The Perfect Ingredient (Dare Valley)

by Ava Miles

  “You’re making my staff nervous,” she said to the celebrity chef. She wouldn’t admit he was the reason for her nerves. A bigger alpha was causing that problem, and he hadn’t shown up yet.

  But he would. It was only a matter of time.

  Terrance said something under his breath, but since he didn’t fish out a Benjamin Franklin, she knew it wasn’t a cuss word.

  “Can I help it that I’m this good looking?”

  A reluctant laugh sputtered out—a feat since her mind and body were busy coping with the fact that she was going to see her sinfully hot ex-husband shortly. “I know you want to observe them, but I told you this wouldn’t be fair. Poor Portia over there is covered in chocolate sauce because of you.” She only hoped they would still have enough to serve with the raspberry cheesecake—the coach’s favorite.

  “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can say ‘poor Portia’ three times,” he teased, standing there casually in jeans and a short-sleeve T-shirt that showcased his famous griffin tattoos.

  He deserved the fish eye for that.

  “Hey! It’s not my fault I walked in when she was pouring the chocolate sauce.”

  Portia had been star-struck until the ribbons of chocolate landed on her buxom chest and the floor. “And she didn’t bring a change of clothes…” Poor Portia—okay it really was funny—looked liked she’d been attacked by a wild painter using chocolate brown for his live human artwork.

  “Whoa, Portia!” a familiar voice said from the kitchen doorway. “What in the world happened to you, girl?”

  Her long-time and usually unflappable assistant grinned at Blake, who didn’t glance her way. No one frowned at Mr. Football Universe. Everyone liked him, and their divorce hadn’t changed that with her staff. Traitors.

  “I…got distracted,” she said, an uncharacteristic blush staining her cheeks.

  Who wouldn’t blush in front of Blake Cunningham? He was wearing a charcoal Armani suit that hugged every muscular line of his body. His sandy brown hair was styled in the way she’d always liked—long enough for her to run her hands through it. And that jaw…it was perfectly chiseled and with just enough stubble to make her want to meow at the sheer sexiness of it all.

  He still hadn’t looked her way, and she knew he was biding his time until he could give her his undivided attention.

  “Don’t let my linebackers see you like this, Portia. You look good enough to eat. They might tackle you and lick that chocolate right off. They’re like hungry wolves around food. You know that.”

  Great. Now Portia looked like she was going to swoon, and who could blame her? The Raiders had some pretty hot linebackers.

  “Did anybody see the new bumper sticker on Natalie’s rig? You know, even though we were married, I had no idea she loved Spam. What a stocking stuffer that could have been.”

  Sure enough, everyone chuckled.

  “Spam, huh?” Terrance asked softly, laughter in his voice, not disguising his interest in the scene.

  She felt herself giving into a foodie blush. Between Terrance and Blake, she was losing complete control of her staff at the worst possible time. A few of the other women were spooning salad onto the counter instead of the gold-rimmed plates while another bobbled the sterno cans they were taking out of boxes.

  “Okay, everybody. Back to work. The halftime show is over, and Blake needs to get back to the team.”

  Natalie steeled herself, waiting for Blake’s glance to find her. Finally.

  And then he turned his head.

  That full bottom lip curved with wicked intent when their gazes clashed, and his brown eyes went dark with desire. Dammit. No wonder he’d waited to look at her. He needed to stop lusting after her. They weren’t married anymore!

  Of course her girl parts weren’t acting any better, doing the Blake Cunningham cheer down below.

  “Hello, Blake,” she said in a professional tone, one she’d practiced for days.

  “Hey, Nat,” he replied, his voice husky.

  Damn him for using her nickname. Everything slowed down inside her except the sound of her beating heart. All she could see was him, standing there with that infernal glow that always seemed to surround him—like he was backlit by the glory of being a superstar NFL quarterback.

  Someone elbowed her, and she came out of her trance. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Terrance asked.

  Right. Chef T. In her kitchen. Meeting her ex. Life was so weird.

  “Blake, this is—”

  “I know who he is,” Blake interrupted her with uncharacteristic rudeness, striding across the kitchen like it was the football field, and he was about to give a referee a piece of his mind for calling a flag on the play. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Observing the beautiful Natalie Hale in her element.” Terrance crossed his arms, all cocky attitude and testosterone. “I’m a real admirer of her work.”

  Blake’s head jerked back. “What the hell, Nat? Are you with this guy?”

  Since Blake had never acted jealous for a single moment in their relationship, seeing the green horns appear figuratively on his head threw her for a loop.

  “Are you lost?” Terrance asked Blake before she could respond, sliding his arm around Natalie.

  She tensed at his touch, and he pinched her. She got the signal. Terrance was trying to put Blake in his place. The gesture was sweet beyond words.

  “I didn’t think players usually came back to the kitchen.”

  Blake’s stormy face was like a clap of thunder in the now silent kitchen. “I can come back to the fucking kitchen any time I’d like, douche bag,” Blake responded tersely. “Get your hands off her. She’s my wife.”

  “Ex-wife,” Terrance corrected in a soft voice laced with menace.

  Natalie sucked in her breath. “What in the hell is wrong with you, Blake? You’re acting like a child.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from Terrance. “What in the hell is wrong with you? That jerk has his hands all over you.”

  Blake rarely lost control of himself, but today he had. Completely. Since she didn’t need anyone to overhear this conversation, which was bound to get her staff even more distracted, she let him lead her down the hall. When they were out of earshot, she yanked her hand back and then punched him in those rock-hard abs of his.

  “Stop this.”

  He pointed his finger at her. “Me? What about you? You’re one of the good girls, and that guy might be a great chef, but he uses up bad girls and tosses them aside faster than I throw a touchdown. Have you lost your self-respect?”

  She drilled her finger into his chest. “Self-respect, huh? Maybe I just wanted some variety.”

  His jaw locked, and the storm inside him went from raging out of control to focused, determined. She’d seen him angry like this only once before—when the Raiders were down by five touchdowns to the worst team in the league at halftime. He’d rallied his team and crawled back to win the game with three seconds left.

  “Besides, you’re no monk.” She took a deep, calming breath. “We’re divorced, Blake.”

  “I didn’t let you go so you could be with someone who’d treat you like shit. And no, I haven’t been a monk, but sex isn’t as good as it was with you. If you’d return my calls, you’d know that. I miss you, Nat. Dammit.”

  That salvo closed her throat. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say or how they had gotten here.

  “Blake, I need you to leave my kitchen and not come back again tonight. You know how important this evening is for my business. Would you want me to barge into your huddle on the field and talk to you and your teammates like this?”

  He exhaled like an angry bull who’d decided to calm down and not ram the fence. “Honestly, I wish you would. That way I’d know you still care about me. About us.”

  His emotion was cracking her open in places she’d welded shut. “Don’t. Don’t do this. Not now.” Not ever.

  His large hands cradled her face gentl
y. “When am I supposed to do this, Nat? You never call me back. You moved out of our house without talking to me and then wouldn’t talk to me again except through our lawyers.”

  Not talking to him had been her only option. Otherwise she would have caved. “That was two years ago, Blake.”

  “It feels like yesterday to me.”

  He lowered his chin to rest on top of her head as he tucked her close. Her lip wobbled, and all of the hurt she’d hidden away began to break free in the warmth of his embrace. “Let me go.”

  Her plea was whisper-soft and agonized.

  “No. I kept waiting for you to get over being mad and frozen so we could talk this out, but it’s taking too damn long.”

  Even though his arms felt like the home she’d abandoned, she made herself press back. He’d been waiting for her? All this time? She had to have misunderstood him. “What are you talking about?”

  His gaze burned into her. “I know you, Nat. I couldn’t force you to talk to me or do anything with me when you left me. I gave you some breathing room, hoping you would…I don’t know…calm down enough to talk to me. Talk things through, so we could get back together. Christ, I don’t know. Move past what happened.”

  Why wouldn’t he stop this?

  “We need to talk about it, Nat. We need to talk about Kim.”

  This time she shoved away with all her might. “No! No we don’t.”

  When she tried to move past him, he blocked her way. “See this is what I’m talking about. You’re so damn stubborn. It all goes back to Kim. Why won’t you talk to me?”

  She pushed against him, but he didn’t move a muscle, being six four and two twenty. “Because it won’t change anything.”

  “Won’t change anything?” he asked, his face incredulous.

  “Get out of my way, Blake.”

  His face fell. “I won’t stop. You need this as much as I do. If we can’t talk about what happened, neither one of us can move forward. All we do is work now. And I can’t play football forever, so that’s not an option for me. If you won’t be with me again, at least give us the closure we both need. I need more in my life, and so do you.”

  She didn’t want Blake to move on, she realized, and the thought made her feel like someone had walked over her grave. “Don’t tell me what I need.”

  He lifted one of the dark strands of her hair and caressed it. “Babe, I always know what you need. You just won’t always let me give it to you. Let me give it to you now.”

  Leaning down swiftly, he pressed his lips to hers. The warmth and texture was a shock for a moment until his mouth softened. His lips caressed hers like they had the first time she’d let him kiss her.

  That kiss—and this one now—was soft and gentle, so filled with an appreciation for the preciousness of this rare delicate connection between them.

  It was her complete undoing.

  A tear ran down her face, and feeling it, she punched him hard in the gut again. This time he grunted and stepped away.

  “This is the first time I’ve seen you cry in all the time that I’ve known you, which shows me that I’ve made some progress. After seeing that chef with you, I’m done waiting you out. Expect to see more of me from now on. Good luck tonight, Nat. You’ll do great, just like you always do.”

  And with that pronouncement, he turned around and left her standing in the hallway. She scrubbed at the face his hands had held so softly. Her mouth, which he’d kissed so sweetly. She was tempted to kick and punch the wall to release the crushing pressure in her chest.

  When she wanted to cry, she lashed out.

  No one knew that better than Blake.

  He was the only one who could make her feel the dark, messy parts of herself—feel those horrible emotions about Kim—and he wasn’t going to get the chance.

  Not then.

  And not now.

  When she walked back into the kitchen, her bullshit armor was back in place. “Whew! Did you see Mr. Fancy Pants freak out like that? The Raiders better hope Blake takes a chill pill, or they’re going to have a losing season this year. I’ll have to talk to Coach. Portia, make sure to give Blake an extra slice of cheesecake to sweeten him up.”

  Everyone laughed and continued with their work.

  Everyone but Terrance.

  When she reached him, she held out her hand. She’d told Mac she would give his final offer an answer a couple of days after the Raiders’ dinner. No reason to put it off now. “I’m accepting Mac’s offer. It’ll be great to work with you, Terrance.”

  Moving to Dare Valley would stop Blake in his tracks. Of that, she had no doubt.

  For a moment, Terrance studied her like he was trying to unpack an unusual delicacy. Her hand fell to the side when he didn’t shake it.

  “I’m glad to hear that, but take another day or two before making your decision. Things got a little heated with your ex, and no one knows better than I do that moments like that aren’t the best for a big decision.”

  “No need. This job is just what I need.” Personally and professionally. She gave him a charming smile, the one she used to get men to eat out of her hands. “Besides, my family will be overjoyed to have me move back to Dare.”

  “Don’t kid a kidder, Natalie,” Terrance said and stepped around her to continue his study of her staff.

  She must be losing it if Terrance could read between the lines.

  Pulling herself together, she allowed the coldness she’d mastered to encircle her heart. The slight crack that had allowed that lone tear to break through frosted over nicely. She was back in control.

  And no one was going to mess with that, least of all Blake.

  Chapter 33

  Even though Terrance wasn’t spending his one night off alone with Elizabeth, he couldn’t be happier. He and Elizabeth were heading to Jane’s house for dinner with her, Matt, Rhett, and Abbie.

  A couple’s night.

  The sensation of being in a couple—part of a we—was sometimes still awkward for a man who’d never wanted to be attached to anyone. Yet Elizabeth soothed away all the weirdness of being called her boyfriend in the media now that they’d gone public with their relationship.

  His chef friends were having a field day, texting him pictures of bulls with rings in their noses or their nuts cut off. He ran with a rough crowd. Everyone in the restaurant biz knew divorce was high for a reason. They’d all thought they were being so much smarter by staying unattached. And the bitter ones who’d gone down that road only to be burned were seen as confirmation of that attitude.

  But they didn’t have Elizabeth, who’d helped him discover a new level of peace and happiness in his life. For that, for the enjoyment of his perfect ingredient, he could laugh off his friends’ texts.

  When he opened the door to Elizabeth’s house with the bright, shiny brass key she’d given him a few days ago—so newly made the metal dust from the locksmith’s cut was still evident—he could already smell her Chanel perfume.

  She wasn’t in the den, which was neatly arranged. She liked order, saying her mother had never cleaned their trailer growing up. It was another thing they had in common. He’d started to clean his mother’s grimy studio apartment at the tender age of seven. The night Elizabeth had given him her key, he’d helped her clean up the house—something he’d never done with a woman.

  It had felt a little weird—but cozy.

  He was starting to like cozy, but he’d cut his balls off before admitting that to his buddies.

  “Hey, is that you?” she called, her heels clicking on the hardwood as she came down the hall. “Well, don’t you look nice.”

  He turned like a model so she could admire his jeans, white V-neck, and charcoal Hugo Boss jacket. “Thanks. GQ called. They want to run a piece on me. Have to dress the part.”

  “Get out! GQ called you? That’s wonderful, Terrance.”

  When she flew across the room to press herself against him, he kissed her lightly on the lips, They were already lined in
what he called Vixen red. He knew to keep it light.

  When she gazed at him, her eyelids dusted with a soft white eyeshadow, her eyelashes black and curled with mascara, he saw both who she’d been and who she was now.

  Vixen, who’d worn heavy stage makeup.

  And Elizabeth, who wore so little makeup in comparison that he could see the tiny vein at her temple.

  He loved them both.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he said, “Since we trended on Twitter and all that jazz, I’ve had a few requests for interviews. I’m not doing all of them, but you can bet even I was thrilled about GQ.”

  “No shit,” she said, and he took out a Ben Franklin and tucked it between her breasts, which were showcased in an emerald-green silk shirt, which made her skin glow like freshwater pearls.

  “Of course, you could grace just about any fashion magazine too,” he commented. “This hundred is for your charity of choice. I figure that we can both stop swearing.”

  “What if I like swearing?” she asked in a sensual tone.

  “Being together is about supporting each other, right? I need your support if I’m going to ever stop swearing. I lost a fortune last week.”

  He didn’t mention the reason by name. They were both being sensitive to each other, letting old wounds continue their healing.

  “Come on,” she said. “We need to go.”

  He opened the car door for her since he didn’t want to start taking her for granted. She smiled, and as he watched her gorgeous legs slide onto the seat, he realized there was an upside to this whole gentleman thing.

  Dare Valley was awash in blues and golds as he drove the short distance to Jane’s house.

  “I have to go to New York next week,” he told her. “Some business has come up. I’ll just be gone for a couple days. I’d love for you to come with me if you can. That way you can see my place. Meet some of my friends.” Get an idea what his life was there. He left that unsaid.

  When he glanced over, the hand holding her clutch purse was clenched, her knuckles white.