Recipe for Satisfacton (9 page)

Cole laughed and walked back to the bar. “Like picking out the stuff you want to take with you when you leave?”

“No, asshole.”

“Like throwing everything into garbage bags and storing it in the garage?” Neil asked.

Jack feigned laughter. “The house is a shrine. It’s time we moved on.” They all needed to move on. It was the best thing for all of them. “And Sterling will be the one to suggest how things should be stored. I’m just sitting back and cutting the check.” And fucking her into oblivion. How could he forget the best part? But it would also be nice to not come home to an empty house.

“Look at you all adult-y,” Cole said, rolling his eyes.

He looked up from the last contract he had to sign. “I’m an adult.” Jack was sick and tired of always being considered less of a Madewood because he took off. “I just didn’t follow the perfectly laid out plan the two of you did.” Different was good. He was more than just tattoos and gossip magazine articles. And he had Sterling to thank for that realization.

“I’m all done.” Jack righted the pages of the contracts and placed them in a pile in front of Neil.

“Thanks.” Neil gathered them up and slid them back into the manila envelope. “I’m off to Carmel to get Finn’s signature.” He turned slightly to stand, but hesitated.

Jack’s stomach tightened. Something bad was about to go down.

Neil rested his palm on the bar. “Jack, it’s good that you’re focused, but I just…” He glanced over to the foyer where Devon and the female staff members were laughing. “We just can’t survive a scandal right now, and with Sterling—”

He looked between both brothers. He was referring to Jack’s indiscretion overshadowing the death of his mother. Instead of paying tribute to a wonderful woman, they focused on Jack missing his mother’s passing because he was too busy getting laid. But that would never happen again. Jack would make sure of it.

“What I do with Sterling is none of your business.”

If looks could kill, Jack would be six feet under. Neil didn’t like to be questioned. He didn’t like to be called out. Usually, Jack would have loved to engage in a verbal spar with his brother but this time, he was going to be the bigger man. “I’m here. I’m helping out.” He turned to Cole.

Neil’s eyebrows quirked up. He obviously expected a fight. But Jack wasn’t going to engage him. A confrontation with Neil wouldn’t accomplish anything and would only force Cole and Finn to take sides. Keeping his cool right now was for the good of the family.

“All right then.” Neil stood and walked toward the kitchen. “I’ll see you later.”

Yes, he would. And every day that Cole needed him behind this bar. Within the next four weeks, that is.

Chapter Eight

Sterling padded down the grand staircase. Earlier when her stomach had rumbled for the umpteenth time, she’d slipped into the kitchen to put her leftovers from the night before into the microwave. She’d been so busy she hadn’t heard the timer go off—it had been at least thirty minutes since she put her food in, probably nice and cool by now.

When she arrived that morning, she had started on the first floor of Vivian Madewood’s home—Jack’s home—making a first-round sweep of the contents. She’d spent the day marking items with sticky notes:
storage, donate, sell.
When he returned that night he’d review her decisions and she’d order storage containers.

The week had gone by in a blur. She’d just finished up her latest contract with Dunn and Associates, a multi-partner law firm downtown, and was set to start work with Prism Consulting Group on Monday. Her time at the Madewood home was limited, but she was queen of multitasking. She’d have this house ready in no time. Now that she’d decided to renege on her deal with Jack, she would have more than enough time to finish things in a timely fashion.

And the faster she finished this job, the faster she got paid. Which meant the faster she could pay off the debt and hopefully keep her house. The only pressing concern was how she was going to handle her parents.

She’d been nervous about seeing Jack this morning. Downright terrified. Luckily, he had already left for the day, leaving a spare key for her underneath the doormat. Inside he’d left her a note, a rather detailed note, advising her of his intentions to seduce her when he returned.

The fact that she knew how persuasive he could be terrified her even more, but she’d been prepping her speech all morning. Exercising her willpower for that moment when she’d have to keep her distance.

As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she noticed that a light smoke filled the air. And that smell. She inhaled through her nose and coughed. Something was burning. She raced into the kitchen. Smoke billowed lazily from one end of the room to the next. In the distance, she heard the
hum
of the microwave.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she cried, running over to the counter. The clock counted down on the microwave at twenty-six minutes.

She had keyed in six minutes.
Just six.
But judging by the length of time she had disappeared and the amount of smoke in the air, she must have punched in an extra zero.

She pressed the pause button. The appliance stopped, but the smoke that wafted from between the doors did not. She was afraid to open it.

Gathering her courage, she pulled the handle. Smoke rushed out in a thick, gray cloud and rose to the ceiling. Her food sat in its container, black and inedible. She was such a space cadet. On top of thousands of dollars in credit card debt, she now owed Jack a new microwave.

After grabbing some paper towels, she removed the container and placed it in a plastic bag. She tied the ends and left it outside on the back deck. She’d handle it later.

Racing around the house, she opened every window and door she could find. After ten minutes, most of the smoke had dispersed, but the smell lingered. What the hell was she going to tell Jack? He trusted her in his home and she’d almost burned it down.

With the situation under control—and her stomach still growling—she went back to work. It was the only way to redeem herself professionally.

Hours later, she was still working away, saving the best room for last. The infamous closet. The clothing that hung inside was so beautiful. Iconic, really. A fashionista’s dream.

She took inventory of the items in her head and jotted notes on her clipboard, estimating she would need twenty wardrobe boxes and sixteen shoe totes. Each tote held ten pairs. She sighed. What would it be like to be able to fill sixteen shoe totes?

Brushing her fingers over the tips of the shoes on the shelves, her thoughts drifted to her imaginary life where she could buy anything and everything she wanted.

She jumped at the sound of Jack’s sexy voice. “How did I know I’d find you in here?”

She whirled around and her breath caught in her throat. How was it possible that he got hotter every time she saw him? This did nothing to help keep her libido in check, and that’s where it had to stay. She needed this job.

It took her a minute but she finally found her words. “I do love it in here.”

His biceps flexed beneath the black fabric of his T-shirt, straining with the weight of carrying two heavy reusable bags.

Her stomach quivered.
Suck it, libido.
She swallowed hard. “What do you have in those bags?”

“Dinner.”

Hell yes!
Her stomach rumbled in appreciation. She was starving.

The thought of an established chef cooking just for her was exciting, but it was also way over the line. Dinner was intimate. Dinner could lead to things that just…it could lead to things.

“I’m sorry you went to all that trouble, but I’m not really hungry.” She turned away and concentrated on the clothes. Her hands ran over the fabrics for no reason other than to make it seem as if she was doing something.

Maybe if she didn’t look at him he wouldn’t be so appealing.

“Is that so?”

Or not. Even his voice made her tongue want to lick every inch of his sexy body.
Bad libido.
So very bad.

“I thought we had a deal.” The bags rustled. “I thought we agreed to try new things?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I changed my mind. I need…” She paused. There was no reason for her to dump her problems on him. “I shouldn’t have agreed.”

“Sterling, look at me.”

Without a second thought she turned. Giving in way too quickly to his command. She expected a stern glare when her eyes finally met his. But the tone of his voice didn’t match the look in his eye.

“I’d like nothing more than to hold you to our agreement.” He shifted the bags in his hands and a coy smile curved on his lips.

She would have given anything to know what thought had just crossed his mind.

“I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. Just dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

Just dinner.
She couldn’t say no to that. He wanted to make her comfortable. Jack Vaughn wasn’t the careless bad boy everyone thought he was.

“How do you know what I like to eat?” She hoped he wasn’t going to make her eat weird, freaky slimy things.

“Just leave the food to me.” He winked. “I have a knack for satisfying a woman’s hunger.”

Oh, she bet he did. She knew firsthand that’s not all he could satisfy.
Bad, bad libido.

“Get back to work. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” He turned but stopped and faced her again. “By the way, Sterling, what happened to the microwave?”

She gasped. He had her turned so inside out she had forgotten about the incident.

“Oh, I…had an accident.” She hung her head. “I burned the lunch I brought.”

Surprised at his hearty laugh, she lifted her head. He wasn’t mad?

“It smells pretty rancid down there.”

“You should have smelled it before.” She laughed. “I owe you a new microwave. I’ll pay you back.” She didn’t know how or when, but she would.

“I like the idea of you owing me.” He slung one bag over his shoulder. “And buying me a microwave is not what I had in mind.”

Her stomach tingled. She bet she knew Jack’s idea of an IOU.

He left the closet without stopping and she admired his backside, his perfect shoulders and tight bottom. The way his jeans fit to perfection.

Just dinner?

She only hoped he kept his word. Because she knew, without a doubt, that if he touched her, just once, she wouldn’t be able to say no.

…

Jack dropped a handful of salt into the pot of boiling water and then emptied the package of linguine. The stuffed chicken and steak rested on a cutting board off to the side. The smell of garlic wafted from the pan below, where it mingled with pancetta, waiting for the pasta to bring them together.

He felt wonderful. Happy. Happier than he had been in a long time. The thought of Sterling somewhere in the house waiting for him to call her down for dinner warmed his body, warmed his heart.

But she was hesitant. And she needed…something. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew what he needed right now—Sterling laid out on this counter for him. His own personal feast.

He’d set their table, two place settings on the far side of the breakfast bar. Large dinner plate, small pasta bowl. Appropriate cutlery, water glass filled with sparkling water, and on the right, two wineglasses—one for red, the other for white. In the middle was a row of candlesticks, three sizes, shortest to tallest from left to right.

“It smells good in here.” She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, one hand resting on her hip, the other on the white frame. Her hair was tied up haphazardly on top of her head. Her sweater was gone and she now wore a form-fitting tank top over her linen pants.

“Thank you. I just need another five minutes.” He was only waiting for the pasta. He patted the far side of the counter where he’d arranged the two place settings.

“How did it go today?” he asked. “I noticed a lot of sticky things everywhere.”

“Yes. I need you to go through the house and review them, change them or whatever.”

She had a specific process—he liked that. It was sort of like cooking: you needed to season the meat before you cooked it.

“Next time I come I can actually start with the removal.”

Removal? It sounded so formal. How would he feel when all of the items that reminded him of his mother were gone?

He grabbed the white serving platter from the counter and placed it in front of her after she’d sat down. The platter was filled with stuffed chicken and peppercorn steak, asparagus, and cinnamon-braised pear.

“Is that all for us? There’s enough food to feed ten people.”

He turned off one of the burners. “I like leftovers.”

After scooping the pasta out of the boiling water, he tossed it in the pan with the garlic and pancetta. Once it was coated he removed the pan from the heat and poured in a mixture of egg and parmesan cheese. Mouth-watering carbonara. He slid the pasta into a serving bowl and finished it off with some fresh ground pepper and parsley.

“Mmm…” Sterling’s moan of delight did something to his insides. Made them jump and tighten—pulsate. “Pasta is my weakness. I could eat it every day for the rest of my life.”

He laughed. “Of all the things, you pick the easiest and the cheapest.”

“I’ve never really had the opportunity to eat many fancy things.”

If that was the case, he was going to have so much fun. “Well then, let me introduce you to a new world of culinary excellence.” Another platter emerged from the fridge. “I hope you like oysters. Shucking these babies took forever. It seems I’ve lost my touch.”

“Oysters?” Her face curled up in disgust.

He stilled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you ever had them?”

She shook her head.

“Then don’t judge until you have.”

She straightened her shoulders and wiggled into the kitchen stool.

“Oysters are an aphrodisiac. In fact, many of the things we’re eating tonight are an aphrodisiac.” It wasn’t a coincidence.

“Why, Jack Vaughn, are you trying to hit on me?”

He smiled. She used almost the same line he had used on her that night on the boat cruise. “Not trying, babe. I
am
hitting on you.”

She straightened in her seat, a fearful look washing over her face. What had changed since their last time together? He wanted her now more than ever. Good thing he’d decided on an aphrodisiac theme, because he needed all the help he could get.

He placed the pasta bowl on the bar and took his seat on the stool.

A strand of hair stuck out from her clip and he brushed it behind her ear. His finger slowly continued down her neck. She tilted her head to the right, opening herself to his touch. When he reached her jawline he ran his finger across to her lips. “Are you ready to eat?”

Sterling gave a soft sigh. “Yes.”

He positioned her stool closer to face him, zigzagging their legs, his knee brushing her core. She inhaled quickly. He affected her—he had no doubt. But he wouldn’t push her into anything she didn’t want. “I promised, Sterling. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

She smiled lightly, and let her gaze fall away to the counter.

“Chin up, eyes closed.” He placed the shell of the oyster on her bottom lip. She tensed but she let her head fall back. When he tipped the shell, the oyster slid into her mouth. Her nose crinkled and her lips pursed but she gulped, swallowing it down hard.

“It’s like phlegm. It’s like phlegm going down your throat.”

He laughed. “I take it you don’t like oysters.”

She shook her head and grabbed the glass of water beside her.

“At least you tried it. That’s all I asked.” He grabbed his another shell and shook the bottle of Tabasco, covering the oyster in spicy sauce. He tilted his head and slurped it down. When he looked over, she was disgusted just watching him eat one.

“I guess we’re skipping over the first course and getting right down to course number two. Ready to try something else?”