, too. I promised myself I’d keep you far away from the kitchens. I never wanted
you to feel pressured.”

But Jack had wanted to be with his father. More than that, he had wanted to be there

for his father when Ned and his mother left. Instead, he’d been shunted aside, second
best, not good enough, never good enough, left behind with the babysitter, an employee
paid by the hour to care for him. And now Lila had burned him just when he was
beginning to trust her. Since it was all going up in flames, he poured gasoline on the fire
and told his father the truth.

“I idolized you. I wanted to be anywhere you were, and that was the kitchen. But you

didn’t want me around.”

His father blinked hard. “I was afraid if I pressured you, you’d change your mind. I was

thrilled you wanted to learn to cook.”

“You never liked a single thing I made for you,” Jack accused.
“Wrong. I thought every dish was fabulous, I just didn’t want to give you a fat head.

Arrogance is a huge handicap in the kitchen, and I didn’t want you growing up rich and
pampered. I wanted you to stay hungry.”

He’d been hungry, all right. Hungry for a kind word from his father. Hungry for approval.

His father’s confession might have meant something a few years ago, but now it was too
late. “Dad, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate what you are saying, and I wish I could tell
you what you want to hear. But I can’t. I can’t make the switch that fast. I have spent my
whole life trying to measure up to your expectations. Honestly, it is devastating to learn
that I had your approval all along, and you were just fucking with my head. How does
that make it better?” Jack chuckled, and his mother sobbed. He couldn’t blame her. It
was a terrible sound. “Your heart might have been in the right place. You didn’t want me
to be an arrogant prick like you, but I’ve become something worse—a man who feels like
he can’t ever measure up. Did Lila tell you what I did to her?”

His father shook his head slowly.
“I stole her ideas to win the culinary competition. She made up a dish off the top of her

head, and I put it on a plate because I didn’t think my ideas were good enough to win.
When push comes to shove, I never think I’m good enough—that’s why I hired Lila. I
didn’t want New York laughing at my menu.” His stomach churned.

“Your menu was amazing. I couldn’t figure out why you wanted to change a thing.”
Jack shrugged. “Well, as it turned out nothing changed. The minute I left Inferno to

come here, Lila switched back to the original menu.”

“I knew I liked that girl.” Now the machine began to beep in earnest. Another machine

buzzed in counterpoint. Then a third joined the chorus. His father just grinned when three
nurses rushed into the room.

“Everybody out,” the nurse barked, glaring at him.
Jack’s heart pounded so hard he felt like he needed a monitor too. His mother tugged

him out of the room. Conflicting emotions sent him reeling against the wall. He’d spent
years telling himself his father’s approval didn’t matter. He shouldn’t allow it to matter
now.

A doctor swept past them, entering his father’s room. They waited in tense silence until

two of the nurses and the doctor returned.

“He’s stable now, and we gave him a sedative,” the doctor said. “No more visitors until

tomorrow morning. We’ll call if there is any change in his condition, but I don’t think you
have any reason to worry at the moment. We’ll take good care of him.”

“Thank you,” his mother murmured, taking his hand and drawing him down the hall.

She squeezed his hand. “You should probably think about getting your cholesterol
checked.”

He nodded tightly. “Were you really in Cleveland with Dad?”
His mother nodded. “We’re too much alike to live together, but I told him I’d always be

there for him.” A tear spilled down her cheek.

“You can’t possibly still love that bastard,” he said, astounded.
“Jackson, darling, of course I love him. You do, too. Nobody who didn’t love him would

put up with his crap.”

Jack grunted, realizing she was right. Under his resentment was a deep desire to please

his father, something he had thought was impossible. Without his father driving him to
succeed, his life might have been very different, but Jack didn’t regret a moment of it.
However, he was beginning to regret the harsh words he had spoken. His anguish must
have shown on his face because his mother said, “Baby steps.”

He nodded and stepped into the street to hail a taxi for her.
“I’ll see you in a little while, darling. I just need to go home to change,” she said as he

settled her into the car. He cocked his head to the side and stared at her, confused.

Her smile was indulgent. “It’s our baby boy’s big night. Your father will kill me if I don’t

take some pictures.”

He shut the door and stepped back to the safety of the curb before his blurred vision

got him killed. His world shifted then came back into focus. He wiped his eyes. So much
had changed in the span of an hour. He was still angry with his dad, but clearing the air
had unlocked a place inside him that hadn’t been open in years. For the first time, he felt
like he could get past the anger.

But he couldn’t bypass his fury with Lila. She had deliberately set out to ruin him, and

Chapter Seventeen

The pace in the Inferno kitchen was breathtaking. If she hadn’t confined her hair in a bun
beneath a skull cap, she was sure it would be flying straight out behind her as she tried
to keep up with the orders. “Jesus,” she muttered under her breath.

Beside her, Daniel laughed and pointed at six plates in the window. He dropped a tray

onto a stand and motioned to a server. “Table ten. Go.”

“I’m guessing you’ve done this before?” she asked.
“Not on this grand of a scale, but yes. I used to work upstate in a kitchen about this

size.”

She heard a chime and watched him dig his phone out of his pocket. A boyish grin split

his face as he checked the display. “The New York Times reviewer is having a phone-
gasm in the dining room. Awesome.”

Maybe Jack wouldn’t kill her if the reviews were good.
“But Jack’s still going to kill us,” he added.
Us. Daniel had said us. She had only thought of how mad he would be at her. She

looked at Daniel with growing horror.

“Stay strong, Chef. Incoming.” The ticket machine began to spit out orders again, and

Lila called them off. Daniel’s encouragement had renewed her determination, but she still
quailed when she heard the back door slam and Jack’s voice in the dish room. Shit, shit,
shit. She was so dead.

She didn’t turn around. She continued to work, expediting orders, wiping plates, and

double-checking to make sure the cooks were getting the food right. She felt Jack’s heat
behind her.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Each word was clipped.
“Making you famous, Jack. How’s your dad?”
“Fine for now. Sedated. Stable.”
“I’m glad.” Damn it, there was a lull in the orders. She had to turn around.
He looked tired. His eyes were dark, sad, and furious. She wanted to hug him. Clearly,

there was no end to her masochism. “You got this for a minute?” she asked Daniel.

He checked the board. “Five minutes, no more. We need to get the entrees out on

table twelve or we’re gonna get creamed.”

“Five minutes,” she confirmed, knowing the likelihood of her returning to the line was

slim. She strode toward the office. Jack followed her, his anger a tidal wave of lava
cresting over her head.

He slammed the door behind him. “You must be pretty happy with yourself.”
God, he was gorgeous, even when he was looking at her with scorn in his eyes. The

chasm between them had never felt wider, but this was her last chance. No more lies
between them.

“That menu wasn’t even close to perfect, and now I’m stuck with it. You have ruined

Inferno, and now everyone will know—”

She cut him off. “Everyone will know what? That you’re amazing? I’ve known that for

two years now. It’s about time for New York to find out how incredible you are, too. Your
menu is perfect. I knew it the first time I saw it. Perfectly fucking brilliant. Why do you
think I blew through your kitchen tasting everything I could find? I was hoping to find
something to fix. How was I going to improve something that was already sublime? I
wanted that money, and I didn’t know how I was going to get it.”

He drew a deep, shuddering breath and dropped into the desk chair. She watched him

pick up a pen and scrabble through the papers on the desk. He opened a ledger and
began writing out a check. Slowly, carefully, he tore it out of the checkbook and held it
out to her. “Here you go. Now get out so I can clean up your mess.”

The number of zeros on the check made her feel faint.
She needed money. Who didn’t? But she could pay off her loans and bills by chipping

away at them while working a regular job. There was no magic solution to debt. Jack had
made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, but not for any of the reasons he thought, and it
was time to tell him the truth. “I don’t want your money anymore, Jack.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m not going to enable your idiocy. You can’t write a check and get what you want. If

you could, you’d be the happiest man on earth and you aren’t, are you? You’re miserable,
and I thought it was because you needed to make peace with your father. That’s why I
rode your ass about talking to him all week. But then I saw the look on your face when
you were talking to the New York Times critic, and I realized you were using me as a
crutch, not your dad. You choked, Jack. You thought your menu wasn’t good enough, so
you hired me to fix it. After all, if it wasn’t entirely your menu, then it wouldn’t be your
failure. Or your success, either. You deserve success, Jack, and you don’t need me to get
it. You never did.”

His face looked like granite. “I hired you to change the menu. Technically, you’re in

default on our agreement, but I’ll overlook it. I’ll also release you from your last week of
work at Inferno. As for your last contractual obligation, the Times review, there’s nothing
to be done about that. Take the money, and get out of here before you do any more
damage.”

Had he not heard a word she said? “Damage? You bet I wanted to damage you. Half

the reason I signed your ridiculous contract was to get close enough to you to hurt you
the way you hurt me. I planned to find ways to make you doubt yourself even more than
you already did. I thought I wanted revenge for the competition, but I was wrong. I just

wanted to be close to you, somewhere other than my dreams, that is. I dream of you
every night, Jack. It’s been heaven to wake up beside you.”

“You just can’t stop lying, can you? Lying about your recipes, lying about your motives,

lying to me about the menu. Don’t even try to tell me you care about me when the knife
is still sticking out of my back. I don’t want to hear it. We’re done. Take the money, don’t
take the money. I don’t care. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re not gone already. Leaving is
your specialty, isn’t it?”

She felt tears welling up from deep inside. “There wasn’t time to tell you, Jack, but you

have to believe me. I didn’t run your menu to expose your flaws. I did it to display your
strengths.” Now that she was away from the urgency of the line, she began to worry
again. What if New York hated his food? She’d gambled with the livelihood of Jack’s entire
staff. He saw what they’d done as betrayal. What if she’d made the wrong call?

Then she looked down into Jack’s wrathful gaze and felt nothing but certainty in him.

He might never appreciate her gesture, but she’d done the right thing. Inferno would set
New York on fire.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Is it that hard for you to believe in yourself?”
He stood and opened the door. “No, but it’s that hard for me to believe in you.”
Because it would be the last time, she stole a kiss on her way out the door. His lips

clung to hers for a second, long enough to make her heart jolt, but there was nothing but
cold, hard steel in his eyes when she pulled away. “One last thing,” she said.

“You deserved to win the culinary competition. You were right—I changed my entire

game plan the morning of the competition, and I lost because I ran out of time. But I
didn’t lie to you. I told you the truth about my menu. I was just afraid you’d slept with me
to find out what I was planning to cook.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why did it matter if I knew what you were planning to cook? It’s

not like we could make the same thing. The judges would have disqualified us.”

“Isn’t it obvious, Jack? You told me your menu, too.” She held off tears by a thin margin

and managed to smile. “I thought you were going to beat me.”

…

Jack  watched  Lila  go.  By  his  count,  it  had  taken  her  four  minutes  to  destroy  his  world,
which  meant  he  had  one  minute  to  get  back  to  the  line  and  help  Daniel  expedite.  He
stepped out of the office and walked past the baking alcove where Emily was plating a
piece  of  chocolate  cake.  He  doubled  back  to  ask,  “Emily,  what  do  you  think  of  the  old
menu. I mean, the one we’re serving tonight?”

She leaned up to kiss his cheek and handed him a cookie. “I think it’s you, Jack. And I

followed you here, does that tell you anything?”

“Thanks.” He frowned and kept walking.

On the line, his cooks were pulling out their back-up ingredients. Perry grinned at him,

Roz winked, and Luis twirled his salad tongs. Why the hell were they so cheerful? They
were going to be unemployed soon.

“Glad to have you back, boss,” Daniel said.
Jack nodded, wondering why Daniel had been so insistent Lila rejoin him on the line.

The rush was clearly over. “It’s been five minutes, but you don’t look like you need any
help.”

Daniel shot him a cocky grin. “Hell, no. I was just keeping Lila busy so she didn’t freak

out. You heading into the dining room? We’ve had at least a dozen demands to speak
with the chef.”

Fury bloomed in his heart, jagged and hot. Goddamn Lila for leaving him to take the

blame. It didn’t matter that it was technically his fault, his menu. He’d hired her so that
he wouldn’t have to face polite disappointment from his diners. “I’ll go right now.”

He slammed through the swinging doors, through the short hall, and into the main

dining room. The room buzzed with conversation, punctuated by laughter and the sound
of silver on plates. He stopped, suddenly not wanting to interrupt whatever pleasure they
might be drawing from their meals, but it was too late.

A hush fell over the room. Then a few people started clapping. More and more hands

joined in until the room thundered with applause. The noise hit him like a slap to the
face, and he stumbled, grabbing the back of an empty chair. They were clapping. They
were actually clapping. For him.

Jack held up his hand. The crowd quieted, and he realized that meant he had to make

a speech. He cleared his throat. “Welcome to Inferno, everyone.” He paused, heart
pounding. Where to start? “As some of you may know, my father had a heart attack this
afternoon and was rushed to the hospital. He’s resting comfortably, and they expect him
to recover.” Another smattering of applause. Someone in the crowd hooted, and he saw
Zane, pumping his fist in the air. Guy was sitting with him, and Marie was at the next
table, giving Zane a quelling glare just as she had when they were young.

Jack grinned at them. “I know, right? I didn’t even realize the old man had a heart until

tonight. But I hope all of you know I put mine into the food on your plates.” He had, he
just hadn’t had any faith in its worth until Lila had left him no option. He forced himself to
continue, “Tonight, my father told me he was proud of me, and that meant more to me
than he will ever know.” He caught sight of his mother in the crowd, holding up her
phone, obviously recording. He spoke quickly, past the tightening in his throat. “Or maybe
not. Pan the crowd, Mom, and everybody raise a glass to Andrew Calabrese, my personal
hero, and the man who made Inferno possible. Thanks for coming, everyone. I hope you
enjoy the food.”

As applause rose again, Jack began making the rounds, feeling dazed, smiling and

shaking hands at every table. Finally, he made it to the front of the restaurant, where the
bar was hopping. The bartender took one look at him and reached for the Patron and a
shot glass.

He had always wondered how it would feel to sit in his very own restaurant on opening

night. He’d imagined joy, triumph…satisfaction. What he felt when he gazed around the
room was regret and emptiness. Emptiness that increased when he tossed back a shot of
tequila, a taste he now associated with Lila.

Customers had heaped praise on him as he made his way around the room, but they

wouldn’t be eating the food on their plates if it had been up to him. They would have
been eating Lila’s food, and he would have been eating his heart out with jealousy. She
had saved him from himself. The full scope of his crime was becoming clear. She had
given him the incredible gift of her faith in him, and he had thrown it back in her face.

A sudden movement beside him startled him from his thoughts. “You’ve outdone

yourself, Chef. Congratulations.”

He recognized the reporter from the Times. “I’m honored to have you in the house

tonight, Mr. Harris.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s an honor to be here. Your menu is flawless, and I don’t say

that often. Do you have any interesting stories about the inspiration for your dishes?”

Jack couldn’t stifle a laugh.
His father wasn’t the only one he needed to thank. He’d give anything to have Lila

sitting beside him right now, but he had hidden behind her talent for long enough. It was
time to give her the credit she deserved, and he only hoped she would be willing to
forgive him one more time.

He turned to the reporter. “You want a story, huh? Boy, have I got a story for you.”

…

It was over.

Deal with a Calabrese, get screwed. Check, please…or not, since she hadn’t taken his

money. She’d all but told him she loved him, and he had thrown her out on her ass.

It was time to pack up her things and go. Without a job, she couldn’t afford the rent in

Manhattan anymore. Would she move to one of the other boroughs…or would she go
home to her father? It had always been a possibility in the back of her mind. She
probably couldn’t count on Jack as a reference, but her culinary school degree would open
the door of a decent kitchen in her hometown. Go big or go home, huh? She snorted as
she opened her front door. Yup, she was going home. All the way home.

She sat down on her couch and sent a text to Betsy and Jenna, giving them a

shortened version of her evening. There, now it was really done.

Her phone rang instantly.

“Hey,” she said to Betsy. It beeped, so she hit the conference button.
“Girl,” Jenna began, in a tone that told Lila she was in for it.
Lila cut her off. “I know. I’m a complete idiot. I give it all away every time. But I’m

done. I swear. Never again.”

Jenna snorted. “I’ll believe that when it happens, but that’s not what I was going to

say. You would not believe the reviews Inferno is getting. People are going crazy over the
menu. The Internet is buzzing, and it’s all good. This kind of buzz is a chef’s wet dream. If
Jackson Calabrese doesn’t get down on his knees and thank you, he’s a fool.”

“He is a fool,” Betsy broke in. “But at least you’re rich.”
“I didn’t take the check,” Lila spoke over her friends’ roars of outrage. “I didn’t want his

money. I wanted him. I even kissed him on the way out the door, but he still let me go.
It’s not supposed to happen that way. I had a different ending in mind. I guess I’ve seen
too many movies.”

“You did the right thing, Lila.” To her surprise, it was Betsy who spoke. “You gave it a

shot. You were honest with him. Even though it didn’t work out, and he may never
understand the gift you gave him, you did a beautiful thing. I’m proud of you.”

Jenna cleared her throat. “Yeah, it pains me to say this, but don’t count him out just

yet. Jack-off always was a little slow. His dad had a heart attack then you threw him a
hell of a sucker punch. Did you race out the door as per your usual method of operation?”

“What do you mean?” Lila asked, stung.
“Lila, honey, you cut and run. It’s what you do. Are you having thoughts of moving back

home with your father?”

Betsy giggled. “You do love a dramatic exit. I really enjoyed watching Jack look for you

at the graduation ceremony, knowing you were already on a train out of town.”

Lila felt her mouth drop open. “Is this what you call being supportive?”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and don’t you dare pack a bag unless you are coming to

visit one of us. Why don’t you go see Jack’s friend, you know, the one he hates. Get him
to offer you a job, and you can make Jack jealous.”

“Perfect!” Jenna squealed.
Lila felt no urge to make Jack jealous, but she did have a powerful craving for a Long

Island Iced Tea Float and a conversation with a woman who knew what it was like to
love a Calabrese man. “No promises. That train is looking pretty good, but I’ll think about
what you said. I’ll talk to you soon.” Lila hung up.

Was Jenna right? Did she cut and run? It hurt to think about it, but maybe that meant it

was true. Hadn’t she almost bolted out of Inferno last week? And she hadn’t finished her
art degree because she had been devastated by what Adam had done. His indifference
had shattered her. She’d skipped graduation because she hadn’t wanted to face Jack after
losing the competition. Now she was ready to pack her bags and head home once again.

Did she really want to start her life all over? Or was she just afraid to stay in New York
and come to terms with the fact Jack didn’t want her?

“Ouch,” she whispered aloud. The truth really did hurt, but it was also enlightening.

Empowering. She wasn’t going to give up because Jack Calabrese was a stubborn ass.
Hell, no. She would have to find a cheaper apartment and get another job, but she loved
New York, and she was going to stay. Somehow. With that thought firmly in mind, she
changed into street clothes, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door to get as drunk
as possible on high-proof ice cream. She wasn’t flat broke yet, and now she didn’t have to
buy a train ticket.

Chapter Eighteen

Lila’s head was pounding. At every subway stop, she wanted to switch trains and head
back home to bed, but she refused to give in to the impulse. Since she’d overslept, she
was already running late, and this was too good an opportunity to lose. For the chance to
keep her apartment, she would work for anybody.

Marie had arrived at the shop Friday night and found Lila halfway through her second

Long Island Iced Tea Float. Since it was doubtful she’d ever brave the long line again, she
had gone for the gusto. In short order, Marie had dragged her back into the kitchen,
fortified her ice cream with a healthy shot of high-proof rum, and demanded to know why
the hell Jack looked so miserable on his opening night.

Lila had told her everything.
After more rum, she had even shared Betsy’s idea for making Jack jealous. Marie had

declared it genius and called Zane on the spot. Three minutes later, Lila had a new job,
starting at eight the next morning. Unfortunately, she hadn’t taken the certainty of a
hangover into consideration.

She rummaged in her purse for her phone. She’d barely had time to down a cup of

coffee, and hadn’t checked for messages since she woke up. It wasn’t there, and she
sighed as she realized her phone was still by her bed, where it had been all night.
Pathetic. Jack wasn’t going to call.

When the train stopped, she got off as fast as she could. She hustled up the steps and

down the street, glad Standing Room was only a few minutes walk. She was going to be
right on time after all.

Zane answered her knock at the back door. “Done with your Jack snack already, huh?”

His gray eyes were full of laughter. “You’ve come to the right place.”

“Uh…” What on earth had Marie said on the phone?
He chuckled. “Just kidding, sweetheart. Come on in. Any chance you know how to tend

bar? I’m short-handed, and we’re going to be slammed for lunch.”

Her heart sank. He wasn’t going to let her hide in the kitchen? She could barely think

straight this morning. The fast pace of bartending might kill her, but beggars couldn’t be
choosers. “No problem.”

“Great. Do you mind cleaning lettuce and helping out in the pantry until the bartenders

get in?”

“I’m happy to do anything.” She took the apron he handed her and wrapped it around

her waist. Reflexively, she patted her pants pocket for her phone then remembered she
didn’t have it. It was for the best. She didn’t need to be any more distracted than she
already was. Even with all the booze in her blood, she’d seen Jack, cold-eyed and furious,

in her dreams all night. The image haunted her, even though she knew he probably
wouldn’t care she was working for Zane. It would be one more reason to hate her.

Zane introduced her to the pantry chef and said, “Have fun, kids.”
“Thanks.” Lila forced herself to smile, hoping they would keep her busy with brainless

tasks like spinning lettuce, polishing glasses, and cutting bar fruit all day. She could do
that in her sleep. She could definitely do it with a hangover and a broken heart.

…

Jack stayed up all night. He spent most of it in his father’s hospital room. The nurse came
into the room in the middle of the night and found him holding his father’s hand, but she
didn’t throw him out.

When the New York Times hit the stands, he was waiting. The reporter was as good as

his word. It was all there in black and white. Heart pounding, he sneaked back to his
father’s room and left a copy of the review by his bed with a note. Here’s hoping it’s not
too late for any of us. Love, Jack.

He sat in the back of a taxi, counting the blocks until he reached Lila’s apartment.

Hopefully the article would do some of his talking for him, but he still had to find a way to
make her give him one more chance. When he reached her door, he paused, wondering if
he should wait outside until a reasonable hour.

He lasted ten minutes in the hall before he knocked on the door. Hell, it was after eight

already.

She didn’t answer. He knocked again, louder. Nothing. No sounds from within, either.

No hint that she was there, but not answering the door. Desperate, he called her phone,
but it went to voice-mail.

Had she cut and run again, like she had after the competition? Determination rose

inside him, and he knew he would search the city, the state, the country, even the world,
to find her. It hadn’t been easy to locate her the first time, but sometimes being a
Calabrese was an advantage.

He dialed again, this time taking a deep breath and leaving a short message. He

wanted to do his groveling in person, but first he had to find her.

Exhausted, he went home to shower. He fell into bed, and when he struggled out of

black sleep several hours later, she hadn’t called him back. He left her another message,
getting closer to begging, then tucked the newspaper article in his pocket just in case and
went to Inferno.

His cooks wouldn’t arrive until three, so the only person in the kitchen was Emily. “You

look like shit, boss. Party too hard?”

He shook his head and sank down on one of the stools in the bakeshop. “I spent the

night at the hospital.”

“How’s your dad?”
“Still sleeping.”
She nudged a cookie across the table. “I read the paper this morning.”
“I know I’m an idiot.” He buried his head in his hands.
When she didn’t reply, he looked up and scowled. “Thanks a lot. I think you’re supposed

to disagree with me or at least try to make me feel better.”

Her brown eyes were amused but cautious. “I have a feeling I’m about to make you

feel worse.”

“Impossible.”
She shrugged as if to say you asked for it. “Zane Brampton just called and left a

message for you. He made me write it down.” She handed him a piece of paper.

Lila’s working for me now. Come and get her, sucker.
“No fucking way.” Jack stood up so fast he knocked the stool over.
Emily grinned and held up another cookie. “One for the road?”
Jack shook his head, already moving toward the back door. He ducked into the closest

taxi. “Standing Room.”

A ten-minute ride in a cab had never felt so long. This time, he didn’t hesitate to use

the back door. It was open, so Jack pushed into the kitchen and found himself in the dish
room. Judging from the line out front, and the speed at which the two dishwashers were
moving, it was a busy lunch. He couldn’t care less. He was going to drag Zane off the line
and kill him.

He stalked into the kitchen proper, and found service in full swing. Zane was calling off

orders, but he stopped when he saw Jack. “I’ve been waiting for you. Did you come to
see how good Lila looks working in my restaurant?”

Jack swung at him. Zane caught his fist in his palm, something he’d had a lot of practice

doing in the past. “Don’t take it out on me, Jack. You’re the one who told her to leave.”

“How do you know?” Jack growled.
Zane smirked. “I saw the paper.”
His face got hot as Zane continued, “Sappiest fucking thing I’ve ever read in my life, but

I called you as soon as I finished the article.” Zane released his hand. “Now, quit being an
asshole and go talk to her. She’s tending bar, but I didn’t fill out her paperwork. She
doesn’t belong here.”

Jack’s thoughts flashed back to Zane’s Good Samaritan-like warning about his father’s

health last week. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I’m hoping one of these years you’re going to forgive me for being a stupid

kid.”

“Fat chance.” But his voice lacked conviction, and Zane’s faint smile told Jack he knew

it.

“Or maybe I just want you to owe me one.” Zane shoved him toward the dining room.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

…

Lila was about to pass out. Zane hadn’t been joking. They were slammed. She lined up
another half-dozen beer glasses and wiped rum-scented sweat on her sleeve, ignoring
the new customer sliding onto the bar stool in front of her. He was going to have to wait.

“Lila?”
Her hand jerked, and she poured beer all over the bar. She grabbed a towel and

focused on the spill, afraid she was hallucinating. Jack’s voice was soft, almost tentative.
What if she looked up and he was still furious? Or worse, only wanted a drink? Just
because he was here didn’t mean he was here for her.

“Lila,” he called again softly.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
Her heart slammed in her chest at the sight of him. He held out a folded newspaper. “I

don’t suppose you read the paper today?”

She took it out of his hand and glanced down. Four stars. “Congratulations,” she said,

filled with bittersweet happiness. “You deserve it.”

He shook his head. “I never would have known I could do it if it weren’t for you. I never

would have had enough faith in myself. Would you read the review, Lila? Please?” His
green eyes were dark with torment. She looked down at the headline, Inspiration Behind
Inferno, and then she couldn’t stop reading. He’d told the reporter everything—the
competition, the menus, Personal Chef—and he’d given all the credit to her.

She looked up at him, stunned. “Jack, you make it sound like…” Hope swelled inside

her, so fast and hard she could barely breathe.

He walked around to her side of the bar. “Like you’re my inspiration? You are. And not

just because the menu would be entirely different if it were up to me. I haven’t been able
to  get  you  out  of  my  mind  since  the  competition.  I  looked  for  you  for  months.  When  I
found  you  at  Personal  Chef,  I  talked  my  buddy  into  hiring  you  for  his  bachelor  party,
hoping to see you again. I told myself it was because I wanted to give you a piece of my
mind. I couldn’t believe you made love to me and then lied about your competition menu.
I  was  angry  with  you,  but  I  was  also  confused.  I’d  never  felt  a  connection  with  anyone
like  the  one  I  felt  with  you.  I  didn’t  even  care  about  winning  the  stupid  competition
anymore.  But  then  I  woke  up  alone,  and  I  saw  you  cooking  ribs,  and  I  just  snapped.  I
wanted to teach you a lesson, but the joke was on me. I won, and my father gave me
Inferno, but every time I walk through the door, I think about you. You deserved to win.”

She started to protest, but he kept talking. “I want to be with you, Lila. The contract I

made you sign was stupid and the truce was a pathetic excuse to spend time with you.

When we’re together, I feel like a different person. I feel whole. I was devastated when I
thought you’d changed the Inferno menu to hurt me. I was even more upset when I
realized I was wrong and I’d sent you away. I’m so sorry, Lila. I’m a complete idiot. I’ve
taken advantage of you at every turn. I’m no better than that asshole art professor, but I
love you. I hope you can find it in your heart to give me another chance.”

Tears spilled out of her eyes as she reached forward to take his hands. “I didn’t deserve

to win the competition—you won it fair and square. You changed your game plan, but you
didn’t choke. You cooked recipes you’d only heard me describe, and the judges loved
them. In fact, you probably made my duck better than I would have.”

She clasped his cheeks between her hands, needing to make a confession of her own.

“I didn’t mean it when I said what happened between us meant nothing. It meant
everything to me, and I was afraid to admit it. That’s why I kept leaving before you woke
up. That’s why I kept leaving, period. I almost packed my bags and hopped on a train last
night, but I decided to stay. I was hoping you’d come to your senses.”

“I did. I totally did. I was terrified I’d lost you…” His eyes gleamed and a mischievous

smile teased the corners of his mouth. “You wouldn’t believe how relieved I was when I
remembered you agreed to continue working for me.”

She jerked her hands out of his grasp and put them on her hips. “What are you talking

about? You threw me out on my ear! You’re lucky I’m even talking to you.”

Jack nodded solemnly, still grinning. “I know. But you promised to consult on the

Inferno menu if I talked to my father, remember? Guess what?”

“Really?” She launched herself into his arms.
“Hey, you two!” Zane called from the door to the kitchen. “Get busy in your own

restaurant!”

Jack ignored him. “I held his hand all night, too. You were right about everything,

including my father, and I’m so grateful to you. I didn’t need a new menu, but I do need
you. Please give me another chance. I love you, Lila. Stay with me, and I’ll do everything
in my power to be the man you deserve.”

She wasn’t going anywhere. “I love you, Jack. Just the way you are. You don’t have to

change a thing for me. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

“In that case, I have a proposition for you.” His eyes glowed with tenderness. Slowly,

he lowered his head and claimed her lips. “Forever.”

It took her a second to realize it wasn’t her heart thundering—the crowd sitting at the

bar was pounding and clapping. She pulled his head back down for another long kiss.
“Finally, an offer I can’t refuse.”

Acknowledgements

I am profoundly grateful to my yoga instructor, Becky Gleason, for teaching me to shine
my heart forward. Her strength, balance, grace, and joyful energy are a constant
inspiration. Namaste, Becky! Without you, I would curl over my keyboard like a cooked
shrimp.

My agent, Nalini Akolekar of Spencerhill Associates, suggested I shine my heart forward

in another way and deserves the credit for Into The Fire. Why don’t you write a sexy
contemporary for Entangled? she asked, handing me a large glass of wine. Nalini, you’re
a genius! Jack and Lila were so much fun to write, and working with Entangled Publishing
was pure pleasure.

My heartfelt thanks to Liz Pelletier for saying yes and giving me such an amazing

creative team. The only thing more fun than writing the book was revising it based on
dazzling editorial suggestions. My passionate and perspicacious editors, Alethea Spiridon
Hopson and Lewis Pollak, rocked my written world.

My eternal appreciation to the Western New York Romance Writers for making this

journey with me, particularly Jessica Topper, Alison Stone, and Natasha Moore. You guys
are  the  best!  A  huge  thank  you  to  my  wingwoman,  Erin  Kelly-Park,  for  celebrating  our
long  friendship  with  a  Blackberry  Smash  on  Venice  Beach  last  summer,  and  to  Melissa
Cook,  yoga-buddy  and  partner-in-daily-chaos,  for  drinking  them  with  me  until  I  got  the
recipe right!

But life isn’t only about work…or so I’m told. The guy who truly keeps me balanced is

my husband. I’m darn certain my heart wouldn’t be shining, forward or otherwise, without
him—or you. Thank you for reading Into The Fire.

May your heart shine, too!

About the Author

Amanda Usen knows two things for certain: chocolate cheesecake is good for breakfast,
and a hot chef can steal your heart. Her husband stole hers the first day of class at the

Culinary Institute of America.

She married him after graduation in a lovely

French Quarter restaurant

New Orleans

, and they spent a few years

enjoying the food and the fun in the Big Easy. Now they live in

Western New York

with their three children, one hamster, two guinea pigs, a tortoise, and a new-to-them
beagle. Amanda spends her days teaching pastry arts classes and her nights writing
romance. If she isn’t baking or writing, she can usually be found chasing the kids around
the yard with her very own hot chef husband.

Want chimichurri, chocolate cake or Chicken Alighieri? Visit Amanda at

http://www.amandausen.com,

where you can find recipes for many of the yummy dishes

her

books.

She

can

also

found

Facebook

(

https://www.facebook.com/amandausen)

and

Twitter

(

https://twitter.com/#!/AmandaUsen)

if you want to chat about romance, writing, or

recipes.

Chapter One

The waiting taxi driver tooted his horn and she waved at him to stay. “Five minutes,” she
called out, her voice shaking. He stepped out of the car and yelled out to her across the
rows of headstones.

“Look, love, I don’t want to be rude, but if you want to get to the airport in time, we’ll

have to go now. We’re still in morning peak hour and the traffic will be heavy.”

Brianna Ballantyne’s whole life had turned upside down when she’d received the two-

page letter from the Italian lawyer three days ago, and her plan to spend twelve months
in Australia writing her psychology book flew out the window when she read the typed
words she had waited so long to hear.

The letter had led her to her mother’s graveside in a small cemetery in Sydney. The

grave was unkempt and the long grass brushed against her bare knees. She’d run her
fingers over the cold marble and traced the words. Her throat clogged and the backs of
her eyes pricked with unshed tears.

“Rosa Caranto. b. September 15 1949, Lipari Island – d. March 11 2009, Sydney. A

loving daughter.”

Her birth mother had died before her sixtieth birthday. Brianna had never met her,

despite working through an intermediary agency to locate her for more than two years.
When they’d notified her that they had located her mother, all they would disclose was
that she lived in Sydney, Australia. She knew when a person was located they had to give
their consent for the applicant to be told their name and to make contact. Her mother
had declined, so she had followed the paper trail from Scotland to Australia herself,
determined not to give up.

But she had arrived too late. The letter had reached her three days after she’d arrived.

It had been forwarded to her Sydney hotel from Scotland, and now she finally knew her
mother’s name. Instead of giving her the details to contact her mother, the lawyer
informed her of her mother’s death and the place she was buried. Closing her eyes, she
tried to remember where she’d been in March when her mother had passed, but emotion
overwhelmed her and she couldn’t think straight.

Damn it all. If only she’d started looking earlier, she might have made it in time and

met her. Why didn’t she want me? When I was born and when I found her?

She brushed away the tears as they wet her cheeks and gripped the piece of paper that

had led her to this small beachside cemetery thousands of miles away from her Scottish
home. And not only did it tell her about Rosa’s death, but about the inheritance of her
mother’s cottage in Italy and the bizarre conditions attached to it.

She had to be married to get the cottage.

Well, dammit, if that was what it took to find her birth family, she’d bloody well find

someone to marry.

“Rosa.” She whispered her mother’s name as she traced the letters on the small

headstone. “What happened to you? Why didn’t you didn’t want me? Why do you want
me married?”

The horn of the taxi blared again and the driver revved the engine. Brianna pulled

herself to her feet. Looking around, she spotted a clump of white daisies growing wild at
the base of a nearby gum tree. She reached down, picked one, walked back to the grave,
and placed it gently beneath the headstone.

“Good-bye, Rosa…Mother,” she whispered. “I’ll be back, one day.”
Climbing into the backseat of the taxi, she composed herself before leaning forward.

“An extra twenty dollars if you get me there on time.” She slipped the letter into the side
of her rucksack and fell back in the seat when the driver hit the gas and they sped off
toward Sydney Airport.

Thanks to the strategic, but wild, driving of her taxi driver, she made the airport in

time. She unzipped her money belt and handed him a fifty-dollar note when he pulled her
suitcase and laptop bag from the trunk and placed them on the curb.

“Thanks, love. Have a good trip.” He nodded at her as a waiting passenger opened the

front door of the taxi and climbed in. Brianna hitched the computer bag onto her shoulder
and turned to pick up her suitcase.

“Oh, shit!” Her rucksack was still on the floor of the back of the taxi. She waved madly

as the rear of the taxi disappeared around the corner, but it was too late. Thank God her
passport and travel documents were in her money belt. She closed her eyes, trying to
remember what was in her rucksack, and groaned when she thought of the letter from
the lawyer. She had slipped it into the side pocket when she got back in the taxi.

Shit. She hadn’t taken any notice of his details once she’d read the contents. All she

knew was the office was on Lipari Island.

Wheeling her suitcase behind her, she decided there was nothing she could do about it

now without missing her check-in. Squaring her shoulders, she moved to the end of the
check-in queue and vowed to be more careful in future.

Ha! As if.
The queue was moving slowly and Brianna tapped her foot impatiently as she waited

for her turn. No matter how hard she tried, things never came together for her. Her throat
clogged. Maybe if she’d been more organized, she may have found her mother
somewhere other than her grave? Never mind, she’d survive without the letter. All she
had to do was buy a new toothbrush and some underwear, and remember the name of
the lawyer once she arrived on Lipari.

Thank goodness she’d kept her computer out of the rucksack and hadn’t lost her

manuscript as well. Which reminded her, she’d forgotten to back it up. First job once she
was settled on the plane. That was an easy problem to address. Then all she had to do
was find someone who was willing to play the part of a loving fiancé.

She had four days to figure that one out.
If only she had more time, she was sure one of her mates from Scotland would have

played the part for a holiday in Italy.

Of course…that was it! She would pay someone. Surely she would be able find

someone to play a role for a couple of days while she checked out the lawyer and Lipari.
And found out about this inheritance and the conditions attached. All she wanted was to
find out about her mother and why she’d left her thirty years ago. It wouldn’t hurt to
playact for a few days.

Four days…for someone who usually did things at the last minute, that would be plenty

of time.

Her phone beeped in her pocket and she pulled it out.
“Oh my God.” Heads turned and Brianna grinned back as curious looks were directed

her way. For once things were going her way. Phil was flying back into Sydney from Bali
and his flight was on time. He was through customs and she’d get to see him before she
turned around and flew back to Europe. Now all she had to do was find the coffee shop
he was waiting in after she checked in.

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