Murder Love on the Menu

by Dyann Love Barr

  “No cameras in my kitchen. You so much as sneak a cell phone in there, and your staff ends up on the street with all their groceries.”

  His boss grimaced. “Okay. Okay. I get it.”

  Jordan didn’t think he did and wasn’t totally certain Hirschberg wouldn’t try something sneaky. “I mean it.”

  His boss turned to Gretchen. “Did you make notes of that? We’re using the kitchen over at I & I.” He didn’t bother to listen for her reply. “Did David call back?”

  She shook her head and tapped a few notes into her phone. “I’ll try again.”

  “Don’t give me try.” Hirschberg yanked his phone out of his inside jacket pocket. “Forget it. I’m calling him now.” He walked halfway down the hall and punched a few numbers into his phone.

  Tilly interlaced her fingers with his. “That poor girl. She needs a friend.”

  Jordan glanced down at the intense look in her eyes. “No, no, no.” He pulled her to the window and away from the drama. “You stay out of this mess.”

  “I know what it’s like to be unloved. My father disowned me when I got pregnant. He and my mother died in a car accident before we could work anything out. At least she still has her parents.”

  “Who don’t give a rat’s ass about her or the rest of her family. They’re selfish, hard people.”

  “What does that make you?” Her accusing eyes bored into his. The mutinous expression on her face set off all his alarms.

  “Discerning.” He glanced down at her and raised his brow. “I know trouble when I see it.”

  “All the more reason to be nicer to her.”

  She glanced over at Gretchen with a look so filled with longing and purpose that panic hammered in his chest. She was a sucker for lost causes, and this one was tailor-made for disaster.

  “You have enough to worry about without adding her to your to-do list.” He couldn’t help the hardness in his voice. He was going farther down on Tilly’s priority list. It was selfish, but he didn’t care.

  She bit her lower lip. “Maybe you’re right. She made me think of Sarah.”

  “You don’t treat Sarah like shit.”

  “Not accordin’ to Sarah.” Her sigh was a mixture of frustration and longing.

  “Oh?”

  She jammed her hands into jeans pocket and stared at the ceiling as if she’d find an answer written there. “She’s not happy about the new curfew or the fact Ruby caught her sneakin’ out. Now she’s grounded for a month. The big junior high dance’s comin’ up. I should be there for her instead of here.” A horrified expression twisted her face. “I didn’t mean…”

  “Sorry I was so rough on you about going home to Tennessee. I keep forgetting you have other people in your life.”

  “So do you—have people in your life, that is. Your family expects you to be home at least once or twice a month for Sunday dinner. They’re nice, and I’d hate to be the cause of any friction.”

  “Are you kidding? My mother is over the moon that I finally found a girl who would take me on.” He wrapped her in his arms, afraid she’d disappear if he pressed too hard. “They’re used to me missing family dinners now that my career has taken off.”

  Hank returned and joined them, out of sight of the others. “Why don’t you give your statements to Detective Crespo and get out of here. We’ve done all we can do until we hear from the ME.” He ran his hand through his hair. “That is one fucked-up family.” He shot a glance at Tilly. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t hang around with Satan’s Chef without hearin’ some prime cussin’.” Tilly frowned. “Is everything okay? Will Juliette be well taken care of?”

  “She’s in good hands.” Hank sighed. “I hope this turns out to be a simple unattended death and nothing more. I’ve got to get through my first-pass edits on Ten Inches of Death.”

  No one but Jordan and Tilly knew Hank wrote mystery novels on the side. Some speculated, but Hank didn’t want his writing to overshadow his police work.

  She chuckled and snuggled closer to Jordan. “Sounds a bit kinky. Are you writin’ erotica now?”

  “Nah.” Hank rubbed his hand through his hair again. He only did that when he was frustrated or embarrassed. Jordan opted for the latter. “The victim gets it with a ten-inch screwdriver.”

  “Now I’m disappointed.” Her delightful pout sent a hot knot of desire shooting through Jordan’s body.

  “Don’t be, pally. It’ll be a good read.” He nodded in the direction of Detective Crespo. “Go on. I still have some things to do.”

  It only took a few minutes to give their statements, and Jordan hustled Tilly out of the building as soon as they were done. He hailed a cab. Relief swamped him as they left the events of the day behind. He needed to be alone with Tilly, to make love to her and find a way to tell her about his affair with Juliette.

  “How about a glass of wine before we go to bed?” He unlocked the door to his apartment and opened it for Tilly. The bottle of champagne would have to wait until he could slip the engagement ring on her finger, but he still had the 2002 Magnotta Riesling Icewine.

  “Do we still have some of those chocolate cupcakes I made for Lena McCoy’s dinner party last night?”

  He smiled and retrieved the wine from the cooler. “No. I gave them to the maid for her kids. They’re too rich for me. How about some of the savory puff pastries? I know we have some of the shortbread cookies you made a couple of days ago.” He reached into a drawer in the kitchen island and found the corkscrew. “Is your sweet tooth bothering you?”

  Tilly had a habit of heading for anything loaded with sugar when she was anxious.

  “It’s not my sweet tooth. My hips are callin’ out for something decadent. You know I eat like a pig when I get stressed out, and findin’ a body has a way of makin’ me a bit crazy.” She hopped onto the bar stool on the other side of the island and played with the bowl of lemons on the counter. A small frown wrinkled her brow. “I had to sweat blood to take off the ten pounds I gained after Etheridge was murdered.”

  “Hey. I keep telling you that I happened to like those ten pounds.” He laid the corkscrew by the bottle of wine, came around the counter, and swiveled her around to face him. “The new slim and trim you is adorable as well.”

  “Don’t tell Chelsea that.” She sighed in resignation. “She’d want me to work out several hours a day as well.”

  He trapped her by bracing his hands on either side of her on the edge of the counter and leaned forward. Her mouth beckoned, sweeter than the ice wine. Her breath hitched, and he took what he wanted.

  Her lips opened at the first touch of his tongue. It didn’t matter if his heart still ached from her refusal to marry him. He needed to know she still loved and wanted him with the same passion she had before this evening’s fiasco.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck.

  He took his hands from the counter and swept her up in his arms.

  The trek to his ultramodern bedroom took forever, but it didn’t matter. She fused her mouth to his. Her tongue played a coquettish game of hide-and-seek. He pulled back and raised one eyebrow and smiled. “Matilda Jane Danes, you’re treading on dangerous ground. I plan on making you scream like a banshee.”

  “You can try, you mad Irishman.” Her eyes twinkled at the prospect of his challenge. “I’ll have you beggin’ for mercy inside five minutes.”

  …

  Tilly couldn’t resist touching Jordan, especially after this evening. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Juliette lying on the floor. The poor woman would never again know the caress of a man’s hand or the taste of her culinary creations. Juliette was gone, and Tilly was very much alive.

  “It’s been a tough night. Are you okay?”

  She nodded, even though a hot knot of emotions burned in her throat. “I’m sorry for—everything.”

  He’d kept his temper in check when she’d done the hardest thing she ever had to do. The pain and disappointment on his handsome face nearly brought
her to her knees, but she had to be sure. God, she loved this man, yet so many other fears ate away at her first impulse to say yes. Strange that the one person she’d hurt so badly was the only one to ease the ache in her heart.

  “We’re a mess—you know that, don’t you?”

  He nodded but gave her a heart-stopping smile. “Yeah.” He reached the bed and sat with her securely in his lap. Strong fingers worked their way under the fabric of her jersey and began a slow, torturous journey from her waist to her breasts. Fire followed in their wake. “You’re my mess.”

  His lips found the sweet spot next to her ear. Shards of delight clogged her lungs the moment he found a nipple and brushed his knuckle over her tender flesh. She let out a contented sigh.

  “We have on too many clothes.” She arched her neck for his mouth to work its magic. “How can I make you beg for mercy if you’re not naked?”

  A soft laugh tickled her neck. “Then you’re not as talented as you claim to be.”

  “Ah,” she murmured and found his erection beneath his slacks. His gasp of pleasure spurred her on. She wriggled in his lap and gave a gentle push. They landed on the bed with her sprawled on top. “Like I said—too many clothes.”

  It didn’t take long for them to strip. She never got tired of watching the light play over the solid muscles of his chest and abs. Who knew she’d snag such a ripped chef? The silkiness of his skin belied the steel under her touch. Her fingers wound through his dark mane of hair and slid over the raspy stubble of his jaw.

  He captured her mouth in a heady kiss. Tilly allowed herself the pleasure of getting lost in the drift and swirl of emotions that left her giddy with desire. His lips tasted, and she fed off the rising passion. He nudged his hardness against the softness of her belly.

  For the briefest second, she wished she were tall, thin, and toned like the supermodels he used to date—until she opened her eyes.

  His hot, dark gaze made her realize he burned for her. Only her.

  “Matilda. I still plan for you to be screaming my name in five minutes.” His knuckles brushed her cheek.

  “Only five minutes? I’m disappointed.” She let out a breathy sigh as her lips worked over his chest. “Remember the beggin’ for mercy thing?”

  “You’re on.”

  …

  “Uncle!” Jordan collapsed on top of Tilly, letting out a groan. He wrapped his arms around her and then pulled them over to their sides. “You’re pretty good in the sack for an old broad, Matilda.”

  She gave him a slap on the shoulder. “You better believe it, slick. I won. What’s my prize?”

  He gripped her ass a little tighter and wound his leg around hers. “I think you just got it.”

  “I was thinkin’ more along the lines of a steak.” She gave him a pretty pout as he swept the sweat-damp curls from her face. He’d never get tired of looking at her and feeling her in his arms. A surge of panic clutched at his heart. How long would she stay like this before she got spooked and ran?

  He looked at the bedside clock. “It’s just past midnight. You already had lamb chops for dinner.”

  She snuggled in a little closer. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”

  “Even after finding Juliette’s body?”

  “I’ll admit my stomach flip-flopped a bit. I don’t want to think about her right now, though.” She glanced up at him with a slight frown that quickly turned into a smile. “I’d like my steak medium-well with some of those cheesy egg things that you do so well.”

  “Eggs Benedict?”

  Tilly scrunched up her face in disgust. “I refuse to eat half-cooked yolks. No, I want the scrambled eggs with cheese, onions, and peppers.” She wriggled out of his arms and sat with her back resting against the headboard.

  “You want me to get out of bed and cook for you?” He lay on one side, head resting in his hand, and watched her wrestling with the sheet. He gave it a little tug.

  Tilly pulled the sheet up to her chin with a coquettish grin. “I did win.”

  “That you did.” He ran a finger down the soft skin of her arm. “By nefarious means.”

  “And strawberries soaked in orange liqueur.” Her eyes twinkled over the top of the sheet. “Yum.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are bigger than your stomach?”

  Her gaze traveled from his face to his crotch. “Let’s test that theory.” She dived under the sheet, and the eggs were soon forgotten.

  Half an hour later, he stood in his kitchen, whipping up the breakfast she’d won—even if he did think she’d been underhanded.

  She’d blown more than his mind.

  He listened to the shower running and knew he wanted her in his life more than anything in the world. First, he had to tell her about his affair with Juliette. Tilly’s love had healed many of the scars left behind by a woman who didn’t know how to love.

  Acid burned in his stomach.

  What if Tilly thinks I’m just like Jake? Or worse, what if she found the same flaws in him Juliette had? He shook his head. No, he’d changed since Paris. For the better. And if it took everything he had, he’d prove to Tilly he wasn’t like the selfish bastard who’d left her with a child.

  He beat the eggs until the muscles in his arm ached. They were a ribbon of gold by the time he slid them into the pan. The sizzle of the bacon calmed his nerves. Cooking always gave him focus. He could do this. She wouldn’t freak about his past relationship. She knew his heart was hers.

  Telling her the truth will be okay.

  Tilly padded into kitten in bare feet before he could think of a rebuttal to his mental debate. She wore a lavender Hello Kitty robe she’d left behind the last time she stayed. Her hair was a damp mass of red curls. She settled onto one of the bar stools.

  “I hope you have a good appetite.” He lifted the bacon onto a plate and set it in front of her.

  She snatched a piece of bacon and waved it in the air to cool it. “Hot. Hot.”

  “Of course it’s hot. You saw me put it on the plate.”

  “Yup. But my stomach doesn’t care. It smells so good.” She sniffed the air in appreciation.

  “You could’ve waited. I’d have served breakfast to you in bed.”

  “No. You wore me out, and I have to be at work in”—she glanced at the microwave clock—“six hours to shoot the last few shows. I don’t want look like a zombie.”

  It was gratifying to see the way she dug into the eggs. He loved watching her close her eyes and savor each bite, in spite of her insistence they hurry back to bed. She stopped after a couple of mouthfuls.

  “What’s wrong?” Old insecurities twisted his insides. No, I’m a world-renowned chef. I’ve proven myself over and over. However, Juliette’s taunts played in an endless loop in the back of his mind.

  She pointed at her plate with her fork. “I don’t see a steak here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled the plastic wrap from the steak he had resting on the counter and put it on the grill. It sizzled and spat, sending fragrant plumes of smoke up through the stainless steel range hood.

  Her nose sniffed the air. “That’s more like it.”

  “See what a gracious loser I am?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” She piled more eggs into her mouth. “I have to admit you know your way around an egg.”

  “I take offense that you can gulp down that work of art so fast.”

  “Get over it, slick.”

  He frowned. This wasn’t the right time to tell her about Juliette—not when she was smiling and at ease.

  “What do you think will happen today?” She stabbed at the eggs on her plate. “I imagine things will be in a mess until the police get everything sorted out.”

  Chapter Five

  “Phew. That was close.” Jordan shoved the door to of the Culinary Channel’s lobby open for Tilly. His lungs burned from the block-long sprint. “I need to get back into jogging.” They’d overslept and made it work with only a few minutes to spare. He punched the
elevator button to go up and waited for the little dots dancing in front of his eyes to disappear. Abs of steel didn’t equate to stamina when he had to drag his lady behind him. Next time he’d call a cab instead of taking the subway.

  “Maybe I’ll join you.” A flush of exertion painted her cheeks a dusky pink. She bent over and sucked in a huge gulp of air. “I’d take a spin class at the gym, but my feet won’t reach the pedals.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She gave a little snort of derision. “Oh, please. The class is half over by the time the trainer gets everything adjusted.”

  “I need to stop off at Lena McCoy’s taping before we head over to your studio.” They stepped out of the elevator, and he pulled her down the hall at a half trot. “They want me to do a quick guest spot for the summer lineup.”

  Tilly pouted and huffed. “Why didn’t they ask me?”

  “Because, my love”—he gave her a playful flick on the tip of her freckled nose—“you would outshine Lena.” It was the truth. He liked Lena’s volatile, carefree style, but Tilly would leave Lena in the dust with one dimpled smile.

  He opened the door to the studio and ushered her inside.

  Everyone was deathly quiet. Lena McCoy, David Hirschberg’s tattooed find from the year before, stood behind the counter of her sixties-styled set with her hands on her hips and a glint in her hazel eyes. Spiky, bleached white hair sprouted over the top of a bright blue bandanna kerchief, giving her the appearance of a punk porcupine.

  “Father changed the schedule once he found out he could get DuPres.” David was on the other side of the counter, nonchalant and unruffled, wearing a suit with a price tag that could feed a large family for a month. He held out his hands in supplication. “Lena, sweetheart, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “He and DuPres were knocking boots, ace. I guess I should’ve fucked him instead of you.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared.

  “Now, Lena—” Only the red splotches on David’s face gave away his exasperation.

  She wagged her finger at him in a oh, no, you didn’t way that made Jordan glad she wasn’t brandishing a knife. “You told me that spot was in the bag—your words last week. She’s dead now. What’s so hard to figure out about that?”