Seducing the Playboy (A Hot Nights Series Book) (Entangled Brazen)

by Amanda Usen

  Roman returned with her jacket. “Get dressed. I’m taking you home.”

  He left, presumably to find a shirt. She struggled into her jacket, zipped it up to her chin, and then folded the quilt. She stuffed the corset under her arm and slipped into her shoes, tempted to slip out the front door alone and try to find a taxi, but Roman appeared in the hall before she could escape.

  He was silent as he led her around the side of the house to a sleek Mercedes convertible. She met his gaze as he opened the door, expecting to see anger. What she saw made her feel so much worse—hurt.

  Guilt tightened her throat, making it difficult to speak. “I’m sorry, Roman.” She slid into the car and buckled her seat belt.

  “I wish you had just said you needed help.” He slammed the door.

  She watched him walk around the front of the car. His profile was stern, jaw tight and lips firm. She remembered his masterful kiss, and heat flashed through her. Pathetic. He’d rejected her, and she still wanted him. Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the longing that rolled through her in a poignant wave of not gonna happen. She turned to look out the window as he slid in beside her.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked, starting the car.

  She told him and he pulled out into the road, heading toward Mar Vista where she had rented a room from a single mother with an adorable seven-year-old daughter. The silence grew until she wanted to open the door and dive out of the car. Finally, they reached the house, and she tugged on the door handle. Finding it locked, she glanced over at him.

  “Come to the Beach House tomorrow at noon, and we’ll figure something out. Some of my happiest holiday memories happened at Cooper’s, and your family means a lot to me. I’ll do what I can.”

  Jenna forced herself to give him a brief smile, even though her heart ached. “For the record, I wish I had just asked for help, too. Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.” The locks released with a dismissive thunk, so she got out of the car, closing the door behind her.

  Because she wanted to run, she walked slowly up the path and let herself into the house. A shower would wash away the sand, but the humiliation was going to stick with her. Still, if she had a shot at saving the restaurant, it was more than she deserved after the stunt she had pulled tonight. It was time to forget her crush and behave like an adult, which is what she should have done in the first place.

  Facing Roman was going to be hell tomorrow, but she would do it—for Cooper’s.

  Chapter Three

  Roman dropped a pound of butter into the bowl and turned the mixer on. It stuck to the paddle and spun around in a solid lump while the sugar stayed on the bottom, barely mixing. He frowned, head pounding in time with the whirling paddle, and stared down into the bowl. Cursing, he turned off the motor and grabbed a spatula, ramming it into the butter and breaking it into several pieces. He turned the mixer back on, and the ingredients began to spin together.

  See? Baking isn’t so hard.

  Unlike controlling himself last night when Jenna told him why she’d come to California. Just the thought of how he’d teased the information out of her made him feel sick and angry again. He was easy, but he wasn’t an asshole. Or maybe he was, because the memory of her on his lap kept flashing back to him, and every time it did, blood shot south in a hard rush. Dammit, why hadn’t she just told him she needed help?

  His cell phone chimed in his pocket. When he checked the display and saw a text from Cole, guilt made him suck air through his teeth in a sharp hiss. Hey, pal—Jenna’s in LA. Pretty sure she used to have a crush on you. If she looks you up, be nice but HANDS OFF!

  He turned off the mixer and braced his hand on the top of the machine, shoulders sagging. Too late. A crush? Shit. He took a resolute breath, wincing as his head throbbed. He’d drunk most of that bottle of wine by himself after dropping Jenna off last night and woken up on the couch with a pounding headache and a crick in his neck. Well-deserved pain, he thought as he typed in a complete lie. No problem.

  He glanced at the clock. Almost noon—she’d be here any minute.

  But first he had to get these cookies in the oven. He added the eggs, and the mixture curdled right before his eyes.

  “What the fuck?” he muttered, turning the speed to high.

  He heard a throat clear. “I think you skipped a step.”

  He spun around, then regretted it as pain made him grunt.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jenna asked.

  “Nothing.” Nothing more ibuprofen can’t fix.

  He turned back to his cookie dough and added flour, relieved when the mixture smoothed out. He took the bowl off the mixer and grabbed a small ice cream scoop, taking extra care to portion the cookies evenly since she was watching his every move. When he finally glanced up, her lips were pressed together and her nose was wrinkled, as if she had a juicy secret and had been sworn to silence. “What? You want to say something?”

  She lifted her chin. “Nope.” Warm fire lit her eyes, and the spark it kindled inside him increased his irritation.

  “Good.” He scraped the last bit of dough from the bottom of the bowl and dropped it onto the cookie sheet. The stuff at the bottom wasn’t quite as smooth as the dough at the top, but it would all even out during baking.

  “How did my desserts sell last night?” she asked as he slid the tray into the oven.

  He gave her a narrow glare. “Would I be baking if we didn’t need desserts? We sold everything, a fact I would have been happy to share with you last night if you hadn’t—”

  She held up her hand. “Please don’t make this any harder than it already is, even if I deserve it.” Her voice quavered a little but her gaze was steady. “I can explain.”

  He’d been trying not to stare at her, just stealing a couple of quick glances because he couldn’t seem to stop himself, but now he really looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and had dark circles under them. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, looking like a harsh word might send her sprinting out of the kitchen. For a minute, he was tempted to let her have it. If she left, he wouldn’t have to fight the bizarre need to comfort her.

  She took a deep breath. As she let it out, she closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them, her gaze was raw and vulnerable. “I want to be the one to save Cooper’s. If I just told you what was going on, you’d pat me on the head and call Cole or my parents and figure it out with them. I’m sick of everyone thinking I’m too young and inexperienced to help just because I tend to make spontaneous decisions.” Color bloomed in her cheeks.

  He stifled a chuckle. “I don’t know why anyone would think that.”

  “I can save Cooper’s. I know it.”

  Her truculent expression tugged at his heart. Yesterday she’d teased him about his cooking, familiar ground for them because she’d always insulted his efforts in her family’s kitchen. Last night, she’d thrown him a curve ball by stripping on the beach, then knocked him out with her passionate response on his couch, but he knew how to handle sexual situations. He didn’t know how to counter honesty and vulnerability, and he couldn’t stay mad at her, either. He knew what it felt like to have something to prove.

  She sighed. “I admit I mucked it up. I should have thought it through and been honest with you. I wanted your help, but I didn’t want you to just give it to me…I wanted to earn it.” She looked chagrined as the double entendre hit home. “I don’t mean that like it sounds, considering what happened last night.” She glanced toward the oven, and her lips curved. “But you really do need a pastry chef. Let me at least train someone for a few weeks in exchange for your advice.”

  His gaze followed hers. “Is that your subtle way of telling me I should check on my cookies?”

  “Check all you want. It’s not going to help.” Her grin widened.

  He bent to open the oven and saw she was right. He didn’t have cookies anymore. He had a flat tray of contiguous batter that looked runny in some spots and crunchy in others. “Son of
a bitch.”

  She giggled. “I recommend you finish baking it and then make chocolate chip cookie ice cream. Or streusel. You might be able to use it as the crust for a cheesecake, but I don’t think you’re going to be able to sell it as cookies, not even bar cookies.”

  He heard footsteps on the other side of the line but didn’t get the oven door shut fast enough.

  “Nice work, Chef.” Max whistled, sliding his knife roll onto the counter. “You making pancakes in the oven again?”

  “Shut up,” Roman growled. “Where’s T-Bird?”

  “Right here, dude.” His prep cook stepped onto the line. “Something smells awesome. Can we eat it?”

  “Roman made cookies.” Max grimaced. “I doubt it.”

  “Bogus.”

  Roman opened his mouth to retort, but his phone rang, the shrill summons sending a bolt of agony through his tender skull. He looked at the display and sighed. Of course.

  He punched a button. “Hang on, Mom.” To Jenna, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

  “What’s up?” he asked, walking down the hall to the office.

  “You are, Roman. All over the Internet. There’s a picture of you on the beach cavorting with a blonde. Right next to a police report.” His mother’s voice was whip sharp.

  “Wait…what?” He sat down at the desk and reached for the keyboard, tapping a quick Google search. He winced to see himself in profile with an obvious erection holding Jenna above the water. Clearly someone had snapped a shot of them before the police arrived. Thank God the photo only showed the back of Jenna’s head since it pretty much displayed the rest of her.

  “You know I’m trying to get a backer for Oasis, Roman. It’s my last project, and it means everything to me, but no one is going to believe I can create a retreat for celebrities who want to stay out of the limelight when my son is paparazzi catnip. Our name has become synonymous with publicity, in large part because of your social life. I thought sending you out of town would cool your jets a little, but goddamn it, Roman, that picture is everywhere. What’s next? The LA Times? What is it going to take to get you on board with the direction this company is taking? I can’t hand you the reins when you clearly need both hands to keep your pants on.”

  Her voice softened, but only a little. “I spent an entire week prepping a twenty-course meal to impress Jefferson Morgan, a man who has more money than God. Every plate was exquisite. The dinner went off without a hitch last night. When a courier arrived this morning, I assumed it was an offer to back Oasis. Or at the very least, a thank-you note.”

  From the catch in her voice, he had to assume it was neither. “What was it?”

  “Flowers. With that awful picture of you folded up in a nice little rectangle in the florist’s envelope. And an invitation to dinner.”

  He sucked in a harsh breath. “That bastard.”

  “To say the least. Honestly, I don’t know whether he wants to kill the deal or is hoping my morals are as flexible as my son’s.” She sighed. “Could you please try to behave yourself? You’re making my retirement more difficult than I was anticipating.”

  What did she mean by that? He’d been working his ass off right beside her since he was five, trying to take some weight off her shoulders. He’d accomplished every task she’d put before him and met every goal she’d ever set. Behave? She might guard her privacy and avoid the press like the plague, but she’d often said his notoriety brought customers into the restaurant. Men wanted to be him, and women wanted to see him. Hell, free publicity for Gallagher Holdings was the reason he partied so hard in the first place.

  “I have more news,” she continued before he could protest. “Alex Banks is running the event at the Castle in Las Vegas. When she came on board, she made changes, and we weren’t told. You’re doing the dessert course.”

  “Are you kidding me? You know I can’t bake worth a crap. The menu has been set for six months and the dinner is next week. I’m doing the appetizer.” He and Alex had a history, one she wasn’t willing to let go. He bet she’d deliberately stuck him with dessert, remembering it was his weakest skill in the kitchen.

  “Not anymore. Wires must have gotten crossed somewhere. The dessert course is the only one left, and Jefferson Morgan will be there. Come up with something spectacular.” Her tone of voice told him arguing wasn’t going to change a damn thing. He was doing dessert. Deal with it.

  He took a deep breath. “Fine. Dessert. It will be spectacular,” he promised, not wanting his mother to think he couldn’t handle it even though he’d rather give her the damned money himself than make dessert for two hundred people. But she was dead set on finding an outside investor for Oasis. God forbid she make anything easy. He turned his head and felt something snap. Tingling pain shot from the center of his shoulder blade to the base of his skull. “Gotta go, Mom.” Because my head is going to explode.

  “One last thing—how’s it going at the Beach House?” Naturally, she’d want to know if he had trimmed the food costs and if they had any customers yet.

  He fought to keep resentment out of his voice. “I’ve got a plan for a new menu that will make us the biggest thing on the beach. It’s all under control. Anything else?”

  “I guess that’s it.”

  “Great.” He hung up before she could change her mind or tell him to behave again.

  Maybe Jenna could help plan the Vegas dessert before she goes home. The thought came out of nowhere, and he gave it a full thirty seconds of thought before he rejected it. Nope. No can do. What had he been thinking last night? He’d been thinking he wanted to touch her breasts. He’d been thinking he wanted to slide his fingers into her panties. He’d been thinking he wanted to spread her legs, and he still couldn’t believe he’d found the strength to stop. Even if he did need a pastry chef more than he needed his next breath, Jenna Cooper was not an option. She was too much temptation.

  And he wasn’t good enough for her. She was the type who needed romance and flowers. He was more the one-night stand, forget to call type. It wouldn’t work.

  Unless…

  He hired her, thereby making her off-limits. Roman’s father had owned the first restaurant where his mother had worked, and he’d fired her when she told him she was pregnant. She’d gotten her revenge—buying his restaurant when it was in foreclosure five years later—but the lesson had been instilled in Roman from birth. Don’t sleep where you eat. Roman didn’t have many rules, but that one was set in stone. Since everyone knew his policy, he’d have a half dozen watchdogs at the Beach House.

  And if that didn’t stop him, the thought of Cole kicking his ass across the Pacific would.

  He’d be an idiot not to hire her, especially since he’d already promised to help her with Cooper’s. Her desserts were the real deal, and she was fast. She hadn’t made the few individual items he’d been expecting for the tasting yesterday. She’d made dozens, enough for the entire night, and she’d done it in a three-foot-by-two-foot space in an unfamiliar kitchen and stayed out of the way as they prepped for service. She also seemed to have marketing sense. She’d gotten her finger on the pulse of Venice Beach in record time—or at least, he hoped she had, since he was taking her advice about the menu. But could she create a spectacular dessert for Vegas? The high rollers would expect culinary entertainment, and cookies and cupcakes weren’t going to cut it. Cookies.

  He got to his feet, rubbing the side of his neck to ease the tight muscles, and headed for the line. He slowed as he caught sight of the misshapen blob cooling in the window and Jenna laughing. She was stirring a pot on the stove, and the guys moved around her with ease, as if she were already part of the kitchen. If he hired her, he wouldn’t have to bake any more cookies. He could eat her cookies—his brain stalled at that image—every day. He could keep a low profile and focus on reworking the menu so the Beach House would turn a profit.

  By the time his mother clinched the Oasis deal, the Beach House would be in the black, the Vegas event would be over
, and Jenna would have all the information she needed to reinvent Cooper’s—plus a good-sized interest-free loan he would insist she accept on her parents’ behalf.

  It was a perfect solution—everyone would win.

  As long as he could resist his desire to gobble her up.

  Jenna turned her head, and their eyes caught. Her caramel-colored gaze filled him with heat. The sounds of the kitchen faded into the background as they stared at each other. She was as neatly put together as she had been yesterday, but he knew what lay beneath that pristine chef coat now. The memory of her sweet lips and her body fitting perfectly into the curve of his made him imagine being inside her, moving with her, driving her toward release. He grew hard, every muscle tense and aching to finish what they had started last night.

  A timer went off, breaking into his fantasy, and he remembered Cole’s text. Had Jenna really had a crush on him? If so, it put a new spin on what had happened last night, but not on what was going to happen in the future. He was certainly capable of keeping his pants on and his hands off his employees.

  He gave her a curt nod as he stepped onto the line. “You’re hired.”

  …

  Jenna’s heart pounded as she dragged the spoon back and forth across the bottom of the saucepot. The steamy look from Roman had turned her knees to jelly, and the two words he’d just spoken had done the same thing to her brain. Luckily, she didn’t have to think to cook.

  “Hot, coming through,” she warned, giving the vanilla bean crème anglaise a final stir and wrapping a towel around the handle of the pot. She picked it up and poured the sauce through a strainer into a bain-marie. Then she tucked it into the waiting ice bath and gave Roman a tentative smile. “I was hoping you’d say that, so I got a jump on the desserts for tonight. Your cookies have an unusual texture, but they’ll be delicious in ice cream. Want some when it’s done?”

  He scowled at her. “No, thanks.” He stalked over to the salad station to stare at a menu taped on the wall. T-Bird stepped to the side to make room for him, head bobbing in time to the music pouring out of his earbuds as he peeled potatoes.