“Just egg white with spinach and a little mozzarella for me,” Lucas said before reaching for the citrus juice to pour himself a small glass.
That wasn’t surprising. The youngest Cress brother had shed fifty pounds and seemed dedicated to keeping the weight off—and his string of pliable women on.
As she took everyone’s choice, Jillian’s eyes kept going to Cole. She could tell from the stiffness of his shoulders that he was annoyed. He’d always spoken highly of her pan-fried potatoes sautéed with caramelized onions and butter. She served them for breakfast or dinner, along with a steak.
He won’t be ready to eat, though.
“Cole, what type of omelet would you like?” she asked.
He looked up at her. His shoulders softened and he smiled. A new switch from night to day. “I’ll pass on breakfast. Just coffee is fine,” he said with a seemingly polite smile.
Jillian’s knowledge that she was right about his eating habit being affected by his mood surprised her. With a nod, she turned and walked back across the vast space to the eight-burner Viking stove to heat and oil eight omelet pans straight from the Cress, INC. line of cookware. Quickly she cracked two eggs into each of eight ceramic bowls, added salt and black pepper with heavy cream before whisking each swiftly then pouring them into the pans.
Leaving the eggs to set and cook on low-medium heat, she opened her leather case to reveal her engraved all-metal knife set...and a note card monogrammed with the Cress, INC. logo. She held the card to her nose and inhaled the subtle scent of Cole’s cologne still clinging to it. Like her sheets after he spent a night at her apartment.
She opened the card and mouthed the words as she read them to herself. “Last night before I left you, I kept the panties you were wearing. I want to enjoy the smell of you.”
The thrill she felt was addictive.
She looked over into the dining room and caught his eyes on her. He patted the pocket of the leather jacket he wore before raising his cup of coffee in a toast. She flushed with warmth. But, forcing herself to focus on flipping the omelets and adding the ingredients atop one side of each, she was unable to slow the pounding of her heart at the thought of Cole in possession of her sheer red panties.
* * *
Over the rim of his cup, Cole surreptitiously eyed Jillian as she left the dining room. She was a tall and slender bronzed beauty with her auburn curly hair pulled up into a topknot. The glasses she wore while cooking couldn’t hide the long, thick lashes that framed her round brown eyes. Her cheekbones were high, and her chin narrow, giving her face a heart shape that lent emphasis to her full pouty, perfectly kissable mouth. The back and forth movement of her buttocks in her black leggings enticed him. He smiled into the cup. It was an even more glorious sight free of clothing and gripped in his hands.
Damn.
Jillian was beautiful and curvy. Funny and feisty. Sexy. Insatiable. And not searching for her happily-ever-after.
Perfect.
He thoroughly enjoyed flirting with her before they found hot moments to relieve the sexual tension that pulsed between them. But he was not looking for love.
Been there. Done that.
When he’d met Traci Mason during his senior year at culinary school, Cole had believed he’d found a stunning, intelligent, loyal beauty with whom he could plan a future. He’d even purchased a ring and planned a huge engagement surprise via hot-air balloon. Then his brother, Gabriel let him know Traci was quite vocal with her friends that she had landed a big fish from the wealthy Cress family and planned to ride the wave to her own successful career.
Any doubts Cole had had about the veracity of the gossip were erased when Gabriel played him a video, taken without Traci’s knowledge, of her saying just that. And more. Much more.
It was clear that she’d seen Cole as a pathway to success and not as a man to truly love.
That had been his last serious relationship and he’d preferred no strings attached ever since. His sexy, secretive dalliances with the family’s beautiful chef for the past year had been his escape as his family had become unrecognizable. His father’s announcement that he was stepping down as the chief executive officer of Cress, INC., and would name one of his five sons as his successor, had put the brothers at odds with one another. Gone was the notion of loyalty. Each was in search of Phillip Cress Senior’s deeming him meritorious of the throne.
Cole couldn’t deny that it was a worthy empire.
His parents had devoted more than fifty years to build a reputation as celebrated and well-respected chefs, won Michelin stars and James Beard awards, established many successful restaurants, and written more than two dozen bestselling cookbooks and culinary guides. In a calculated move that had paid off, they’d shifted their focus to establishing Cress, INC. And, within just a few years, had successfully diversified into production of their own nationally syndicated cooking shows, cookware, online magazines, an accredited cooking school and a nonprofit foundation.
Like their parents, the five Cress brothers had become chefs—all acclaimed, as well. Four years ago, upon their parents’ earnest request, each son had left behind his career to claim a full-time role as a member of the business’s executive team. The eldest brother, Phillip Junior, ran the nonprofit, the Cress Family Foundation. Gabriel had stepped down from overseeing the restaurant division to fulfill his dreams of owning and operating his own eatery. Sean supervised the syndicated cooking shows. The youngest, Lucas, was head of the cookware line.
And Cole served as president of Cress, INC.’s digital marketing and global branding, overseeing a small team that managed publicity and marketing as well as the company’s websites and online presence. He’d taken the position at his mother’s urging to participate in something along with his beloved brothers.
In time, he had come to enjoy the work and taken pride in the company’s exponential growth in online traffic and analytics. In truth, he cared nothing about the CEO position and had only competed for it because he felt his father didn’t believe he could do it. Unlike his brothers, his desire to create and cook was too strong to ignore. Thus, his food truck purchase and operation on the weekends—another bane to his father, who found the very idea of the food truck industry beneath chefs of Cress caliber.
An outdated and judgmental notion.
And he’s the last man to hold everyone else to such damn high standards.
Cole set his cup down on the saucer as he spared his father a glance just as the man looked down the length of the table to give his wife a warm smile. The anger he felt with his father—the same ire that had spurned his rebellious nature since his teenage years—burned like fire in his gut.
Liar.
Phillip Senior was a formidable man who was very aware that he was raising men. He loved his boys, but the only softness and warmth he showed in abundance was to their mother. There had been little tolerance for whining, misbehaving, mistruths or weakness from his sons.
Cole looked to one of the two empty chairs at the table. The normal seat of his older brother, Gabe, was empty. He was proud of him for standing up to the disparaging way his father had spoken of Monica upon discovering his son had dared to date the help.
Cole felt his stomach burn at the memory...
* * *
“Is she the reason for your insanity lately?” Phillip roared, the veins of his neck seemingly strained.
“She’s the reason I’m happy,” Gabe returned calmly.
“Happy or horny?”
“Both.”
Cole chuckled, which incensed his father even more, yet his other brothers sat as if afraid to speak up. Their silence angered Cole. Gone was their alliance as brothers.
“There are women you wed and those you bed. Know the difference. And that goes for all of you,” Phillip said.
Gabe angrily strode over to his father, standing toe-to-toe to c
onfront him. “Don’t disrespect her in that way.” His voice was cold. “I tolerate a lot from you, but I will not put up with that.”
* * *
Knowing Gabe was “The Good One,” offering no trouble and never a cross word to his parents, it had been exhilarating to watch him challenge their father. In the same manner, Cole wished he had been brave enough to do the same in the past.
As his family members’ conversation continued around the table, Cole, lost in his thoughts, took another deep sip of the brew. He barely noticed his grip on the rim of his cup had tightened. Once he did, he released it. The cup dropped down onto the saucer. He had to catch it before it tipped and spilled its hot contents.
Every eye was on him.
“Quelque chose ne va pas, Oncle Cole?”
At his niece’s question, Cole looked down at her, looking up at him through her bright spectacles from her usual seat beside him at the table. He smiled at her with warmth. “Nothing’s wrong, Collie,” he assured her.
“You seemed moodier than usual,” Nicolette observed, giving him an encouraging smile. “I know you love Jillian’s potatoes. Not feeling well?”
“Don’t spoil him, Nicolette.”
Cole tensed at his father’s terse reprimand. “Spoiled is believing you can have anything you want, when and where you want it,” he snapped, sitting back against his chair.
Phillip Senior glared at him before shaking his head and returning his attention to the print newspapers he still favored.
Cole didn’t miss his brothers Lucas and Sean share a look. Phillip Junior frowned and his wife pretended not to notice. Collette was lost to the tension.
The father-son contentious relationship was nothing new. In truth, the root of Cole’s problem with his father was more than a rebellion. It was a bitter disappointment.
As a teenager, Cole had visited the family’s restaurant and walked in on his father cheating on his mother with one of the waitresses. Visions of their half-clothed bodies rutting away flashed in his mind’s eye and he winced at the memory and forced it out.
He’d never shared the secret of his father’s affair. At times, he hated himself for that.
Cole looked at his mother. A devoted beauty whose feelings for her husband were clear. Her love. And her loyalty.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but his anger at his father for betraying her had been stewing for years.
Cole had been determined to be a better man to Traci before he’d discovered she was using him. Although he knew his reputation in the press was now that of a playboy, Cole never juggled more than one woman at a time—he just kept his relationships strings-free.
“Can I get anything for anyone before I go shopping for dinner?”
Cole glanced up at Jillian, standing in the opening of the dining room, before he looked over his shoulder at the spring sun blazing down on the thirty-two-foot length of the garden. A long concrete table set beneath an arched framework covered with bamboo leaves offered privacy and shade. At night, he liked to sit outside, smoke a cigar and sip Uncle Nearest premium whiskey as he listened to the sounds of New York and watched the illuminated water fountain at the end of the garden.
There had been many a night that memories of stolen moments with the sexy chef had dominated his thoughts. More often than not, that led to a phone call or text before he was off on his motorcycle, zipping through the streets to reach her.
And stroke deeply inside her...
“That will be all, Jillian. Thank you,” Nicolette said, breaking into his train of thought.
“We need someone to step in and take over the restaurant division in Gabe’s absence,” Phillip Senior said, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin before dropping it atop his half-eaten steak, mushroom and mozzarella omelet.
Cole glared at his father. “Good luck with that,” he drawled. “I’m not filling a spot my brother left.”
“Grow up, Cole!” Phillip Junior snapped.
Cole shot him a glare, as well. “Go to—”
“Oh no-oo,” Raquel said, rising in a beautiful sheer red shirt and matching wide-legs pants to pick up their daughter’s plate. “Come on, Collette. We’ll finish breakfast upstairs.”
“What’s wrong?” the little girl asked.
“The adults need the room...and to remember they are adults.” Raquel shot a meaningful glance at both Cole and her husband before leading the preschooler out of the room.
“This sullen brat routine is getting old, Cole,” Phillip Junior said, looking even more like the former wrestler turned movie star Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. He hated it when his brothers teased him about that.
“And so is figuring out just how you manage to breathe with your face buried so deep in Dad’s behind,” Cole shot back.
Of all the brothers, Phillip Junior was the most devoted to his father—and believed that being “The Eldest” guaranteed him a natural progression to the throne.
“Enough,” Sean said sternly with a shake of his head.
Cole eyed “The Star.” Everyone had a role. Sean relished his as the star of several of Cress, INC’s most popular cooking shows. He believed his face as the brand was the winning ticket. “Enough what?” he asked.
“Enough making everything uncomfortable because it amuses you,” Lucas answered.
I find humor to avoid rage. But Cole kept his thought to himself as he eyed the youngest Cress son, “The Favorite.” All his life, Lucas had been doted on by their mother with love—and plenty of food. He’d packed the extra pounds on until recently.
Cole loved his brothers. His only anger with them was for their blind allegiance to their father, who was undeserving of it.
No one knows that but me.
“So, you all will just fill Gabe’s shoes and make him feel we don’t want or need him back?” Cole accused, eyeing each of his brothers.
“À la nourriture. À la vie. À l’amour,” Nicolette said, filling the silence with her favorite French saying. To food. To life. To love.
The maxim was painted on the wall above all of her stoves—personal and professional—and on the base of every pan in the Cress line of cookware. It was the watermark of every letter from the various editors of their culinary magazines. It was also branded throughout their online presence. And it served as the closing statement for the cooking shows produced by Cress, INC.’s television division.
“Gabriel will return,” she asserted. “His presence here and at Cress, INC. is missed. Until he decides that he wants his position back, someone must complete the work.”
“I’ll do it,” Phillip Junior asserted. “A future CEO has to set the example and step in when left in a jam by someone else.”
“Sycophant,” Cole muttered, disgusted by the lack of loyalty among brothers.
Nicolette reached to cover Cole’s hand with her own. “I miss him, too,” she assured him.
“Then fix it,” he demanded, locking his gray-blue eyes with her own.
Her gaze softened as she nodded. “I think you’re right,” she admitted.
“Nicolette!” Phillip Senior roared.
“Assez, c’est assez, mon amour,” she said, looking down the length of the table at her husband.
Like their parents, the brothers spoke both French and Spanish fluently.
Enough is enough, my love.
And though her tone was soft, there was no denying the finality of her words.
TWO
One month later
“Enjoying your meal?”
Jillian looked up at the striking figure of Lorenzo León Cortez, Gabriel’s best friend. His voice was deep, and he was tall—well over six feet—with broad shoulders and bone-straight, waist-length hair that only accentuated handsome features of his Native American and Mexican heritage.
The man was truly magnificent.
“It was delicious,” she admitted, smiling at her plate now empty of the short ribs.
Jillian had been surprised to receive an invitation to the opening night of Gabriel’s restaurant. Of course, she knew Cole had been behind it and had seen the look on Nicolette’s face when she’d arrived that his mother had been none too pleased. Nicolette Lavoie-Cress clearly didn’t favor socializing with the help.
Tough.
She glanced over at the family’s table in the center of the restaurant and caught Cole’s warm gaze on her—or rather, them. She took a sip of her champagne with a smile before looking up at Lorenzo, who was standing beside her table.
“You look like you could use some company, Jillian,” he said.
I must look as good as I feel in this dress.
Another shadow darkened her table. “Looks can be deceiving, Zo,” Cole said.
Jillian frowned at the possessiveness of his tone.
Lorenzo nodded in understanding before turning to walk away.
The jazzy background music filled the silence.
“You crossed a line,” she said, rising and picking up the sequined purse she’d picked to complement her red-satin wrap dress with its delicate spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline—a leftover from her time traveling the world. “Suddenly, this thing of ours has developed strings.”
“Jillian—”
He reached for her arm, but she easily evaded his touch and walked away, clearly ready to leave the small, intimate restaurant with its clean, stylish décor of pale walls, dark furnishings and bronzed accents behind. She opened the copper-trimmed glass door and stepped out onto the street without looking back.
At the sight of Gabriel and Monica at the other end of the block sharing a kiss, she smiled before heading in the opposite direction toward her red Mazda Miata with its black-canvas convertible top.
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