“Very much,” Tess whispered. “I just want him to be happy, Maria.”
“Then you will have your cookbooks, even if it pains me very deeply to allow another in my kitchen.” She looked Tess up and down, then nodded. “You will cook something simple, yes?”
“Meat loaf and mashed potatoes.”
“This is not so simple.”
“But I’ll bet he likes them.”
“Yes, he does, but—”
“Then I’m going to cook that for him,” Tess said firmly. “I want to do this for him, Maria. And I hope you’ll help me, because I’m not exactly stellar in the kitchen.”
“This is bad, no?”
“Very, very bad.”
Maria gave a little chuckle. “Yes, I will help. And then I think I will disappear, because you and Señor McCall will wish to be alone.”
Tess flushed, and the housekeeper patted her hand. “He is a good man, the señor. He will take very good care of you. Now come. We will work.”
Tess frowned as she followed Maria into the kitchen.
Not that her sudden interest in cooking was a sign of anything serious. It wasn’t a commitment or anything close to that. She was just showing her appreciation by cooking a few dishes for a nice, decent man, for heaven’s sake.
Common sense called for her to keep things light. No matter what happened, she had to be flexible, to stop remembering how he made her laugh. To forget how his mouth felt on all the soft, hidden places of her body.
Tess cleared her throat, aware that Grady was studying her curiously.
“Anything wrong, Miss Tess?”
“I’m just making a grocery list,” she lied, pretending to scan the refrigerator.
She and T.J. were two calm, mature adults. It was merely because of certain circumstances that they’d been thrown in each other’s way. He could be regretting his breakdown of control at that very moment, regretting the temporary insanity that had gripped them both in the hot tub.
She forced down a pang at that thought and decided it would be best if she kept her mind on food.
An hour later, Tess pushed open the door of the sheriff’s office with her hip, balancing a heavy grocery bag in her arms. Grady followed, struggling with two more.
“You planning another cappuccino party?” T.J. asked from his desk.
“Only for two. And it’s dinner.” Tess studied his face. “Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
“Give us a minute, will you, Grady?”
Grady cleared his throat, then left quietly.
“Tell me.” Tess’s palms were clammy, and she couldn’t seem to breathe as T.J. put a rectangular piece of plastic on the desk.
“Have you ever seen one of these?”
“A credit card?”
“Close, but not quite. It’s a Smart Card. These little beauties can be used like phone cards. They can also be programmed to store medical records or personal identification for security purposes.”
Tess studied the card curiously. “How does it work?”
“Just slide one through a vendor’s access and you’re set.” T.J. turned the card slowly. “These will entirely change the way people do business. In five years, they could replace our traditional banking systems, bypassing them in favor of local retailers who provide all transactions via cards like these. You’ll be able to load your card via the Internet and then head straight to the store.”
Tess felt a tiny wave of uneasiness. “Do you think these cards have something to do with the deposit in my account?”
“Possibly. Andrew tells me that there have been a number of suspicious activity reports from banks in Boston and Atlanta, where retailers have significantly increased their Smart Card transactions.” He laughed grimly. “Not many mom-and-pop grocery stores do eighty thousand dollars worth of business in toilet paper and chewing gum in a week. There’s a possibility that Smart Cards are being used to process criminal transactions, avoiding normal banking procedures, then transferring the money into a dummy company that appears above reproach. But the millennium might have been their undoing, courtesy of a Y2K computer glitch in the banking system.”
“You mean that’s how their money got into my account?”
“It’s possible. Andrew and his team are checking other cities for suspicious account activity right now. Unfortunately, your brother is only one of the players, and that’s driving him crazy.” T.J. touched her hair. “He wants to be sure you stay safe.”
“I don’t understand. How does that affect my safety?”
“With others involved, he can’t call the shots anymore.”
Tess swallowed. “I guess that’s why I need you, isn’t it?” She fingered the Smart Card. “How come I haven’t seen any of these before?”
“They’re bigger in Europe and the Far East. The first are just beginning to be launched here in selected markets. When you mix Smart Card technology with Internet-accessible electronic wallets, you’ve got major headaches for law enforcement.”
Tess’s eyes narrowed as she realized that beneath his cowboy drawl, T.J. had a razor-sharp technical mind that was tracking every detail of this investigation. Though that knowledge comforted her, the silver plastic rectangle on the table still looked ominous as it gleamed in the sunlight.
Tess had dried potatoes on her elbows.
An hour’s work had left her sweating and muttering tensely. The kitchen was a ruin of dirty pans, discarded utensils, and damp towels. Boiled potatoes ran in a streak down the nearby wall, the result of a little mishap with Maria’s pressure cooker.
Tess scowled at the scene of devastation.
Who knew that cooking could be so exasperating? In spite of all her work, her meat loaf tasted dry and overcooked, not at all like the delectable item pictured in T.J.’s cookbook.
Tess stared at the exotic bottles lined up on the worktable. Tamari, seasoned vinegar, and chile sauce gleamed in the sunlight. Maybe it wasn’t too late to spice up the finished product.
She added a liberal dose of the red bottle she’d found at the back of T.J.’s refrigerator, then mixed in a little ketchup and hoisin sauce for variety. But the potatoes were going to need more than sauce to improve them. What was it with those little lumps? The more Tess beat, the more they noticeable they became.
Finally she gave up trying for improvement and arranged everything in a pan in the oven as an attack of nerves set in with a vengeance.
T.J. watched her pacing in the kitchen, her hair glowing like fire in the afternoon sunlight.
“She’s been pretty busy in there,” Grady murmured. “Cooking something special for you, I figure.”
T.J. felt a little kick near his heart. He tried to tell himself it was nothing earthshaking, nothing that spoke of permanence and commitment, but the words seemed to fall short.
“You can go now, Grady. I appreciate everything. I’ll see you get an extra week off next month.”
“No problem. I sure do enjoy that coffee she makes. Well, I’ll be heading off.” He hesitated, scratching his head as he watched Tess pace the room yet again. “I think she drank about ten cups herself. The woman has to be pretty jumpy by now. You might want to do something about that, Sheriff.”
T.J. plowed a hand through his hair. He had quite a few ideas of how he’d relax her. The problem was that it would probably be a mistake. Honor demanded that he try to put some distance between them until they sorted out where this relationship was headed. And of course there was the matter of her safety. Too often when things became personal, security became lax.
No matter how he looked at things, it was time to back off.
Sunlight slanted through the high windows as T.J. strolled toward the kitchen, stopping to watch Tess in silence from the doorway. There was an odd pain in his chest, and as he watched her pad barefoot in his kitchen, he almost forgot his good intentions.
“Am I interrupting something?”
She spun in a rush and T.J.’s breath caught at the sight of her long, sl
im dress of purple linen. A simple silver chain decorated her wrist, and he thought he had never seen a woman half so beautiful.
Not that her radiance was going to influence him to change his mind.
“These are for you.” He held out a bunch of wild-flowers.
“They’re lovely.” Tess looked around her, smiling crookedly. “But your kitchen isn’t. I appear to have used every dish and glass in the house. Cooking hasn’t ever been my strong point, you understand.”
T.J. pulled down a crystal flute from a high shelf. “Problem solved.” He avoided looking at her eyes. “Mae will be dropping by later. She wants to discuss plans for the Founders Day celebration.” He cleared his throat and studied the table. “Looks like you went to a lot of trouble.”
“This is my best effort; I warn you, cowboy.”
T.J. pointed to her hand. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve got mashed potatoes on your wrist.”
“I had a tangle with your pressure cooker, and I lost. Give me a minute to wash off.”
T.J. had a sudden urge to pull her down to his lap and stroke her skin clean with his tongue. After that there were a couple of hundred other spots he’d enjoy stroking … and tasting.
He frowned at the realization that keeping his distance was going to be a whole lot harder than he’d thought.
Instead of kissing her senseless, he focused on the food she’d made.
“I had a problem or two with the meat loaf.”
T.J. kept a straight face as he eyed the full plate, valiantly ignoring the lumps in the potatoes. “It looks just fine.” He managed to keep his expression from changing as he bit into the potatoes. “Great texture,” he murmured between careful bites.
Next was the meat loaf. His first swallow created an explosive wave of five-alarm heat in his mouth. Fortunately, he was used to the heat, but Tess wouldn’t be so lucky. “You might want to hold off on the meat. It’s going to be a mite too hot for you. Which bottle did you use for the sauce?”
She gnawed at her lip. “The one in the back of your refrigerator. The one with no label.”
“The little red one?”
“I think so.”
Wild chiles, a gift from Miguel. Enough heat to send a grown man to his knees, weeping. Even Maria steered clear of its punch.
T.J. had to struggle to maintain a bland expression. “In that case, you’ll definitely want to pass on the meat loaf. Try some potatoes instead.”
Tess locked her fingers together anxiously. “Potatoes. Now, that’s a subject. Did you know there are over two hundred varieties in existence?”
All that caffeine was definitely making her edgy, but there was something else. Was she having regrets? Second thoughts?
“Actually, the first potatoes originated in South America,” she said, talking fast. “They go back eleven thousand years.” She gave an uncertain laugh. “Even the cultivated varieties go back ten thousand years in the Andes. Potatoes are one of the few edible plants that can thrive above eleven thousand feet. The Incas actually froze them for their armies to use as rations on the march.”
She was definitely on edge, but that didn’t explain why she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
She took a breath and charged on. “Of course, there were problems.”
“Aren’t there always?” he said dryly.
“History says that either Sir Francis Drake or Sir Walter Raleigh presented potatoes to the court cook of Queen Elizabeth I. Unfortunately, the whole plants were boiled, including the stems and leaves. Since that’s where most of the toxic alkaloids are contained, everyone became terribly sick after the meal. Potatoes got a bad rap for years. No one realized they were supposed to peel off the skin either.” She looked down, toying with the silver chain around her wrist.
“Tess.”
She went on nervously. “And then there’s vodka. Did you know it was made from mashed potatoes? Schnapps, too. And some Scandinavian aquavit comes from fermented potatoes. Amazing diversity.” She studied her hands, scrubbing at a streak of potatoes she had missed. “One of my clients had a chain of fish and chips stores. That’s how I got to know so much. I had to write press releases and radio spots.…” She paused to take a sharp breath. “Oh hell, I’m no cook. Who am I trying to kid?”
T.J. felt his control begin to crumble. Maybe he could work on instituting some distance between them tomorrow. Right now all he wanted to do was kiss her.
“I realize that a few ruined potatoes aren’t going to wreck the world. That’s not the point,” she said jerkily.
“Then, what is the point?”
“There’s a reason it’s called comfort food. I know you have things on your mind, so I thought a nice, comfortable meal might help. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes are a snap, right? But look around you. I streak your walls and leave your kitchen looking like the aftermath of an air strike. I tried to do something for you and failed miserably.”
“Forget about the food,” T.J. muttered, feeling the first vicious stab of desire.
To hell with distance.
He pulled a wildflower from the vase and held it out. “About this fellow with the fish and chips—is he another client I’ll have to track down and torture?”
She didn’t smile. “Henry was eighty-five years old. He had twelve grandchildren.”
“You have to watch out for these old guys,” T.J. whispered, bending closer. “They figure they don’t have much time so they work fast.” He gently tucked another wildflower behind her ear, then pulled her to her feet. “Would you care to …” He closed in for a long, hot kiss.
“To talk?” she whispered once she could breathe again.
“Try again, Duchess.”
Her head tilted. “To clean up those mashed potatoes streaking your walls? I tried, but I’m not much better at housecleaning than I am at cooking.”
He shook his head, pulling her closer, even though his conscience screamed that he was a fool and worse for pursuing a relationship that could never be more than temporary.
She tilted her head. “To discuss Y2K hazards and the potential vulnerabilities of cybermoney in the private sector?”
He slid his hands into her hair. “Not a chance.”
“I guess that shoots all the possibilities.”
“We haven’t even started on the possibilities.” His voice was gravelly. “I want to feel you again, Tess. Right now.”
Even if they both regretted it later.
“This is never going to work.” But her fingers were already sliding over his chest.
“Tell me about it.”
She freed his top button. “We don’t read the same books. We don’t like the same music. We don’t even talk the same.”
“Probably not.” He tugged blindly at the zipper on her dress. “You don’t know anything about vigas and I don’t know beans about rollovers.”
“Rollouts,” she said breathlessly. “And about those potatoes.” She worked at the buckle of his belt. “In some cultures they were believed to bring fertility.”
“Sounds intriguing.” His shirt fell.
Her dress landed right on top of it.
“Sweet God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered in awe, drinking in the sight of her.
“No, it’s you. This …” She ran her palm over the hard, muscled lines of his chest. “You make me forget everything, including the fact that we have nothing in common.”
“We have this,” he said.
“Whatever this is.”
Whatever. That’s what he wanted: whatever she’d give him. Whatever he could take. He speared his fingers deeper into her hair, desire a drumbeat in his blood. “Now, Tess.”
“What are you—” Sunlight streamed through the window, glinting in her hair.
“Here. I can’t wait. Not when it feels as if I’ve been waiting for you forever.” T.J. caught her in his arms and lowered her to the floor, working her last lacy garments free. Then he simply looked at her while his heart pounded painfully. The rug was thick and s
oft beneath them as he pulled her onto his thighs.
Tess gave a broken sound of pleasure at his intimate touch. “We aren’t being reasonable,” she said, closing her eyes at the nip of his teeth on her breast.
“To hell with being reasonable,” he said harshly, caressing her with rhythmic strokes that left her trembling.
Tess caught a racing breath. This wasn’t like her. She never yearned, never sighed. And yet here she was—pulse surging, skin fevered.
If it was madness, she didn’t care. If there were regrets, she’d deal with them later.
He reached to the floor, protecting her even then, taking care of her with hands that weren’t quite steady. And Tess felt her heart turn over, loved him for that care.
He entered her with a deep, hot friction.
Too slow, it intensified.
Enflamed.
He knew her too well already—where to skim, where to linger. He brought her hand to his mouth, biting her palm lightly as their bodies reached, joined. It was a dark sweetness to hear his harsh groan as she moved against him. It was sweeter still to know that the man beside her was just as confused and blinded as she was. By need. By desire.
Tess refused to call it love.
Love was untrustworthy, a changeable emotion suited to poets with short memories and a fickle sense of fidelity. No, she wanted stability and the kind of deep, wordless connection that stretched over good times and bad, through boredom and strife.
Not love.
She told herself so as waves of pleasure slammed home, pulling her inside out and shaking her very world. Not love, she swore again, whispering his name as he found his own shuddering release, locked in her arms.
Lifetimes later, the sound of a car roused them from their breathless satiation. Gravel crunched, and then footsteps tapped to the courtyard.
“Someone’s coming,” Tess said drowsily.
“So I hear. They can just go away again.” T.J. smoothed the angle of her jaw.
“They might not want to.” Tess sighed as his hand moved over her breast.
“Nothing is as important as this,” he said darkly, palming her hip.
The doorbell chimed.
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