Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) (14 page)

“Sorry, Mr. Kenslo. No time to talk.”

“It’s Austin.” He fumbled around inside his jacket and brought out his card case. He pulled out two business cards. “Here, take these.” He grabbed her good hand and slapped a card into it. “What’s up with your hand? Kill anyone?”

She backed up until she contacted the hard wall of Jordan’s chest.

“That’s enough.” His growl rumbled against her back.

Kenslo waved his hands in the air as if erasing his crass remark. “My bad. Look, I know you already have agents, but if either of you decide to change, well, I’d love to represent you.” He held out a card to Jordan.

He ignored it.

Frowning, the agent managed to put it back into his case after two tries. “I’m still in town for a couple of days if you change your mind. Business, you know. I plan to meet with a couple of potential clients. That Barrows fellow has possibilities. What do you think of Olivia Vargas?”

“I don’t.” Jordan’s terse statement made the man back up.

“Okay, okay. It was worth a shot.” He held his hand up in well-oiled surrender. “I know when to back off,” he slurred. “I’ll just ride up with you to my room. Gotta go take a piss anyhow.”

They arrived at the elevators in time for the doors to open and a car full of partygoers to pour out. Jordan herded her inside and hit the close door button before the agent could get past the people blocking the door.

“That was rude, but I don’t care,” she whispered to him.

“I’m glad you approve. I didn’t think you wanted to ride in a confined space with the jerk.” His lip curled in disgust. “The man has enough alcohol in his system that one spark of static electricity could blow this car to kingdom come.”

“You’re fibbin’.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or frown. Instead, she glanced up at him with mock incredulity. “Not really. Would it?”

“No, but he’s a good candidate for spontaneous human combustion.” The doors opened and he held her good hand all the way to her room. He motioned for her to give him her key card. One decisive swipe and the green light blinked. He turned the handle and guided her inside. “Come on. Let me help you out of those clothes.”

Chapter Twelve

Tilly’s cheeks pinked and her teeth worked overtime on her lower lip. He was sorely tempted to lean down and taste her abused mouth.

“That came out the wrong way.” He laid her key card on the small table by the couch. “Let me help you get back into your pajamas.”

“Oh, okay.” A hint of disappointment left a small pout on her face. She dropped her purse on the floor, held out her arm, and heaved a sigh. “Here.”

“This should be a lot easier going in reverse.” He carefully eased the sleeve over her hand with little trouble.

She stood in front of him with her empty sleeve hanging down and looking as adorable as hell. “Well, I guess you better go. It is gettin’ late.”

“Yes, it is.” He reached out to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs traced the soft skin of her cheeks and up, smoothing over the faint purple circles under her eyes. “It’s been a long day.” He gave in to the need to feast on her mouth.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips opened at the first touch of his, tasting him and slowly consuming his mouth. Her kiss seared his soul—he couldn’t keep up with the riot of feelings churning around in his mind. Breathing became a thing of the past as he delved deeper. His blood grew hot and thick with desire and he wanted to bury himself inside her, take her to the limit, and when they were done, he wanted her to beg him for more. A little moan of pleasure nearly sent him over the edge of reason.

He reached under her top to touch the silky skin that had haunted his dreams all night long. The weight of her breast in his hand, the way her nipple went rock hard at his touch, made him harder than ever. She swayed closer, arching up and into his touch. It would take a lifetime of tasting this woman to ever get enough.

A lifetime? He broke off the kiss and took a step back. The thought of waking up every morning to fiery red curls, blue, blue eyes, and her lushness in his arms shook him, bone deep. Not as a prize in a game between him and Jericho, but the real deal.

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes were wild and dark with only a faint ring of aqua around her pupils. “I thought you wanted—”

“Oh, believe me, I do—in the worst way.”

“I’d hoped for more than ‘worst’.” She took a step forward and stood on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. Her body slid against his in a sensuous wriggle. “Umm, how about something along the lines of spectacular?”

He gave her a self-deprecating laugh. “I think the pain-killers are still messing with your brain.” He wanted to stay. Every instinct jumped around like monkeys in a tree, but there was a part that held back. Tilly deserved more than a one-night stand. “Besides, it’s late.”

Her hand settled on his chest, over his heart. It sped up somewhere near warp ten.

“I’ll see you at breakfast. Eight a.m. sharp.” She gave him one of her Mona Lisa smiles. “My room or yours?”

“I think the restaurant would be safer.” He placed his hand over hers.

“Who said anything about safe? Eight a.m.—here.”

“Are you trying to put me in a compromising position, Matilda?”

“Let’s wait and see.”

…

Tilly tossed and turned all night. The throbbing in her hand compounded her inability to sleep by reminding her of the trip to the emergency room and its aftermath. Why had she let Jordan kiss her not once, but twice tonight? He blew hot and cold. One minute he was snarky, the other gentle and caring. He confused her. Tilly’s body burned with embarrassment at the antics of the crazy lust monkey she’d caged for so long. Tyler made her tingle with excitement as well, but he lacked Jordan’s bad boy vibe.

The gray of early dawn washed through the windows. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t go back to her fitful sleep. The clock showed the time as six-thirty in the morning. That meant Ruby would’ve made sure Sarah was up in time to get ready for school.

She heaved a sigh of resignation, rolled over, and reached for her cell phone on the nightstand.

Her heart pounded as she pressed the number for her home in Tennessee.

“Hey Mamma, what’s up?” Sarah sounded chipper but a little distracted. “Hey, Ruby, it’s Mamma!”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, I just finished breakfast.” Her daughter had adopted a new posh accent. “I still have a few minutes before I have to get ready.”

“Did you hear the news?” She didn’t know if Sarah bothered with the news. Her interest lay in her best friends, the newest fashion trends, and Justin Bieber. In that order. Her mother had the honor of being number four.

“About that food critic’s murder? Yes. A couple of my friends on Facebook commented on it. I didn’t check it out it because I have a history paper due tomorrow.” She heard a hint of evasiveness creep into her child’s voice.

“Are you sure everything’s goin’ okay at school?”

“Sure it is.” Her daughter gave her a too-bright chirp.

She decided to talk to her foster mother after she finished her conversation with Sarah. “Well, there’s more.” Tilly nibbled on her bottom lip. “I don’t know if you knew that Jordan Kelly and I found Ethridge’s body.”

“OMG!”

“It was awful, however, that’s not why I called.”

“You find a body, but that’s not why you’re calling me at six-thirty in the morning? O-k-a-y.” Sarah stretched the word out in suspicion. “I’d think you’d be singing ‘Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.’”

“How can you say that?”

“‘Ding Dong the Beast from the Lowest Depths of Hell’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Maxwell Ethridge made you miserable, and what are you doing hanging around with Jordan Kelly? If I remember right, you told me he was number two on the scale of evil—devil incarnate.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Mamma.” The supercilious accent left her daughter’s voice. Now it was corn bread and strawberry-rhubarb pie all the way. She could picture Sarah shaking her long, curly red hair in exasperation. “You were born complicated.”

“Don’t sass your mother.” She sat up and bunched the pillows behind her back for support. “I wanted to hear your voice. It’s been a hectic few days. Now the network wants Jordan and me to help the police as consultants. They think we might have some insight into the murders because we’re chefs.”

“Murders?” A small gasp sounded from nine hundred miles away. “That’s plural, Mamma. As in more than one.”

“Well, it’s not…” She started to fudge, but knew Sarah would get on the Internet and find out about it anyway. She sat up straight and hugged her knees with her free arm. “All right. All right. Another chef was found stabbed to death. Now the police, Jordan, and everyone wants to railroad a woman, who I know didn’t do it. You know I have a gut feelin’ about stuff like that.”

“Mamma!” She heard the fear and shock in Sarah’s voice. “You go straight home, take some antacid for your
gut feelin’,
and bar the doors. I wish Uncle Sugar could lend you his baseball bat.”

Her daughter grew up in the back of Ruby’s restaurant where Noah Sugarbush served as the night cook. He was stick thin, and just a few inches over five feet tall, but everyone in town knew better than to mess with him and his little friend Louie.

“Don’t worry about me.” She laughed at the memories. “I’ve got my trusty rolling pin.” She glanced over to the black nylon bag containing her personal cooking gear. It held her pride and joy. The long maple dowel that rolled out her first strawberry-rhubarb pie.

She decided it was time to bite the bullet and talk with her foster mother. “Could you put Ruby on the phone?”

“Okay, Mamma, but you know you’re going to get a talking to.”

“I can handle it.” She set her face into a smile and waited.

“What the Sam Hill do you think you’re doin’?” Ruby’s gravelly, smoke hardened voice rumbled. “And don’t give me any happy horseshit. You go to one of them big cities and look what happens. You need to get home and take care of that kid of yours. She’s grounded for smokin’.”

“Hi Ruby.” A frontal assault might derail Ruby’s train of thought long enough to gather her wits. She closed her eyes and could see Ruby in front of her, lavender hair set into a precise updo left over from the sixties, scrawny as a stick, and with more love than most people ever had to give.

“Not only do you find yourself knee-deep in murder, although I can’t say as how that Ethridge fellow didn’t deserve a good ass-whoopin’, but I’d draw the line at offin’ him. He’ll get his reward—probably in hell, but that’s for the good Lord to decide.”

“The Culinary Channel has Jordan Kelly—” A raspy
phht
interrupted Tilly. “Did you just spit?”

“Spit in the devil’s eye, my mamma always used to say. That Jordan fella is the devil, ain’t he?”

“No. He’s more…ummm…” Tilly tried to find the right word. “Fallen angel.”

“Don’t know that I like the sound of that any better.”

“It’s been a long time since I got all worked up over a man.” She nibbled on her thumbnail. The poor thing would be gnawed to the bone if she kept this up. “Now there’re two of them. Jordan is all bad boy and hotness, while the detective, Tyler Jericho, is stone solid. He’s a detective with the KCPD.”

“Go for the cop.” Ruby let out a sigh of exasperation. “I know what kinda trouble you get into with men. You’re goin’ for the bad boy, ain’tcha?”

“That’s just it,” she complained with a groan of frustration. Her feet hit the floor and she paced around the room in short jerky steps. “I don’t trust my judgment. I know it’s the last thing I need, but Jordan is one hell of a kisser. Nearly burnt me to a crisp.”

She closed her eyes and let the other bomb drop. “I think I might be fallin’ for him.” She opened her eyes. Nothing—crickets. “I get crazy when I’m around him. One minute I think I’ll die if he doesn’t kiss me, the next I want Sugar’s bat.” Still nothing. “Are you there? Say somethin’.”

“Jericho, Jordan, Jake, and what was the guy back in 2008? John something or other who stole your money and ran off with your grandmother’s diamond rings?”

“Well, there was that.” She hated when Ruby hit a sore spot. Jake and John blew up in her face like an overheated pressure cooker. How could she trust her judgment when it came to men? The simple answer was she couldn’t.

There was a long pause, too long.

“Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m thinkin’.” Another pause followed before she answered. “What about the detective. Is he a good kisser, too?”

“I don’t know.” She stopped in front of one of the armchairs and let her finger trace the white stripe in the chair’s fabric. “We were supposed to go on a date before I ended up in the emergency room.”

“What! Honey, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine, I’m fine. You can tell Sarah I’m fine. I tried to kill a dead pig and the knife slipped. Jordan to the rescue, but no white horse, just a taxi ride. Everything is cool now. Oh, look at the time. Gotta go. Tell Sarah no phone for a week and rub Spook behind the ears for me. Bye.”

“But—”

She cut off the call before her foster mother could sass her any more than she already had.

First things first. She went over to her black bag of tricks and pulled out a plastic storage bag and freezer tape to cover her hand. Nothing could keep her from a hot shower. Jordan would be here at eight. Her body hummed with anticipation, every nerve ending alive as she turned on the shower. It looked like she’d made her choice.

…

Jordan lay in bed with his arm flung over his head, contemplating the patterns in the textured ceiling. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. It didn’t help that his mind wouldn’t stop mulling over the murders and his unexpected feelings for the crazy redhead. It didn’t help that his dick had a mind of its own. Murder, Tilly, erection, murder, Tilly, erection. The constant yo-yoing up and down made sleep impossible. He placed his hand over his uncooperative cock and took a deep breath in an attempt to will it into submission.

It wasn’t easy when everything reminded him of her, even down to the floral arrangement on his dining table. The silk daisies, white with little brown centers, were dead ringers for the flowers painted on her toenails.

Get a grip.

He scrunched a pillow under his head and picked up the remote to watch some television—anything to get his mind off daisies. One click and the local weather person’s forecast made him groan. Six-thirty in the morning didn’t warrant such cheerful optimism for showers later in the afternoon. He didn’t do chipper very well. The next story caught his attention.

“Olivia Vargas, the suspect who’s out on bail for the murder of the famed travel expert and food critic, Maxwell Ethridge, was arrested in the brutal slaying of local chef, Cesare Bolzano. Now fear of the Santoku Slayer can be put to rest.”

He sat up in bed. He frowned and watched the video of Olivia being led away in handcuffs, her attorney by her side. They walked through a jeering crowd and curiosity seekers outside the county jail.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” she shouted above the noise. Flashes from cameras and the red and blue lights of police cars colored the night like fireworks. Her frantic dark eyes looked straight into the camera. “I swear on my children’s lives, I didn’t kill either one.”

The hair stood up on the back of his neck, goose bumps riding on his arms. Tilly said Vargas was innocent from the beginning. The little seeds of doubts had grown until he questioned his own stance concerning the woman’s guilt. Things weren’t adding up. He had to talk to Tilly about Vargas. No, Jordan admitted, the murder was the secondary reason for seeking her out. He craved her company, the way she smiled and laughed. He needed her.

He got out of bed and slipped on some sweats before grabbing his wallet. He stuck his bare feet into his running shoes and went down the hall to her door. He knocked. She didn’t answer at first. He tried again. She opened the door after the third knock. She peeked through the crack in the door. If he’d been a killer, she would’ve been toast. It scared the crap out of him.

“Do you open your door to everyone?” He scowled and pushed his way past her. “See how easily I barged in? What would you have done if it had been the Santoku Slayer? That’s what they’re calling the killer on the news. Do you want to end up as the lead story on Channel Nine?” He whirled around to see her standing before him in a big, fluffy white robe. A matching towel covered her hair. “You were in the shower,” he accused.