Shan grimaced at the mention of the well-known food critic. “Do you think he’ll make an appearance tonight? He hasn’t made a reservation.”
“He won’t be able to help himself. He’ll consider it his sworn duty to review my worthiness in my own kitchen.”
“The man does seem to have a personal interest in your career. I think he has a secret crush on you.” Shan waggled her eyebrows and then added a smirk.
She snorted her disdain. Wallis confused his considerable influence in the local culinary community for sexual magnetism. In her opinion, he had too much of the former and none of the latter. The jerk.
“Whatever his agenda, a positive review will put us on the map. I plan to knock his socks off.” She hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder and headed for the private staircase to the restaurant below. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused to look around at the gleaming industrial kitchen, enjoying the giddy surge of pure possessiveness. This, at last, was hers. At the spotless stoves and ovens, on the yards of stainless steel counters, she would make her mark, and the result would taste like ambrosia.
The room was empty now, but in her mind she could already see the choreographed dance she and her staff would perform here in just a few hours. She couldn’t wait to slip on her smock and dazzle the diners with the results of the performance.
Chapter Four
Meggy was smiling as she stepped outside, mentally running through her to-do list. One look at Trevor Bryce, however, rummaging through the trunk of his big, dark car, sent thoughts of the day’s many tasks flying right out of her mind. Oh, yeah. She strolled over to stand behind him. The man had a world-class butt.
The tailored suit was absent today. His long legs were caressed by a pair of softly faded jeans. A black T-shirt stretched across the subtle musculature of his wide shoulders. Short sleeves revealed surprisingly ripped biceps when he hefted a duffle bag from the trunk to hold it dangling over his shoulder with one hand. He pivoted, and his gray gaze widened as it collided with hers.
“All moved in?” She gave him her most cheerful smile, hoping there was no drool on her chin.
“This is the last of it.” He stepped back and shut the trunk with a quiet click. Squatting, he lifted one of two boxes from the ground. He tucked it under his free arm.
Without a word, she stooped and picked up the remaining box. Her brow furrowed at the surprising weight, and she shifted the heavy carton in her arms. “What have you got in here, barbells?”
“Leave it. I’ll get it in a minute.”
“A minute is about all I have to do my duty as a good neighbor and help you move in your stuff.” She laughed when he hesitated. “I’ve got it, Trevor, but it’s not getting any lighter.”
At her challenging smile, he moved aside to let her pass. “After you.”
She stepped through the open door of the carriage house.
He brushed by her, dropping the duffle bag on an oversized chair. He set the box he carried on the small kitchen table. “Here, let me have that.” He stepped close to relieve her of the second box, setting it aside as though it weighed nothing.
She expected him to step away from her then. Her brows lifted in surprise when he turned back, standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his big body.
God, he smelled richer than her double-chocolate-brownie-cheesecakes baking in the ovens. The surprising intimacy of standing in the sphere of that heat, of his heat, was startling, and delicious. Before she gave in to the insane urge to close the remaining distance between them, she forced herself to step back—bumping against the edge of the kitchen counter.
A self-conscious chuckle escaped, but died on her lips when she looked into his eyes. She blinked at the hot flare of male interest in the gray depths only inches from hers. Her belly lurched on a crazy bump when he reached out a hand. The breath caught in her throat at the slow brush of his fingertips dancing across her cheekbone then continuing down to track the curve of her jaw.
His hand dropped to his side and he stepped back. “Thanks for the help.”
Meggy could only stare, wide-eyed. Holy crap! Okay, this is just weird. That odd zapping sensation she remembered from yesterday had her entire body tingling with warm current today.
The rumble of a diesel motor, as the first of today’s delivery trucks ambled by the carriage house, had reason returning to her muddled brain. At least enough so that she managed to resist grabbing hold of Trevor Bryce and attempting to discover what it was about the guy that had her insides jumping around like crazed three year olds in a candy store.
Palmer House was opening in just a few hours, for heaven’s sake. Fantasizing about having wild monkey-sex with a guy she just met probably wasn’t a good idea today.
“It looks like you have some unpacking to do.” Flustered, she gave an expressive wave of her hand.
“Not all that much.” He leaned against the counter, slipping both hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
Though his stance was casual, she was gratified to hear the gruffness of his voice. It hinted that she hadn’t been the only one to have her circuits fried by that simple touch.
“I’ll be commuting back and forth between here and home for the duration,” he continued. “There will be some things I’ll have to see to occasionally, so I only brought what I couldn’t do without.”
“Where’s home?”
“Work takes me up and down the East Coast. I spend a good portion of my time in Boston and Atlanta, and I have a place on Virginia Beach.”
“What kind of business? You said you were new to writing.” Her gaze slid to the open door and the big Mercedes parked outside. “What have you been doing to feed yourself up until now? Whatever it is, it must be lucrative for you to afford such a sweet ride.”
“I’m in finance and real estate.”
She wondered at the sudden intensity in his gaze.
“My father left me some money when he died. I was just a kid, but my guardian invested it wisely. When I was old enough to try my hand, I found I have a knack for investing myself.”
“I’m sorry, Trevor.” She resisted the urge to reach out and rest her hand on his arm, unwilling to risk reheating those circuits that had just begun to cool.
Confusion wrinkled his brow. “You’re sorry I’ve got a knack with investments?”
A fleeting smile tugged at her lips at his dry tone. “I’m sorry about your father. I’ve never lost anyone I love, and I can’t imagine losing my dad.” The movement was barely perceptible, but he stiffened.
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze holding hers.
As she watched, the warmth in his eyes cooled by more than a few degrees. She wasn’t sure what she’d said to upset him. All she knew was that something had shifted. Those soft gray eyes weren’t at all warm now. Instead, they looked like cold slate.
“It was a long time ago,” he finally replied, his tone cool and sharp.
Embarrassed, and oddly hurt, she wasn’t sure how to respond to his lightning fast change of mood. People reacted differently to grief. It appeared to make Trevor Bryce cranky.
“Well.” She cleared her throat and pasted a smile on her mouth that she knew didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll leave you to your unpacking.” She moved then, backing out the open door and down the gravel walkway, calling back to him where he stood in the open door frame. “It’ll be a mad house around here today. We’re reopening the restaurant tonight. I’m not sure you can still get a dinner reservation, that’s Shan’s department, but stop by the kitchen and we’ll fix you up.”
She spun on her heel, scrambling into the old pickup truck parked beneath the portico. Her eyes found his reflection in the rearview mirror and she sighed. The sudden chilling of his manner was probably for the best. She had too much at stake to let herself be side-tracked by anything right now, and that included the irresistible Greek god in her carriage house.
Trevor watched the truck disappear around the corner. Well, hell. He’d bungled that. He had no answer for why he’d touched her. Temporary insanity, maybe. Setting aside the possibility she was a con artist, he didn’t even know the woman. But suddenly, discovering if her skin was as soft as it appeared seemed as necessary as taking his next breath. Warmed silk had met his fingertips, and he couldn’t help wondering about other places on her sleek little body, even softer places that only a lover would uncover.
He shook his head in self-disgust and shut the door.
As for freezing her out, it had either been that, or give in to the urge to kiss the little thief. Hell, she was good, all gentle teasing and easy smiles. She’d looked so sincere with her soft words and sympathetic blue eyes. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself under the pixie chef’s spell. Physically, he was already half way there, reacting to her teasing charm like a randy teenager. His fingers felt singed just from touching her cheek. If he ever really put his hands on her, he’d probably combust.
The woman wasn’t stupid. She’d sensed his cold fury, and had backed away, literally as well as figuratively. The smile she’d offered along with the invitation to come by the kitchen later hadn’t been the open fairy grin he’d come to associate with her. Instead, she’d worn the tepid expression with which one greeted a stranger.
If he was going to discover her secrets in the limited time available, he’d need to do a better job of concealing his feelings. And he’d have to repair the damage he’d done with his cold response.
The glazed look in her eyes as he’d explored the texture of her cheek proved she was no more physically immune to him than he was to her. He’d use their mutual attraction to soften her up, if it became necessary. That he was hoping it did, he refused to consider too closely.
In the meantime, he’d take her up on her invitation to visit her kitchen this evening.
Chapter Five
From the shadows, Trevor studied Meggy directing the organized chaos that was the Palmer House kitchen. Gone was the gently teasing woman from that morning. In her place was a tiny, blonde general. As she snapped out orders, it was clear she’d chosen her staff well. The half dozen line cooks toiled about their individual stations while the wait staff moved efficiently between kitchen and dining areas, bearing the fruits of the their labors.
The door to the dining room swung in constant motion. Trevor raised an appreciative brow when it opened to admit a stunning, six-foot redhead. The pictures he’d seen of Finn’s new bride hadn’t come close to doing her justice. Cara O’Shea Finnegan was a knockout. A moment passed before he noticed the blonde bruiser she tugged along in her wake.
“Look who I found skulking at the bar.” Cara’s wide grin matched the bruiser’s.
Meggy’s eyes widened, and a squeal of delight escaped her lips as she launched herself across the space and into the man’s arms. “Justin! What are you doing here?”
“Did you think I’d miss your big night?” Holding her pressed against his large frame, the man named Justin grinned and fingered the lapel of her smock. “You know I can’t resist a woman in uniform.”
“You can’t resist women period.” She laughed.
He shrugged unapologetically. “That little favor you asked of me has been driving me crazy. You didn’t return my last call, so I thought I’d kill two birds by surprising you. Now, when are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
Trevor wondered what kind of favor she’d asked of the man. Was the big, blonde bruiser a partner in crime, or just another victim? Following the progress of Justin’s hand as it brushed down Meggy’s slim body to pat at her bottom with a casualness that spoke of familiarity, Trevor hoped he was guilty as sin. He’d enjoy seeing the bastard behind bars.
“I promise to satisfy your infamous curiosity as soon as possible, but I’m a little busy at the moment.” Meggy batted at the hand on her backside, and with a light shove, pushed her way out of his arms. Then she tugged at the hem of her smock. “Now get the hell out of my kitchen so I can dazzle the masses with my superior culinary skills.”
Justin’s dark eyes were full of laughter as he tipped up her chin with a fingertip. “I’ll hold you to that promise. Break a leg, Meg.” He dropped a kiss on her mouth before making his way back to the dining room.
The door swung open behind him to reveal the head of a dark-haired waitress. “Shan said to tell you they just seated Wallis.”
“Thanks, Simone.” Meggy pressed a hand to her stomach.
For the first time since he’d entered the kitchen, he saw nerves dance across her face. He stepped from the shadows, and she glanced his way. The subtle stiffening of her spine when he moved toward her told him he was responsible for at least a portion of those nerves.
“Hello, Trevor. Have you come for dinner?” She pivoted to approve the presentation of a shrimp dish with a nod to a line chef.
He stopped several feet away. “Yes, but I don’t want to be in the way.”
She gestured to a small table tucked into the corner. “You won’t be. Cara, this is Trevor Bryce.” She spared him a cool smile. “He’s the new tenant in the carriage house. Trevor, this is my friend and one of my partners, Cara Finnegan.”
Trevor shook the hand Cara held out. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Finnegan. And congratulations. I read about your marriage in the paper a couple of weeks ago.”
“Thank you.” Cara’s smile was warm and genuine. “I hope you’ll be comfortable in the carriage house.”
“I’m sure I will.” He turned back to Meggy. “Are you sure I won’t be in the way here? I could take a plate and go.”
“You won’t be in the way,” she repeated.
He was relieved to see that her smile lost some of its chill.
“What can we get you?”
“Surprise me.” He smiled before heading to the corner to await his meal, taking a chair that allowed him a view of the busy kitchen.
“Where’s Finn?”
“He’s at the bar.” Cara snagged a baby carrot from a bowl on the counter and nibbled delicately. “He said, and I quote, ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag me into the pit bull’s kitchen tonight’.”
Meggy laughed. “He’s such a weenie.”
Cara popped the remainder of the carrot into her mouth. “I’ll enjoy telling him you said so.”
Meggy nodded her approval of a tray of appetizers then frowned at the presentation of a plate of lamb chops with fresh mint. Her stocky, dark-haired sous chef stepped over to snatch the plate from the prep table and returned it to the line chef without a word.
“Finn wanted me to give you something,”
Meggy turned with raised brows. “Oh, yeah? What?”
“Just this.” Cara leaned forward to give Meggy a smacking kiss on the mouth. She stepped back, grinning.
Meggy smirked, crossing white-sleeved arms over her chest. “I always knew there had to be something wrong with your football stud.” Her eyes sparkled, and her voice was a slicing purr. “Turns out he’s a lousy kisser.”
Trevor chuckled as they shared a grin.
Any response Cara would have made was lost with Simone’s return. “Order up for Wallis.”
“I’ll get out of your way.” Cara squeezed Meggy's arm. “Knock him dead, babe!”
Trevor noted the immediate tension that filled the air, and Meggy’s face, with Simone’s announcement. When Cara passed him to reenter the dining room, he delayed her with a raised brow. “Who’s Wallis?”
“Food critic.” She grimaced. “The guy knows his stuff professionally. Personally, he’s a total cretin.”
Trevor nodded his understanding, and when the door closed behind her, he settled back to watch Meggy. No nerves now. The little general was back. She barked instructions while Simone gave her the critic’s order.
Working silently with a minimum of movement, Meggy’s face was a mask of concentration. Her staff left her alone, and their easy chat
ter quieted. Eleven tense minutes later, she stepped back and studied the plate critically. She handed it to Simone. Without a word, the waitress returned to the dining room.
As he watched, Meggy closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. When her eyes opened again, she glanced around at her staff, all of whom waited with a sense of expectation. A slow grin spread over her face.
“Thanks, Cal.” She took the glass of wine her sous chef handed her, tapping it against the one he held. “If I know Wallis, he’ll be having a gastronomical orgasm in about two minutes.” The staff snickered, and she grinned before taking a sip of the golden wine. Setting aside the glass, she rubbed her hands together. “Okay. What’s next?”
From across the room, Trevor could all but see the tension drain out of her as she refocused on her kitchen. She had complete confidence in her professional abilities, and from the reactions of her staff, they did as well. A glimmer of respect bumped up against the distrust he felt, and he didn’t try to fight it.
Instead, he drew her attention. “Meggy,” he called out softly.
She swung around at the sound of her name, blinking at him.
He was amused to realize she’d forgotten his presence.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Trevor.” Her hand fluttered then dropped to her side. “I was going to fix you a plate.”
“No rush.” He made his smile wicked. “I’ve been enjoying the show.”
A slight blush rose on her cheekbones, but there was pleasure in her smile when she turned away to prepare him a plate.
“I’ve decided what I want.”
“Oh?” She looked back at him over one shoulder.
“I’ll have whatever Wallis is having.” He winked. With wry acceptance, he welcomed the hot lash of desire that accompanied her delighted laughter.
****
Meggy let herself out the back door of the kitchen, exhausted but exhilarated. She’d done it! Palmer House was going to be a success. The reviews would tell, but she knew in her heart they were on their way.
The Billionaire's Con Page 3