Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) (19 page)

“Gentlemen,” she called out. They turned in unison. “I was thinkin’, why don’t we go get some coffee? I could use something stronger than a glass of water.”

“Coffee sounds good. A good shot of bourbon would be even better.” Kenslo’s eyes settled on her, sizing her up as a potential client. His eager response set Jordan’s teeth on edge, but a guy had to make a living, even if he was an asshole. He’d pump the agent for every bit of information he could, even if it meant dangling the possibility of changing agents. Jordan took her arm and started out the door. “Why don’t we all go to the restaurant?”

A few minutes later they were seated around the table in the same little private room that Tilly and Jericho would’ve had their first “date,” if he hadn’t barged in. He smiled at the memory and pulled out a chair for her. Once she was seated, he planted a small kiss on the top of her red hair. “We’re not done yet,” he whispered.

She shot him a withering look that glanced off him like Teflon and muttered through her tightened lips, “Don’t push.” Her hands smoothed her linen napkin over her lap with slow, measured motions, followed by a sigh. “You are incorrigible.”

“Count on it.” He decided to let her stew for a while. She wanted space, and he planned to give her all she needed—until after they’d had their coffee. Then all bets were off.

The waitress took their orders and left. Tilly leaned forward, her attention on Gilmore. “So, tell me what you thought of the press conference.”

“Lame—a waste of tax dollars. They didn’t say anything new.” Gilmore pushed back the bright red flash of hair and smiled at her. “I’ll bet you know more than what they’re telling the public.”

“That’s what I wondered as well.” Kenslo scooted closer to her and draped his arm over the back of her chair, letting his hand brush her shoulder. “I know I was drunk the other night, but I did see you two with your heads together with our detective friend.”

“We’re just as much in the dark as you are.” She threw Jordan a look that said she could handle the agent. “We were goin’ over the statements we made after we found Ethridge’s body. Crossin’
T
’s, dottin’
I
’s, that sort of thing.”

“No wonder you looked so serious.” His arm edged nearer to her with all the finesse of a raw teenage boy trying for first base with a girl. “I saw the video of you yesterday afternoon. You two an item?”

Her lashes fluttered down. She gave a slight shake of her head that made Jordan’s brain boil. They’d spent the afternoon engaging in some of the most spectacular sex he’d ever had, and if her reactions were to be believed, hers as well. Getting the woman to commit to a relationship had to be as exasperating as nailing Jell-O to a tree.

“Oh, he was my knight in shinin’ armor.” She moved closer to the edge of her seat and raised her bandaged hand for their inspection. “I made a stupid mistake with a knife. He rushed me to the ER.”

“The evening news made it look like you two were having a private party.”

She gave Kenslo a small self-deprecating laugh. “Nothin’ as excitin’ as that—just some drugs to dull the pain.”

“I wondered what happened.” Barrows leaned back, taking in her injury, and hissed through his teeth. “That’s going to put you out of commission for a while.”

“The Culinary Channel will figure a way around it, but it will be hard to do any signing on my book tour.”

“Everyone loves you. Remember what I said. I’m serious about representing you.” Kenslo’s voice lowered into a seductive pitch. “We’d make a great team.” He leaned even closer, so close that his breath stirred the soft flips of her hair.

A primal surge of possessiveness and anger surprised Jordan. His first instinct was to grab the guy and bash his head against the table. He decided he’d let him go only so far before he ripped his arm off.

“I’m not a very good team player.” She didn’t give Kenslo so much as a smile, but it didn’t stop him from trying one more time.

“You never know until you try.” The agent flashed a smile that would make his dentist proud. “I’ve got Barrows ready to sign, haven’t I? My boy Brad—” he reached over and gave Gilmore an enthusiastic pat on the shoulder “—just did the honors.”

Gilmore nodded, his eyes full of excitement. “That’s right.”

Barrows grimaced and took a sip of his ice water. Jordan figured the man had enough intelligence not to hook up with the likes of Kenslo, but the idea of book deals and celebrity status could turn the best chef’s head.

“I haven’t committed to anything, except a big dinner party my company is catering tomorrow night.” His eyes didn’t give anything away. Jordan would put Barrows up against Jericho any day in a staring contest. “I’m up to my ass in alligators, or in this case petit fours.”

“Take your time.” The agent’s overly bright grin dimmed a couple of watts. “Think things through.”

“That’s the plan.” Barrows leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression closed. “I’ll consider it. That’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

Kenslo bristled. “I thought we had a deal.”

“Saying I’ll think about it means just that, I’ll think about it.” His voice was emphatic. “This involves more than just me. I have my company and employees to consider.”

He liked Barrows more and more. “I can put you in contact with my agent if you want to talk to him.” Not only would it put a kink in Kenslo’s underoos, he knew Barrows had the personality and chops to carry off a career in the spotlight.

“Really?” For once the walls slipped. Surprise and excitement lit up Barrows’s face like a Christmas tree. “That would be great.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An angry red raced up Kenslo’s neck and into his face. “You’re poaching my clients.”

“I’m not an agent.” He gave Kenslo a half smile. “The man said he was considering signing, a big difference from having the contract in your hands. I’m just giving him options.”

The agent rose halfway out of his chair. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And you still want me as a client?” His razor sharp question had the desired effect. Kenslo slowly sat as all eyes focused on him.

The table grew quiet as they waited for the other man’s response. He sat back in his chair with a stunned expression on his face as if he’d won the Mega-Million Lottery. “I don’t know what to say—”

The waitress slid open the door to the room and brought in the coffee, interrupting the avalanche of brown-nosing that Jordan expected.

Tilly was the first to break the silence after the waitress left.

“Brad…may I call you Brad?”

Jordan groaned inwardly as she poured a half a cow’s worth of cream into her coffee. The first thing he planned to do, other than taking her to bed again, was to wean her off defiling a good cup of joe.

Gilmore nodded. “Not a problem, Ms. Danes.”

“Tilly.” She took a dainty sip of her poor desecrated coffee. “I’d be honored if you call me Tilly. I have a question. Was the recipe you used for the goat cheese dish one you make all the time, or did you come up with it on the spot? It was very tasty.”

A blush spread over young man’s pale face. “I threw it together at the last minute. The ingredients lent themselves to that dish.”

“I adored it,” she gushed. He knew what she was trying to do and hoped she didn’t go overboard. “So did Ethridge.”

“Everyone knows how he loved goat cheese and I thought, ‘Why not?’” His body literally vibrated with pride. “I’ll have to dedicate that dish to him in my new cookbook.”

“You didn’t add any secret ingredients to his that you left out of ours?” She smiled and raised one eyebrow in a decent imitation of Jordan’s own signature gesture.

Gilmore gave her a puzzled look. “No, why?” The bewilderment in his face turned to distress. “I didn’t cheat.”

“No one said you did.” Jordan palmed his coffee cup in his hand, relishing the warmth against his skin. All he wanted to do was to be here, alone with her, and enjoy the dark, inviting scent and taste of his coffee. Now he had to be Castle in a chef’s jacket. “I enjoyed the dish, but Ethridge praised it—something very rare for him. One thing about him, if he liked a dish, he couldn’t get enough. Did he ask for the leftovers?”

“No.” Gilmore shook his head. “As far as I know, the clean-up crew disposed of the goat cheese. The time after he announced the results of the contest was a blur. I didn’t see it when I went back to clean my knives after all the congratulations.” Panic raced across Gilmore’s face. “Wait, are you saying my goat cheese killed him?”

“No.” Jordan could tell the truth here, because the poison hadn’t had a chance to do the dirty work.

She leaned over and put her hand on top of Gilmore’s. “Your dish wouldn’t kill anyone, unless they died from sheer pleasure. It just seemed such a shame to waste perfection.” She gave him a little pat along with her perky smile. “I hope you send me the recipe. The Friends of the Arts are hostin’ a little tea later this month. I’d love to be able to put it on our menu.”

“I’d like that.” A blush of pleasure colored his face. “No, I’d be honored.”

“It’s called networkin’. You need all the exposure you can get when you’re startin’ out in the business.” Tilly picked up her cup and took a dainty sip. “You have a lot of talent.”

“Thank you, Ms. D—Tilly.”

“Consider it done.”

“You’re butting in, just like Kelly there.” Kenslo lost all pretense of congeniality. In the heat to corral his client, he completely forgot about the potential golden goose sitting across the table.

He sat back in his chair and glowered at her. “Gilmore has already signed with me. You’ll have to pay to get that recipe, just like anyone else.”

“I’m sorry.” She gave a sad little shake of her head and took another sip of her coffee. “It would be good to see your name as a featured chef on the menu, but I understand if Mr. Kenslo feels supportin’ the arts will cut into any business profits.”

Gilmore turned to the agent. The expression on the kid’s face turned mulish. “I want to do this.”

“No. Not unless she pays the going fee for the use of your recipe.”

“It’s not for me, but the Friends of the Arts.” Her voice took on a deeper, sweet, dark whiskey flavor of the South. She reached out to give the chef a comforting pat on the hand. “Don’t fret—maybe next time we can work somethin’ out.” She shook her head in resignation. “FOTA will miss Ethridge. He was a benefactor and a big draw as well.”

Jordan’s jaw dropped in surprise at her revelation. “You’re kidding me, right?” He couldn’t picture the man supporting a charity or any organization unless there was something in it for him.

“Oh, he had his moments, but bless his little heart, he had a soft spot for the arts. I wasn’t afraid to milk that for every penny I could get. He adored the fame and we got the money. It was a win-win situation. He might’ve been Jack the Ripper incarnate, but he could bring in the money.” She set her coffee cup back in its saucer with a little sigh. “Lordy, I sound hardhearted, don’t I? The man was murdered, and all I can think about is how much the Friends of the Arts will suffer.”

“I still can’t believe he is dead.” The agent’s face looked forlorn. “I’ll miss him, too.”

Jordan had trouble holding back a snort of disgust. The only thing the guy would miss about the dearly departed was his percentage as the man’s agent, and now that Ethridge was gone, Kenslo would still get his cut of his estate’s earnings. He remembered a passing remark Ethridge made the day of his death. They were getting ready for a breakout session on how the chefs could
brand
themselves, or their companies, when Ethridge stormed into the greenroom, furious with Kenslo. He fumed as he looked into a mirror and readied himself for the stage.

Kenslo is about to get the shock of a lifetime. Several other agencies are courting me with offers that makes whatever Kenslo negotiates look like pocket change.

Jordan sat up straight in his chair. Had he really planned on leaving Kenslo?

“Oh, he’s dead, or the cops wouldn’t have crawled up our asses. I’ve come too far off the streets to go back to being treated like crap just because I used to be in a gang—that’s history.” Barrows’s dark frown echoed the irritation in his eyes. “This contest was one big cluster—”

She held up her hand to stop Barrows. “I’ll talk to Greg Hirschberg.”

“Me, too.” Jordan had to admit that Barrows had a valid point. There wasn’t a winner. These chefs put a lot of time and financial hardship to get as far as they had in the competition. “I think we could convince him to set up a nationally televised contest between you and Gilmore.”

“We’ll have to come to terms with The Culinary Channel if my client decides to participate.” Kenslo came to attention with the smell of money in the air.

“No problem.” Jordan gave him a dismissive wave. “Okay, I’ll just have Barrows on my show. Will that work out for you?” He glanced over at the chef, who nodded his consent. “Maybe something along the lines of comparing a day in the life of a personal chef versus a restaurant chef.”

“Sounds like fun.” Barrows gave him a wide smile and held out his hand to shake.

“I’ve offered to bring him on as a guest chef on my show as well.” Her announcement made him want to lean over and give her a fist bump. That was his Matilda.

Gilmore turned a nice pistachio green.

Jordan shot a quick glance over at the agent. He wasn’t sure if the man was about to have an aneurysm.

“Now wait here—”

Kenslo didn’t have time to object to his proposal. Miranda came running into the private room as fast as her ridiculously high heels could manage. Her green eyes held shock and disbelief.

“Help! Someone call 91l. In the stairway!” She paled and swayed.

Jordan jumped up to catch her just as her knees gave way. Everyone around stood and made room for him to sit her in a chair.

“I think Nick is dead,” she sobbed.

Chapter Seventeen

Miranda’s eyes gave an alarming roll to the back of her head until the only thing visible was an eerie, zombie white. Her lashes fluttered as her head lolled against Jordan’s chest. He gave Tilly a panicked “help me” look.

Tilly raced to his side. “Miranda.” She picked up the woman’s hand, patting it first, before she resorted to harder smacks. No response. “Where is Nick?”

“Come on.” Jordan gave her shoulders a little shake. She remained unresponsive. “Nick has to be somewhere in the building.”

Tyler strolled into the middle of the drama. “I heard everyone was here. Thought I—what’s wrong?”

“She ran in here sayin’ Nick was dead.” She dunked a napkin in an icy glass of water and dabbed at Miranda’s face. “That’s all she said before she passed out.”

“Remember, Nick wanted to ask the security guys about the video?” She bit her lip. Miranda still hadn’t come to. Maybe it was for the best if they didn’t want to be treated to one of her king-size hissy fits—but Nick was hurt. He had to be their priority.

She picked up the glass and threw the water in Miranda’s face.

The group gasped at her actions.

Miranda let out a sputtering screech and made a quick upright start that brought her flailing hands up to contact Jordan’s nose. She must have had quite a punch, because blood gushed everywhere.

He snatched up a napkin from the table and stuffed it under his nose.

Gilmore and Barrows stood in stunned silence while Kenslo groaned. “Not again.” It was clear he had no intention of playing a knight in shining armor to Miranda’s damsel in distress.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jordan’s muffled, angry question reflected the fury burning in his brown eyes.

“Don’t you dare use profanities on me.” She glared at him before turning her attention to Miranda. “Now, where the hell is he?” She gave the woman a shake. “Quit thinkin’ about yourself for five seconds. Where’s Nick?”

Tyler stepped forward. “Out with it. We don’t have time to waste.”

Miranda’s eyes skirted around the room and found no sympathy, especially when she met Tyler’s steely stare. She let out a shaky moan. “He wanted to check with security. We were going down the stairs to avoid the crowds in the elevators. We were talking, and the next thing I know, he’s falling down the stairs between the lobby and the basement. I know he’s dead.” She buried her face in her hands and leaned down until she was bent double. “His neck doesn’t look right.”

“I’m going down there.” Tyler picked up his phone and gave instructions for the paramedics to meet him at Nick’s location. “I’ll send someone to take a written statement.” He turned to Tilly. “I’ll let you know when we find him.”

That sent Miranda off on a crying jag.

“I’m getting a bad sense of déjà vu.” Jordan dabbed away the blood with the napkin while he tilted his head back and pushed his finger against one side of his nose. “Damn it. My nose is swelling up. It’ll look like an eggplant—a big purple eggplant.”

“Don’t be a baby.” Her snapped words made Gilmore and Barrow start and stare at each other. “Think about Nick before you whine about a little thing like that.”

“You’re right.” He gave his upper lip another wipe and stuffed the soiled napkin in the pocket of his chef’s jacket. “Duly noted. I’m an asshat.”

“I—ah—have to get going and help my assistant.” Barrows’s chair scraped back on the dark red tile floor. He stood and gave them a small nod of his head. “I’ll be in touch about the show. Hope the cameraman’s okay.”

“No problem.” Jordan sniffed and tested his nose again. He picked up a clean napkin from the table and handed it to Miranda. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” She let out a wavering sob and took the napkin. “No one else cares what happens to me.” Her voice hitched as she wiped at the black streaks of mascara that gave her all the appeal of an extra in a zombie movie. She glared up at Tilly. “Especially you.”

“You were passed out. We had to find Nick.” Why did she feel like the villain in an overwrought melodrama? “What?”

“Give her a break.” Kenslo came over and helped the weeping woman stand. “She witnessed a terrible accident.” He looked over her head and mouthed
I’ll take care of this
. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go to the bar, get a drink. We can wait there until we know what’s happened to Nick. Wipe off the mascara. You can’t go around looking like the Joker.”

She acquiesced without a fight. She gave a small nod and let Kenslo lead her out of the restaurant, but not before giving Tilly a nasty look.

Tilly narrowed her eyes. She knew the hysterics weren’t real. Maybe if she broke a nail or the heel of her shoe—yes, she could see that in a heartbeat, but losing it over her cameraman—not so much. She’d seen too many mean girls in junior high not to recognize one from fifty paces. No more being nice. “I’m goin’ to my room.” She had more important things to do than worry about Miranda. There was Olivia. She sent up a silent prayer that Nick might still be alive.

“I’ll follow you up.” Jordan turned to the two remaining men. “It’s been a pleasure.” He touched his nose with a grimace and followed her out of the restaurant. “For your information—” he leaned down to hiss in her ear “—I never whine.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She marched toward the elevators while the elusive connect-the-dots evidence of the case kept bouncing around in her head. No matter how she tried to, the damn connections fizzled before any of the clues made sense. That only left one thing to do.

She turned and grabbed him by the hand. “You’re right. Let’s go to your room.”

He stumbled and caught himself by bracing his hands on her shoulders. His shocked expression turned to puzzlement, which quickly turned into a grin. “Why Tilly Danes.” Jordan’s execrable Southern accent hurt her ears. “I do declare you’ve turned into a regular wildcat.”

“Oh, this kitty has claws, teeth, and a bad attitude right now.” No matter how stern she tried to be, a giggle bubbled in her chest, just touching her heart. “Down boy. There’s a whiteboard up there callin’ out to me.”

…

Tilly flipped his heart over with that sly smile touching the corner of her mouth. He wanted to stop, right here in front of God and everyone in the hotel lobby, and kiss her until she begged for mercy. Frustration ate at him. How could he have found the one woman he could love only to discover that she was scared to death of commitment? All he could do was follow her into the elevator.

A couple of people who were already in the car scooted away at the sight of his bloodstained chef’s jacket. He reached up to touch the throbbing in his nose and the sensitive area under his left eye. Miranda caught him good. He’d be lucky if he didn’t end up with a black eye on top of a bloody nose.

Tilly reached up to take his hand and pull it away from his probing. “You’re goin’ to make your nose bleed again if you keep that up.” She didn’t let go, but wound her fingers through his. “I’ll make an ice pack for your face when we get to your room.”

A surge of surprise and pleasure welled up in his chest, so much so that it became hard to breathe. He would’ve gladly suffered two black eyes if it meant Tilly voluntarily held his hand. “Okay, Doc Danes, I’m at your mercy.” He tightened his grip and gave their hands a little shake.

“I know.” She gazed up at him with her infuriating impersonation of the Mona Lisa.

Only the door opening for the next batch of people waiting to get on the elevator saved her from a kiss. The car became crowded, leaving very little room for everyone. The crowd jockeyed for position and he ended up squished against her back. Now he could enjoy the sensation of copping a full body feel. He wrapped his free arm around her waist to pull her closer. Red hair tickled his nose as he inhaled the wild exotic mix of spice and strawberries. Desire pumped through his body until he thought he’d explode like an overheated pressure cooker if he didn’t take her to bed soon. His hand stroked down her arm until he found the roundness of her breast.

He bit back a groan. Not from desire, but the feel of the heel of Tilly’s small, high-top sneaker grinding back and forth on his big toe. He didn’t have time to move his foot before she gave him a not-so-gentle nudge in the gut. “Ouch,” he grunted and rubbed at the hollow ache left behind.

“Ruby made me take self-defense classes.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. A twinkle in her eyes accompanied her mysterious smile as she whispered. “Just in case I met a masher on an elevator.”

“Wise woman.”

A couple of people glanced their way. Now that the personal chef’s convention was over, not many people knew who they were. A couple near the front tried to cast them furtive looks before the woman shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. He doesn’t look a thing like Jordan Kelly.”

Tilly glanced up at him over her shoulder. “Especially the nose.”

The rest of the trip to their floor passed without further incident. They made it to his suite before he decided enough was enough. He whirled her around until her back was against the door, his hands braced on either side of her face.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Her eyes darted left then right. “I’m pretty good with the knee to the groin, too.”

He shifted until his leg was between hers. “Thanks for the warning.” He lowered his head just enough to let the tension build. “Make love to me. You can run from the L word, but don’t run from this.”

Her breath quickened. Her teeth captured her bottom lip. The small space between them became ripe with need. Her lashes dropped to hide her eyes as her lips opened on a small sigh, a plea.

He took her mouth in a kiss that came close to burning both of them to a crisp. One arm snaked around her waist while he fumbled with the key card. Miraculously, the door opened on the first try. He swept her into his arms and headed for the bed. “Admit it, you want me.”

“Okay, okay.” She let out a sigh filled with exasperation and surrender. “I could get used to this
Gone with the Wind
stuff.” She held on tight but scissored her legs back and forth as he sat on the bed with her on his lap. She wriggled around and gave him a cheeky grin. “Why, I do declare, Cap’n Kelly. I think I have found your sword.”

…

The friction of her rear brushing against his cock drove Jordan crazy. He wanted to push her down into the softness of the bed, yank her chef’s pants down to half-mast, and take her. The little tease knew what she was doing.
No, I’ll be a gentleman.

He gritted his teeth.

“Well, what are you waitin’ for?” Her lips pursed and her eyes widened in question. “A written invitation?” She scrambled off his lap and onto the bed. A single finger beckoned him to join her.

He watched her slow, teasing unbuttoning of her chef’s jacket. She threw it over the side of the bed with a flourish. She hummed an off-key tune and gave a little wiggle of her luscious hips while removing her T-shirt and bra. They ended up in a pile on the floor, along with the jacket.

It only took a heartbeat for him to get into the swing of things. If there was a record for stripping he’d bet he’d broken it. He lay back on the bed and watched her with growing anticipation. The sight of her coral-tipped breasts jiggling with each movement made his mouth dry and his cock harder by the second. She scooted to the edge of the bed to pull her chef’s pants off. The ivory globes of her ass begged to be caressed, but she scampered away when he reached out to touch her.

“No. No.” She waved her finger in his face and gave him a crooked grin. “I’m callin’ the shots this time.”

He held up his hands. “Handcuffs, neckties, what?”

“Why, Cap’n Kelly!” She placed one hand over her heart and fanned herself with the other. The sight of her bouncing breasts pulled a groan from him. “I am shocked to the bone, sir. I don’t indulge in such bed play—at least not yet.”

“Disappointing, but good to know.”

“I have other things on my mind.” She straddled his hips and stared at him with wide aqua eyes. “I’m going to polish your sword.”

He laughed, but the sound was cut short when she moved down and captured his cock in her hand. She slipped to one side and began a maddening massage. Her thumb smoothed a drop of pre-cum over the tip of his erection.

“Matilda.” Her name came out in a strangled cry as the warmth of her mouth captured him in a hot dance with her tongue. She flicked and swirled around the head of his cock, traced the sides with little mewls of pleasure. His hips jerked up. He was close—until she stopped.

“What?” he rasped.

“Not so fast, Cap’n Kelly. We’ve got some time left.” She glanced around the room. “Where do you keep your condoms? I’m on the pill, but let’s not take any chances.”

For a second his mind went blank. All the blood had flowed to his crotch. “Uh—ah—I think the box in the drawer.” He pointed to the nightstand. “Yeah, in the drawer.”

She leaned over, opened the drawer, and held out one before he could get his brain to function properly. The bed shifted, and he watched her swing her leg over his body and situate his erection against her moist opening. With one long, slow movement, she sank down until their bodies met. He reached for her hips to hold her fast. She pushed his hands away, rose and fell, over and over with her back arched and her lower lip clenched between her teeth.

His frenzied brain had enough cells still functioning to know she wasn’t as in control as she would like him to think. He decided to turn the tables. It was impossible to keep his hands idle. He traced the soft flesh of her breasts, ran his thumbs over her hard nipples,

“Umm,” she moaned and ground her hips against him. “Jordan. I can’t…” Her body tensed and trembled. She braced her hands against his shoulders and let herself be overtaken by her release.

The last bit of his restraint died. His climax followed a heartbeat later.

She collapsed against him with a satisfied sigh. “That was beyond—anything.”

Jordan loved the way her breath skimmed over his sweat-drenched chest. He ran his hands over her face, pushed back her damp hair, and kissed her forehead. “It was my pleasure.” His arms tightened around her. “I really think I
am
falling in love with you.”