“At times?”
Celia grinned. “Okay, all the time, but listen, once Viv sees that your new coif and designer outfit don’t sway the chef’s attention from the little blonde chickies he seems to adore, she’ll leave you alone. You can go back to looking however you want to.”
Meredith leaned against the doorframe. Celia had a point. And a much better shot at dating the chef. “I could probably go to that party naked and he wouldn’t look twice.” She nodded, a slight smile forming on her lips. “And the next time Viv gets a wild hair, I can remind her how wrong she was.”
“There is that.”
“Maybe he’ll ask you out. You’re definitely his type.”
Celia laughed. “Really? Have you seen him date any heiresses lately?”
“Point taken.” Chef Spicer seemed more interested in quantity over quality. Another folly of youth.
“Try something on already, will you? Unless you’d rather Viv came in there…”
“Changing right now.”
Celia gave her a wink and returned to the discussion of kitten heels versus ballet flats.
Numerous unacceptable outfits later, Meredith’s energy sagged. She faced her small audience, hands on her hips. “There has to be something I’ve tried on that will work.”
Viv shook her head and crossed her arms. Celia pointed to the foofy black number Meredith wore. “You keep trying on the black ones. What’s wrong with a little color?”
Lizza’s eyes lit up. “There is one you haven’t tried yet. And with that figure, you should. Let me find it.” She minced into the dressing room and searched through the racks, her hands a blur of ruby polish and pale skin. “Here!” She pulled out a sleeveless sheath of crimson matte satin. She shoved the dress into Meredith’s hands and shut the door before Meredith could say it was too red.
Alone in the cubicle, Meredith held the dress out. Very red. And very low cut.
“I don’t hear fabric rustling.” Lizza’s voice rang from the other side of the door. “Just try it on. It won’t hurt, I promise.”
Meredith reluctantly stepped into the dress. The cool satin slid over her skin like a spring breeze. She hoisted the zipper up, then tugged the dress down over her hips before taking a look in the mirror. Cleavage city. The scoop neckline and body-hugging fit made her B-cups look more like high C’s. The swingy skirt flowed out from her hips to just above her knees. Her legs were good; she’d give herself credit for that.
But the bust line...she didn’t want Chef Spicer to look at her and think she was trying to get his attention. Not that he’d look anyway. She probably didn’t even register with his libido as being female. Did the girls he dated even appreciate what an amazing specimen of manhood he was?
She put a hand against the wall. Amazing specimen of manhood? Where had that come from?
Viv’s voice derailed her thoughts. “Let’s see it, lovey.”
“It’s too low,” she said stepping out of the suddenly warm dressing room.
“Nonsense,” Viv replied. “You’ve got divine ta-ta’s.”
“Hooters galore in that dress.” Celia winked.
Viv turned to Celia. “Wasn’t Hooters Galore one of the Bond girls?”
Lizza nodded approvingly. “That’s the one. Makes your skin glow. And the fit! Dead sexy. It’s like it was made for you.”
Meredith planted her fists on her hips. “You seriously expect me to go out in this?” She cupped her hands in the air beneath her chest. “With my breasts hanging out?”
Viv laughed. “Darling, they aren’t hanging out. They’re getting some well-deserved fresh air. Let them breathe.” She tipped her head toward Lizza. “We need shoes.”
Lizza’s heavily-lined eyes twinkled. “I have just the ones. They incite envy in women and lust in men.”
Meredith’s head snapped up. “What? Why would I want—”
“Wonderful!” Viv raised her champagne flute. “Bring us all a pair.”
Chapter Three
Meredith wasn’t sure if she was more worried about falling out of her dress or off her heels. Tex-mex and stilettos seemed like a weird mix, but her captors had insisted the four-inch strappy bronze sandals were the only way to go. Part of her secretly agreed. The shoes were beautiful. Like wearable works of art. That were impossible to walk in.
When they arrived at Sedona, the party was half an hour underway. Viv’s driver, Marcus, held the door for them as they filed out of the limo. “Looking good, ladies.”
They regrouped on the sidewalk and headed for the restaurant en masse. A beefy gentleman in a black suit, bolo tie and black cowboy hat stopped them at the door with a stern look. “I’ll need your invitation or the name on the list.” He tapped the clipboard in his hand.
“I think it’s under Meredith Black?” Meredith hoped that was right. The guy’s body language said he took his job seriously.
He flipped through the pages on the clipboard. “I don’t see that name.” His eyes narrowed down to slits, and she got the distinct feeling he thought they were party-crashing groupies. What kind of groupies wore four hundred dollar shoes?
She straightened her shoulders and held up the book she’d brought for Kelly’s sister so the mouth breather could get a good look at it. “Dr. Meredith Black.”
Barely glancing at the book, he checked his list again. “Sorry, don’t see it.”
A slow, angry fuse lit inside her. If the chef had wanted her to come, why hadn’t he put her name on the guest list? If she’d gone through all this torturous primping for nothing, she would find a way to give him a piece of her mind.
Viv leaned over and whispered in Meredith’s ear. “Didn’t the cowboy give you a card?”
“Oh. Yes. Just a moment.” She dug through the matching bronze bag Viv insisted she buy and pulled out the card Kelly had written on. “Here.” She handed it to the doorman.
He looked at the back of it. Tipping his hat, he stepped aside and opened the door. “Sorry for the inconvenience, ladies. Enjoy your evening.”
Celia raised her brows so high they disappeared beneath her bangs. “What was on that card?”
“Just his signature.” Meredith shrugged. “He probably hands those out to lots of women.” Younger, perkier women but undoubtedly shod in much cheaper footwear.
Celia nodded. “Based on what I’ve read about him in the About Town sections of the paper, I’d say you’re right. He’s never photographed with the same girl twice.” Celia’s social status often put her in those columns, too, so she read them daily to keep up with the gossip.
Inside, a server offered them glasses of sangria. Meredith passed, but the other girls helped themselves as they looked around. Tiny twinkling lights set in the indigo ceiling gave the impression of a vast night sky. Huge wrought iron stands held flickering tapers, washing the dusky purple and warm red walls with a soft glow. A sultry Spanish guitar softened the clink of glasses and buzz of voices. A warm, spicy scent promised delicious food not far away.
“Something smells good,” Celia said, her gaze darting around the room. “This place is gorgeous.”
“Celia, why don’t we mingle while Meredith delivers her book? Maybe we can find something to nibble on.” Viv said.
“Great idea.” Celia headed for the crowd, but Viv held back. “Be sure to introduce me to Chef Spicer, won’t you? I feel a benefit coming on.”
“Will do. Go have fun, I’ll find you.” Meredith waved as Viv went after Celia. Time to find the chef and his sister and get this over with.
She wandered in search of the pair, but when things started to look familiar and she still hadn’t found them, she waved down a bartender. “Excuse me, could you tell me where Chef Spicer is? I’m supposed to give this book to his sister.”
The man finished wiping out a glass. “He’s probably upstairs. Let me find out.”
“Thank you.” A second floor? The place was bigger than it looked.
The bartender hung up the phone. “Yep. He’s upstairs
, in the VIP dining room.” The man pointed toward the way she’d come in. “Go back that way and take a right. Follow the hall to the end. There’s an elevator there. Tell the VIP hostess ‘tortilla’ and she’ll let you up.”
“Tortilla?”
The bartender gave her a lazy grin and shrugged. “I just work here.”
She pushed back through the crowd, aware of the occasional male glance that raked over her low-cut neckline. The attention caught her off guard, jangling her nerves.
The girl at the hostess stand greeted her with guarded smile. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I think so,” she said, feeling a little silly. “I’m supposed to tell you tortilla.”
Like magic, the girl’s grin turned genuine. “Let me call the elevator for you, ma’am.” She slid a key card through a black box on the wall. A few seconds later, the doors opened. Meredith walked in.
“Have a great evening,” the girl called as the doors closed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Meredith mimicked softly. She smirked, overcome with the cloak and dagger silliness of a password-protected elevator. Heaven forbid some of the unwashed masses sneak into the VIP dining room. Or worse, party-crashing groupies.
The doors opened and she stepped out beneath another twinkling night sky ceiling.
In one corner, a man perched on a stool playing the Spanish guitar she’d heard downstairs. Small groups of people stood around chatting beneath sparkling glass stars dangling on invisible line. More silver stars decorated the indigo walls, and cranberry glass votives lined the bar, flickering like tiny beating hearts. The place was beautiful but oozed seduction.
“Impressive,” she breathed. No wonder Chef Spicer did so well with the ladies. He had his own personal lair.
“Glad you like it.”
She turned, recognizing the twang, and stared up into infinitely blue eyes and a dazzling smile. His crisp white shirt opened at the neck to give a glimpse of tanned skin. Faded blue jeans with a large silver and turquoise belt buckle and well-loved cowboy boots accentuated his lanky lower half. A lesser woman wouldn’t have stood a chance.
He stuck out his hand. “Kelly Spicer. Welcome to the party.” His brow furrowed. “You look familiar. Are you press? I’d be happy to do an interview.”
So much for great first impressions. He didn’t even remember her. Viv’s description of blah rang in her head. Meredith held up the book instead of shaking his hand. “I’m a guest. Your guest. You invited me.”
The smile faded. He looked at the cover, then her, back at the cover then at her again. “Meredith?”
“Yes.” Wasn’t this a fun evening.
“Man, you look a whole lot different. Don’t I feel the fool?” He ran a hand through his sandy blond waves. “I guess I was expecting the suit and the hair and—anyway, I’m really sorry. Forgive me?”
She inwardly cringed at the mention of what she’d worn that day. She hated when Viv was right. “You’re forgiven.”
He looked her up and down again, adding a whistle. “Damn, you fix up good.”
To her utter dismay, her face warmed. Annoyance crawled up her spine. Had she looked that bad before? He’d definitely noticed her this time. She fussed with the book jacket, anything to buy a moment to compose herself. “Where’s your sister?”
“Running late.” His mouth quirked. “Can I get you a drink?”
What was he smiling at? “I guess.” Maybe a drink would take the edge off these weird nerves.
“Have you ever had champagne sangria? It’s amazing. We make it with apricots, peaches and raspberries.”
“Sounds fine.” She held out the book. “Can you hold this behind the bar? I don’t want to get anything on it.”
“Sure.” He took the book and motioned toward the bar, waiting for her to go first. As she walked by, his fingers brushed the small of her back. The unexpected sensation wobbled her knees. She bobbled on her stilettos like a marionette and reached for the nearest support. His arm.
“Whoa there!” Kelly slid his arm around her back, forcing her hand to lose its grip and coast to his chest. The scent of rosemary tickled her nose as his warmth seeped through the fabric of her dress. The body beneath her fingers was granite hard.
She pulled her hand away, got her balance and found her head. “I guess it’s my turn to feel like a fool. That wasn’t exactly graceful, was it?” Screw Jimmy Choo. A woman could break her neck in these stupid shoes.
He leaned closer. “Between you and me, those shoes are damn sexy, but if you wanna go barefoot, I got nothing against that either.”
The heat of his whisper against her ear shivered down her back. “I think I’ll keep them on.”
He released her, removing the comfortable strength of his arm, and smiled. “I’ll be sure to stay close by then.”
“Why’s that?”
He winked. “In case you need catching again.”
She inhaled hard, in need of more air. He pulled out a seat at the bar for her, waited until she’d sat, then took the one beside her. He nodded to the bartender. “Charlie, two champagne sangrias.”
“Sure thing, Chef.”
“I’m really more of a beer man but champagne seems better for celebrating...” Kelly shrugged.
“I don’t drink much,” Meredith said. “But you should have a glass at your own party.”
The bartender set the flutes in front of them. Kelly picked his up and held it in the air until she’d raised hers as well. “To you for agreeing to meet my sister. Means a lot to me.” He clinked his glass to hers.
She took a sip. The cold, fruity bubbles tickled her throat. “Mmm, that’s good. And you’re welcome. This is a beautiful place. I’m impressed for the second time.” She smiled a little. “Speaking of which, don’t you owe me something?”
After a second sip of sangria, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I do. Charlie, get me that plate from the walk-in, will you?”
“Sure thing, Chef.” Charlie disappeared around the corner.
Kelly leaned in. “I made a box for you to take home, too. I’ll give them to you when you’re ready to leave.”
“That was very kind of you.” Now I’m impressed a third time. “So you’re from Texas?”
He laughed. “Accent gives it away, huh?”
She glanced at the walls, her mouth curving. “That, the Texas belt buckle, the boots, the stars...”
Charlie slid a small platter of chocolate pepita clusters between them. “There you go.”
Meredith reached for one but before she made contact Kelly picked up the plate and his drink. He gave her a spine-melting grin. “Grab your glass and follow me.”
With careful steps, she followed him to a roped off alcove. A server moved the rope out of the way as they approached. Kelly stepped aside and motioned with his glass to the velvet banquette. “Much comfier over here.”
A new heat spread across her skin. Was he flirting? Or was it just a southern hospitality thing? He’s a bed-hopping playboy. Probably flirts with every woman he meets. Wines them and dines them until they melt into puddles of willingness. Meredith stiffened her spine.
Time for Kelly the Cowboy to meet Meredith the Unmeltable.
Chapter Four
Kelly set the chocolates on the table then slid onto the banquet. He couldn’t believe he was sitting next to the same woman he’d met at the book signing. Had that twisted hair really held those whiskey-colored strands? Had her eyes been that big? He’d thought the suit had been hiding a wild woman but damn if that dress and those shoes didn’t beat all.
He forced himself not to stare at her cleavage, but her pale skin made him think of mounds of freshly whipped cream. His mouth watered. He pinched his leg, hoping a little pain would refocus his thoughts. “You look real nice. Red is definitely your color.”
“Thank you.” She stared at her drink, now almost half gone.
He got the attention of one of the cocktail girls and pointed to their glasses. The girl nodded and headed for the b
ar.
Meredith’s cheeks looked flushed, but in the muted lighting it was hard to tell. “Am I embarrassing you?” he asked.
She looked up then. “No, of course not.” She sipped her drink. “This is really good. I don’t drink very much, but I like this.” Her flush deepened. “I mentioned that already, didn’t I?”
“Thanks. It’s my own personal concoction.” He tried not to laugh but her sudden loss of cool tickled him. He scooted closer. “Hey, have you eaten? There’s tons of food.” The sangria was strong stuff. Wouldn’t do to have her tipsy before Shelby got here.
She wet her lips with her tongue and shook her head. “The only thing I want is right in front of me.”
Her words sent a warm jolt through him until she reached for the chocolates and he realized she hadn’t meant him. Damn. She put one in her mouth and tipped her head back as she chewed. The move exposed the same sexy expanse of skin he’d noticed at the bookstore, except this time, there was a hell of a lot more of it.
The temperature in the room shot up. He shifted in his seat, thoughts of nibbling on the pale column of her neck making him squirm. She was here for Shelby, not him. Still, the idea of an older woman turned him on. He downed the last of his sangria. Maybe she could teach him something. An image of her smacking a ruler against one hand and looking at him sternly while dressed in red lace underthings made him choke on the wine. Gram always said he had an active imagination.
“You okay?” Meredith asked around a mouthful of chocolate.
“Yeah, just um, went down the wrong pipe is all.” He cleared this throat for effect. Pull it together. You’re not gonna impress her sporting wood like some pimple-faced boy.
“I love these things.” She licked a smudge of chocolate off the corner of her mouth and leveled her gaze at him. “Don’t you want one?”
“Nah, I’m okay.” One bite and the spell of persuasion would lose its power. He couldn’t take that chance. If Shelby didn’t show, he’d need more of Meredith’s time.
The Perfect Dish Page 3