The Heartless Boyfriend

by Erika Kelly

  I could fall so hard for this man.

  He parted his lips, and the way he licked across her bottom one had her drawing in a sharp breath as pleasure bloomed across her skin. He took advantage of her surprise by sweeping his tongue into her mouth, tilting his head, and kissing her like the clock was ticking, and he’d never get this chance again.

  Sensation flooded her, making her nerves hum and her knees go weak.

  “Excuse me.”

  The voice tore them apart, and they pulled back to find a young woman with a colorful scarf wrapped around her head slip past them in the narrow hallway, arms laden with two platters.

  Delilah brought her fingertips to her mouth. “We should…” She cleared her throat and pushed past him, the cool air washing over her, drawing her back to reality.

  And the reality was, if she thought she’d had a type, she’d been kissing the wrong guys all along.

  The train pulled into the station, and Ruby pumped her arm. “Choo choo.” Giggling, she tucked her elbows to her sides and lowered her face into Squawk’s furry head.

  “You liked that train ride?” Will descended the stairs onto the platform, holding her tight against him.

  Actors in period costumes—well-to-do couples, gun slingers, an ironsmith, a banker—roamed the dirt streets and boardwalks, and the town was filled with friends, family, and town employees, ready to launch Owl Hoot.

  She pointed over his shoulder to the train. “Go ‘gain.”

  “We’ll take the train home, but right now let’s go check on Wally. It’s her big night.” The other chefs had been in town long enough to hire help and get their dishes together. Being so far behind the curve had made Delilah nervous, so he wanted to give her support.

  “See Wally?”

  She seemed as excited as he was. “Yeah.” As he climbed the boardwalk steps and made his way to the saloon, his phone vibrated. When he saw Gray’s name, he stepped aside to take the call. “Hey.”

  “Heard you kicked Mom out.”

  Great. He could just imagine how she’d spin it. “I don’t know what she told you, but—”

  “Hey, man,” Gray said. “No grief from me. You did the right thing. She’s got no business in our house.”

  Even though he didn’t regret his decision, it still relieved him to get his brother’s support.

  “Besides,” Gray said in his deep, rumbly voice. “That’s Dad’s kid. Mom’s got no relationship to her.”

  Ruby bounced Squawk on his shoulder, murmuring to herself.

  “Little girl.” He watched her, lost in her own little world, and it made him smile.

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s not a kid. She’s a little girl.”

  Gray went quiet. And then, “She’s cool?”

  “She’s amazing.” He was starting to sound sappy. “How’d your heat go?”

  “Did okay.”

  Gray. His brother downplayed everything. Swore he didn’t care about winning—it was the thrill of the ride. “You make the finals?”

  “Yeah.”

  A rustling sound let him know someone had snatched the phone out of his brother’s hand. “Dude, he’s like the wave whisperer.” Sounded like Amelia, one of the surfer’s in Gray’s posse. “He caught a fuckin’ ten, and he was legit shredding those barrels.”

  “Cool.” Will never understood why his brother didn’t take surfing and boarding seriously. He could be a champion. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Can you put Gray back on?”

  After a brief hand-off, his brother came back on the line. “Yeah, man. I’m here.”

  “When you coming home?”

  “You need me now? I can fly out tomorrow.”

  He knew without a doubt Gray would give up his tournament if Will was in a bind. “Nah, it’s all good. Thanks, though. Good luck tomorrow.” Disconnecting, he transferred Ruby to his other arm and pushed open the doors of the restaurant.

  A crowd gathered around the bar to watch the bartenders in action. Each contestant had a different style of mixing drinks and interacting. The judges—travel writers and food critics—wore lanyards and carried clipboards, as they took notes.

  The winner of the best signature cocktail for the Owl Hoot Spa restaurant would get twenty-five grand, but it’d be the board members who’d decide which bartender they’d hire.

  Already waiters had started circulating with the chefs’ hors d’oeuvres, though the dishes would remain anonymous until the winner was announced.

  “Hey, cutie.” A waitress carrying a platter rubbed a finger on Ruby’s plump cheek. “You want something to eat?”

  His sister scrunched her nose and shook her head, making Will laugh. He grabbed a toast point and an extra napkin. “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing.” The waitress gave him a wink and moved on.

  Will dumped the smoked salmon and dill into the napkin and handed off the plain bread to his sister.

  “Fank you.”

  As he headed into the kitchen, she ripped a big bite off and chewed like it was a turkey leg. “Dis good, Wheel. ‘Nudder?”

  “Sure, Rubes. I’ll get you some more.”

  At various stations around the kitchen, the chefs worked like there was one minute left on the clock, and they’d barely begun. Sweat gleamed on their foreheads, and one of them barked orders at her sous chef.

  He didn’t know if the board had told the contestants that, when it came to hiring for the spa restaurant, the decision would be based on more than the menu, taste, and presentation. Personality mattered, too, since they’d have to work with the chef on a daily basis.

  Bad behavior wouldn’t be tolerated. The Bowies and their friends didn’t like prima donnas or people in power who treated their staff like they were anything less than an equal.

  “Wally!” Ruby pointed with such enthusiasm she practically fell out of his arms.

  Delilah, in a white chef’s apron that covered her gorgeous body, stood by the walk-in pantry, arms loaded with a basket of some feathery green herb.

  She chatted with the dishwasher like she’d just bumped into an old friend in the supermarket. Her free arm moved like a conductor’s, orchestrating the emotions that played across her face. She used her hands, her body, her voice to illustrate her words, and he found her utterly and completely captivating.

  She lit him up. Flicked every damn switch inside him to On.

  Gesticulating as she told her story, Delilah nearly dropped the basket, but the dishwasher stepped forward to help her. They both laughed, and it was at that moment she spied Will. Surprise turned to something softer when she saw Ruby. She gave the guy a smile before making her way over to them.

  “Did you guys come to visit me?” She blew a raspberry on Ruby’s cheek. “Or my food?”

  Ruby pressed a hand to the damp patch of skin and giggled. “She kissed me, Wheel.”

  “I saw that. You’re a lucky girl.”

  “Kiss Wheel.” Ruby cupped each of their cheeks and pushed their faces together.

  Laughing, Delilah brushed her lips across the corner of his mouth, but he caught a whiff of her honey-vanilla scent, and desire roared to life inside him. Catching the back of her neck, he held her in place as he kissed her on the mouth—gently, softly—way too aware of the sexy plump of her bottom lip.

  Oh, Jesus. Sensation flooded him, and when her lips parted and he got that hit of wet heat, he wanted to slide his tongue inside and claim her mouth.

  “You kissy kiss.” Ruby’s voice rang like a chime.

  Remembering he was in a kitchen and Delilah needed to get her hors d’oeuvres out, he pulled back, letting his gaze linger on her lush, raspberry mouth, still wet from his kissy kiss.

  She gazed into his eyes, not backing down, not embarrassed, just smiling with a hot promise of more to come. “You sure know how to distract a girl.” But then she turned her attention to his sister. “You hungry, little one?”

  Ruby nodded.

  “Let’s see what I’ve got for you.�
�

  “Shock-let!” Ruby shouted with glee.

  “I wish I had some of that.” She led them to her station—just a small counter in a corner of the kitchen. Handing Ruby a curved bread crisp that looked like a lace basket, she pointed to the pewter tray. “What do you think?”

  “What happened to the figs?” They’d bought dozens of them. Instead she’d piled onto the curved bread crisp some kind of beef with a crusty edge, a dollop of jam, and a sprig of a feathery herb—dill? The simple but artistic presentation didn’t look anything like what the other chefs had prepared. The ones he’d seen in passing looked far more elaborate and hearty.

  “You sound disappointed.” She watched him with concern.

  “I was expecting figs.” He didn’t want to let her down, but he respected her enough to tell her the truth. “But yours looks a little simple compared to the others.”

  “Oh, I never compare myself to other chefs. I just have to go with my instincts.” She picked one up. “Try it.”

  He popped a crisp into his mouth and bit down. The crunch of toast contrasted with the juicy, flavor-filled bite of the meat. The jam gave it a tart and sweet punch. “This is outstanding.”

  “Yeah?” She eyed her dish with a furrowed brow. “I toasted the bread in this shape to reflect Jackson Hole, since you said the valley was shaped like a bowl. I wanted to do something with indigenous animals, and I really like how the bison roam free on the land—”

  “This is bison?”

  “Yes. They’re all over your property, so Lachlan took me to Wild Buffalo Ranch, and I bought some of their meat. It was a little out of my comfort zone, but I left there totally impressed with their sustainable ecosystem concept. Anyhow, I tried different crusts, but I went with espresso to make it look like their thick, wooly hides. Do you see?”

  He liked to think of her as impulsive, changing her mind on a whim—from a fig dish to bison—but he’d mischaracterized her. She was incredibly thoughtful.

  She was intuitive. Not impulsive.

  And she impressed the hell out of him. “I do.”

  “It’s a little early for the huckleberries, but I really wanted that chunky, moist hit of both sweet and tart. What do you think?”

  “I think…it’s unlike anything I’ve ever tasted but, even more, I’m impressed with how much thought you put into it. It represents Wyoming. And our ranch.”

  It struck Will that he’d never met anybody who paid such close attention. Who cared as much as she did. Delilah got completely invested in the things that mattered to her.

  And for the first time in his life he wanted a woman—this woman—to care that much about him.

  Which is ridiculous since she’s leaving in six weeks.

  Not that he could have her anyhow. You don’t piss in your own pool. A mountain man down to his bones, his dad didn’t have many rules for his boys but, in a small town like Calamity, he’d wanted them to be on good terms with everyone. That meant he didn’t want his four sons messing around with the women. That applies to houseguests. Especially, when she’s Callie’s closest friend.

  “There’s something missing, though, right? The presentation, it’s missing color.” She checked her watch. “Okay, come on. Think. The chutney’s dark like the meat and the crisp. I need…”

  “Fowers.” Ruby pointed to a waiter carrying a tray of small glass vases filled with wildflowers.

  A smile burst across Delilah’s face, and she cupped Ruby’s plump cheeks. “You, little girl, are a genius.” She swept across the room and yanked a handful of stems out of a giant stainless steel sink. Plucking off the bright yellow heads, she sprinkled a few on each piece. “Bingo.” She stepped back and took it all in. “Perfect.”

  Her creamy complexion, her powerful confidence, all that hair tied up at the back of her neck…she was just so vibrant and sexy.

  Perspiration broke out on his forehead, and the kitchen grew uncomfortably warm. “We’ll let you finish up. See you out there.”

  “Toast, peeze.” Ruby held her hand out for another crisp, and Delilah kissed the little girl’s palm before placing the bread in it.

  Will didn’t like the hammering of his heart, but he was a man who faced his fears. He turned back around. “Delilah?”

  With a handful of brilliant yellow petals, she looked up from her platter.

  “If your brother came to town tonight and offered you your own Da Nonna’s, would you take it?”

  Her gaze shifted to Ruby, and her expression turned thoughtful.

  He liked that about her. He could trust her to tell the truth.

  “Yes.” Her determination wobbled for a moment. “It’s…my family. I’d have to.”

  As the warm water rushed over her soapy hands, Delilah thought about her immediate reaction to Will’s question, the way her heart had seized. It would mean the world to have her brother show up and tell her he believed in her enough to support her franchise.

  At the same time, though, she’d had a stab of fear. She didn’t want to leave Will and his sister, the competition, and this sprawling ranch filled with ice-cold creeks and wild animals, cabins, trails, and teal-colored lakes.

  These feelings for Will…she couldn’t explain it. He wasn’t her type, and yet she wanted to spend every damn minute with him. And that kiss in the hydroponic farm?

  She’d never had a kiss like that. Something so electric, so erotic. It had uncorked this desperate need for more. It wasn’t just exciting to kiss in the hallway outside the tasting kitchen…it had called on something deep, primal. Him.

  Mine.

  She’d had this crazy feeling like, if she didn’t get closer to him, meld with him, she would combust.

  Shutting off the faucet, she reached for a clean dish towel.

  No question, Will was an intimidating man. His energy bristled with purpose, and he didn’t waste a single moment, word, or calorie. Everywhere he went, people stopped and watched him. It was almost comical when someone froze in the middle of licking an ice cream cone to take him in. Women eyed him with want and possession; men eyed him with awe and envy.

  But nobody saw those moments when he held his sister and agonized over whether he was doing right by her. No one saw him curled up in her bed reading books, as she bounced Squawk in her lap.

  And the way he looks at me? That carnal hunger—the promise of what he’d do to her body if they were alone—Glory be—it sent a direct hit to her heart, making her giddy.

  She liked him, for sure. But that kiss made her realize she more than liked him.

  God, she had to have him. Just had to.

  “You coming?”

  She turned to find Chef Alonso, the only one remaining in the kitchen, at the double doors. “Absolutely.”

  Time to mingle, she set the towel down and followed him out. She couldn’t wait to take in everyone’s expressions as they tasted her food.

  A crush of people filled the dining room with laughter and conversation. Some dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts, others more formally. Little kids darted through the crowd, and waiters carried silver trays.

  Each chef had her own white-clothed table, and guests could read the placard to see the ingredients. Delilah had written a little story on her card, explaining why she’d chosen the elements.

  An older man stood at her table with a glass of wine in one hand and her hors d’oeuvre in the other. She could only see him in profile, but he was eyeballing it carefully, as if deconstructing it. She hoped he liked what he saw, because it was really pretty. And it tasted great.

  She still had the flavor on her tongue. The juicy, tender meat against the crunch of the espresso and salt crust, and the blast of the chutney profile just made a huge flavor party in her mouth.

  She couldn’t wait to see his expression when he bit into it. A couple joined him, and he turned to acknowledge them.

  Awareness snapped, jarring her and immersing her in a cold fog.

  Harry Morgenstern.

  No. It co
uldn’t be.

  He wouldn’t come to Calamity.

  What, were the judges getting a hundred grand, too? Why on earth would the New York Times Daily’s food critic judge this competition?

  Fighting the crowd, she made her way across the room. Next to the hostess’s podium, she read the poster board resting on an easel. It welcomed family and friends to the pre-launch party, invited them to participate in the judging by filling out score cards, and then listed the guest travel writers and food critics.

  And there it was. Harry Morgenstern, The New York Times Daily food critic.

  Her initial shock—having that slice of New York infiltrate her little bubble—gave way to a slow tide of happiness. This man loves my food.

  Maybe—just maybe—she had a shot here.

  * * *

  Delilah slammed the medicine cabinet closed and squeezed toothpaste onto her brush.

  She could not get the image of tonight’s scoresheet out of her head.

  Not complex enough?

  Seriously, how was my hors d’oeuvre not complex enough?

  The dishes were anonymous, so Harry hadn’t known it was hers, but come on. That bite was plenty complex. He was a New Yorker, born and raised, so maybe he wasn’t used to these uniquely western flavors.

  Well, he’d have to get used to them, because she was using all locally sourced ingredients. She had a flash of the spa restaurant under her helm. She’d go all-out with the spirit of Calamity—she’d make it almost kitschy. In fact, she’d name her dishes after the outlaws who settled the west.

  Oh, I like that.

  Actually, that gave her a direction for the final event, a menu for the restaurant and samples of some of the dishes. Yes.

  As she rinsed off her toothbrush, she thought about Chef Mathilda’s expression when she found out she’d won, all cool and confident. What must it feel like to have a starred Michelin restaurant? To be so good at what you do that you became used to the accolades?

  If Delilah had won, she’d have been jumping up and down and smiling so hard her face would shatter like a dropped plate. Total newbie. She headed to bed but wondered how Ruby was doing. Was she sleeping? She’d just check real quick.