Lissa- Sugar and Spice 1.6 - Final (22 page)

Raoul reddened and reached for the house phone.

“John? Come down to my office, please.” He hung up and looked at Lissa. “If you’re going to beg me for a recommendation…”

“A recommendation as what? As the chef who established this restaurant? Designed the kitchen, hired the staff, planned the menu, chose everything from your suppliers to the cutlery to the dishes?”

An unctuous smile curled over his lips. “Prove it,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Or are you going to recommend me for the blow job I didn’t give you? Dammit, I wish I had a picture of you standing there with your fly open, your pathetic weeny weenie hanging out while you told me to get down on my knees and be quick about it.”

His smile fled.

“You should have dropped to your knees like a stone. Being made executive chef at a restaurant like this was worth whatever price I chose to put on it.”

“Including fellating you.”

“Absolutely including fellating me,” he said coldly. “You owed me, big-time, for giving you a break like this. Now, if you’re done…” Someone knocked at the door. Raoul moved past her and opened it. “John is here to show you out.”

The maître d’, looking uncomfortable, stepped into the office.

“Sorry, Lissa, but we all know how it is, that you buckled on opening night and Raoul had to fire you and—”

Lissa grinned, reached in the breast pocket of her blue silk shirt and detached what, at first look, seemed to be only a button on the shirt pocket. But it wasn’t. It was a camera, cleverly attached to a tiny video recorder inside the pocket.

“Surprise,” she chirped, waggling the recorder at Raoul.

He went white. “You bitch!”

She smiled. Hit a button. A picture appeared on the little screen, accompanied by Raoul’s voice. Lissa let the video run for a few seconds before stopping it. “Here we go,” she said happily.

“
You should have dropped to your knees like a stone. Being made executive chef at a restaurant like this was worth whatever price I chose to put on it.
”

“
Including fellating you.
”

“
Absolutely including fellating me…
”

Click! Lissa stopped the recording. Wonderful! John’s jaw had fallen almost to his knees.

“That recording isn’t worth a damn,” Raoul said. “You can’t use it in a court of law.”

“How about in the court of public opinion?” Lissa said sweetly. She dropped the tiny device into her purse, patted the maître d’ on the arm and strolled through the door, up the stairs, through the kitchen, where she smiled at everyone, and out into the street.

“Oh, man,” she said. “Oh, man,” and she did a little circle dance.

Nobody looked at her.

You could get away with that kind of thing in only two places she could think of. One was here, where bizarre behavior was close to the norm. The other was Manhattan, where people didn’t make eye contact with each other, let alone with the crazies.

On the other hand, talking to yourself and dancing on the street would probably win you some stares in Clarke’s Falls, Montana…

And, damn, what was she doing, thinking about that?

Montana and everything about it was history.

So was Raoul and, by extension, the other men she’d permitted to walk all over her. Was it because she’d never felt as if she’d met her father’s expectations? Was it because being ditched by Tommy Suarez in kindergarten had marked her for life?

Lissa laughed.

It didn’t matter.

What did matter was that falling for good-looking hunks, for actors, was over. Her future stretched ahead, bright and shiny, and someplace out there, her Mr. Nice Guy was waiting.

By tonight, the true story about Raoul and her would be in every kitchen in town.

By morning, she’d have her choice of jobs.

As for Raoul…

That deserved another little circle dance.

His name would only evoke laughter.

* * *

Her apartment was airless after all the time away from it.

She shut the door, turned what seemed like dozens of locks—it was a different world than the one she’d known in Montana, and what did that matter?

She was back where she belonged, and glad of it.

Just as she began opening windows, her cell phone rang. She plucked it from her purse, glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes.

“Jake. I am fine. Really. I am completely—”

“Lissa. He was here.”

“Who was where?”

“Gentry, that SOB.”

“Nick?” Lissa dropped into a chair. “Nick was there? At your ranch?”

“At El Sueño. The no-good bastard.”

“I don’t understand. What was he doing at El Sueño?”

“Jesus H. Christ, Melissa, what do you think? He was looking for you.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs. “Why would he do that?”

“I didn’t ask him. Hell, why would I? All I did was make it clear that he’d better stay away from you.’

Lissa shut her eyes. A shotgun? A rifle? Bare fists?

“Jacob. What did you do?”

“He’s just damn lucky everybody else had already left. If Travis and Caleb and Zach and Marco had still been around—”

The litany of names and the possibilities that went with them made her shudder.

“Jake. Please. What happened?”

“I slugged him, that’s what happened. Does he think we’re fools? ‘
Where is Lissa? I have to see her.
’
”
Jake cursed. “As if that crap would impress me.”

“That’s what he said? That he has to see me?”

“He didn’t even fight back. All those tough-guy movie roles and the SOB didn’t even try to defend himself.”

“Oh, Jake,” Lissa whispered. “Did you hurt him?”

“I got in one straight shot to the jaw. I’d have done more, but I’m not into hitting cowards.”

“How did he look?”

“His jaw’s gonna be a glow-in-the-dark gem in a few hours.”

“Aside from that! Was he OK? Was he using a cane? Was he limping?”

“Who gives a damn?”

“I do, you idiot,” she yelled, and she knew, just that quickly, that she wasn’t over loving Nicholas.

The truth was, she never would be.

Jake was cautious with her after that. She could tell that he was trying to figure out what was happening and getting no place, fast.

“Listen,” she finally said, taking pity on him, “remember when you left Addison?”

“I didn’t leave her. Not really. I loved her, but things got in the way.” Silence. “Dammit, Liss, are you saying you—you care for this guy?”

“I’m saying,” Lissa said softly, “that I’m hoping things got in
his
way because yes, I care for him and I’m willing to hear what he wants to tell me, and if you don’t understand that, ask Adoré to explain it to you.”

“Her name is Addison,” Jake said gruffly.

“Jacob,” Lissa said, “we all know that you call her Adoré because you love her, and we all know, too, that to try and understand love is something that Stephen Hawking and Einstein combined would never be able to do.”

Jake’s sigh traveled through the phone.

“In that case, kid, I wish you good luck.” His voice hardened. “But if this guy hurts you again, he’s toast. Got that?”

“Got it,” Lissa said.

She ended the call smiling, but that didn’t last long because she really had no idea why Nick had finally gone after her and for all she knew, here she was again, setting herself up for a fall.

* * *

She kept busy as afternoon gave way to evening, sweeping and polishing away weeks’ worth of dust, saying “Yuck” as she tossed unidentifiable stuff from the fridge into the trash, and, best of all, taking calls from people in the trade who’d already heard the story of Raoul and her.

Word was spreading even more quickly than she’d anticipated, but it was a juicy tale and juicy tales usually moved like wildfire.

She smiled a couple of hours later when the doorbell rang and a kid delivered a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses from John, the maître d’
at
Raoul’s
, with a note that said
Brava!

The bell rang again and a messenger handed her a box of decadent handmade chocolates and a card that said
Welcome Back
from a friend who’d been decent enough to let her fill in at his kitchen after the Raoul fiasco.

A little while after that, a courier delivered a letter informing her that a renowned East Coast restaurant group was going to open a Beverly Hills branch, and that the CEO would be honored if she’d come in to discuss the position of executive chef.

“
Honored
,” she said, laughing as she read the letter.

Lovely, all of it, but nothing could keep her from thinking about Nick’s visit to El Sueño. What had he wanted? Why hadn’t he simply called? Why did he want to see her? For that matter, how had he learned about El Sueño? She’d told him she was from Texas, that she’d grown up on a ranch, but she couldn’t recall telling him anything else.

Exhaustion caught up to her just after ten-thirty. She showered, put on a pair of comfy if raggedy sweats, realized she’d never had supper and made herself a haute cuisine
quickie: peanut butter and honey on whole wheat toast, along with a cup of tea.

Then she settled in to watch the eleven o’clock news.

Exhausted or not, she was too wired to sleep.

If Nick really wanted to find her, where was he? Why hadn’t he shown up here? Why hadn’t he phoned her?

Wait.

Did he have her L.A. address? Did he even have her phone number? She had his because Marcia had given it to her…

No. She was starting the old routine, making excuses for a man rather than face the…

“
Good evening, and welcome to tonight’s news.
”

A home invasion in Bel Air. A homicide in downtown L.A. An accident on the 110. And coming up next, an exclusive with Nick Gentry.

Lissa sat up straight.

Her heart did that banging-against-her-ribs thing again.

There he was. Gorgeous Nicholas. No clinging vine of a redhead this time. Just him, Nick, no cane, his hands tucked into the pockets of a leather bomber jacket—and a dark smudge, a little bit of a swelling on his jaw.

“…all kinds of rumors, Nick, about you and that ranch you own in Montana. What’s it called? The Double D?”

“The Triple G,” Nick said. “I’ve heard the rumors and I want to set them straight.” His mouth twitched; Lissa recognized that twitch and knew it meant he was trying not to laugh. “No,” he said solemnly, “I’m not turning it into a dude ranch. I’m not selling it to the Japanese. I’m not turning it into an ostrich-breeding farm.” He took a breath and so did Lissa because, foolish as it sounded, he seemed to be staring not only at the camera but straight at her. “The Triple G will continue to be a working ranch, an honest part of an honest tradition, one I hope my dad would be proud of.” He paused. “But there’s going to be a new road that goes through it, to a piece of land that looks out on the mountains, land someone once described as not only beautiful but amazing.”

Lissa stared at the screen.

“We’re building a restaurant. Something special. Handsome. Unique. And with a menu that will, I hope, match the view. It’s going to be called
Basic Elegance
.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“It’s going to be called what?” she said, and just as if he’d heard her, Nick repeated the name.

“
Basic Elegance.
”

Lissa punched the remote button. The TV went mute.

“Dammit,” she said, “dammit to hell!”

She’d been right about Nick Gentry all along. “Selfish” didn’t even come close to describing him.

Her idea. Her dream. Even her name. He’d stolen it all, he was going to use it all, and now she knew why he surely wanted to see her, because he was selfish but he wasn’t stupid and he figured he might run into some legal troubles if he stole a plan, a dream of a lifetime from her.

The doorbell rang. More flowers or chocolates, and she was not in the mood for either.

“Rat,” she said to Nick’s image on the screen as stalked to the door, undoing the locks without first looking out the peephole, behaving foolishly and unthinkingly because she was angry, beyond angry, beyond logic or reason. “Thief!” she snarled as she pulled the door open—

“Hello, Melissa.”

It was not flowers, not a letter, not a box of candy. It was Nick, and it took her all of two seconds to haul back her arm and punch him right in the gut.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
he last time
she’d hit him, he’d fallen back against the wall and slid to the floor.

Not this time, dammit.

He went “Oof,” and she knew that was mostly because she’d caught him by surprise, but he didn’t fall back; he didn’t even bounce. He was holding a cane in his hand—no, not a cane. A walking stick, but he wasn’t leaning on it.

He just stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, long-legged and narrow-hipped, his hair ruffled by the wind, end-of-day stubble on his jaw, and the only thing that made her feel good was that other thing on his jaw, the bruise, the swelling, and what a joy to know that a Wilde was responsible for it.

“Get out of my sight, Gentry! I have nothing to say to you.”

“I have things to say to you.”

“Save them for your lawyer. I’m gonna sue the pants off you.”

“Look, if it’ll make you feel better to slug me again, go for it.”

“I’m dead serious, Nick. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, well, if we’re being serious, Duchess, you might as well know that I don’t really want to talk to you, either.”

“Then what in hell are you doing here?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, and he let go of the walking stick, reached for her and drew her into his arms.

“Don’t,” she said. “Dammit, Nicholas Gentry, don’t you dare—”

He kissed her.

Kissed her, slipped one hand into her wet, tangled hair, cupped the back of her head so he could gain better access to her mouth, and she was lost.

The taste of him, the feel of him were everything she’d wanted to forget.

“Lissa,” he whispered, and her knees, her silly knees, buckled and he kicked the walking stick into her sad excuse for a foyer, swung her into his arms, elbowed the door shut behind him…

And staggered.

She put her hands against his shoulders. He let her down; her feet touched the floor, but he kept his arms around her and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Fine thing when a guy tries to make like Clark Gable and ends up like Dudley Do-Right.”

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. The best she seemed capable of was standing within the circle of his arms and framing his face with her hands.

“You stole my restaurant.”

It was the least of what he’d stolen, which made it the safest accusation to make.

“It’s your restaurant, or it will be, if you’ll accept it.”

“Mine?”

“Yours.” He raised his head, smiled into her eyes, then dipped his mouth to hers for another kiss. “Did I get the name right?
Basic Elegance
?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s settled. We can move on to more important things,” he said, and kissed her again.

“Don’t keep doing that,” she whispered, a little breathlessly, “or I’m liable to forget all the reasons that I hate you.”

“You don’t hate me,” he said, with that arrogant confidence that drove her crazy. “You love me.”

“I don’t love you.”

“Of course you love me.” He smiled, used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. “Not as much as I love you, because nobody can love anybody as much as I love you, Duchess, but we both know that you love me.”

What was the sense in denying it? Lissa decided she wasn’t even going to try.

“You changed your phone number,” she said.

Nick frowned. “Beverly changed it, you mean. And forgot to mention it to me. I didn’t even realize it had been changed. I just kept getting calls, but I had no idea they were coming to a new number.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “And I had no idea why there weren’t any calls from you.”

“When did you figure it out?”

“When I became impossible to deal with, when all I talked about was the fact that you hadn’t contacted me, Beverly suddenly said, oh, she’d changed my number and maybe that was the reason.”

“Beverly,” Lissa said.

“Uh oh.”

“Uh oh, indeed. I can’t hold it against her for being gorgeous and for waiting for you to come back to her, but—”

“She’s my publicity rep.”

“Your what?”

“Bev handles my publicity. She’s furious at me for disappearing, for never taking any of her endless calls and for not contacting her, but she’s accustomed to a little chaos in her life. Heck, when you have four kids and a writer husband who never tells you what he’s doing from one day to the next—”

“Are we talking about the same Beverly? The one who looks at you as if you’re a bowl of whipped cream?”

Nick grinned. “She looks at me as if I’m her major client, and I am.” He raised Lissa’s face to his. “But the only woman I want thinking of me as a bowl of whipped cream, sweetheart, is you.”

“Nick. I have so many questions…”

“Ask them.”

“You didn’t have my phone number?”

“No. Are you old enough to remember the good old days? Real telephones? Telephone directories? You could look up somebody’s phone number back then. Not anymore.” His expression changed, went from teasing to serious. “In between all of that, I’d had people working on putting me in contact with the families of those guys I’d been with in Afghanistan.”

“And?”

“And,” he said, his eyes darkening, “I’ve met with them. Such nice people, Melissa. Good people, the parents proud of their boys, the older guy’s wife so proud of her husband’s service and valor…” He stopped, cleared his throat. “You’ll like them.”

“I will? You mean I’m going to meet them?”

“Yes. We’re going to stay in touch. I want to, you know, do something to honor the two kids. And Bill. The older guy. The one they called Pop. His two little girls are going to need some help. Summer camp. College—”

Lissa rose on her toes and kissed Nick.

“I love you,” she said.

He drew her against him. “And I love you with all my heart.” She felt his mouth curve against her temple. “Brutus says to tell you that he misses you. So do the kittens.”

She smiled. “I miss them, too.”

“Don’t you want to hear how I found that not-so-small-country you Wildes call home?”

“Tell me.”

“Well, after good old Marcia flat out refused to tell me anything about you—”

“Some of the chefs signed with her call her Marcia the Mean,” Lissa said, laughing.

“I said I’d get an injunction that would force her to give me what I needed.” Nick grinned. “She told me to go ahead and try it. She said the reputation of her agency was at stake. She finally offered to contact you on my behalf, but just about then I remembered something.”

“What?” Lissa said, leaning back in his arms.

“I remembered you said you’d grown up in Texas. On a ranch. And then I remembered that you’d said your old man was a four-star general.” He bent his head, brushed his lips lightly over hers. “Turned out to be a cinch, finding a four-star general named Wilde who owns a ranch in Texas.”

Nick winced as Lissa touched her hand lightly to his jaw.

“That was courtesy of your brother Jake.”

“Yes. Well, my brothers are, you know, kind of protective.”

“I’m glad they are.”

“And then Marcia gave you my address here?”

Nick smiled. “I called El Sueño from my plane, just before we took off from the Dallas airport. I told Jake that he had it all wrong, that I loved you and you loved me. He’d refused to let me get three words out when I saw him, but for some reason he listened to me when I called, gave me your phone number and address—and added that he and a bunch of other guys—it sounded like the roster of a rugby team—would happily take me apart limb by limb if it turned out that I was lying.”

Lissa brought Nick’s hand to her lips. He winced.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing.”

He started to tug his hand free. She hung onto it, looked at it…

“Your knuckles are swollen.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Nicholas. Why are your knuckles swollen?”

“I had a slight run-in with somebody’s jaw.”

“But Jake said—”

“Not him. He slugged me and I figured, from his vantage point, I deserved it.”

“I don’t understand. If not my brother…”

“That guy named Raoul’s jaw looks a lot worse than mine.”

Lissa stared at her lover. “Nick. You didn’t.”

“I read what he said about you.” His eyes narrowed. “And I didn’t like it, so I decided to pay him a little visit. I stopped at his restaurant and confronted him and, you know, one word led to another…”

Lissa began to laugh. “Raoul has had a very difficult day.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I don’t want to talk about him now, not when I’m still trying to believe that you’re really, really here.”

Nick lifted her face to his.

“I’ll always be here, sweetheart. You’re everything I could ever need or want.”

“A happy ending after all,” she said softly.

“There’s no other kind for us.”

Lissa rose on her toes, caught his bottom lip between her teeth and bit lightly into the tender flesh.

“Prove it.”

His smile became the one she loved, sexy and arrogant and filled with wicked promise.

“Ah, Duchess,” he said softly, “and here I thought you were such a good girl.”

“That whipped cream I mentioned…” She fluttered her lashes. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any on hand, but I do have a box of delectable, delicious, easily melted chocolates.”

Nick kissed her. This time, his kiss was deep and hard and it told her that everything she’d wanted, everything she’d ever imagined wanting, was right here, in her arms.

“I love you,” he said. “And I love the idea of that melted chocolate.” His arms tightened around her. “But first you have to say the only word that matters.”

“What word?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, you’ll marry me. Yes, we’ll grow old together. And yes, you’ll let me do my best to make you happy for the rest of our lives.”

Lissa sighed. “For a cowboy, you drive an awfully hard bargain, Nicholas.”

He smiled. “Is that a yes, Melissa?”

Lissa wound her arms around her lover’s neck and gave him her answer with her kiss.

* * *

They would have been married right away. Nick didn’t want to wait and neither did Lissa, but Zach and Jaimie’s wedding was scheduled for May.

They scheduled theirs for June.

Two weddings, back-to-back.

Perfect, everyone said.

Each time, the bride was beautiful. Each time, the groom was handsome.

And El Sueño was, each time, at her brilliant best, the meadows carpeted with delicate lavender winecups when Jaimie and Zach took their vows, with crimson firewheels by the time Lissa and Nick took theirs.

Each wedding was exactly as the bride and groom had wanted it. Small, by Texas standards, with only family and friends in attendance.

Everyone was now looking forward to Fourth of July weekend at El Sueño. All the Wildes, including the general, would be home for the festivities.

He had come home, of course, in May for Jaimie’s wedding and then in June for Lissa’s, but only for a short time. He’d written, however, to say that he would also be home for the Fourth of July celebration, and that this time, he would stay a little longer.

And that he would be bringing a surprise.

“Some surprise,” the Wilde sisters said among themselves.

He’d bring the same gift certificates he always gave his children and now his daughters-in-law and sons-in-law and grandbabies, elegant gift cards from all the best shops in Dallas, and they’d all say “thank you” even though they’d have traded all those certificates for just one thing that had meaning, that would be a part of the general himself.

The Wildes, the Santinis, the Castelianoses, and old friends His Royal Highness Sheikh Khan and his wife, Laurel, arrived two days before the Fourth.

There was lots of laughter, lots of fun. The men played touch football; the women floated in the pool. Babies crawled on the lawn and were taken for rides on the backs of the most docile of the horses.

Emily and Caleb’s wife, Sage, oversaw the decorations inside the house; Jaimie and Jake’s Addison did the same for the fireworks displays; Lissa and Jennie, Travis’s wife, supervised the making and baking of endless goodies for the big party that would take place on the Fourth itself.

The day dawned bright, clear and, wonder of wonders, not too hot.

Jake, Caleb and Travis had arranged for a band. Two bands, really: a mariachi band and the same versatile six-piece group that had played at all the Wilde weddings. Virtually the entire citizenry of Wilde’s Crossing had been invited; umbrella tables dotted the lawn.

A line of grills was fired up; big tables groaned under the weight of four kinds of chili, steaks, ribs, chicken, and something not native to Texas but delicious all the same: lobster tails.