Can't Stand The Heat

by Louisa Edwards

  “Hi, Miranda,” Rob said. He didn’t seem all that happy to see her, but he let the barrel of the gun droop toward the floor.

  “How are you?” she asked, falling back on manners. Really, what did one say to an armed gunman? Did Emily Post have a ruling on that?

  Miranda’s vision swam, making her painfully aware that she was skirting the edge of hysteria. Her ribs heaved, expanding and contracting too fast, until she felt Adam’s big, warm hand settle at the small of her back. The weight and heat grounded her. She inhaled and actually got a breath into her lungs.

  “Not so good,” Rob said morosely. “Since I got fired from here, no one else will hire me. I can’t go back to culinary school, they’ll fail me for sure. It’s all fucked up.” He raised his head, the gun in his hand coming up, too.

  “It’s your fault, everything is.” Rob glowered at Adam, blinking furiously. “You never gave me a chance to show you what I could do. You spent all your time paying attention to the others, like that stuck-up bitch, Violet, and that little Mafia piece of shit, Milo. Even the fucking Mexican dishwasher! But the worst was Miranda. She showed up, and it was like you couldn’t even see anyone else.”

  Adam’s hand tensed against her back. He shifted a few inches to the side, angling himself in front of her again. Miranda forced air in and out of her lungs in a rigidly slow tempo.

  “I’m sorry if you feel I ignored you,” Adam said. He was using a deep, soft voice, as though he were coaxing a spitting cat down from a tree. “But it wasn’t Miranda’s fault.”

  “She’s not even a cook,” Rob ranted, like he hadn’t even heard Adam. “She’s a writer, she doesn’t give two shits about cooking, she’s only here for one fucking month. It’s not like she was even looking for a job! But you acted like you wanted to hire her on full-time or some shit.”

  “I would,” Adam said.

  What?

  Rob’s face darkened, but Adam wasn’t even looking at him, he was staring at Miranda and she was staring back.

  “I’d hire her in a heartbeat if it meant she’d stay right next to me for a good long time.”

  Miranda gaped, searching Adam’s eyes for the meaning behind his words. His dark chocolate eyes were almost black, snapping with tension. He raised his brows a fraction of an inch, and Miranda tried desperately to interpret the message he was sending. She refused to believe it was as simple as Adam trying to tell her how he felt about her. That would imply that he thought he’d better get it in under the wire while there was still time, and she couldn’t handle that level of pessimism from Adam. Wes was outside by now, the police were probably on their way already. This was no deathbed confession.

  No, Adam must mean he wanted her to stay at his side or behind him, not present a target for Rob’s ever-shifting gun.

  “Shit, a woman like Miranda?” Rob laughed, high and grating. “No way she’s sticking around. She’s just digging for dirt for that book. Have you let him read it yet, Miranda? There’s some good shit in there.”

  Miranda closed her eyes, blood draining from her head and making her see stars against the black of her eyelids.

  “Doesn’t matter. Book or no book, she’ll always have a place at Market, if she wants it,” Adam said, clasping Miranda’s shoulder. He shook it lightly, as if waking Miranda from a deep sleep, and she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her with unmistakable affection.

  She gulped. He smiled, dimple winking, and Miranda’s heart did a slow spin before leaping up into her throat.

  That wasn’t mere affection shining in Adam’s eyes, written in every line of his face.

  Adam wasn’t offering her a job, he was offering himself.

  Joy rose in her like a storm surge, bright and unstoppable, only to tangle horribly with a crushing coil of guilt.

  Adam loved her.

  She’d betrayed him.

  Those awful things Rob told her, that she’d put in the book. Secrets, rumors, innuendo, about Violet and Milo and Quentin and all the rest. About Adam and the way he’d gotten the money for Market. Any single revelation would hurt Adam, but a whole bookful, splashed out into public for the whole world to pick over and denigrate?

  Miranda shuddered. Adam curled his hand around the back of her neck, palm warm and reassuring at her nape. His stare went from tentative happiness to concern in a blink. Miranda had never felt so out of control. She had no idea what he was reading in her expression, but from the tingling in her fingertips and the chill of sweat at her hairline, she must be white as salt.

  She opened her mouth, but her vocal cords seemed to be paralyzed. Nothing came out, not even a whisper.

  Before she had a chance to clear her throat and try again, Rob made an aggrieved noise that jerked her attention back to him.

  “You fucking loser,” Rob said. There were tears on his cheeks again, but he didn’t pause to sob. His gun hand was steadier now and pointed directly at Adam. “I’ve got a damn gun on you, aimed right at your stupid heart, and you’re still mooning around playing suck-face with her.” Rage purpled his face. His whole body shook.

  The very real possibility that she could lose Adam before she managed to squeak out one word about how she felt struck Miranda between the eyes. Everything was happening so horribly quickly.

  Shoving Miranda behind him again, Adam faced Rob. Miranda gripped the scratchy fabric of Adam’s chef jacket, longing to pull him to the ground and cover him with her own body. Anything to get that gun off its target.

  “I’m sorry, Rob, calm down. Keep talking. What else is on your mind?”

  “What’s the fucking point?” Rob screamed. “Oh, shit, what’s the point of any of this? I can’t do it anymore, I can’t, I can’t—”

  Adam stilled, and time slowed to a crawl. As scared as she’d been before, Rob’s sudden breakdown ratcheted up her terror by about a thousand degrees.

  The whole kitchen froze into a hideous tableau with Rob at the center, crying silently and hunching over his midsection as if he were slowly crumbling.

  Sudden movement in the dining room. A flash of auburn hair stopped Miranda’s heart.

  Jess.

  He peered around the corner of the pass-through and locked eyes on her at once. She made an involuntary movement, a quick jerk of one shoulder, before she bullied her body back to stillness. But in the unnatural silence of the kitchen, it was enough to bring Rob’s head up.

  Flailing wildly, Rob swayed on his feet, eyes narrowing on the pass.

  Time sped up.

  Miranda couldn’t follow it.

  Adam gripped her shoulder and pushed, propelling her away from him.

  Miranda careened into the salad station, stainless steel countertop thudding into her solar plexus and stealing her air.

  Adam exploded into motion, diving for Rob.

  Frankie dashed toward the pass, terror in his eyes and a name on his lips.

  “Jess!”

  A gunshot. Stench of ozone and fear.

  Adam tackled Rob to the ground, knocking the gun from his hand.

  Time snapped back into place and Miranda started to breathe again. She clutched the stainless steel table and panted.

  Sirens screamed outside the restaurant. Quentin and Milo ran to help with Rob, who collapsed bonelessly. All the fight went out of him as soon as the gun was out of his hand.

  Adam wrestled Rob into Quentin’s big, capable hands, got off the floor and whirled, looking around frantically until he spotted Miranda.

  “You okay?” he asked, circling the salad station and coming up behind her. His arms closed around her tight enough to force the air from her lungs again, but Miranda didn’t care.

  “I know, it’s okay, I’m okay. But Adam, that gunshot—”

  “No!”

  Jess’s agonized voice tore through the kitchen. Miranda pulled out of Adam’s arms.

  “Oh, my God,” said Adam faintly.

  Frankie was on the ground, stretched in front of the pass like a rag doll tossed aside b
y a careless child.

  Blood seeped reddish-black, puddling under his left shoulder and spreading over the pristine white tile.

  Jess banged through the swinging door and skidded to a stop at Frankie’s side, crouching and whimpering, “Please no, oh no, Frankie, please, hold on, hold on.”

  Adam’s knees gave out under him, just for a second, but his arm was still around Miranda’s shoulders and she caught the brunt of his weight.

  “Adam, honey, come on, we’ve got to go make sure he’s okay,” she said urgently. “Stay with me, you can do this.”

  Nodding, Adam set his jaw in a grim line and straightened up. Miranda kept a cautious arm around his waist, but they stumbled over to Frankie and Jess with no problems.

  Frankie lay facedown, his right arm curled beneath his body. Jess hovered over him, tears streaming unnoticed down his face.

  “I don’t want to move him,” he said. “I’m sure we’re not supposed to move him.”

  Miranda helped Adam ease down beside Frankie, careful to avoid the small pool of blood. It didn’t seem to be getting any bigger, but she still said, “Maybe I’ll get some towels? We ought to put pressure on that wound.”

  “Hey, Frankie,” Adam said, voice gruff and choked. “Come on, man, wake up.”

  Frankie didn’t stir.

  Jess met Miranda’s eyes, his own swimming with pain and remorse.

  “It’s because of me,” Jess said through white lips. “Rob saw me through the pass. He was aiming for me. Frankie saved my life.”

  Miranda’s heart split down the middle, jagged shards cutting into her chest. God, how could one person be so wrong about so many things?

  She’d thought Frankie was a danger to Jess. The man had literally thrown himself between Jess and a bullet.

  A thready, heartfelt groan sounded from the vicinity of the floor.

  “Ah, fucking hell.” Only the accent was so thick, it came out sounding like fockin’ ’ell.

  Miranda wasn’t sure she’d ever heard anything more beautiful.

  Judging by the dawning elation on Jess’s face, he agreed completely. Adam made a sound between a grunt and a cough. A quick glance at his face confirmed that he was caught on the brink of relieved tears, and was struggling manfully against it.

  Miranda squeezed his arm. “I’ll get the towels,” she said gently. She kissed Adam’s cheek on her way back to her feet, and he shot her a grateful look, the love she’d seen earlier shining bright and honest in his wet eyes. Miranda paused for a second to take it all in. She hadn’t imagined it; Adam loved her.

  “What happened?” she heard Frankie ask groggily. And a half second later, in a much sharper voice: “Where’s Jess, is he all right?”

  Self-recrimination was bitter on the back of Miranda’s tongue, but she swallowed it down.

  She deserved every bit of it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Whoops!” Frankie listed sideways as they led him out of the emergency room, where he’d been bandaged and deemed okay enough to go home. Grant ducked under his arm and supported him from the other side.

  “Thanks, mate. Still getting my sea legs under me. That paramedic bint had great drugs. Help me reel over to Adam?”

  Everyone in their ragtag little group faded but Frankie and Grant. A lump the size of a ham hock expanded in Adam’s throat.

  “I’m so fucking sorry,” Adam choked out.

  “What on earth for?” Grant asked, eyebrows high and perplexed. Grant had organized the efficient evacuation of more than a hundred guests, servers, and other front-of-house staff. Then he’d come back inside with the police, unwilling to leave his friends in danger any longer than he had to.

  Adam was half surprised the man hadn’t told the guests to get out on their own and come back to the kitchen when Jess did. But of course Grant was too responsible for that. And, unlike Jess, Grant wasn’t in love.

  Frankie was giving Adam that narrow look he reserved for idiots and madmen. The knowledge that only sheer, dumb luck was responsible for keeping that sneer in place made Adam shudder.

  “Adam’s torturing himself over what happened because he thinks he’s God,” Frankie said. “Right? Shoulda seen it coming, shoulda stopped it before it started. That kind of bollocks.”

  “It’s my place, my restaurant,” Adam said miserably. “I knew Rob was a fuckup from the minute I met him. I should’ve bounced him out of here then and there. It never should’ve come to this.”

  “See? Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” Frankie said, all singsong and annoying. When it didn’t even make Adam want to slug him, he knew things were fucked up.

  “Frankie’s right. Ineloquent and immature, as always,” Grant specified, returning to his usual full-on snark with visible relief. Even a couple hours of being nice to Frankie while he was injured must’ve been a strain. “But for once, absolutely right. You’ve got to let the crazy man with the gun take responsibility for this one, Adam.”

  The lump in Adam’s throat started to dissolve. He had the best friends in the whole fucking world. If his arms weren’t made of overcooked pasta, he’d totally subject them both to bear hugs.

  Frankie shrugged his unbloodied shoulder, barely hiding a wince. “And anyhow, it all turned out fine. No one the worse for wear.”

  Jess shot Frankie an incredulous look. Adam was with him on that one; the ER doctor had removed Frankie’s shirt to get at his left shoulder, and that entire side of his pale, Englishman’s body was smeared with a rusty stain of drying blood.

  “I’m staying with Frankie tonight,” Jess announced, glancing at his sister. “I told the nurse I’d keep an eye on him.”

  Adam watched Miranda, but he couldn’t read her expression.

  “I understand,” was all she said.

  Jess gave her an uncertain look. “So it’s okay?”

  “Christ, Bit, how much of a blessing d’you want?” Whatever the ER doc had given Frankie was making his eyes slide shut.

  Jess hesitated for a moment, and Miranda touched his arm lightly.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she told him, a world of feeling in her voice. “And . . . Frankie’s going to be fine. I know you’ll take good care of him.”

  “I will,” Jess said, all serious eyes and firm mouth. “And he’ll take care of me, too.”

  Miranda pressed her lips together and nodded. Jess helped Frankie over to the curb where Grant had already managed to hail a cab, leaving Miranda staring after them.

  “Hey,” Adam said. “That was . . . wow, a huge step for you. It was awesome. Are you okay?”

  She turned back to Adam, looking a little lost for a second. “I’m fine.” Her face cleared almost at once. “Where do we go now?”

  “Home,” Adam said, stepping off the curb to flag down a taxi.

  “Home,” she echoed with a soft smile. “I like that.”

  Once they’d clambered into a cab and were speeding down Tenth Avenue toward the Village, Adam leaned his head back against the cracked vinyl seat and groped along the cushion for Miranda’s hand.

  “Miranda,” he said. His voice sounded strange, tinny, and far away. “There was a guy with a gun. In my kitchen.”

  Even in the dim light of the cab’s backseat, he could see those gorgeous blue eyes fill up. “I know, honey.”

  “You keep calling me ‘honey,’ ” Adam said. “And I can’t even enjoy it. Because of the guy. With the gun. Oh, Jesus.” A sob ripped out of his gut before he knew it was coming. His chest heaved and he brought a shaky hand up to his face.

  Miranda’s arms were around him in a flash. Nothing in the world ever felt so divine.

  The rest of the cab ride passed in deep, cushioning silence. Adam felt like he’d been packed in cotton balls; the world rushing by the taxi window seemed very far away.

  When they got to his corner, he let Miranda pay the cab driver and maneuver him into his townhouse. He watched her deadbolting the door and was shaken by a wave of delayed fear and adrenaline.

 
; “I almost lost my best friend today,” he said, startling himself. Saying it made it real. He pulled Miranda close.

  “But you didn’t,” she reminded him, coming willingly to his arms. “It’s over and Frankie’s got lots of people looking out for him. He’s going to be better than okay.”

  Adam nodded, his face in Miranda’s hair. No wonder Frankie nuzzled Jess all the time. The Wake hair was addictive, warm and soft. Comforting.

  “I could’ve lost you, too,” he said, the words slow but inexorable. He couldn’t stop dwelling on the terrible what-ifs.

  What if Rob’s shot hadn’t gone wild? What if Adam had shoved Miranda in the wrong direction, and she’d been hit instead? What if . . .

  “But you didn’t. You won’t.” Miranda’s voice was fierce. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself, too. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere unless you make me.”

  The only possible response to something so wonderful and longed for was a kiss.

  Adam framed her face between his palms and looked his fill. Luminous blue eyes, pink, cupid’s-bow lips, soft red hair waving over the milky skin of her forehead. He could feel the butterfly pulse of her heart in her neck, where the heels of his hands met to cup her chin.

  He took her mouth, hunger beating in his chest like a wild bird was trapped behind his ribs.

  She gasped into it, opening for him, yielding everything. Adam wanted to touch every inch of her, reassure himself that she was real and safe and there and all for him.

  Pulling back, he told her, “I meant what I said to Rob. I want you to stay. After the month is up, for as long as you want.”

  He had to be sure she understood. Should he say he wanted her to stay because he loved her? Would that scare her off?

  Miranda gave him a tremulous smile. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  She punctuated the words with a slip of her hand down his body, to where his dick was trying to leap out of his jeans. Adam didn’t know when he’d gotten hard, but it was suddenly all he could think about. Her hand moved delicately, every shifting bit of pressure sending sparks up his spine and shivers through his belly.