Bet on My Heart
Page 1
They’re turning up the heat!
French-trained chef Donovan Russell needs a change—a big one. So he’s trading in his five-star Parisian kitchen for the restaurants at his grandmother’s up-and-coming Reno casino. Donovan’s cooking techniques are flawless. It will be culinary perfection...as soon as he convinces his spirited and unconventional new pastry chef to follow his rules!
Hendrix Beausolies never follows recipes. Her desserts are a mouthwatering riot of complex flavors, each more delicious than the last. Where Donovan is all structure and precision, Hendrix cooks with instinct and experimentation. But when someone starts sabotaging their kitchens, they are forced to work together... Will they discover a shared passion for more than just food?
When she finished putting the ganache on the rolls, she popped one onto a plate and handed it to Donovan. “Try this.”
He took an experimental bite, chewed thoroughly and looked up at her. “Heavenly. You put apples in the rolls. What’s in the ganache? It tastes different.”
“Unsweetened apple cider,” she answered promptly. “Just a little to get the right taste.” She slid a roll onto a plate for herself and then took a bite. “It’s almost there. Maybe some candied walnut. Or...crystalized dates.”
He nodded as he took another bite. “The adventurous eater would try the ones with dates, but the average eater isn’t going to want dates on their cinnamon rolls, they’ll just want butter.”
“I agree butter is great, but people use too much of it, and it clouds the taste of their foods.”
“That’s how people are.”
She didn’t respond as she finished her roll. She licked the fork and found Donovan watching her.
“I like to eat,” she said, “and I’m not going to apologize for it.”
“I like women who eat.”
“In your business, you should.” She took his plate and put it in the sink, then opened the refrigerator to remove her bowl of chilled dough already formed into individual balls to start the crusts for her pies.
He reached over to touch her face. She remained still as he gently wiped a bit of ganache from the corner of her lip. Then he licked his finger. He smiled at her, and she tilted her head, walked closer to him and kissed him.
Dear Reader,
Jackie can’t cook. But she can eat. Miriam sort of cooks, but really prefers restaurant dining with no dishes to clean afterward.
Regardless, food is an absolute necessity. We cannot exist without it, despite our love-hate relationship with it. Somewhere along the historical road regarding food, it has evolved into love. We gift people at various holidays and celebrations with cake, pies, donuts and other sweet concoctions to savor these important moments.
Food brings together two very different people in this story. Donovan Russell follows the rules. For him, food is about perfection. Hendrix breaks the rules. She puts together disparate flavors and makes them work. Join Hendrix and Donovan as they discover a passion for each other that is much, much better than chocolate.
Much love,
Jackie and Miriam
J.M. Jeffries
Jackie and Miriam live in Southern California. When they aren’t writing, Jackie is trying to take a nap and Miriam plays with her grandchildren. Jackie thought she wanted to be a lawyer until she met Miriam and decided to be a writer instead. Miriam always wanted to be a writer from her earliest childhood when she taught herself to read at age four. Both are avid readers and can usually be found with their noses in a book, or, now that it’s the twenty-first century, their eReaders. Check out their blog at jmjeffries.com.
Books by J.M. Jeffries
Harlequin Kimani Romance
Virgin Seductress
My Only Christmas Wish
California Christmas Dreams
Love Takes All
Love’s Wager
Bet on My Heart
Visit the Author Profile page at
Harlequin.com for more titles
Jackie: Thank you, Cheesecake Factory, for your Red Velvet White Chocolate cheesecake. With a little nudge, I can always get Miriam to have a planning session there.
Miriam: Thank you to Mars, Incorporated for white-chocolate M&M’s. Jackie thinks she’s enticing me to the Cheesecake Factory, but I’m just happy because I don’t have to clean the kitchen. Also, a huge kiss to my newest grandson, Warrick Aurelian Pace, born August 2014. Big hugs to my granddaughter, Kathryn, who provides me with unending amusement. And a fist bump to my grandson, Frederik, who thinks he’s getting too old for kisses. And to my children, you are both always in my heart.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Hendrix Beausolie took a deep, calming breath. You can do this, she told herself, clutching her tote with her pastry samples inside. She heard the crackle of the newspaper ad in her pocket. She needed this job.
The Casa de Mariposa had made a startling reincarnation in the past few months and was now being touted as one of the premier hotels and casinos in Reno. The hotel had buzzed with excitement from the moment she entered the lobby.
One last look in the mirror showed her makeup was still flawless, which was a bit shocking considering how seldom she wore it. Her black-and-white 1940s retro dress skimmed her curvy figure and her black hair was still carefully styled in neat victory curls around her face. You can do this, she mentally repeated her mantra. She practiced her speech one last time, took a deep breath and turned back to the restroom door. She yanked it open, stepped into the lobby and headed toward the restaurant.
The restaurant was busy with the lunch crowd. A good sign. She marched across the floor, through the door into the kitchen and stopped in panic. Aromatic smells of food cooking greeted her, as did the sounds of waitstaff shouting orders and the line cooks at their stations flipping sizzling steaks, tossing salad or standing in front of tables slicing and dicing. Controlled chaos.
“Watch yourself” came a voice from the side.
She stepped away from the doors to avoid a waitress with a tray balanced in the air on one hand. “I have an appointment...”
The waitress grinned. “All the way to the back at the very end of the kitchen and down the hall. First door on the left.” She slipped through the door into the bustling restaurant.
Hendrix squared her shoulders and made her way to the back of the kitchen deftly avoiding people while muttering “coming through behind you.” The corridor opened in front of her and she paused to gather herself. She took another deep breath, stepped up to the door the waitress had directed her to and knocked.
“Enter” came a deep, authoritative voice.
Hendrix pushed open the door and stepped into a large office with a kitchen composed of gleaming stainless-steel appliances on one side and on the other a desk set in front of rows of bookcases containing what looked to be every cookbook in the world. She had a hard time pulling her gaze away in order to focus on the man behind the desk.
He stood at her entrance with a half smile on his face. He was tall. Taller than she was, and she was five-ten. In the two-inch heels she wore, her eyes were almost level with his. He was good-looking with wid
e-spaced brown eyes and short-cropped hair. His white jacket was a startling contrast to his mocha-colored skin.
So this was Donovan Russell, chef extraordinaire, most recently living in Paris but now currently revamping the menus at all the hotel’s restaurants located on the property. He’d been written up in Reno Today, an article Hendrix had studied for days, in an attempt to figure out what would impress him.
In person, he looked much younger than the photo accompanying the article. Maybe twenty-nine or thirty to her twenty-seven years of age. And Cordon Bleu trained. That part both impressed and intimidated her. She was totally in awe of anyone who had been trained in that mecca of French cuisine.
“I’m Hendrix Beausolie.” She put her tote down on his desk and held out her hand ready to launch into her speech.
“Just show me what you have,” he said interrupting her thoughts.
“I...” Startled by his brusqueness, she reached into her tote and brought out the container. She was deeply proud of her samples—a fruit tart, a couple of mini pies and her favorite cakes, including the champagne cake she’d developed for her best friend’s wedding. She opened the container and lifted out a tray setting it down in front of him. Each tiny sample contained all the hope and love she had inside of her for creating delicious pastries. She bit the inside of her lip, awaiting his next move.
He stared at her offerings. “They look pretty.”
“Pretty doesn’t seem to impress you.” She almost bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say that. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth closed and nod. Her grandmother always said her smart remarks would get her in trouble one day. She hoped it wouldn’t be today, but sometimes she couldn’t stop the words from passing through her lips.
He stared at her, taking in her dress, her hair, and her face. “You’re not a prima donna are you?”
“I thought about being a prima ballerina.” She stood on point and smiled at him. “But I grew too tall.”
He almost smiled. She could work with that.
“I don’t need a baller—”
She picked up a morsel of champagne cake and pushed it gently in to his mouth. His eyes opened wide in surprise at her audacity, but he chewed. Then paused for a moment, his eyes studying her, and chewed again. Before he could say anything else, she popped a second piece into his mouth.
“Wow...” he said after he’d swallowed, but before he could go on, she popped a tiny fruit tart into his mouth. “I...”
“Don’t talk,” she said. “Just eat.” She waited for him to gulp down the tart. Before she could insert another one of her scrumptious little desserts into his mouth, he held up a hand, walked over to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.
Then he sat down at his desk and watched her expectantly. She laid out each morsel in front of him and indicated where he should start. Between each bite, he drank water to cleanse his palate. Hendrix sat down and watched his face transform from doubt to delight and finally to amazement. She wondered how many pastry chefs he’d already interviewed. She intended to be the last one. She needed this job.
“What’s in this?” He said as the last bite of champagne cake filled his mouth. “I can taste the white chocolate and the champagne. What else?” His tone was still brusque, but he looked intrigued.
“A touch of raspberry, champagne, white chocolate and my secret ingredient.” Her secret ingredient was a tiny amount of cinnamon and maple syrup. Her grandmother had told her the tastes would never mesh, but they did when added in the right amounts. She liked the lingering aftertaste of the cake.
“The tart,” he said.
“Kiwi, pineapple, blueberries and raspberries with a bourbon and chocolate sauce.” Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t tell from the look of concentration on his face whether or not he liked it. She tried not to show how nervous she was. She’d learned to cook from her grandmother, and a childhood spent with globe-trotting parents had introduced her to the flavors of the whole world.
He leaned back in his chair and studied her. She gripped her hands tightly together to keep from shaking.
“Give me your background.”
She wet her lips with her tongue. “My parents own an import-export business and I spent most of my childhood traveling and learning to eat different cuisines. I went to high school in San Francisco where my grandmother taught me to bring all the flavors together in her tea shop. I majored in chemistry in college and since then I’ve worked a number of places—most recently a bakery here in Reno and before that a restaurant in San Francisco and my grandmother’s tea shop.” Her grandmother’s tea shop was named Hippie, Tea and Me. She usually avoided telling people that. Sure, her grandmother was an aging hippie, but her tea shop on Fisherman’s Wharf was still in high demand. Usually standing-room only.
“Wait.” He held up a hand. “Chemistry!”
She shrugged. “I like to blow things up.” In her mind, food was a lot like chemistry with tastes that blew up when the right amounts were put together.
He burst out laughing. “I blew up my grandmother’s kitchen trying to get a high school science project to work right.”
“I blew up the dean’s golf cart. I needed it for an experiment and...well...things happen.” She raised her hands not adding that she’d almost been expelled until her parents replaced the golf cart with a luxury model and added a generous donation to the science department. She had the feeling her father was still chuckling about it.
He burst out laughing again. Then he frowned. “What did you say your name was?”
“Hendrix. Hendrix Beausolie.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You’re hired. You’ll be in charge of the complete dessert menu for two restaurants, one a sit-down, dine-in and the other a diner in the lobby. When can you start?”
“Immediately,” she said, relieved. She’d left her last job at Mitzi’s Cake Magic rather abruptly. Even though she’d given him her references a week ago, she had the feeling he hadn’t checked them. Should she be worried?
He nodded. “Report to Human Resources right away. I’ll call them and let them know you’re on your way. And be here tomorrow morning at four.”
He mentioned a salary that made Hendrix gulp. She almost asked if he really meant to offer her so much money, double what Mitzi paid her, but clamped her mouth tight so it wouldn’t get her into trouble.
She started packing up the uneaten pastries, but he stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Leave them.”
She swallowed and nodded, unable to talk. She picked up her tote and fled. She briefly glanced back to see him digging in to what was left and chewing thoroughly as though trying to guess what was in each of her sample offerings.
* * *
Donovan had been bored. He’d interviewed several pastry chefs and not one had shown him anything interesting. Until Hendrix walked in looking sassy and just plain different. He didn’t know what he’d expected from her, but she’d blown him away.
Donovan ate every last sample left on the little tray, even using his finger to lick up the crumbs. Oh, my God, he thought. He didn’t know what was better, Hendrix or her cake. He could identify the main ingredients, but the subtle, pleasant aftertastes were harder. She’d used more than just bourbon and chocolate in the tart’s sauce. And the tiny pie, which he thought was mainly key lime, had something else, some undertone that had a slightly spicy aftertaste yet was still completely and totally delicious. Better than any samples from previous interviewees and he’d interviewed too many to even keep count.
Just from the way Hendrix walked, he knew she was different with her odd black-and-white dress, black shoes and hair curled like she’d just stepped out of a poster from the 1940s. She was sexy, classy and had a look of fun in her amber-colored eyes. He liked her. He wasn’t sure why, but that combination excited him. The way her food did.
And she was gorgeous. The sight of her heading into his office looking nervous and half terrified had rocked him. He’d gone into despair over the thought of finding just the right person to take over the pastry station after the last pastry chef had so unceremoniously quit. He’d wanted someone surprising and Hendrix was certainly that.
He sat back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the empty tray. He’d been looking for unique and found it, though he already knew she would be a headache. Just from looking at her and eating her samples, he could tell she wasn’t a team player. But if she could deliver quality every time, she’d really help put the restaurants on the map.
Donovan gazed around his combination office and kitchen. He was proud of it. Originally the office had been a small storage room, but he’d knocked out a wall and converted the expanded space into an industrial kitchen where he could experiment. He loved having his own private kitchen designed to his specifications. He loved every gleaming surface from the cabinets to the large worktable in the center with stools along one end so he could easily serve food when he and his brothers had a few food sessions on their guy nights. He’d even given cooking lessons to his new sister-in-law, Lydia, and his soon to be sister-in-law, Nina.
A knock sounded. He opened the door to find a portly man standing in the hallway. The man looked as though he’d just eaten a bowl of prunes. His mouth was pinched and his eyes were tired. He held up an ID wallet. Donovan tried not to groan. He’d been under scrutiny from the health department since his arrival.
“Come in,” Donovan said. “How can I help you?”
The man glanced down at his tablet computer. “I’m Larry Deacon. I’m replacing your last health inspector. I’m just checking to make sure you’re in compliance with the repairs you were ordered to make at the last inspection.”