by Candis Terry
“That would be awesome.” Jordan looked relieved. “How about I take you to breakfast tomorrow at Sugarbuns. We can talk about it over coffee and cinnamon rolls.”
“Sounds good.”
Though Parker was glad to see Jordan making an effort with Lili, he couldn’t help baiting him. “Was there something else you needed, bigger and uglier brother?”
“Yeah.” Jordan suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I came to tell you Aunt Pippy’s back from Seattle. And you know what that means.”
They both looked at Lili, who seemed to wither at the name of the only person who knew the whole story behind their father’s affair with Lili’s mother and the money he’d stolen from the family business.
Parker’s stomach tightened. “Time for the truth.”
Other than reruns of Gilmore Girls or her current guilty pleasure, Game of Thrones—because who didn’t love Jon Snow—Gabriella didn’t watch television often. It was even more unusual for her to watch TV in the middle of the day. Unless she was forced. Game shows and reality TV just weren’t her thing. She didn’t much care what was up with the Kardashians, and spinning the Wheel of Fortune seemed about as likely as winning the lottery. Unless you happened to be Milton Skolnick.
At the moment, her current employer was home with some kind of nose sniffing, lung hacking ailment he’d contracted while playing Plants vs. Zombies: Garden Warfare on his Xbox. Once again he was deposited on the sofa, which had begun to show wear and tear where he sat an exceedingly large amount of the time. Now, however, he was wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket with a cowbell he clanged when he expected Gabriella to cater to his sweet tooth with another chocolate Snack Pack pudding.
In the past six hours, her job description had also encompassed nursemaid and psychotherapist. Because God only knew why someone as wonderful as him would contract such a disease. His words, not hers. So far she’d failed to make him understand that the common cold did not fall into the category of a life-threatening disease.
Even worse than putting up with all the sniffling, complaining, and garbage snacking, Mr. Skolnick was currently tuned in to the Food Network with the volume full blast because, of course, he couldn’t hear through his stuffy ears.
Not that Gabi didn’t love to watch an episode of Chopped, Beat Bobby Flay, or even a rousing battle of Cupcake Wars. She did. Unfortunately, the network also broadcast a particular show that gave her an acute case of heartburn—Easy Italian with Giovanni.
Starring none other than her very own father.
If anyone had paid attention to the tabloids years ago they’d know there was nothing easy about Chef Giovanni Altobelli. Or maybe they could ask her mother, the woman who’d been publicly humiliated by his scandalous affair with a woman barely old enough to buy alcohol.
While Gabriella slapped crunchy peanut butter on a cracker for her employer, her father’s smug face instructed his viewers how to make a simple porchetta. The eighty-five-inch flat screen showed every pore and wrinkle on the man’s face, but it didn’t reveal the heartlessness hiding behind his eyes.
“Make sure you put enough grape jelly on those crackers, Gabi. You know how I hate it when the peanut butter gets stuck in my throat,” Mr. Skolnick instructed.
Oh, how she’d love something to stick in his throat.
“If you’re looking for comfort food, I could make you some homemade mac and cheese,” Gabriella said, sickly sweet, as her father looked directly into the camera and smiled. “Maybe I could even add a little Dungeness crab for some extra flavor.”
“Comfort food sounds great,” her employer called back.
Finally!
Before he could change his mind, Gabi pushed aside the saltines and reached into the cupboard for a mixing bowl.
“Maybe there’s still some leftover pizza in the fridge. That’s the best comfort food on the planet. And when you get done with that, why don’t you come on over here and plant that nice ass beside me.” He patted the sofa cushion.
Gabi’s formerly dancing heart crashed and burned through the grape jelly dripping off the butter knife she’d set on the counter. Her stomach tightened with a reality check. As long as she was in Mr. Skolnick’s employ she’d never have an ounce of respect. She didn’t even know why she bothered to show up every day with the hopes that he’d at least allow her to make a freaking meatloaf. But now this?
He’d gone too damn far.
While she gripped the counter with both hands and tried to reclaim a small speck of dignity, from the TV her father rolled a seasoned loin of pork around a variety of stuffing ingredients. A moment later he looked up into the camera and declared, “If you’re going to spend any time in a kitchen, you might as well make the best meal your imagination can create. Otherwise, why bother?”
Common sense told her the man could not see through the TV. Still, it was like he was speaking directly to her. And somehow the words he actually spoke transformed into “You’ll never be good enough, Gabriella. You’ll never be as good as your brother. You’ll never come close to being as good as me. You’ll never live up to my name. You just don’t have what it takes. Find something else to do.”
Gabi had no desire to be a superstar chef like him. She just had the desire to prove her father wrong. But that would never happen as long as she was slapping peanut butter on saltines for someone who couldn’t care less about good food, style, or taste. Someone who’d gone from annoyingly creepy to outright sleazy.
She looked back up to the television where her father’s smirk seemed to be aimed directly at her.
With only a passing thought to her shrinking bank account, she threw her shoulders back and grabbed the plate of peanut butter and jelly drenched crackers off the counter. She carried them into the den where Milton Skolnick sat amid countless and needless items bought with his lottery winnings. She ignored the smirking chef on the television who had zero belief she could achieve her dream, and she turned her attention to the overweight leech sprawled out on the sofa in a stained T-shirt and frayed sweatpants.
“Mr. Skolnick, I quit.” She shoved the plate at him.
He narrowed his eyes as he snapped up a cracker and stuffed it into his mouth. “You can’t quit.”
“I just did. You don’t need a personal chef, you need a caretaker. And possibly some psychiatric help. Just be glad I’m not reporting you for sexual harassment.” Without losing her cool, without panicking over how she’d pay her bills, she grabbed her purse and stormed out.
She had a chance to prove herself.
To turn her passion and her dream into a reality.
Only one man could provide her the opportunity to make that happen.
Now all she had to do was not mess it up.
Chapter 4
Exhaustion wrapped around every muscle in Parker’s body as he leaned his head forward and let the spray from the shower pound the back of his neck. When the tension began to ease he turned, grabbed the glass of whiskey from the built-in tile shelf, and downed a good amount. The smooth essence of caramel and vanilla rolled across his tongue and he swallowed with a weary sigh.
Before he’d headed home the night before, he’d gone up to the main house to check on his baby sister and they’d ended up in a complicated conversation about the options for her future. As a big brother who loved her and wanted her to make the right decisions instead of those based on emotion, he’d taken the time to listen and advise the best he could.
On his way home, he’d driven past the restaurant just to make sure everything was locked down for the night. But when his SUV had rolled by, he noticed a light coming through the new windows. He’d been positive he’d turned everything off after the construction crew had left for the day. Still, he figured he’d better stop and check it out. Inside the barn he found Jordan on his knees, installing the hardwood flooring.
Surprised, Parker had stood back and watched his brother in action. At first glance, it seemed Jordan had decided to help move production along by lending a hand. Pa
rker would have been touched by the generosity, but he knew better. Only one reason would keep his big brother from cozying up in bed next to the woman he would marry the following month. And it wasn’t to take the pressure off Parker. Groomzilla had shown up and tried to take control of a situation where he had no business taking control.
In the end, Parker hadn’t been able to convince Jordan to go home to his lovely fiancée, so he’d grabbed his own tool belt. Together they’d worked side by side until the wee hours of the morning, which left him little time to get back to Portland and get his food truck up and running for the day. Once he’d made it to his houseboat he’d taken a quick shower and run out the door.
Business had been brisk all day. Even better than usual. Parker didn’t know if there was some kind of event going on downtown that brought in the new customers or whether word had spread about his food. Whatever the reason, he was grateful. The extra income would be nice. The holidays were approaching fast and the added business would provide him the ability to give out some decent Christmas bonuses for his team.
As he swallowed another shot of whiskey, he closed his eyes and wished he could grab a nap before Gabriella showed up for her cooking audition. He’d planned to be more prepared, to give her a real opportunity to show him what she could do. For whatever reason it seemed very important to her.
And Parker believed in chances.
During his troubled years, he’d been granted many. Not only by his parents, but also by his brothers. At the time he’d been pretty fucking unbrotherly. He hadn’t known they’d all been battling their own demons. He’d just thought they didn’t give a shit about him. So he’d returned the unfortunate favor. Lucky for him they’d proven him wrong and given him another chance. Even so, he knew there was so much he still needed to make up for.
When the parking lot security gate buzzed on the intercom near his front door, his hopes for a nap or even finishing his shower disintegrated.
She was early.
A good sign for a potential employee, not such a good sign when the potential boss was dead on his feet.
Not to mention naked.
Allowing himself to get sucked into this when he didn’t have the time or even a position available didn’t make sense. But when the gate buzzer blasted through his house again, anticipation skipped through his veins and he had to call bullshit on himself.
He knew exactly why he’d gotten sucked in.
Gabriella Montani.
The woman was sexy and mysterious.
Not that he had trouble finding female company. Lately he just didn’t have the opportunity. Before now, he’d been able to dedicate more of his evening hours toward wining and dining a pretty woman. Even without the added stress of opening the restaurant, he had a busy schedule. Which meant he preferred women who had their own careers, lives, and activities. He shied away from women with visions of a wedding ring or even sharing a bed for more than a night. Getting tied down in a relationship was not in his game plan. Not now. Hell, it wasn’t even on his long-distance radar. That alone prompted him to meet up with women who were . . . uncomplicated. Gabriella did not strike him as a woman who would fall into that category. In fact, she seemed like the kind of woman who could turn a man’s world upside down and inside out.
Not that she was offering anything other than to cook for him. A reminder that tonight he needed to focus. To pay close attention to her cooking skills and qualifications for employment instead of what he’d like to be doing to her body with his hands and mouth.
Shutting off the shower, he downed another shot of whiskey and threw a towel over his shoulders. Dripping water across the hardwood floor, he pushed the button on the intercom and said, “Last dock. On the end.”
Before he had time to take his hand off the switch, someone knocked on his door.
Couldn’t be her.
Unless she was riding a motorized skateboard or was a witch with twitchy-nose magic like Samantha in Bewitched, she wouldn’t have had time to get from the parking lot to his door that fast. He shifted the towel from around his shoulders to around his waist and opened the door.
Maybe she was magic after all, because there she stood with two huge baskets by her feet and one slung by the handle over her forearm.
“You’re early,” he grumbled, unsure of what to think of her mad roadrunner skills.
“And you’re . . .” Her dark chocolate eyes took a lazy ride down his body before she looked back up and smiled. “Naked.”
Of course, the appropriate response to Parker’s statement should have been an apology for her early arrival. Or an explanation of how she’d quickly sweet-talked another houseboat owner to let her in the security gate when they’d arrived at the same time.
But Gabi was not sorry.
Not in the least.
In fact, in her opinion, she’d arrived at the perfect moment.
Just in time to watch droplets of water slide slowly down his muscular chest, lightly dusted with short, silky hair. Just in time to see the towel he held onto with one hand slip enough to reveal the thin line of fine dark hair that trailed from below his belly button to unseen sexy parts beneath the towel. And just in time to realize that her nearly naked future employer was everything and more than she’d ever imagined.
And she had a very vivid imagination.
“Job Hunting Skills 101,” she said, picking up basket number two, edging past his deliciously clean smelling body, and stepping into his houseboat without waiting for an official invitation. “Always arrive early to make a good impression.”
“I was in the shower.”
And didn’t that create quite the little scenario in her overactive and dirty mind.
“I see that.” And she should thank him for it too.
Setting the baskets down on the polished granite countertop, she took a quick scan of the interior of the houseboat. The inside proved to be more modern than she’d imagined from the Cape Cod exterior. Then again, Parker Kincade was hardly a lace curtain kind of guy.
When she went back to where he held the door open with one hand and the towel around his waist with the other, she bent down to grab the basket sitting on the doorstep, and smiled.
He had big feet.
On her way back up she realized he also had big hands.
Did she believe in the old saying?
In this case, she really didn’t have to wonder.
The way a man wore jeans and a T-shirt could define him in a matter of seconds. Sloppy fit meant sloppy man with little reason to boast. Well-fit denim over narrow hips and muscled thighs hinted at what the fabric might conceal. However, a plush white towel hid nothing except the main ingredient. And judging from the healthy protrusion behind the towel, Chef Parker Kincade had a whole lot going on to boast about.
Gabi carried the last basket inside, placed it next to the others on the counter, and tried to get a grip on her racing heart and her long-denied hormones. “You can shut the door now.”
Busy removing items from the baskets, a few seconds passed before she looked up again. The door remained wide open. And what do you know, the man was checking her out too.
“Chef?”
He blinked.
Twice.
When he slowly closed the door, Gabi swore she heard him mutter something beneath his breath.
“I’m sorry?” She pulled a large zucchini from the basket, grasped it with both hands, and held it between her breasts. “I didn’t quite hear you.”
“I said . . .” His gaze darted from the zucchini to her face. “I’ll go get dressed.”
With that, he disappeared into the other room, leaving behind his clean, male scent and the squeak of wet bare feet on the hardwood floor.
Gabi imagined her traditional-minded mother would be appalled at her behavior. But her modern-thinking nonni would give her a wink, a nod, and a nudge. Flirting with the boss might be a bad idea, but Gabi currently lived in the world of unemployment. At the moment she might not be despe
rate for a job, but she also wasn’t stupid. The dishes she’d designed for tonight were meant to be sensual. She’d dressed the part. Felt the part. But even though the way to a man’s heart might be through his stomach, Gabi had made a promise that she’d never stoop to using her sexuality to get a job. Not even one she wanted more than she could describe.
Yes, she was insanely attracted to the mostly naked man who’d opened the door. But business came first. Which meant she was going to have to tell the good time girls in her lingerie department they couldn’t come out and play.
At least not until after dessert was served.
Parker tossed the towel on his bed and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs. He took the last sip of whiskey and set the empty glass on the dresser. From the other room came the sounds of drawers opening and cupboards closing. For a moment he stood there, hands on hips, shaking his head.
It didn’t bother him that Gabriella had obviously made herself at home in his kitchen. What rattled him to the core was that she’d walked past him to get to that kitchen in a pair of spiked-heel black boots and a short red floral dress that accented her generous curves. After she stepped into the house he realized the fabric of that dress was partially transparent. Behind the swirls in the pattern, he caught a glimpse of black lingerie. After that, his towel had been unable to conceal the fact that the lower half of him had looked hard at her too.
Very hard.
He’d barely managed to get out of the room without it being glaringly obvious that she completely turned him on.
Jesus.
She’d come here for a job interview. Or at least the opportunity to work her way into one. Not to be greeted by some naked guy who couldn’t keep his hard-on for her under control.
Business first.
Without indulging in any further illicit thoughts, he pulled on a shirt and a pair of jeans, and ran his fingers through his wet hair. Gabriella had been bold enough to offer to cook for him. She deserved his professionalism. He could give her that. All he had to do was keep his eyes on the food—not the delicious woman preparing it.