Hot to the Touch (7 page)

4

“CHEF?” ACE KNOCKED ON THE door to Darcy’s cramped enclosure—which she optimistically called her “office”—in the back of Gladiolas’s kitchen. “We have a problem with this morning’s delivery.”

Darcy turned her chair away from the computer where she’d carefully saved a new recipe into her Chef’s Bible file: one copy there, password protected, and one on the red flash drive she kept hidden in a drawer. The file was sacred; in it she kept all her food creations, past present and future, and all her ideas for Gladiolas’s specials. This was a menu she called Save Calories for Dessert, which featured local bass steamed over a fragrant curried broth, served alongside roasted zucchini and couscous studded with raisins and almonds. A light salad of avocado, grapefruit and endive, and then a killer dessert with layers of white milk and dark chocolate mousses in a bitter chocolate shell.

“A problem? Oh, goody.” She took in Ace’s unruly red hair and bloodshot eyes. The kid showed promise, but he’d never get anywhere smoking it away 24/7. Half of her wanted to talk to him, to guide him toward the straight and narrow, the way her mentor, Chef Paul, had guided her. The other half told her it was none of her business what he did with his life and career. “What is it?”

Ace held up a bundle of green stalks. “Celery instead of celeriac.”

Darcy brought forth her favorite word.
She
didn’t have a problem exhibiting basic competency, why did the rest of the world? “Send it back. I’ll call Ken.”

“Yes, boss.” Through the window surveying the kitchen, which she’d heard staff refer to as “big brother,” she watched Ace amble away, playing catch with the celery. The kid could take just about any hit the business gave out and barely blink. During more than one crazy, pressured shift he’d saved their butts by calmly stepping onto the line and taking up the slack when orders got ahead of them. He also got the job checking in deliveries because he was smart as hell, even stoned, and Darcy trusted him above anyone else in the kitchen. Even her sous chef Sean, who did what he was told, but didn’t contribute much else.

She dialed the Lenson’s sales rep, still fuming. Darcy did not take on problems with barely a blink. Maybe she should try some of Ace’s weed. “Ken, it’s Darcy. Doug showed up with a crate of celery. I ordered celeriac. I’ll need the right stuff here ASAP. Like now.”

“Celeriac…” His voice was doubtful.

“I don’t care where you have to get it, just get it. I can’t serve mashed celery. Andy Gerber was nosing around here the other day and I can tell you, his pricing is nice. And he’s cuter than you.”

“I’ll find it,” Ken said immediately. “I’ll have it there in under two hours.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She hung up, imagining Ken indulging in choice vocabulary at her expense. Whatever. If you didn’t keep the pressure on, people bled out from ineptitude. She emerged into the kitchen, took a quick glance around. “Where the hell is my sous chef?”

“Dunno.” Ace poked his head out of the cooler, arms full of asparagus. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

“Can you start the dinner prep if he’s not here in five?” Sean wasn’t usually late, but apparently today he was joining the Drive Darcy Nuts Club.

“Sure.” He looked at her curiously. “You’re off today, chef. You aura is all out of whack. What’s up?”

Darcy glared at him. “My
aura
is fine. Have Sean come see me when he gets in.”

She stomped back to her office. Yes, her aura was off today. Everything was off today. Sean had gone missing, tonight’s featured side dish was in jeopardy, the kid she’d like to move up onto the line was stoned 24/7, Marie was being particularly pigheaded…and Darcy could not stop thinking about
him.

She wasn’t proud of her sexual history—she wasn’t ashamed, either—but since she’d given up on relationships after Chris, her postcollege boyfriend, cheated on her with a woman who had no life outside of catering to him, Darcy had been with enough men to know that once they were out of her bed and she was back in her kitchen, it was all about the work, her true passion. In a quiet moment she might let her thoughts drift briefly, maybe get a quick smile or shot of arousal out of a particular memory of a lover. But she’d never had her brain hijacked to this extent, as if she’d imprinted on the guy. His body, the way he touched her, his voice, the way he touched her, his scent, the way he’d touched her…

He touched her as if every inch of her body deserved exploration and adoration. His hands were never still—brushing lightly, bringing nerve endings to life, warming her with smooth, sensuous stroking or kneading deeply to soothe tired muscles. She knew herself around men; she had definite limits. She got antsy under sustained physical caresses and she couldn’t sleep in contact with a male body.

That night?
She’d loved this man’s hands on her, had stretched and grinned and purred like a cat in silent ecstasy. Afterward, wrapped in unfamiliar arms in a strange hotel room, she’d slept like a rock. Did this make sense? No. Worse, at dawn, she’d slipped out of the warm, comfortable bed to use the bathroom and returned with the assumption that her right-now man would be awake and ready for another round. But he’d slept on peacefully, his big, lean body sprawled under the sheet. The sight of that dark tousled head on the white pillow, lashes black against his cheek, stubble shadowing his strong chin… Darcy had succumbed to an overwhelming wave of tenderness that had made a mockery of all the vague, empty feelings she’d experienced on other mornings-after, and which had left her literally breathless. And scared.

What did Darcy do when she was scared? She shut down and she ran. The way she did when Dad went into his drunken rages. The way she did when boyfriends betrayed or hurt her. Reflexive flight, an animal-deep instinct for self-preservation. This time, though, she was flying away from something that felt more dangerous than rage or abuse. Something she couldn’t define beyond certainty that it had threatened to devour her whole.

She only had herself to blame. Three nights ago at Esmee Restaurant, after she’d locked eyes with her recent lover, but before he’d spoken to her, she could have listened to the instinct telling her to leave. Even after he started a conversation, she should have left, knowing she was at a low point that night, vulnerable and lonely, and knowing better than to think men were any kind of answer to what ailed her. Hadn’t she been screeching that exact lecture at Marie for months now? But the chemical connection between them had been so powerful…

Yeah, well, Darcy had gotten all the trouble she’d gone looking for and more.

Her office phone rang, startling her back to real life. “Gladiolas, this is Chef Darcy Clark.”

“Hey there, honey.”

Oh, hurray. The day was getting worse and worse. “Raoul. What do you want?”

“You.” His playful, deep voice did nothing for her. She cringed that she’d ever found him attractive. He had that dark, tattooed, ponytailed, muscled bad-boy thing going, which she generally found irresistible. But there was bad boy and there was slime-boy, and he’d crossed the line. “I miss ya, Darce.”

“Uh-huh. Why are you calling?”

“Can’t a friend call to check on you?”

“Yes, of course.” She put a big smile in her voice. “Of course a friend can. It’s just that you’re not one.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You’ve gotta let that anger go before it eats you up.”

“I will
so
keep that in mind.” She wanted to growl at him. “Once more, why are you calling?”

“I
told
you. I miss you, I miss the old place. I was wondering if you’d like to get together.”

“For?” What did he want? Why was he doing this? She instinctively closed her latest Chef’s Bible document. Not that he could see into it over the phone, but she didn’t trust the guy for a second, and if her recipes got into his hands, he’d no doubt make full use of them. Excellent technician in the kitchen, zero on creativity.

“A talk.”

“About?”

“Jeez, you are a tough one. A talk about anything. About you, about how you’re doing, about how Gladiolas is doing. Two professionals shooting the breeze about the biz.”

“And about your suspiciously familiar-sounding new venture?”

“Babe…”

“Name is Darcy. Use it. And sorry, no time for a drink, I’m busy.”

“That’s definitely my loss.” His voice dropped into the seductive tone that had actually tempted her before she found out he was sleeping with Alice, their only married waitress. Before she found out boxes of steaks and pounds of expensive cheeses were disappearing into his truck. “Any men in your life?”

“Hundreds. Can’t keep track of them all. I have to go now.”

“So when’s a good time for our date?”

“Oh, gosh, let me see.” Darcy paused as if consulting her calendar. “How about next…never?”

“Look, Darce…”

“Darcy.”

“Darcy. We’re both in this business now. I don’t see anything wrong with forming an alliance. We can both benefit from—”

“You go your way. I’ll go mine.” She whacked her forehead with her palm. “Oh, wait, sorry, I got that wrong. I meant, I go my way. You copy me.”

“Hey. That’s not—”

She hung up, more rattled than she’d ever let him know. He reminded her of a jerk she knew in college who kept suggesting he and Darcy study together, which meant he wanted her to summarize the course material so he could avoid preparing for exams himself.

Instinct told her she was hanging on in this city only by being unique, and if Raoul’s new venture took off in its better location with her menu style and format, he could sink Gladiolas and her with it. The perfect way to get ahead for someone with no special talent, and the perfect revenge on her for having fired him.

Was it time to go to bed yet? She’d never sleep with all this fear and fury inside her, though. Sometimes she did worry that her anger would eat her up. Or that her emotions would explode and she’d fly off, fragmented, into the ether. She needed ballast in her life, some emotional constancy that would give her what she—

Oh, no. No.

Darcy covered her face with her hands and leaned on her desk. Would she never learn? Ballast…emotional constancy…

She’d immediately gone back to thinking about
him.

TROY HAULED HIMSELF OUT OF THE Milwaukee Athletic Club’s pool, breathing hard. Seventy laps had been all he could handle today. He’d done a sloppy, unfocused job, his concentration shot. Didn’t do much better at work that day, either. Half-assed, in fact—luckily it wasn’t a crunch week. And thank God he wasn’t still designing interactive webpages for the book with Justin on top of his day job. That would have gotten exactly nowhere.

He stood, dashing water out of his hair, and headed for his towel.

“Hi there.”

Troy turned at the familiar voice. Oh, man. He’d forgotten about Missy. More proof of how far he’d fallen from sanity. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Great.” She dimpled a sweet smile. “You looked sharp out there.”

“Actually, it felt bad today. Just didn’t have it.”

Missy nodded sympathetically, water darkening the blond strands of her short hair, droplets glinting on her cheeks. She didn’t bother to hide that she was doing her usual thorough check of his body. “Those days suck. You heading to the weight room now?”

“Uh…” Did she have his routine memorized? He’d noticed Missy over a month ago—her stunningly toned body and pretty features were hard to ignore. Since then he’d intersected with her here at the pool or on the machines a few times a week, more often recently. They’d struck up a casual friendship, talking mostly about their workouts. Troy had been flattered by the attention, and before the night at Esmee, he’d been planning to ask Missy out, to see if his initial interest could grow into anything more.

Now, faced with the same person he’d been fantasizing about less than a week ago, he hadn’t the slightest idea what had seemed special about her. Well…maybe the slightest idea. Her body was in great shape. But today, instead of flawless, it looked overmuscled. She was very attractive, yes, but she didn’t have the kind of beauty that hollowed him out with a glance.

In short, Missy wasn’t
her.
She who still had him hollowed out, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t been interested in anything but screwing him and getting the hell away.