Deliciously Sinful

by Lilli Feisty

  “That is not true.” It was just that maybe her niece didn’t know her type.

  She shrugged. Logistics. She’d figure it out. She could do anything she set her mind to.

  Except, apparently, make brownies.

  “When was the last time you, you know…did the clam dip?”

  Phoebe gasped. “What?”

  Jesse waggled her eyebrows. “You know. Dipped your spoon in the batter? Churned the butter?”

  “Jesse!” Phoebe straightened her skirt. “That is most definitely not only a totally inappropriate question, but also none of your business.” Hadn’t she asked herself a similar question just the other night?

  “You can’t answer because you probably can’t even remember.”

  Phoebe snapped her attention back to reality. “I can, too.”

  Jesse hopped up onto the stack of crates and sat back. “Then spill. Was it Bear?”

  “No. We’re just friends now.”

  “I’m sorry, Pheebs. I shouldn’t have brought Bear up.”

  “It’s okay. Really. You know we’re still friends.”

  “Okay, then if not Bear, who?”

  “Who what?”

  “Filled the hole in your doughnut.”

  “That is none of your business!” Phoebe felt a flush creep up her neck and took a few deep breaths. This was so not an appropriate conversation to be having with her niece. “And it certainly wasn’t Bear.” But she wished it had been. Just the thought of Bear O’Malley made her happy. Tall, strong, and gorgeous. Phoebe had known the man since high school. Although he kept a house here, he was rarely in town because he traveled the world as an agricultural consultant to third-world countries.

  The fact that she could be by his side doing all of that never made her sad. Not at all.

  Still…

  Bear. Altruistic, kindhearted, and a bit of a daredevil. He was everything Nick Avalon was not, but Bear never stayed around.

  “Are you sure you’re just friends with him? Because every time someone says his name, you get that dreamy look on your face.”

  “Believe me, I’m sure. I’m only going to say it one more time. We’re just friends.” And that was true. Even if Bear had shown any interest in her recently, which other than some innocent flirting, he hadn’t—she would never go there. It would hurt too much when he left.

  “Anyway, like I said. If I had a type, which I don’t, Nick Avalon would certainly not be it. No way, nohow.”

  “Then tell me, aunt of mine. What type of guy is Nick?” Jesse pushed an escaped dreadlock back into the tie-dyed scarf wrapped around her head.

  “He’s the kind of guy who thinks he can say whatever he wants, no matter how offensive. He’s the kind of guy who drives an expensive and obnoxious off-road vehicle, but has probably never driven it off the pavement of a city. He’s the kind of guy who has no respect for women. He’s the kind of guy who makes me want to tear my hair out!” Phoebe realized she was breathing as if she’d just sprinted down the street, and she calmed herself down. Jesse was looking at her as though she’d gone off the deep end.

  When she was breathing normally again, she said, “And I hate his hair.” She did. She despised his spiky black hair, his blue eyes that shot right through her, and his long, lean body that made her seriously wonder what his skin would feel like touching hers.

  She hated that type.

  Jesse said, “Okay. I get it. Nick Avalon is not your type. But you know half the girls in this town are in love with him, right?”

  “He’s only been here a couple of weeks! How could anyone be in love with him?” Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Anyway, even if that’s true, it’s just because he’s new and different.”

  Jessie heaved a smitten sigh. “And that accent. Oh my God, that accent.”

  “It’s just a British accent. What’s the big deal?”

  Yeah, that’s not what you were thinking when you spoke with him on the phone that first interview, was it?

  And darn it to heck. Why did her heart skip whenever he called her something irritating like bumpkin? She shuddered. Bumpkin? Really?

  Phoebe retrieved a box of soy milk for the vegan ice cream that had to be made for their lactose-free clients. “Anyway, it’s just the fact that Nick’s not from the area that makes the locals interested.”

  Jesse tossed another crate of tomatoes onto the stack. “He’s definitely not like the usual guys you find around here.”

  Phoebe yanked out another carton of soy milk. “I’ve never met anyone so arrogant in my entire life. And everything’s a battle with him. I mean, I’m the boss!” She stabbed herself in the chest with her index finger. “He should listen to me instead of trying to turn the Green Leaf into some version of a chic Los Angeles restaurant.”

  “I ate his lamb.”

  Phoebe blinked. “What?”

  “The other night, after everyone had left.” Jesse lowered her voice. “Don’t tell my dad. He’d freak if he knew I ate even one bite of a dead animal. But oh my God, Phoebe. Nick Avalon knows what he’s doing when it comes to cooking meat. Did I tell you I had his duck the other night, too?”

  “Stop!” Phoebe raised her hand. “I don’t want to hear any more. You used to confess when you snuck out at night to go down to the river. Why does this seem worse somehow?”

  “Because you know my dad’s a militant freak about vegetarian eating?”

  “He is not.” Phoebe felt the need to stick up for her brother-in-law, who was one of the sweetest, nicest people she had the pleasure of knowing. “He’s always let you make your own choices about what you consume.”

  “Yeah,” Jesse scoffed. “But you know how he’d always look so sad if I ate chicken or something. Like I was disappointing him.”

  “You never disappoint your father, Jesse.” Steve wasn’t just Phoebe’s brother-in law; he was her best friend.

  Judy, his wife and Phoebe’s sister, had died five years ago. At the time, Phoebe had been living with her aunt and uncle in their huge Victorian house, and Steve and Jesse had eventually moved in as well. Just when Steve seemed to finally be getting past the death of his wife, Phoebe’s aunt had passed away. And then Uncle Dan had followed within a year. Now there was a sadness about Steve that hovered like a dark cloud.

  Shaking the thoughts away, she focused on what her niece was saying.

  “Pheebs,” Jesse said. “Even you have to admit Nick is really cute.”

  Phoebe pushed herself off the wall. “What do you mean, even I?”

  “You’re picky.”

  “I am not! I’m just…particular.”

  “Particularly picky.”

  “Not true.”

  “You can’t even remember the last time you had your muffin buttered.”

  Phoebe looked away, thinking. “I can too remember when I last had my muffin buttered.” What was she saying? “I’m not going to talk about that with you!”

  “Exactly. So what’s wrong with Nick?”

  “What?” Phoebe demanded. “W-what are you talking about? Even if I were interested, which I’m not, he hates me.” She shook her head. What was Jesse thinking? “And we work together!”

  Jesse shook her head. “He doesn’t hate you.”

  “Do you have a dreadlock in your eye? Because you obviously have some clouded vision.”

  “I don’t think I’m the one with limited sight here.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I may be young, but I”—she tapped her temple—“I see things.”

  Phoebe laughed. “Oh, do you now? And I’m supposed to take love advice from a teenager?”

  “Yeah. In fact, I smell things, too. Like something burning. Like, now.”

  Just then, the distinct scent of something that was indeed burning filtered into Phoebe’s nose. “What’s he done now?” Dropping the cartons of soy milk, she burst through the storage door, ran down the hallway, and headed straight for the kitchen. Where she found Nick Avalon
surrounded by a cloud of smoke. Smoke and a group of her staff, who were watching him with expressions of awe.

  “What’s going on here?” she demanded.

  He took a sip of his ever-present glass of golden liquid. He usually licked a wedge of lime after each sip and, as he did so now, she couldn’t help it. Her gaze drifted to that luscious mouth of his, and she watched him lick the tart fruit.

  When she glanced back up, he was watching her with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

  Damn. Had he known she’d been distracted by that gorgeous mouth of his? She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sharpened her gaze. “Nick. I asked what is going on here.”

  “Just showing the kids how to flambé bananas.”

  She picked up a few bunches of cauliflower from the counter and dropped them into the sink. Then her gaze fell on the three other members of her staff, all teenagers she’d known their entire lives, who were currently staring at Nick as if he were some sort of god.

  Well, she supposed in his mind, he was. Even Jesse, who’d followed her out of the storage room, seemed to be enamored with Nick.

  “That’s not on the menu,” she said, pointing at the pan.

  He took another sip from his small glass. “I know. But it should be.” And licked the lime. His lips were shiny with the tequila.

  Shiny and smirky and kissable.

  Jeez. She needed a date with her vibrator to kill these urges about Nick.

  “Those bananas were for the bread you’re meant to be baking.”

  He raised one of his perfectly shaped black eyebrows. “I’m sure you can get more bananas.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is your point?”

  She felt everything inside her constrict with irritation. “Why did I hire you again?”

  His glance flickered to the far wall and to the montage of reviews. “Because you actually want this place to succeed.” He looked back at her, and she didn’t miss that annoying, troublemaking twinkle in his eyes. “How are those brownies coming along? I hear they’re quite the hit at the bumpkin cook-off.”

  Damn him, why did he have to go there? In the privacy of her home kitchen, she’d attempted that damn brownie recipe about ten more times, and it hadn’t improved one bit. In fact, she thought the brownies had actually become progressively worse.

  It was then that she noticed every one in the café had gone still. Her staff was watching Nick and her bicker as if it were a tennis match.

  She turned and started to walk away. When she noticed he wasn’t following her, she jerked her head. “Come here.” Then she continued stalking, her skirt flowing around her ankles in angry swooshes of gauzy fabric.

  After he’d sauntered into the storage room, she kicked the door shut. “Stop that,” she growled.

  “What?” He crossed his arms over his chest, causing the short sleeves of his black T-shirt to tighten around biceps that made Phoebe’s mouth water.

  She swallowed. Then, pointing a finger at him, she said, “Don’t give me that innocent look. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “You mean the bananas?”

  And it was then that she realized he held a wooden spoon in his hand. With an evil glint in his eye, he uncrossed his arms and held it out to her.

  Like some sort of horrible Pavlovian food whore, her mouth began to water. She backed up. “Get that away from me.”

  He stepped forward. “Come on. Taste. I promise it’s better than banana bread.”

  “That’s not the point.” Then her back hit the wall. Nowhere to go. He was coming at her with his wooden spoonful of mouthwatering, and no doubt delicious, glistening banana slices.

  She clenched her clammy hands. “I don’t want to argue with you in front of my staff.”

  “What’s there to argue about?” He held the spoon just under her nose. She tried to hold her breath, but she couldn’t help it; she had to breathe, right? And oh my God. The bananas smelled amazing. She licked her lips.

  He watched her lick her lips. His blue eyes were dark, unreadable.

  “Taste.” When he said the word, his voice was raspy.

  “Don’t tempt me with your flambéed bananas!”

  His eyes sparkled with humor at her words. She inhaled, realizing it was the first time she’d seen real humor in his eyes. It softened her, just a bit.

  “Go on,” he coaxed. “You won’t regret tasting my banana.”

  “Stop it.” But her mouth opened. Why did it do that?

  He slid the spoon over her lips, and her tongue slipped out to allow him to tilt the sweet caramelized banana into her mouth. Her eyes drifted shut. He kept the spoon in her mouth, too good and too long.

  In that second, that moment of silence in which all she could do was taste and listen to their breathing, heat rushed through her body. Her nipples hardened. She could smell the bite of tequila on his breath, he was that close to her.

  She pushed him away, ignoring the way his body felt beneath the palms of her hands, warm and solid. She cleared her throat. “That doesn’t taste that bad. But it’s not on the menu.”

  “You always stick to the menu, bumpkin? No special orders for you?”

  “Shut up.” She wiped her hands on her skirt. “Go make the bread. And stop trying to show me up in front of my staff.” Then she walked out of the storage room, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter Three

  Later that night, Nick sat on his front porch, staring at…

  Nothing. Because that was pretty much all he was surrounded by. Trees, trees, and more trees. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. And certainly no one to go anywhere with.

  He took a deep drag from his cigarette and sipped his tequila. His leg bounced restlessly, the heel of his trainer tapping a fast beat on the wooden porch. All this quietness drove him crazy. Normally he’d be in the kitchen until at least 1:00 a.m., or he’d be at a club. Back at home, he was very rarely alone, and this wasn’t something he was adjusting to well. Not well at all.

  The cabin wasn’t helping. It was nice, he supposed, by cabin standards. Fortunately, he didn’t know much about cabin standards. This one was small but functional, with a decent kitchen. A living room with an overstuffed sofa and matching chairs. A nice TV and even a decent stereo.

  He looked through the tree branches to where a small light glistened in the distance. She was there. It was Phoebe’s house. Part of the deal in coming here included residing in her guesthouse. Although at least an acre separated the residences, he somehow always felt her presence. And on the other side of her house was her “farm.” Which consisted of about ten acres of seasonal produce. She was, after all, a farmer. She smelled like the earth. It shouldn’t smell good to him.

  Why did it?

  Stop thinking! He picked up his cell phone and dialed.

  “Nick?” a female voice answered.

  “Hey, Sherry. What’s up?”

  “Just trying to explain to my son why he can’t combine cabernet with sushi.” Nick heard some shuffling, the low voice of her son in the background, and then Sherry’s screech. He yanked the phone away from his ear as she yelled, “I don’t care if it’s considered avant-garde! It’s just bad taste.” More phone shuffling and then a deep sigh came through the phone. When she spoke, her voice was overly calm. “Sorry, Nick. Shawn is driving me nuts. If you ever have a child, pray he doesn’t go into the food or wine industry.”

  Nick shuddered. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  “Right, right,” Sherry said. “Nick Avalon. Perpetual bachelor and ladies’ man.”

  “You got it, sweetheart.”

  “One day, Avalon. One day.”

  “What?”

  “Some girl is gonna crack that stone heart of yours.”

  “Not likely.” He took another sip of tequila. He would have preferred to chase it with a lime, but he was too lazy to get up and get one.

  “Anyway. How are things going up there in the center
of clean living?”

  “Bloody horrid. Can you tell me again how I ended up here?”

  “Let’s see. You drank too much at work. Showed up late far too many times. Tortured your staff, and what was that last thing? Oh, right. You publicly humiliated a Hollywood legend over a crème brûlée.”

  “He sent it back!”

  “And?”

  “It was perfect.”

  “Right. Because everything Nick Avalon does is perfection.”

  “Damn near.” It was true.

  “Must be nice to be you, Mr. Avalon.”

  Nick gritted his teeth. Sherry was the only person in the world who could get away with talking to him like this. Somehow, they’d become best friends. Years ago, she’d been his wine distributor, and he’d taken her with him to every restaurant he worked at. He’d hit on her, of course. But she’d brushed him off, saying he was way too much of a bad boy for her.

  She was the only girl in L.A. who’d rejected him. Which was probably a good thing because she had turned out to be one of his only true friends. L.A. was good for many things: parties, women, and entertainment. Finding people a bloke could count on wasn’t on the list, but that was just fine with Nick. Early in life, he’d learned to count on only himself.

  He took another deep drag off his cigarette.

  “You should really quit those things.”

  “So you’ve said. Right around a million times.”

  “They’re bad for you.”

  “You’d fit in perfectly here, you know.”

  Sherry laughed. “Are you trying to say I’m some sort of a hippie?”

  “No. Well, you kinda are. I mean, with all your yoga and Pilates and those disgusting smoothies.”

  “That’s not being a hippie. That’s being health-conscious. You should try it.”

  “Not my style.” He downed the rest of his tequila.

  “Right. Partying all night and sleeping with starlets is more your thing.”

  “Not anymore. Sadly.”

  Sherry chuckled. “What? No hot, young, barely legal groupies up there?”

  “Hardly.” He thought of Phoebe, with her bright green eyes, frizzy brown hair, and attitude problem. “I think the most excitement I’m going to have anytime soon will involve my hand and an X-rated video.”