by Linda Cajio
He knew the women were gathering around him only because of his value as gossip. If he had to endure much of this, he’d be a babbling idiot. Where was Hilary?
“But I wanted the quail! I asked for the quail! I cannot believe you didn’t bring it!”
Margo’s loud, angry voice overrode every conversation in the room. Dev turned and was stunned to see that Hilary was the recipient of Margo’s words. The two women were standing on the threshold of the dining room. Hilary was dressed in a long dark skirt and blouse. Dev noted that the subdued colors did nothing to hide her fabulous curves.
“I am sorry, Margo,” Hilary said, somehow not losing a shred of her poise despite being screamed at. “As I explained to you, the dish presented certain problems—”
“Well, you’ve completely ruined my dinner!” the woman exclaimed. “I certainly don’t think I should be charged when the fault is yours.”
“Of course,” Hilary said, nodding graciously. “I think you will be pleased with the Breaded Rack of Lamb I’ve substituted, however.”
“I doubt that,” the woman snapped. “But I suppose it’ll have to do.”
Hilary tilted her head in acquiescence, then vanished into the dining room. Dev blinked. The incident had happened so fast, he and everyone else were still gaping.
Immediately he strode away from the group surrounding him, heading for Hilary. He hated the way she’d just been treated and the way everyone had looked down on her. He’d discovered long ago that the social niceties were a relative thing. As he passed his hostess, who was smirking in triumph, he muttered, “Get some manners, lady.”
Margo gasped, and satisfaction ran through him. Behind him he heard his grandmother say, “Hilary’s Rack of Lamb is absolutely terrific. She doesn’t make it for everyone, you know. Margo, she hasn’t ruined your dinner. She’s just made it.…”
Dev grinned as he entered the dining room. Lettice was blowing her perspective sponsor without any help from him. It was at moments like this when he actually liked his grandmother. Stopping by the huge dining table to look around, he saw Hilary disappearing through a door at the far end of the room. The door hadn’t yet closed behind her when he caught the handle and stepped into a brightly lit kitchen.
The room was in chaos, with pots, pans, dishes, glasses, chopping boards, and food covering every inch of the counters. Two people he didn’t know seemed to be banging things everywhere, and riding over the top of it all was a steady stream of curses coming from Hilary.
“You are human,” Dev breathed, as she spouted the seven words one couldn’t say on television in rapid-fire succession.
She turned at the sound of his voice, and his eyes widened in amazement. She looked harried and flushed, all the poise momentarily gone.
“What are you doing here, Devlin?” she finally asked, then immediately said, “Go away. The waiters didn’t show up tonight, that stupid excuse for a woman is out there losing me every potential customer in the place and a few old ones, too, I’d wager, besides screwing me out of my fee. Damnit, I told that cheapskate we couldn’t do twenty-six quails in wild-elderberry sauce because her kitchen couldn’t handle it.”
“You could punch Margo’s lights out,” Dev said. “I’ll back you.” He knew Hilary would never do it.
“Miss Manners wouldn’t approve,” she said, confirming his opinion. “Dev, please go away. I don’t have time to deal with you.”
“Grandmother is talking you up like you’re the best thing since that coffee guy. And if you’re shorthanded, I have two of them.” He held them up. “They’re yours. Just tell me where to put them.”
Before Hilary could speak, the other woman in the kitchen did. “Put chocolate-syrup stripes on those plates over there, run a knife down them every inch or so, and plop a slice of that cake on it. Then put them in the fridge … somewhere.” The woman had short red hair and never once looked up from her stirring of something in a pot on the stove. The third person was a young man in his twenties who had the same coloring and build as the woman.
“Jane, this is a guest,” Hilary said.
“And this is no time to be choosy.”
“Right,” Hilary said. “Dev, get over there and stripe those plates. Jeremy, you get the greens ready for the tournedos in salad. I’ll gratin the oysters. Jane can’t leave the risotto. We’ll never do that dish again.”
“You got that right,” Jane said, one hand still constantly stirring while every so often the other poured dollops of liquid from a bowl into the pot. “My arm is killing me.”
Dev shed his jacket and threw himself into the madhouse. He wasn’t sure how many stripes he was supposed to put on the plates, but decided they didn’t need an amateur asking questions every two seconds.
“I’ll be damned,” he said as he ran a butter knife in a straight line across the stripes and discovered it created an elegant pattern on the plate. “Hey! Look at this!”
Hilary glanced up from her oysters and grinned. “Pretty.”
As he continued to rapidly stripe plates, the madhouse eventually sorted itself into a state of controlled chaos. Clearly Jane and Jeremy were the main chefs, and it seemed from the conversation that they had an investment in the business. But the three of them working together spoke of mutual respect and friendship. Dev hadn’t realized Hilary had friends. Seeing her work harder at her job than he did at his own also made him realize how unfair his froufrou comments had been. He’d been unfair to Hilary on several fronts, it seemed.
The work became more intense as everyone rushed to bring the various elements of the dinner together at the same moment. The three professionals formed an assembly line and arranged the appetizer, transforming china and shells into a work of art. The kitchen was a large one for a home, but a cramped hole-in-the-wall when it came to cooking for twenty-six. Finished appetizer plates sat on every available flat space except the floor.
Margo came in once to check on the meal. Dev glared at her, and she looked as if she’d swallowed her tongue. At least she made no remarks on finding him in the kitchen. She didn’t harass Hilary again either.
“Jeremy, you and I will serve,” Hilary said when the appetizers were done. She smoothed her hair into place while Jeremy unwrapped his apron and rolled down his sleeves. Both were transformed into efficient maǐtre d’ and waiter. Looking at her, Dev still couldn’t quite believe he’d heard her saying things forbidden on the docks.
She turned to him. “Devlin, you’d better stop now so that you can get ready for dinner—”
“Hell, no. I’ve got plates to fancy up,” he said.
“Besides, I need him for the main course,” Jane added.
“See, I’m actually wanted.”
“Devlin.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead in clear frustration. “I’m grateful for your help, but clients take a dim view of guests working in the kitchen during their parties. You’ll lose them for me.”
“Tell them I went home sick.”
She gaped at him in horror. “They’ll blame the food! Besides, Margo knows you’re in here.”
“You’ll never have her as a client again anyway,” he said. At her still-stubborn look, he added, “Tell them I’m training with you. Or watching the operation from the inside because I’m thinking of investing in it.”
“Not bad for an excuse,” Jeremy broke in.
“It’s every faux pas in the book,” Hilary said.
“Fauxing a pas here and there is good for the soul,” Dev said. “And if you don’t get out there with the food, everyone’s going to be in here fauxing their pas all over the place just to eat.”
Hilary laughed, giving up the fight. Picking up four appetizer plates, she swept into the dining room, with Jeremy right behind her.
“How does she do it?” Dev asked, finally giving vent to his admiration of her as he joined Jane at the assembly line.
“Great brains and great calm,” the woman said. She pointed to a silver platter. “Hold that while I slide the
lamb onto it.
As he did, she expertly lifted two decorated racks of lambs onto the serving platter. They smelled like ambrosia. Dev wondered if Hilary could do for sex what she did for catering, for if she did, she’d be tremendous in bed. The thought was enticing. One thing puzzled him, though.
“Why go to all this trouble if you’re not getting the fee?” he asked. “Why not walk away from the job? Especially after the crap Margo dished out.”
“Because there are customers here tonight, old ones and still a chance for new ones if we pull the dinner off,” Jane answered. “How we handle a screwup can actually make more brownie points with people than a meal that comes off perfectly. Besides, we’d get a bad reputation for nonperformance if we didn’t.”
It made sense to him. “Have you been with Hilary long?”
“Since the beginning. My brother and I got tired of working for overrated chefs about the same time Hilary did. We went in together with her, using her contacts on the Main Line to get us clients.” She grinned. “We did a half-million dollars worth of business last year.”
Dev whistled. He had a lot to apologize for.
Hilary rushed back into the kitchen, Jeremy again on her heels.
“If your grandmother raves anymore,” she said, “I’ll be catering the White House next. But everyone looks pleased, except Margo.” She grabbed four more plates, and was gone in an instant, Jeremy behind her like a shadow.
Dev closed his mouth, realizing his chance to speak with her was already lost.
“She likes you,” Jane said.
He made a face. “How can you tell?”
“She didn’t kick you out on your butt.”
“Hilary would never do that,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t imagine it.
Jane snorted. “You don’t know Hilary.”
Dev recognized a hard truth when he heard it. He didn’t know Hilary. He hadn’t wanted to. In fact he’d gone out of his way to keep from knowing anything about her. And what he had thought he’d known was turning out to be all wrong.
“Now what?” he asked when they finished with the main course.
“Wash dishes.”
“Wash dishes?”
Jane grinned. “Wash dishes.”
Dev decided that next time an escape was offered he’d take it.
Hilary cleared the last of the dessert plates from the table, walked into the kitchen, and collapsed into the nearest chair. After a moment she noticed that Devlin was up to his elbows in water.
“What are you doing?” she asked, staring at him.
He turned toward her and raised his eyebrows. “I’m washing dishes.” He looked down his nose and added, “One does not put fine china and crystal through the dishwasher.”
“I taught him that,” Jane said proudly, drying the wet plate he passed to her.
Hilary had to grin. Her partner liked him. Jane didn’t like everybody. “You’ll lose your standing in the Male Chauvinists Club if the membership committee sees you like this.”
He laughed. “I’m nice. Occasionally.”
“Hell just froze over,” she said, leaning her elbow on the table and propping her head against her hand.
He grinned at her. “By the way, how’s your grandfather?”
“Back in his shell.” She shook her head. He was worse now than he’d been before the boat trip, and she didn’t know why. “How’s your grandmother?”
“Too brittle underneath.”
Hilary groaned. It looked as if another “date” was needed. Just what she needed right now. Her muscles ached and her shoulders were stiff, all from tension, stress, and the double shock and mortification of Margo’s tirade and Devlin’s witnessing of it. Cold anger and a desire to show the woman some manners had kept her from losing her temper in front of everyone. It galled her, though, to know the woman had done it just to get out of paying a bill. Even though everything had turned out fine in the end, she wished she’d never taken the job. But Margo, with her list of social activities for the younger set, meant a new door of opportunity for clients.
She knew she should be clearing up, but she didn’t move. Instead she watched Devlin at the sink. She was embarrassed and grateful for what he was doing. His offer to help had been so unexpected … and so needed. Nice wasn’t a word she normally associated with him.
Seeing him now, surrounded by dishes, washing industriously, was a picture she’d never forget. Her heart filled and flipped over. She was more than grateful.
She was in love.
Hilary turned away, panic sweeping through her. She couldn’t be, she thought frantically. Not Devlin Kitteridge. Of all people, not him. He was completely wrong for her. His lifestyle, his goals, his basic outlook on life were the exact opposite of hers. This wasn’t love. All she felt was a flash of gratitude and affection for him.
She turned back and eyed him critically. The blinding-white shirt and tailored trousers he was wearing were a radical change from the jeans and T-shirt. But they didn’t hide the width of his shoulders or the lean line of his body. Desire, slow and soft and strong, curled through her.
So much for critical, she thought. She had only to look at him anymore and her body would respond. Affection was too mild a term for what she was feeling. She’d never felt this way about her ex-live-in lover. It was why she had let him go.
It was the woman’s curse, she thought, her heart sinking with certain knowledge. Nice, safe, compatible men were everywhere, right under women’s noses, but they went for the wrong man every time. She wondered why. Was it because they were dangerous? Because they couldn’t be trusted not to hurt one? Because they were a challenge? Because the combination of all of that made them exciting and worth the fight if the woman won?
All of the matchmaking nonsense they were doing had somehow pulled her in, she admitted. And naturally it wasn’t that he’d swept her off her feet and into the bedroom that finally pushed her over the edge. No, she was a sucker for a man washing dishes.
“Hilary?”
She opened her eyes. Devlin was standing over her, so close that she could easily reach out and trace his features with her fingers, then urge his head lower until his lips touched hers.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.” His tone was low and intimate.
Pain knifed through her, along with the need. It hurt to know how she felt … and how he didn’t. He might want her at times, but he didn’t like her. That he had made very clear.
“I need to pack up,” she said, standing as she tried to force out the feelings within her and regain some composure.
It was a bad move. They were on kissing level now, only inches separating them.
His gaze never left her face, those damnable intense blue-green eyes probing beyond the surface. She’d never felt more vulnerable with him.
“I need to pack up,” she repeated, her voice sounding hoarse to her ears.
“I’ll help you,” he said, not moving.
“You’ve helped enough already.” Her feet were rooted to the floor. Panic flooded her again. She was aware of Jane and Jeremy in the room, but that didn’t help her regain her control. She was positive Devlin was about to kiss her. She’d probably rip his clothes off him if he did.
Rescue came in the form of Lettice and Margo. The spell broke instantly as those two women entered the kitchen, and Hilary was able to turn and face them. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Jane and Jeremy smirking at her. She’d never hear the end of it.
“Ah, there you are, Devlin,” Lettice said, as if seeing her grandson in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up were an everyday occurrence. “Hilary, dinner was superb, as always. Margo quite agrees. Don’t you, dear?”
Margo’s attempt at a smile was more like a grimace of pain. “Yes. Well. Everyone was so pleased—”
“And still raving about the lamb,” Lettice put in.
“And raving about the lamb,” Margo repeated between clenched teeth. “I
suppose the party wasn’t completely ruined … so I suppose I will take care of the bill, after all.”
Hilary refused to look at Lettice. She had no idea what the woman had done to bring about this change in her client, and she wasn’t about to ask. Jeremy appeared like an unobtrusive magician, bill in hand. Margo, after a moment’s hesitation, took it.
“You’ll find it greatly reduced from what you were expecting to pay for the … before,” Hilary said, avoiding mention of the sore point between them.
“Oh.” Margo looked startled as she glanced at the bill. She nodded, then turned and walked out of the room.
“She’ll pay it,” Lettice said with satisfaction. “I let her know you had my complete patronage. I also let her know I thought she’d made an ass of herself, and I’d make sure everyone from Rittenhouse Square to Gwynedd Valley knew it too.”
Hilary felt almost sorry for Margo. For a person swiftly rising on the social fast track, having someone of Lettice’s stature against her was a huge black mark.
“You lost your sponsor,” Devlin said to Lettice, then grinned. “I’m proud of you, Grandmother.”
“High praise,” Lettice said dryly.
“What sponsor?” Hilary asked.
“Never mind,” Lettice said.
“She’s been working on Richard, the husband, to sponsor a charity ball for Villanova Hospital,” Devlin said. “What the hell. I’ll sponsor it.”
His grandmother arched her eyebrows. “Well, well.”
“No,” Hilary said, everything in her protesting the idea. She’d be beholden to him beyond measure. “You can’t. It’s too much—”
“I’ve got a trust fund I never use,” he said, looking puzzled. “At least I think I still do.”
“You do,” Lettice said.
“Right.” His gaze returned to Hilary. “So, what’s the problem?”