by Nancy Warren
“I thought you might be interested in that shop over there.”
She followed his pointing finger. A store selling nothing but cookbooks. “Oh, how cool.” She ran forward and peered into the window. “They’re closed.”
“Never mind. We can come back tomorrow.”
She pressed her nose against the window a little longer, seeing cookbooks she’d never heard of. Mostly European and British ones. “I think I could spend days in there.”
“If I hadn’t ravished you all afternoon, we’d have got there before closing. Oh, well, at least we haven’t missed our dinner reservation.”
“Where are we going?”
“Fleur de Lys.”
She stopped dead, so quickly that a man running in the opposite direction with a bouquet of flowers almost crashed into her. “Fleur de Lys? Are you kidding me?” She was so excited she was squeaking.
Jack allowed himself a tiny smirk. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Pleased? I’m floored. Flabbergasted. You can’t get a reservation there for months. I know, because I e-mailed them from the States. The chef, Jerome Smollet, is the most amazing chef in Europe.” She was so excited she was talking faster and faster and her words were running together. Finally she dragged in a quick breath. “Are we talking about the same Fleur de Lys?”
“I helped with the financing,” he said. As though that answered it all. Which, she supposed, it did.
She didn’t care that they were in the middle of Portobello Road and that this was a casual, short-term relationship. She threw her arms around Jack’s neck and kissed him.
“This is a great surprise. It’s the best surprise ever.” Her heart was pounding. “This is better than meeting the queen.”
He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. “You’re a lot of fun, Rachel, do you know that?”
Everything about Fleur de Lys thrilled her. She loved the blue and gold door, the black and white entrance hall, the air of laid-back, trendy elegance. The hushed atmosphere of diners who appreciate food and know they are about to have their palates pampered. The maitre d’ recognized Jack and welcomed him.
This was one of the top five restaurants in the world and the maitre d’ knew Jack by name. Okay, she was impressed.
They were led to a wonderful, intimate table for two in a corner that still gave her a good view of the room.
In a minute a waiter appeared with a silver tray on which sat two flutes of champagne. They hadn’t even seen a menu and she hadn’t heard Jack order anything, so she raised her brows.
“I told Jerome about you,” said Jack.
“You did?”
“Of course. I asked him to make us a meal. He’ll send out whatever he thinks we should eat along with the wines to go with each course. Are you willing?”
She leaned closer. “Other than the six orgasms you already gave me today, you could not have done anything that would thrill me more.”
He reached across the table for her hand. They clicked glasses and drank. “To the most amazing woman I have ever met.”
She nearly snorted French champagne through her nose. Her gaze darted to his and she was shocked at the expression she read. His eyes glowed and for a second she was shaken by the power of the connection she felt.
Tiny nibbles began to arrive. Always Jack had something different from what she did, so they shared. The sensuality of the food, of sharing with a man who got food in the way she did, was exquisite. With no menu choices to worry about, they were free to concentrate on each other and on the surprises coming out of the kitchen.
They sat long over their food and wine and coffee. It felt like she’d known him forever, and yet, because she hadn’t known him more than a week, there were all her stories to tell. All his stories to hear.
When the restaurant had begun to clear, she was about to suggest they leave, when yet another tray came up with a three cognacs. Three?
And there was Jerome Smollet. Even if she hadn’t read about him in Chef magazine and recognized him from his picture in various publications, she’d have known him from the way dining patrons oohed and aahed as he stopped to chat. He made his slow way across the room, working it like a pro, in a manner she had to admire. He didn’t seem to hurry, but he didn’t spend more than a minute or two at each table.
When he got to theirs, she saw that he was younger than she’d realized. Mid-thirties, she guessed. He shook hands with Jack, who’d risen at his approach.
“Jerome, I’d like you to meet Rachel Larraby.”
“It is such an honor to meet you,” she said, feeling quivery and girlish.
“I’m a big fan of yours, too. I ate in your restaurant in L.A. a couple of years ago.”
“You did?”
“I wanted to send a message to the kitchen, but I lacked courage. You were so famous and I was virtually unknown.”
“I knew who you were. I wish you’d sent a message back.”
He nodded his head graciously. “Well, we meet at last.”
“Okay, I have to know, was there sake in the sauce you served with the black prawns?”
And they were off. Two foodies talking about their passion.
Jack sat back, listening to the conversation but taking little part, watching her with that look. The one that warmed and chilled her at the same time.
On another man, that expression would be lovesickness. But on Union Jack? The one who was always a groomsman, never a groom?
Couldn’t be.
Chapter Eight
Jack ought to have been bored rigid. He loved food. Loved good restaurants, enjoyed eating and tasting what he ate, but he wasn’t passionate about how every mouthful was constructed. He didn’t want the magic spoiled by seeing how the trick was done. But watching two consummate chefs sharing their art was an education in itself. And he had the opportunity to sit back and watch Rachel. Did she even realize how special she was?
She had one of Europe ’s star chefs at her feet.
And she completely had him at her feet. She’d looked startled when he’d made the toast. Was she really so unwilling to accept what had happened between them?
He’d been waiting his whole adult life for the woman who would do this to him. He hadn’t remotely wanted to drive down to Hart House on wedding business for his flighty sister. And look what had happened. He’d been attacked by the temperamental chef in the kitchen and within hours, it seemed, had fallen in love with her.
Love at almost first sight was corny, mildly embarrassing, but his one consolation was that the woman he’d fallen for was someone who lived with passion. Who connected with him so immediately, so intimately, that he knew she was feeling everything he was feeling.
It was amazing to find, after all these years, that the popular songwriters had it nailed. Love really was a lightning bolt out of the blue, love was all he needed, it was every song, every poem, every greeting card message. He looked at Rachel and his whole being said, Yes.
Jack believed in marriage and he was ready, at thirty-four, to settle. To spend less time away and a little of his hefty savings on holidays with the woman he loved, on a larger home, perhaps, or a holiday home. Even, he thought, as he looked at Rachel with her generous spirit and loving ways, on a nursery.
He’d be terrified, but he could see Rachel with a baby in her arms. Their baby. And the notion filled him with pride.
He’d waited a long time, longer than any of the lads. But she’d been worth waiting for.
When they finally got out of the restaurant, they were the last patrons to leave and he honestly thought Jerome and Rachel would have talked right through to breakfast if he hadn’t broken up the party.
He bundled Rachel into a cab for the short ride home and settled back, already trying to decide what he wanted to do first when he got her naked.
“He offered me a job.” Rachel whispered the news as though if she spoke it aloud the offer might disappear.
“I know. I heard him.”
&n
bsp; “You did?” She turned to him in the cab, all eagerness and uncertainty. “You actually heard him offer me a job?”
“Yes. Jerome thinks you’re brilliant. He wants you in his kitchen.”
“So I didn’t dream it.” Suddenly she turned to him, suspicious. “You didn’t put him up to this, did you?”
“Hey.” He held up his hands. “I can get a dinner reservation. That’s all. I had no idea he even knew who you were.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Believe me. If he offered you a job, he was sincere. Do you have any idea how many people would kill to work with him?”
“Me, for one.” She settled her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, “for the most amazing day and night of my life.”
“You’re welcome.” He put an arm around her, inhaling the smell of her, enjoying the feel of her hair tickling his chin. He couldn’t wait to get home and let that hair down, slip off her clothes, and get at that glorious body. Deep down, underneath the fierce desire that was pumping through his veins, was an unfamiliar feeling, but one he recognized all the same. Tenderness. He’d given her something special, and her excitement was palpable. But she’d given him something, too. He’d forgotten what it was like to have that enthusiasm for work. That passion for life.
He had a feeling that life with Rachel would be a constant banquet. A never-ending tasting menu.
“Are you tempted?”
She slipped a hand between his legs, rubbing significantly. “Yes, I’m tempted.”
“The job,” he said, moving his hands up her side so his fingers brushed the underside of her breast. “I’m talking about the job.”
“I’d need a work permit or something before I could stay.”
“Or you could always marry an Englishman,” he said cheerfully.
She glanced at him sharply and removed her hand from his crotch. “Maybe.”
What was that all about? He’d have liked to ask her, but his head was fuzzy from good food, good wine, and the fact that she’d caused most of the blood to drain from his head, thereby impeding his mental function.
Surely she’d felt, as he had, the clobber of destiny, the absolute knowledge that they were each other’s future?
He reminded himself of two things. One, he’d known the woman one single week. Only a madman declared his love so soon. Two, the woman was skittish about men in general and love in particular.
So he’d do something that was foreign to his nature. He’d wait.
When the cab dropped them off, he looked up at his house and said, “Oh, bloody hell.”
“What is it?”
“I didn’t leave a light on in the lounge when we left.”
She grasped his arm and whispered. “Do you think it’s robbers?”
He shook his head, hearing his teeth snap together. “Worse.” Of all bloody nights. He ran up the stairs and Rachel followed slowly. “Shouldn’t we call the cops?”
“Not unless you want to arrest my sister for illegal entry into her brother’s flat and impeding his sex life. Which, come to think of it, isn’t a bad idea.”
“Your sister is here?”
“The woman’s got the most amazing bloody timing.”
Rachel glanced back at the cab about to pull away. “Maybe I should find a hotel for the night.”
He grabbed her hand. “No. I want you to meet my sister.” He shrugged, trying to make the best of things. “I’d hoped you’d do it in a more civilized manner, but it can’t be helped now.”
He held onto her hand while unlocking the front door, then, to make absolutely sure it was Chloe and not some lout nicking things, he shouted, “Hallo?”
“Thank God you’re finally home,” Chloe’s voice floated down to him. “I’ve been waiting ages!”
“My sister,” he said, half sorry it wasn’t thieves so he could impress Rachel with his manliness in getting rid of them, and be spared his impetuous sister’s latest turn-up.
She didn’t wait until they’d gotten inside properly before wailing, “I’m not marrying Mario. He’s vile. I threw that utterly vulgar ring back in his face and told him this morning, I won’t marry him. I should have realized when the man gave me a diamond the size of Lithuania that he simply wasn’t for me. I mean, really, it was so over the top that I literally couldn’t lift my arm!” As the words flowed, so did the hope he’d had that she might be here only for a bed.
“Chloe,” he said, and then a little louder when the flow of words wouldn’t dry up, “Chloe. Shut up.”
By this time, he and Rachel had climbed the stairs and his sister’s very pretty and very spoiled face was frozen in a state of surprise.
“Oh, Jack,” she said, in the tone she’d have used if he’d brought her a martini made with gin instead of vodka. “Did you have to bring a woman home tonight? Of all nights?” She gazed at him with her big, violet blue eyes opened wide in an utterly helpless expression that made far too many men weak at the knees, and only warned her brother that trouble was ahead. “I need you.”
“Rachel, please forgive my appallingly bad-mannered little sister. Chloe, this is Rachel. She is a top chef from America who is going to cater your wedding.” He put a slight emphasis on the word is.
“Hello, Rachel,” Chloe said from between pouting lips.
“Hi, Chloe.”
Great. The first meeting of the two women he cared about most in the world wasn’t a rousing success. They hadn’t exactly thrown each other at their respective feminine bosoms and wept for joy.
There was a pause. “You’ll have to forgive me,” said Chloe. “I’m very distraught, having just broken my engagement.” Her voice wobbled on the edge of tears. It was one of her more successful tricks, but he was up to them all and merely crossed his arms at his chest and gave her a don’t try it look.
“I’m really sorry about your engagement,” Rachel said, glancing at Jack. “I’m sure you want to talk to your brother privately. I’ll go and stay at a hotel.”
“That would probably be best,” Chloe agreed, brightening immediately.
“If anyone’s going to a hotel it will be you, little sister. Rachel was invited.”
She was all in black, to suit the drama of the occasion, though he thought she’d gone a bit heavy on the eyeliner. “But I need you.”
“What you need, my sweet, is a man who won’t let you rule him, then drive you mad when he’s not commanding enough.”
She sniffed. “You don’t understand.”
“Probably not. Never mind. I am going to make you some hot milk, put you in the guest room, and take Rachel to bed. In the morning, we’ll talk.”
“Jack,” Rachel said, turning to him with wide, shocked eyes. “How can you be so cruel? Your sister just ended her engagement. Try and be a little supportive.”
Chloe blinked, and suddenly, before his bemused gaze, he saw the instant bonding he’d wanted. She sniffed. “He can be such a beast, my brother, but he’s the only one I could turn to in my hour of greatest need. Don’t let him throw me out.”
He’d offered her hot milk and a bed, not tossed her out on the street, but it didn’t seem to matter. Rachel was promising to stand by his sister and he was clearly to be cast as that horrible brother who didn’t understand. Chloe patted the couch beside her, and soon she and Rachel were seated side by side and Rachel was getting the full benefit of Chloe in crisis mode.
With a shrug, he went into the kitchen and made cocoa, something he’d been doing for Chloe since she broke her first heart at thirteen.
When he returned, the two women were deep into the minute dissection of Chloe’s relationship, with some very good advice from Rachel, who wasn’t as blind to his sister’s antics as he’d feared.
He gave them an hour, because he was a good brother and he loved his sister. But he was also a man blindly in love with a woman he’d recently met, and burning to be naked and intimate with her. Sixty long minutes passed, and the cocoa was nothing but a memory when he began ya
wning extravagantly and turning out lights.
When that went unnoticed, he said, “All right, Chlo. Let’s get you tucked into the guest room.”
“All right. I mustn’t interrupt your date, must I? Thank you, Rachel. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
His cleaning staff kept the guest room ready and the bed freshly made, and Chloe used his flat like a second home often enough that some of her things were permanently installed, so the only difficult part was actually getting her in the room and getting her new best friend Rachel out again.
Another quarter of an hour and he’d managed it. And finally, finally, he had his woman alone with him in his bedroom.
“Sorry about that,” he said when they had the door shut. Just in case Chloe remembered something else she absolutely must tell Rachel, he surreptitiously locked it.
“It was fine. I liked her a lot.”
“She’s completely spoiled, but deep down she’s very sweet.”
He unwrapped the red shawl Rachel still had round her shoulders, folded it, and placed it on a leather ottoman in the corner.
“Will she really cancel the wedding?” she asked as she unzipped her dress. It struck him that they were acting like a long-term couple, chatting things over while they got ready for bed. He was glad they’d got the urgent shagging out of the way earlier, so he could savor the sight of Rachel undressing before him in this matter-of-fact way that somehow struck him as dead sexy.
Odd, how love changed a man’s view of things.
He’d never found himself filled with such tenderness as when he lay her back on his bed, never found his emotions tangled with his physical desires as he now did.
She lay beneath him, her hair a dark cloud on the pillow around her, her eyes large and serious. He wanted to say things he’d never said to another woman, but he wasn’t sure she was ready. And yet, when he entered her, felt her so hot and wet, clinging to him as though she’d never let go, surrounding him, he felt pulled into her much more than physically.