by Jackie Braun
As she poured them both a cup, he reminded her she hadn’t answered his question about hiring more help. Emily didn’t feel it would be professional to discuss finances with a paying client, so she edited her response before speaking.
“I’ve always loved cooking and creating new dishes, which is why I do what I do for a living. So, I don’t mind the extra work.” She handed him his coffee and sipped her own.
“But what do you do for pleasure?” he asked.
The exotic lilt in his voice caused the last word to feather over Emily’s flesh like a caress, and it had her stammering like a schoolgirl.
“I…I…I…read.” If he hadn’t been watching her she would have smacked her forehead at the lame response. She didn’t have to know Dan well to figure out he was sophisticated, educated and cultured. He probably could lead Met patrons on a guided tour of the museum’s Egyptian antiquities exhibit. And she was certain he spent his free time engaged in far more pleasurable pursuits. Meanwhile, she sounded provincial and antisocial.
But he said, “I enjoy reading as well. Who are your favorite authors?”
Somehow she doubted rattling off a bunch of chef’s names was going to improve her image. He already must think she was a workaholic.
“I don’t really have any favorites,” she hedged. “If a book looks like it might appeal to me, I pick it up.”
“Very open-minded.” He nodded.
“What about you? Do you have a favorite author?” He probably leaned toward the classics. He probably read Socrates’ Charmides for fun.
“Stephen King.”
“Stephen King?” She set her coffee cup down on the counter with a clunk.
“You seem surprised.”
And he seemed amused. Emily wrinkled her nose and averred, “It’s just that I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I read his stuff.”
“I sleep like a baby.”
Dan’s lips quirked up, drawing her attention to his mouth. He had a sexy mouth, very sensual, as her assistant had noted that evening at the Hendersons’. At that moment, Emily could picture him sleeping, but not like a baby. He was all male and fully grown, lying between silk sheets and wearing… Emily cleared her throat. What was wrong with her?
“How on earth did we get on this subject?”
“We were talking about the long hours you work and what you do for pl—”
“Right!” She rudely cut him off, but she couldn’t bear to hear that word slip from his gorgeous lips a second time, especially given the vastly inappropriate direction her thoughts had just strayed. “As I said, I really do love my job.”
Work. Talk about work. Keep it about work, she coached herself, and decided it was time to get back to her cutting board.
“But with more employees you could take on more clients and still enjoy time for yourself. I am not familiar with your business. Do you cater large events?”
She shook her head. “No. I did a few large corporate parties when I was starting up. The money was welcome, but it felt a little too much like assembly-line work. I prefer small parties. I feel I have more control over the finished product that way.”
“Ah.” He dipped his head in understanding. “A perfectionist.”
Emily chuckled. “My assistant would say I’m a control freak, but I like your word better.”
“So this is your dream,” he said, sounding almost wistful.
“For now.”
“I am intrigued. What more do you want, Emily?”
The question was benign, but when a man looked like Dan Tarim, a woman kept imagining—or perhaps hoping—for subtext.
Motioning with her arms to encompass the kitchen, she said, “I have it all. What more could I want?”
“You tell me.”
She almost wanted to, and not just about the restaurant, but the other hopes for her life, hopes she’d shoved to the back burner and rarely thought about these days: a husband. A family. A home.
Startled by the direction of her thoughts, she shook her head. “Another time, perhaps.”
“Very well.”
A bell chimed then and Emily crossed to the commercial-grade double oven. After donning protective mitts, she pulled out the dish inside and set it on a rack on the counter to cool.
The scent of cinnamon and apples wafting through the air was enough to make one’s mouth water.
“That smells like heaven,” Dan said. “What it is?”
“My favorite part of a meal: dessert.”
“Is it apple pie?”
“Not quite. That seemed a little too American to serve with the French-inspired menu my client requested, so I opted for an apple-almond tart.”
Dan walked over to inspect it, inhaling deeply as he went. “It looks too perfect to eat,” he said. The apples were thinly sliced and perfectly arranged in a swirling pattern inside the thick crust.
“Wait till you see what I’m planning for you.” When he turned she said, “A pear and caramel trifle heaped with whipped cream.”
“That sounds like pure decadence.” Dan’s dark gaze turned intense and sensual enough to have her swallowing.
“P-perhaps self-indulgence would be a better word,” she said.
Pleasure. Decadence. The man had an excellent grasp of the English vocabulary even though it was his second language.
“I prefer decadence.” He smiled then and heat began to curl through her.
Though her hands were clean, Emily wiped them on the front of her apron. Her palms were damp. Overall, she felt uncomfortably warm. She blamed the oven and the rising temperature outside. Maybe she should turn up her air-conditioning. She glanced at Dan. He appeared perfectly comfortable and unperturbed.
It was time to get down to business, she decided.
“I think you’ll approve of the rest of the meal I’ve planned.”
With that, she went to her desk to retrieve the folder containing the menu for his dinner party.
Madani returned to his seat at the counter feeling a little off center. Thankfully he had long ago mastered the art of camouflaging his emotions. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but a simple conversation about dessert had turned into foreplay.
For him, at least.
In fact, ever since setting foot in her apartment-slash-place-of-business, he’d been acutely aware of Emily not as a chef but as a woman. He blamed his long hours this trip as well as the long absence of intimate female companionship for his libidinous thoughts.
Emily’s appearance didn’t help matters. She looked especially lovely today. Her hair was pulled back, no doubt out of deference for her work, but instead of a chignon, it was twisted in some fashion at the back that left it fuller in the front. The teal blouse was a good choice for her. It enhanced the color of her eyes and paired well with her creamy complexion. Without proper protection, her skin would burn in the hot sun of his homeland. He wondered if it was as soft as it appeared.
Dan sipped his coffee, which had grown cold. He, on the other hand, was becoming hot. Indeed, if they had spent another moment discussing decadent desserts, he might have wound up embarrassing himself.
As it was, he was pretty sure he’d embarrassed Emily. When she returned to the kitchen, he noticed that her cheeks were pink and she was careful to maintain her distance, even when she sat on the stool next to his, opened a folder and pushed it toward him on the counter. Should he apologize? He decided against it, partly because putting any of his veiled thoughts into words would surely only make matters more awkward.
Her expression was guarded, her voice crisply professional when she said, “We’ll start with appetizers. You asked for two. Based on what you’ve told me about your guests and the kind of evening you have planned, I’m suggesting penne pasta with asparagus and basil. The portions will be larger than normal since you will be foregoing a salad course. In addition, and in a nod to your region of the world, I propose a hummus dish. It’s made with chickpeas and lemon and uses yogurt instead of sesame paste. It will be
accompanied by the customary wedges of toasted pita bread.”
She glanced up, clearly expecting him to say something. So, he offered, “It sounds perfect.”
“For the main course you wanted fish. I know you were a fan of the salmon I made for the Hendersons, so I’m hoping you’ll be similarly pleased with the sea bass I plan to simmer in a light white wine sauce.”
She leaned closer and pointed to the photograph she’d included in the folder. He thought he caught a hint of floral fragrance beneath the aromatic scents of the kitchen.
Emily was saying, “As you can see, I propose pairing it with risotto, which will be seasoned and formed into cakes that will be skillet fried. The textures mix well.”
“Textures?”
“The fish is fork tender. The crispness of the risotto cakes offsets that.”
“That makes sense,” he said, surprised at how much thought she put into planning a meal.
“Finally, I will steam green beans over which I will shave the truffles you requested. I chose green beans, because I wanted to let the truffles shine without too many other competing flavors.”
“The star of the show,” he said.
“Exactly. What’s the point otherwise?” She glanced up and smiled. Talking about food had eased her earlier discomfort.
“Generally speaking, the meal is light, which is good considering what I’ve told you I will be making for dessert. Your guests will feel they are entitled to splurge.”
“Very impressive. It appears you’ve thought of everything,” he said.
“Well, that is what you’re paying me for. Which reminds me.” She flipped the page. “Since you’re visiting the city, I took the liberty of quoting you prices for china place settings and silverware. I have service for thirty, including all of the matching serving pieces.”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. The accommodations I keep in Manhattan have everything I need.”
She nodded. “I’ve also listed a selection of wines, both white and red, that would pair well with the courses. I can pick them up for you and include them in my final price, or you can purchase them on your own if you prefer. If you do want to purchase them separately, I can suggest a location. The owner is a friend and he will give you a discount if you mention you’re a client of mine.”
Madani skimmed the list she’d provided. Again, he found himself impressed with the breadth of her knowledge. “You have a good eye for wine,” he told her. Some of the vintages she’d included were quite pricey, but all of them were well-regarded.
“Wine is often an integral part of the meal. As such it can either enhance the flavors of what I’ve prepared or detract from them.” She shrugged then and her expression turned rueful. “Control freak, remember?”
He shook his head. “Not a control freak. A perfectionist.” Even though Madani knew it was foolhardy, he reached over and touched her face. He planned the contact to be brief, just a light brush of his fingertips over the slope of her skin. But his fingers lingered and his hand opened until his palm cupped the side of her face. “And a lovely perfectionist at that. Gamila.”
Before he even knew what he intended, he’d leaned in and kissed her opposite cheek. Even though he was stunned at what he had just done, he drew back slowly. What madness was this, he wondered, that had him wanting to kiss her again and on the lips this time?
Emily sat very still. Her eyes were wide, her gaze intent. “What does that mean?” she asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
“I do not know,” he replied haltingly, truthfully. He wasn’t sure what emotion he’d intended to express with his forward behavior.
“You don’t know?” She appeared puzzled. “But you just said it.”
“Said it? Ah.” It dawned on him then that she was talking about the word he’d used, rather than seeking an explanation for his actions. “Gamila means beautiful in Arabic.”
Her cheeks turned pink again. “Oh.” She cleared her throat then, shifted back on her seat.
“You are beautiful, Emily.”
She didn’t look at him. “I’m a caterer.”
“And you cannot be both?”
He saw her swallow. “About the wine, what do you want me to do?”
Irritation snapped within him. “I’ll see to the wine.”
“Okay.”
He modified his tone. “I have a couple of the ones you’ve suggested on hand, as well as a favorite of mine that I plan to serve. I think it will meet with your approval.”
She nodded and stood. “Well, that’s that, then. Unless you want to change or add something to the menu.”
“One cannot improve upon perfection,” he replied, following her lead and rising to his feet.
Emily collected the folder and handed it to him. “The cost is broken down on the front. I require an advance payment of half the total amount, which is nonrefundable once I’ve purchased the ingredients. The remainder is due the night of the party.”
“Will a personal check do?”
“Certainly.”
He drew his checkbook from his pocket, wrote one out and handed it to her, wondering at the sudden awkwardness he felt. It seemed he should say something more, if only so he could linger awhile in her company and determine why he found her so fascinating. But a glance at his watch revealed that he’d taken up too much of her time already. How had an hour managed to pass so quickly?
“I should let you return to work,” he said.
“Unfortunately I need to. I have a lot left to do.” They walked to the door. As she opened it, she added, “I’ll be in touch.”
“Gee, Em, isn’t that usually the guy’s line on the morning after?” a man drawled insultingly from the hallway, where he stood on the welcome mat with his hand raised as if to knock. He was fair-haired and nearly the same height as Madani. “And here poor Elle is worried that the reason you won’t stand up in the wedding is you haven’t gotten over me.”
The man’s gaze was as insolent as it was measuring when it shifted to Madani.
“Take care with your words,” Madani said. He kept his voice soft, but the threat was unmistakable.
“Who is this guy, Em?”
“What are you doing here, Reed? What do you want?”
The man ignored her questions. Instead, he persisted, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boyfriend? Maybe I can offer him some insights into your…likes and dislikes.”
Madani took a step forward at the same time Emily laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Dan. This rude and obnoxious man is Reed Benedict, my sister’s fiancé.”
Sister’s fiancé? Yet Reed’s previous words implied he and Emily had been a couple.
“I see you’re trying to connect the dots.” The man named Reed winked as he stretched out a hand. “I wanted to keep it in the family.”
Emily had called him rude and obnoxious. Madani silently added a few more adjectives to the list, and while he wasn’t the sort of man prone to violence, he found himself wanting to take a swing at Reed’s arrogant face. To keep from acting on the impulse, he curled his hand into a fist, which he kept at his side.
“I don’t believe Emily wants you here. Maybe you should leave.”
Reed lowered the hand Madani had refused to shake. “Word to the wise. Em doesn’t like guys to speak for her. She’s too independent for that.”
The man’s tone turned the trait into a character flaw. Incensed on her behalf, Madani asked Emily, “Shall I make him leave?”
She blinked in surprise. “As tempting as I find your offer, no. I’ll give him five minutes of my time. You can go now. I’ll call you later in the week.”
Left with no choice, Madani bid her goodbye.
CHAPTER FOUR
ONCE THEY WERE ALONE, Emily let the full range of her wrath sharpen her tone. “What are you doing here, Reed?”
“Elle asked me to come.” He sloughed off his sports coat as if she’d asked him to make himself more comfortable and flung i
t over one thick arm of the love seat. His voice held a sneer when he said, “I see that you’ve done a lot to the place since I’ve been gone.”
The jerk smiled then, flashing several thousand dollars worth of veneers. She’d paid the bills for a couple of months so that he could afford them.
“I made it more suited to my needs,” she agreed.
“Your needs. That’s funny.” His smile turned nasty. “I didn’t think you had any.”
The blow hit below the belt, just as he’d intended. Reed had always been good at stripping away her femininity, turning her into some sort of asexual automaton simply because she had dreams that went beyond being a showpiece on his arm.
It struck Emily then that she didn’t feel that way around Dan. Okay, she didn’t know the man well—hardly at all, come to that—but she had never been more aware of her femininity, her sexuality than when he was around.
She folded her arms, her confidence returning. “I’m busy today, so you’ll have to get to the point of your visit.”
“Busy. Always busy.” He sighed. “Too busy, apparently, to make time for your family.”
“Don’t try to send me on a guilt trip, Reed. I have absolutely no guilt where you and Elle are concerned.” She raised her chin a notch, a gesture she knew he found irritating. Sure enough, he scowled.
“She wants you at the shower tomorrow afternoon, Em. God only knows why since you’re so bitter and jealous. You’ll probably ruin the day for her.”
Emily’s brow rose. “Is this your idea of appealing to my better nature?” she asked, almost as amused as she was irritated.
“No. You don’t have one of those,” he shot back. “I never realized you could be so vindictive.”
“Bitter, jealous and vindictive. Wow. That’s some trifecta.”
“I’m serious. Elle and I feel sorry for you. You spend every waking hour wrapped up in your work.” He motioned toward the kitchen and shook his head. He’d never understood her, she realized now, wondering how she’d put up with his belittling comments. That much hadn’t changed. “The kitchen in this place is now three times the size of the bedroom. Not that you probably care.”