Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) (7 page)

“Wine gets better as it ages.”

“Or turns into vinegar. And believe me, she’s full of piss and vinegar.” She sighed and sagged, holding onto the edge of the door for support. “Thank you for helpin’ me. I hope I didn’t sound ungracious, but I really need to lie down.”

He gave the door a gentle push and stepped inside. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay.”

She walked over to the dark green tweed sofa. She sank down, grateful her legs held up this far. “All I want is a shower and bed.”

“Both sound good to me. Maybe I should join you.”

Her eyes shot up to his, her emotions in such turmoil that she didn’t know whether to laugh or snarl at him.

“Bad joke.” He sat beside her, took her hand in his, and leaned back against the sofa. “I’m merely concerned. How will I sleep if I don’t know that you’re really all right?”

“I’m fine. Go to your own suite if you need a shower.”

“Nope.” He put his arm over her shoulder and tightened his hold as he tried to pull her closer. She stiffened against him.

“What are you doin’?”

“Chill. I won’t bite, unless given permission. Tell you what, I’ll forego the shower and bed, as enticing as it sounds.” He enfolded her until her cheek rested against his chest. She could hear his heart beating under the chef’s jacket. Its steady rhythm relaxed her tight muscles until they were the consistency of melted butter. She couldn’t hold back the small sigh of contentment. When was the last time a man just held her? Maybe never.

“You gave me a fright out there.” His chin brushed against her hair in a smooth, comforting caress. “What’s wrong?”

A shudder ran through her at the memory of the elevator. His nearness hadn’t totally dispersed the aftermath of her panic attack.

“I don’t know. Everything happened at once. The murder, the interrogation, the competition, the elevator. I guess it just piled up on me.” She pulled one of the gold and green striped pillows into her lap and worried the corner with her fingers. Without warning, her stomach let out a loud, long growl. “This is all so embarrassin’.”

“The last thing I had to eat was that damned cookie, and I know you had a greasy, fast food burger.” He got to his feet and held out his hand. She accepted the boost up and threw the pillow back onto the sofa. “Go take your shower. I’ll order some room service.”

The idea of showering while he stood outside in the living room area of the suite made her mouth go dry. “I’m not very hungry.” Her stomach called her a liar.

He gave her the lifted eyebrow treatment along with a devilish smile.

“Oh, all right.” If she didn’t move now, she’d never make it to the bathroom. “Just don’t order a cheeseburger and fries.”

He winked at her and shooed her off to the shower.

…

Jordan found it hard to concentrate on placing an order with room service while imagining her under the shower. He envisioned her breasts, wet and soapy. The womanly shape of her hips made his mouth water, and food was the last thing on his mind.

“Ah, yes, okay, a rack of ribs, coleslaw, and two baked potatoes.” He hesitated for a moment trying to decide on wine or beer. Was Tilly a beer drinker? He looked around and found an empty diet cola can in the trash. “Give me a diet soda and a domestic beer. Dessert?” He didn’t think he’d find a clue in the trash this time. The water still ran and the fantasy of Tilly soaping up ate away at his brain. “Err, ah, give me a piece of chocolate silk pie and one of coconut cream.”

He paced the floor. The room grew warm in spite of the very efficient air conditioner pumping out an arctic blast. “You are toxic, Tilly Danes.” He shucked off his chef’s jacket. The cool air felt good through the thin material of the black T-shirt he wore underneath the coat. He was used to the stifling heat of his restaurant kitchens or the lights of the network studios. Dealing with her was a whole other type of heat altogether.

The shower stopped. He didn’t know if that was any better. Time slowed to an agonizing crawl. He imagined the white terry towels sliding over her body, the steamy mirrors, and the scent of her shower gel thickening the air. He’d always gone for the tall, slender types. When had a rounded bottom become so enticing?

He snapped to attention at the sound of the bathroom door opening. His mouth turned sawdust dry at the sight of her padding out into the living room area, fingering her damp hair into short curls. He’d never seen her in anything except her normal chef’s attire and high-tops. Tonight she wore a pair of flowing white cotton pants and a softly fitted, long sleeved, lavender T-shirt that read
Meat is murder. Tasty, tasty murder
. He blinked at the sight of her bare feet, toenails adorned with bright purple polish. A white daisy graced each big toenail.

Who would’ve thought a simple flower could deliver such a sucker punch?

“Anything wrong?” She frowned. Her fingers stopped tousling her hair as she looked to where he stared at her feet. “Oh, these.” She wriggled her toes in the carpet. “What can I say? I like daisies.”

“No.” He tried to sound as normal as possible. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you out of uniform.” It was lame, but it was the only thing he could come up with without sounding like a complete idiot.

“Oh.” She flopped down on the couch and pointed to the matching chair angled near a coffee table. “Same goes.” She pointed at his T-shirt. “You look like a bouncer in a bar, not a chef.” Her face turned a pretty pink. “What I mean is, you’re dressed all in black and with those guns…” She wrapped her fingers around his bicep and gave it a slight squeeze. The sudden contact of skin against skin, the warmth of her hand, the sensation of her touch made it difficult to think beyond dragging her to the bedroom.

She must have seen how she affected him by the way she jerked back her hand. “Sorry.”

“I’ve been known to hit the gym.” It pleased him to know that she wasn’t unaffected by his appearance.

She shook her head and sighed in disgust. “Don’t talk to me about goin’ to the gym. You get results. I work out every day. The rest of me gets skinnier, but my backside has a mind of its own.”

A small trickle of sweat rolled between his shoulder blades. No matter what he said about her derriere, it would land him in hot water. Fate rode to his rescue in the form of a knock at the door.

“Room service.”

Thankful for the reprieve, he rushed to the door and opened it for the waiter to roll a trolley laden with dishes into the room. “I hope you don’t mind ribs and coleslaw. It seemed appropriate since we were in Kansas City.”

The waiter lifted the lids and the aroma of barbecue sauce filled the air. Steam rose from the loaded baked potatoes, and the tart, sweet scent of the coleslaw did its magic. She edged closer to the table. Her eyes grew wide as the waiter unleashed the coup de grace. The pie.

“You are a mean, mean man, Jordan Kelly.” She stuck her finger in the cream topping of the chocolate pie, closed her eyes, and licked it with a look of ecstasy on her face. “I always knew you played dirty, but this is low. Now I’ll have to do two hours in the gym.”

“We can work off the calories together.” He pulled out a tip for the waiter. “Put this on my tab. Room 1011.”

The waiter nodded and pulled the trolley from the room. Jordan closed the door and motioned to the small dining table. “Shall we?”

He helped Tilly to her chair. The clean strawberry and herb scent of her hair rivaled any of the aromas coming from the food. He wanted to slide his fingers through the little curls to see if they were as soft as they looked. His body might be on autopilot, but his brain brought him up short. He was supposed to be finding a murderer, not falling for a short, spritely woman who, until a few short hours ago, was his culinary rival.

“This looks wonderful. I guess I’m hungry after all.” The peaches and cream voice, mixed with a touch of whiskey, tap danced down his spine to give him a wicked kick in the libido. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you goin’ to stand there or eat?”

“I—ah—yeah.” He took his place opposite Tilly and cut the ribs into several sections before offering her the plate. “You take what you want.”

“You don’t have to ask twice.” She filled her plate. She took a bite of the coleslaw. Her mouth puckered into a slight moue as she cocked her head to one side. After a bit of consideration, she smiled and took another forkful. “A little vinegary for my taste, but still very good.”

“I like things on the tart side.” He picked up a rib. The meat fell off the bone and sweet, spicy sauce dribbled down his chin. He started to wipe it away, but she beat him to it by reaching across the small space with a napkin.

“There.” She sat back in her chair and picked up some of the barbecue. She licked her lips. “Oh, my, I think I’m in love.” She took another dainty bite before she laid the half-eaten rib back on her plate.

It became increasingly hard to concentrate while she licked the barbecue sauce free, first from one finger, then another. He gave a little cough to loosen the knot in his throat. He wasn’t usually this awkward and uncomfortable around a woman. It put him off his game. Dinner conversation—that’s what he needed to get her off his mind. “I’m not surprised Olivia is a suspect. That woman has a nasty temper.”

“No. I can’t see her as a killer.” Her face scrunched into a frown and she shook her head in disagreement. She gave a small shrug of her shoulders and focused on her plate. “Besides, she’s a single mom. Why would she jeopardize losing her children over a cooking contest? ”

“Who knows why a woman kills a man?” He sipped his beer to give him time to answer her question.

“Hmm.” Tilly rested her chin in her hand and her eyes had the faraway look of someone lost in thought. She absentmindedly squished her baked potato into an unappetizing mess. “There could be a lot of reasons for Ethridge’s murder. Power, money—those are pretty standard motives.”

“Believe me. It was sex, pure and simple. Don’t forget, she slept with him to get an edge in the cooking contest.”

“Granted, he used her badly, but she used him as well.”

“Please, she had the motive and the evidence points to her. Add all that hot Latin blood into the mix.” He couldn’t help rolling his eyes as he forked up a bit of coleslaw. “I mean, didn’t you get a good look at the body?”

She smoothed her napkin on her lap with crisp, ladylike pats of her hand. “It’s not easy to forget a dead man who’s missin’ his winkie.”

The coleslaw went down the wrong way. He grabbed the bottle of beer by his plate in a desperate attempt to quell his coughing fit. “Winkie?” The word came out in a strangled mess. “I doubt that’s what they called it on the autopsy report. It’s a penis. Just call it what it is—a penis.”

“I don’t care. I prefer winkie.” She worked the potato goo with her fork in small, ladylike swirls. “Penis. There, I said it.” Tilly’s crystalline blue eyes threw out a challenge. “Now are you happy?”

“I’m delirious with joy.” He nearly did a victory dance at the feistiness in her voice. Gone was the pale, subdued woman of a few moments ago. This was the Tilly he knew. His chief competition at the network, the person he traded barbs with over everything under the sun. “And I still say she did the deed.” There, that ought to get her dander up.

“Oh, I forgot, you’re the amateur sleuth on top of bein’ Satan’s Chef.” She pointed her fork at him with deadly intent. “That has got to be the rottenest name for a show that I’ve ever heard. Tell me, when
is
your next anger management course?”

“Very funny.” He took another swig of beer. “Ha, ha.” He leaned back in his chair with a smile on his face, but his eyes betrayed his irritation. “The police probably have her in custody right now.”

“We don’t know that. I don’t care if her fingerprints were on the container, something doesn’t feel right.” She smoothed her napkin over her lap.

“What doesn’t feel right?”

“She sat in the front row durin’ the tapin’. Yes, she was angry, but the look on her face when she saw Ethridge’s winkie on the screen was real.” A frown wrinkled her forehead. “Someone is framin’ her.”

“Wow.” He clasped his hand over his heart and goggled his eyes. “That’s amazing. You deduced this from her reactions? Tilly, the woman laughed when his missing
winkie
showed up.”

“Exactly.” She nodded and leaned back in her chair with a challenge in her eyes.

“That doesn’t make sense.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Educate me, and don’t give the ‘oh, you’re a not woman, you wouldn’t understand’ crap either.”

“It was the reaction of a woman who was angry at him, and probably at herself as well. Like I said, they used each other, but she did it in good faith. He lied to her. It was justice in her eyes.” Tilly let out a self-satisfied sigh. “No, she didn’t slice him up.”

“If you’re so sure, let’s go over the crime scene again.”

“I sure as H-E-double-hockey sticks don’t plan on goin’ back into Ethridge’s room.”

“You’re right.” He took another swig of beer to clear his throat. “Anyway, the CSI unit would have it cleaned up by now.”

“Maybe Tyler can tell us what’s goin’ on.” She leaned forward to put her elbows on the table and cup her chin in her hands. “He gave me his card with his private number—umm, he told me to call anytime.” The dreamy look on her face made his hackles rise.

He needed to get her back to the New York studios of The Culinary Channel and away from the guy. The quicker they got the mystery solved, the better he would like it. “You can’t do that.”

Chapter Six

Tilly couldn’t believe what he had just said. “Why ever not?”

“You’re leaving Kansas City after all this is over. You have responsibilities to The Culinary Channel for the next few months. What about your book tour?” He squirmed in his chair; his fingers picked at the label of his beer bottle. “It wouldn’t be fair to the poor guy.”

“Gemma travels all the time.” A touch of jealousy bubbled in her blood. “I don’t think that kept you two from hittin’ the sheets.”

“That’s different.” A slash of red colored his high cheekbones. The furtive look in his eyes heightened her suspicions about his ulterior motive.

“How?”

“It just is.” He looked up from his task of destroying the label. “You’re not compatible. He’s a cop, you’re a chef.”

“When did you turn into The Culinary Channel matchmaker?”

“I can’t see it.” He went back to picking at the damp label, scraping the edge with his thumbnail. The little squeaky noise drove her nuts. She reached out to take the bottle from him, but he pulled it away.

She sucked in a deep breath. Better to get this out in the open than to let it fester. “You know what I think?”

One side of his mouth twitched upward into a smile. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Damn straight, skippy.” She dragged her fork through her cold potato, stopped, and glanced over at him. “I think you had your own reasons for bargin’ in on Tyler and me.”

“What would those be?” He raised an eyebrow, but she was well past being intimidated by that particular quirk. Let sous chefs wet their pants at the sight. She wasn’t buying it for a minute. He’d felt the attraction; he wasn’t immune to the craziness.

“You’re a smart cookie. I don’t have to spell it out.” She squinted at him. It was hard to read the well-schooled expression on his face, but she had no doubt about his guilt. He was jealous. “You’re the one who elbowed his way into our private conversation.”

“I’d already talked to Hirschberg about the two of us helping with the investigation. I saw you head into the coffee shop. I’ve learned to avoid the crowds. There’s always a back way into a restaurant. ” His lips thinned into a grimace before he put the bottle of beer to his mouth. “ It seemed like a good idea to tell both of you at the same time.” He took a long pull from the bottle and sat it on the table. “Simple as that.”

She was more suspicious than ever. “Okay, you’re the one who’s into murder. Didn’t you say that your friend from the NYPD would advise us to let the police do their job?”

“Yes, but—”

She held up her hand for him to stop. “So you couldn’t wait until I was through havin’ a cup of coffee with him to let me know you changed your mind? I still can’t believe you suggested this scheme to Hirschberg.”

“I explained that already.”

She wanted to grab him by the ears and pound his head on the table. Ruby’s admonition that a woman of the south never uses violence popped into her head. It was so unladylike, especially when a smile and razor sharp tongue were every bit as effective. Slapping Miranda didn’t count since she’d thrown one hell of a hissy fit. “I’m flattered you finally came around to my way of thinkin’. I still plan to call him. I owe him coffee.”

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Forget Jericho. It’s a good thing I showed up when I did.”

“Is that so?” She gave him the sweetest smile she could manage, considering she was boiling mad inside. “Maybe I might want to make a booty call? He’s one fine specimen of a man. A woman could do a lot worse.”

He patted himself on the chest. “You could do a lot better.”

A red haze settled in front of her vision. “Of all the arrogant—stupid—nouvelle cuisine-jerks.” She stabbed her fork into her potatoes with each word to keep from planting it between his eyes.

“Hey, hey.” He grabbed at the fork, but she jerked it away. “You asked my opinion.”

“And Gemma of the One Brain Cell is right for you?” She gently laid the fork beside her plate and cocked her head in question. “Hmmm? You didn’t ask my permission to do the humpty dance with her.”

“I’m flattered that you care.”

“I don’t.” His condescending smile added fuel to her raging anger, but she kept it in check. “You’re a grown man. You can sleep with any skank you want.”

Jordan shook his head and
tsked
in disappointment. “That’s low, Matilda, really low.”

“And you don’t think butting into my free time with Tyler isn’t? He was about to ask me out on a date.” She threw her hands in the air and got up to pace the room. “Do you know how long it’s been since I went on a date?”

“I’m not the keeper of the keys to your chastity belt.” One corner of his mouth twitched before he let out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, oh…” Her words died off as she spied the pies. It would be so tempting to wipe that smirk off his face with a big dose of coconut cream—the chocolate cream belonged to her. Tilly planned to enjoy every forkful after Jordan got his, right in the kisser. Her fingers edged closer to the saucer holding the pie. He was
so
going to pay.

“No you don’t.” He stood and made a grab for her hand before she could carry out her plot.

Heat from his fingers bypassed her brain and ended in an unquenchable ache deep in her belly. She couldn’t think as his other hand encircled her shoulder and drew her closer. Oxygen whooshed from her lungs the instant Jordan’s mouth touched hers. His kiss melted her from the inside out.

Her arms went around him on their own volition. She tasted him with all the pent-up hunger she’d suppressed over the years. Who would’ve thought barbecue, beer, and the man himself would make such a heady combination? Jake had always tasted of rot gut whiskey and stale tobacco. She felt Jordan’s arousal against her belly and she flew higher. She stood on tiptoe to take more, to give more. His fingertips feathered the side of her neck.

Jake4Ever.

She plummeted to earth with a crash that had her heart slamming against her breastbone. “Stop.” She pulled back, wiped her mouth, and sucked in a deep breath. “Just stop it.”

“Why?” His dark eyes burned hot with unfinished business. “You sure taste a hell of a lot better than that pie.”

She moved away from the table, her hand over her mouth as she tried to think. He touched her in a place she long thought buried, put away forever. The Wild Child reared her head. It would be so easy to let go, to be that young girl without a care, someone who thumbed her nose at people’s judgments about her. Tyler had pulled a few of her heartstrings, but Jordan yanked them hard, clutched them tight in his hands. Tyler was rock steady, sincere, where Jordan lived for the moment. Worst of all, he felt her surrender. She didn’t like the sensation of being in someone’s control. Never again.

“No.”

A knock sounded on her door. She pulled in a deep, calming breath and glared at Jordan. “It’s probably Miranda with Hirschberg’s orders for tomorrow.” She looked through the peephole to see Tyler standing there with a portfolio under his arm. The cavalry had arrived, just in time.

She plastered on a smile and opened the door. “Hi, Tyler. Come on in.”

He was smart enough to feel the vibes in the room. “Is something wrong?” His gaze scanned the room and locked onto the evidence of their meal. He zeroed in on Jordan’s stiff posture and the scalding heat in his eyes. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize Jordan was pissed. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“No.” She barely got the word out of her mouth before Jordan piped up, “Yes.”

Tyler’s flinty eyes looked first at her, then shifted to him. “Which is it?” He turned to Jordan. “I’m surprised to find Kelly here at this time of night.”

“I didn’t expect for you to show up on her doorstep either.”

“Hush, it’s nothin’.” She gave a little shrug and motioned him into the living area of her suite. “I had a panic attack in the elevator. He brought me back here. I’m fine now that I had a shower and a meal.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” His intense gaze inspected her unmade-up face, seeing every flaw, line, and dark circle she possessed. “You still look upset.”

“Sorry, we were discussin’ whether Olivia was the killer. We were havin’ a slight difference of opinion.” She glared over at Jordan, dared him to contradict her story. “It got a little heated. I think she’s innocent.”

“Guilty as charged.” He held up his bottle in mock welcome. “Book ’em, Danno.”

“I wish it was that easy.” The muscles in the detective’s clenched jaw bunched.

“Seems pretty simple to me.” Jordan walked over to where she stood and slung an arm over her shoulder. “She had motive, opportunity, and her fingerprints tell the tale.”

“She’s out on bail.” Tyler’s face screwed up into a frown of disgust. “The Culinary Channel footed the bill and hired one of those pushy celebrity attorneys. My captain said word came down from the top that you’re both consultants.”

“Damn, Hirschberg is playing both ends against the middle. Guess who gets to be the filling in this shit sandwich?” Jordan let out a snort of disgust as he dropped his arm from her shoulder. He pointed at himself and her. “We do. I didn’t think helping as consultants would get this out of hand. You understand that our boss will try to turn this investigation into a spectacle. He’ll want cameras on us the whole time.”

“Not going to happen.”

She hadn’t thought that Tyler’s face could get any stonier than it already had—she was wrong.

“He’ll get the same news coverage as the local channels. You’re not allowed to give any information to The Culinary Channel unless authorized by the department. Got it?”

“He called to say he’s already got permission. Miranda and Nick are ready to roll tape the minute we step outside. I’m surprised she’s not knockin’ on the door right now.” She didn’t like the idea of either of them dogging her every move. “Do you really think we can be of any help?”

“I have to admit, the two of you will have insights into the case that I don’t.” He smiled at her. It broke the rock hard surface of his face and revealed those dimples and strong white teeth. She couldn’t help the rush of giddiness that went from the tip of her toes upward. “Do you mind if I take my jacket off and sit down?”

“Oh no, of course.” All of her innate Southern politeness came to the fore. “Where are my manners tonight?” She took the portfolio from him and set it on the table by the door. He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. “I’ll go put this in the closet. Please sit anywhere. It’ll only take a couple of seconds.”

Her mind roiled in a confused ball of emotions, stuck somewhere between her libido and her heart. It irked her that she could be so hot and bothered by one man, and charmed to the hilt by the other. Especially with the three of them in the same room. The mental ménage à trois turned her brain to mush.

What was she doing? She glanced down at the leather jacket in her hand. Oh yes, taking care of his jacket. She hung it in the small closet by the suite’s door and returned to see him open the portfolio and lay out photographs on the coffee table.

“What’s this?” Curious, she sat down beside him and picked up one of the pictures. It showed the general chaos of Ethridge’s room, much as she remembered it. Other shots were close ups of the different items with numbered markers by each one. She recognized these as evidence markers from the true crime shows she and Ruby liked to watch.

“I dropped by this evening to get your take on some of the photographs of the crime scene. Besides, we didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation this afternoon.”

Jordan picked up a picture of Ethridge in the tub and scrutinized it, turning it first one way and then the other. He raised his eyebrow and threw the photograph back onto the table. “So you came up here, expecting to find her all alone, bearing gory crime scene photos instead of candy. How…romantic.”

“Will you hush?” She sat next to Tyler. Her eyes couldn’t help zeroing in on the photo Jordan had thrown down. She picked it up. No one deserved to die like this, not even her enemy. The memory of the body’s fish-white skin, and the burning smell of bleach made her stomach roll. The last thing she needed was Jordan getting pissy. She turned to him and pointed. “You know where the door is if you can’t play nice.”

Tyler gave a little shrug, however, the nonchalance held a bucketload of irritation. “Maybe it’ll be better this way since I’d planned on tagging you in the morning.”

Jordan sat beside her. He scooted in, purposely crowding closer than needed, leaning in until they were shoulder to shoulder, his thigh touching hers.

She watched as he put them in the order they experienced when they went into the dead man’s room. “This way I can see the pictures in their proper orientation.”

“Is that so?” She scowled as she gave him a little nudge with her hip to signal him to move over. Instead, he ignored her. He smiled and placed his empty bottle on the table by the photos. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting over there?” She pointed to the chair opposite the coffee table. Her heart raced, her palms grew moist. It took every bit of self-control to keep the picture in her hand from trembling. She didn’t want either man to witness her scattered emotions.

“Nope.”

Tyler glanced over at her. He must have felt her wriggle around in an attempt to move away from Jordan. “You wouldn’t happen to have another beer, would you?”

“Aren’t you on duty?” Jordan leaned back against the couch and slid his arm around Tilly.

“No.” Tyler ignored Jordan’s snarky question and turned his full, thousand-watt smile on Tilly.

Her toes curled into the lush carpet. Oh yes, she was up the infamous creek without a paddle to call her own.

“Let me rephrase that. A policeman is always on duty. My shift is over, so a beer would go down just fine.”

“I ordered our meal and the beer from room service.” Jordan held the picture up and ignored his rival at the same time. She found his dismissal of Tyler irritating and offensive.

“Excuse me.” She stood and went to the mini-bar. “I think I saw some imported stuff in here.” She opened the door and pulled out a couple of familiar green bottles of beer along with a Diet Coke. “Jackpot.” She turned around to see two sets of male eyes plastered to her rear. It flattered and disturbed her at the same time.