Some Like It Hot (29 page)

She’d hurt his teammates. His guys.

If it came down to a choice between Eva and Danny’s guys, she had no illusions about who he’d pick.

Every single time.

Danny’s head was a tornado of confused thoughts and conflicting emotions. What Eva had said, what she’d done, what she’d risked in order to put things right … He could hardly process it.

When Cheney got a call on his cell and frowned as he jogged out of the kitchen and into the hallway, Danny’s breath caught.

She did it. She really did it.

By the time the judges came back, all the cameras were off, and the crew was coiling up wires and putting caps on lenses. But even the general confusion over that couldn’t distract the waiting chefs from their worry over which team was about to be cut from the competition.

Poor Winslow, waiting in suspense for the verdict, looked like he was working on hyperventilating himself into a coma.

Throwing an arm around his teammate’s shoulders, Danny steadied both of them and took comfort in the solid presence of his guys ranged around them.

A hush fell over the kitchen, even the celebrating chefs on the winning side pausing as they waited to hear who was going home.

Claire Durand stepped forward, and her beautiful, stern face showed none of the torment of empathy he’d glimpsed in her while Eva made her confession.

Instead she looked cool, completely professional, as she opened her mouth to dispense the judgment.

“First, as you might have noticed, the camera crew is leaving us. We have decided not to pursue televising the RSC, so that we can bring the competition back to basics: the food.”

That information sent a minor shock wave through the assembled chefs, but everyone shut up immediately when Claire held up her hand, too desperate for the rest of her announcement to drag out the suspense any further.

“To that end, after careful consideration, the judges’ panel has decided that it comes down to the individual dishes presented in the last challenge. Both teams put up interesting food, and gave us much to enjoy, much to think about. But in the end, of the winning points scored by the East Coast/Southern Team, the majority were won by the East Coast chefs.”

Danny’s heartbeat picked up speed, and he felt Winslow reach up and clutch tightly at Danny’s hand on his shoulder.

“Therefore,” Claire continued, “with regret, it is the team from Atlanta who will be leaving the competition.”

Win sagged under Danny’s arm, even as Max shouted with joy and swung Jules off the floor and into a twirling embrace. Beck ducked his head until his hair fell forward and covered his face.

Ike Bryar led his crew up to the judges to shake hands and thank them for the opportunity. He was obviously disappointed, but philosophical about it as he came down and clasped hands with each of the East Coast Team members in turn.

“Hey, someone had to be cut, and this time it was us,” he said. Winslow had recovered enough to hold out his fist for a bump, and Bryar grinned. “It was a privilege working with y’all. You go get ’em in San Francisco. We’ll be rooting for you!”

Danny thanked him and watched him gather up his team and leave, while the rest of the kitchen exploded back into raucous celebration.

Somehow, Danny didn’t feel much like celebrating.

Surprisingly enough, Max was the one who noticed he was missing. “Danny boy! Come down here and get your party on! Ryan Larousse found some bubbly, and we’re about to have a toast.”

Danny tried to brush his brother off. “I’m not in the mood. You go ahead.”

“Not in the mood?” Max looked at him as if he’d sprouted spun sugar flowers from both ears. “Dude. Let me break it down for you. We just moved on to the finals. We came
this
close to having to go home, but instead we live to cook another day! Sorry if you’re not in the mood, but you have to have champagne. It’s pretty much a moral imperative.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Danny tried to pull himself out of his funk. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay. Lead me to it.”

Max paused. “Wait. You’re seriously not happy?”

“I’m fine,” Danny said. “You mentioned something about champagne?”

“You’re not fine.”

“I don’t want to get into a semantic discussion with you.” Danny started getting annoyed. “You want me to be happy and celebrate, even though we fucking lost? Fine, I’m happy. Let’s go celebrate.”

Max held the wine bottle behind his back. “Wow, do you suck at being happy.”

“What do you want from me?” Danny snarled, reaching the end of his patience.

“I want to know what the hell is going on. Why has Winslow looked half a biscuit away from tears all day? Why is Beck going around even more stoic than usual? And why do you look like someone just tossed you a basketball covered in dog poop and asked you to dribble it up the center?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Danny deflected. “We made it through. And you’re right, the team deserves to celebrate.”

Frustration drew Max’s face tight. “
You
deserve to celebrate, is what I’m getting at. You always do this. You take on all the bad stuff for yourself, then pass the good stuff over to everyone else. You set a high standard, man. It’s pretty hard to live up to.”

Red hazed over Danny’s vision, the chaos and fury in his brain condensing down to a single laser point of anger, aimed straight at his brother’s head. “Me? What about you? I lived for years in your shadow, Max, and you weren’t even there to cast it. There’s nothing harder to live up to than a ghost. The fantasy son, who could always be perfect because he wasn’t real.”

Pain clouded Max’s eyes, but his mouth firmed up in that way he always got when he was serious about something. “I hate that you went through that. I hate everything I put you all through when I left. But, Danny, I’ve said I’m sorry a million times. Eventually, you’ve got to start believing I mean it.”

“I believe you’re sorry. But that doesn’t change how much it sucked. Apologies aren’t meaningless, but are they enough? And it doesn’t make it any easier for me, now, to trust that people are going to stick around and not leave me hanging.”

Shit, where did that come from?

Max, of course, picked right up on it. Eyes narrowing, he pointed the neck of the wine bottle at the cluster of judges talking to the West Coast Team. “Does this have to do with where you disappeared to after the challenge? I noticed you came back alone—and that Eva Jansen wasn’t the one to make the final announcement. What’s up? Jules says you’ve got a thing for our lovely competition coordinator.”

“Yeah.” Danny laughed, the sound dry and rusty. “That’s what I’ve got. A thing.”

Max cocked his head. “She’s hot. What? I’m in love with Jules, not dead.”

“Yep, she’s hot.” Making a quick lunge, Danny snagged the bottle out of Max’s hand and started twisting at the wire cap over the cork. “Also a liar, and a user, and a manipulator.”

And she came clean about all of that,
a voice in his head reminded him.
She apologized—and she clearly meant it.

But was it enough?

“Geez. Tell me how you really feel.” Max frowned down at the champagne bottle.

But Danny was beyond accepting help. The flood of protective anger rushed over him again, turning his movements quick and forceful. “You want to know why Win and Beck were upset? It was because of her. She hurt them.”

With one last, vicious twist, the cork popped out of the bottle and a spray of sparkling wine geysered up, bubbles cascading to the floor.

Danny stared down at his soaked hand clutching the neck of the champagne bottle, and panted. Max took the bottle from him gently, and said, “Sounds to me like the one she hurt is you, Danny.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not what’s important. What matters is—”

“What matters,” Max interrupted, a note of steel running through his voice, “is you. Your feelings. You matter, Danny. Quit hiding behind your need to take care of other people.”

It was as if Max’s words unlocked a door Danny’d kept carefully shut and locked for years. He shuddered, his bones vibrating with the force of it, teeth chattering in his mouth as he tried to make sense of the avalanche of emotion crashing through his system.

Yeah, there was anger at how Eva’s actions had affected Winslow and Beck. That was real. But it was mixed in with this monster blend of pain, betrayal, rage, and disappointment that clobbered Danny hard enough to knock him back a step.

Max grabbed him into a hug, his brother’s arms strong and fierce and tight, blocking out the rest of the room as Danny’s mental defenses crumbled into dust.

Me. She hurt me.

And now that he realized it, he had no idea what to do about it other than stand there and attempt to breathe through the storm.

“Come on,” Max whispered tenderly into his ear. “Just let it out.”

“Dickweed.” Danny shoved at Max’s chest, his lungs opening up all at once. “I’m not going to cry, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“Aw. Baby brother’s all growed up.”

“Shut your pie hole,” Danny said, laughing and pulling away to run a self-conscious hand through his hair.

Max bumped his shoulder companionably and lifted the bottle of champagne to take a swig straight from it. He wiped his mouth and grinned, but it was the concern in his eyes that broke down the last, cracked bits of the wall Danny had erected to keep his brother out. “Seriously. You okay, man?”

Danny took a deep breath and thought about the question seriously.

Eva had hurt him. But on some level, he understood why. He understood what she’d been trying to accomplish, even though she’d gone way too far. And what she’d said at the end there, the thing that had made him turn around and run before he could give in to the temptation to sweep her into his arms and kiss a smile onto her sad, beautiful mouth…

I fell in love.

The memory lanced straight through Danny’s chest, filling him with something sharp, jagged, and bright. Something an awful lot like hope.

“I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do next,” Danny said slowly, “but I think I’ll be okay. Thanks, Max.”

“Hey.” Max grinned. “What are big brothers for, if not to tell you when you’re being a total knob?”

“You’re a good brother,” Danny told him. “You always were, even when we were kids.”

A shadow crossed Max’s face. “Not always. Not when I left.”

“No, but…” Danny sighed. “You’re human. You made a bad choice. Or it felt that way at the time, but who knows? Maybe it was the right thing for you. It made you who you are, the guy Jules loves, the brother I needed right now, today. I can’t regret that.” He took a deep breath. “And I’ll stop asking you to regret it, too.”

Max blinked. “Wow. Toss a little emotional intelligence your way, and you take off running with it.”

Danny laughed again, feeling lighter than he had in years, as if he’d let something heavy and aching slide right off his shoulders. “Yeah, well. Talking shit out is supposed to be good for you.”

“It is,” Max said. “When I was at the temple in Japan, they talked a lot about facing your feelings. Sometimes, the stuff they said, it was like watching Obi-Wan talk to Luke about the Force. But I’m pretty sure the monks came up with it before George Lucas.” He shrugged and took another hit off the bottle of champagne. “Anyway, when I came back, I wasted a lot of time being bitter and stupid and holding on to my anger—but when I finally talked about it, it was kind of like magic. It fell away. I was like a snake shedding skin it doesn’t need anymore.”

Danny put his tongue in his cheek. “Okay, now you’re getting a little woo-woo for me.”

“Fuck off,” Max said, grinning. “All I mean is, when someone hurts you, tell them.” He waggled the split of champagne at Danny “Don’t bottle it up inside, or someday you’ll pop your cork and explode all over somebody.”

“Whoa,” Danny deadpanned. “You’re such a poet. Trying to give Kane Slater a run for his money in the lyrics department?”

“You only wish you could be as smart as me.”

“It’s true, with age comes wisdom. How long until you’re thirty again?”

“Oooh.” Max clutched at his heart. “Direct hit! Come on, enough of this girlie touchy-feely sharing time. Let’s party!”

Danny laughed and shook him off, glancing at the door the judges had disappeared through. “You go ahead. I’ve got something I need to do.”

Max dropped the teasing long enough to give Danny a manly clap on the shoulder and an encouraging eyebrow lift. “Going to try out your newfound emotional coping mechanism on Eva Jansen? Good luck, kid. The first time might sting a little, but it gets better.”

Danny doubted it. He wasn’t even sure what he planned to say. As he waved good-bye to his shouting, laughing, jumping teammates and slipped out of the kitchen, all he knew for sure was that he couldn’t let Eva go without telling her how she made him feel.

Eva leaned her head against the cool plastic window and wished the plane would take off, already, so she could recline her seat. Every bone in her body ached with a dull, grinding pain that got worse the longer she sat, as if motion alone had kept her joints from freezing up.

Pushing a fist against her chest, Eva frowned. Nothing hurt quite as badly as this yawning emptiness in her rib cage. It felt as if her heart had been scooped out with a melon baller.

It was really over. She’d messed up everything, and even though she’d tried to fix it, she couldn’t fool herself. Danny Lunden was never going to look at her again. She closed her eyes and thought longingly about escaping into sleep. Maybe she’d dream something nice.

“Mimosa?”

Opening her eyes, she turned to the flight attendant in the aisle, saying, “No, thank you, I didn’t order any … oh!”

It wasn’t a flight attendant leaning over the empty aisle seat, holding out a glass flute filled with champagne and orange juice.

It was Danny.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted. Dread turned her stomach to lead. “Oh no … I can’t believe they’re sending your team home. Maybe I can talk them out of it!”

She started fumbling with her seat belt, nerveless fingers slipping on the metal clasp, but Danny slid into the seat beside her and covered her hand with his much larger one.

Under the warm, dry clasp of his fingers, Eva stilled—except for the shiver that raced through her at his touch.

Unable to understand exactly what was happening, she stared down at their joined hands, trying to make sense of the sight.

“I’m here for you,” Danny said.

She frowned. The words all made sense, but somehow, she couldn’t make any sense out of them.

“To yell at me?” she said, feeling suddenly tired again. “Go ahead, do your worst. God knows, I deserve it.”

His fingers tightened. “No,” he said, intense and determined. “Eva, look at me. Do I look mad?”

Steeling herself, she raised her gaze to trace the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the subtle cleft in his chin, the sweep of his unfairly long lashes, before finally settling on his changeable stormy-sky eyes.

He gave her a smile, and that simple curve of his wide, generous mouth brought Eva’s heart back to fluttering, thumping life in her chest.

“If you’re not here to yell … and you’re not eliminated from the competition—you’re not, are you?”

Danny shook his head, that smile still playing over his face.

Relief shook her down to her toes. Thank God. She hadn’t cost him the competition. It was going to be hard enough to live with herself and the knowledge of what she’d lost—she didn’t know how she would’ve handled it if she’d caused Danny to lose everything that mattered to him, too.

“I got your assistant to give me his seat,” Danny explained. “He had some unfinished business to take care of with Winslow, anyway, and I couldn’t let another hour go by without telling you I’m sorry.”

Eva jerked back hard enough to bang her head on the double-paned window. Danny winced and reached for her, but she evaded his hand.

“What do you have to be sorry for? I’m the one who screwed up everything.”

The self-loathing in her voice flayed Danny’s nerves like a knife under the scales of a fish.

“Yeah, you messed up,” he agreed. “But I know why you did it. And I shouldn’t have blamed you for us losing—that was weak sauce. We’re chefs. It’s our job to work through pain and distractions. One of the first things I remember my dad ever teaching us was to leave my problems at the kitchen door.”

“That’s … extremely generous of you,” she said, in a stifled kind of way that made Danny think she didn’t really get it.

“I forgive you,” he spelled out, watching her closely. Then he grimaced. “So long as you can forgive me for almost going off on you and embarrassing you in front of your dad.”

“No, that’s not…,” she started, then subsided. “Yes, of course I forgive you. But it doesn’t seem like the same situation—I mean, you didn’t actually do it.”

“Because I didn’t get the chance,” he pointed out. “You threw yourself under the bus before I could.”

“Sorry to spoil your fun.”

Shit, this wasn’t going the way he’d planned at all. “You sure you don’t want your mimosa?” he said, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone.

“No, thank you.” She settled back into her seat, stony-faced and calm. “If that’s all you came to say, Danny—I appreciate the understanding and forgiveness. It’s more than I expected from you. Certainly more than I deserve. What I deserve is probably to sit here and take the punishment of having you so close, knowing that I…” She faltered, stumbling over the words, and Danny’s heart soared as her mask cracked a bit. “Knowing that I have feelings for you. But please. If you truly have forgiven me, could you just … do me the kindness of leaving me alone.”

Now she was the one who sounded desperate, and the switch raised Danny’s spirits considerably. “No, I don’t think I will,” he said conversationally, settling himself comfortably in his seat. “I haven’t been to San Francisco before. Do you think we’ll have time to go to the Golden Gate Bridge?”

Shock widened her eyes and brought a mantle of pink to her cheeks. Damn, she was cute when she was annoyed. “Danny! You’re seriously not going to get off this plane and leave me be?”

“After making your assistant jump through hoops with the airline to get his ticket changed over to my name? No way. And like I said, I’m excited to see San Fran.”

“Don’t call it that. Really. People will make fun of you.”

“Okay,” Danny said agreeably. “How about Frisco? Ooh, let’s go to Ghirardelli Square. I like their baking chocolate.”

Eva was staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. They sat in silence for a long moment before she finally came up with, “Are you okay? You’re acting … I can’t figure it out.”

“Really? I thought it was pretty obvious,” Danny said.

“Well, it’s not.” He liked the tartness in her voice, loved it when she got all brisk and bright, like lemon meringue pie. “So you’ll have to clue me in.”

“The chef contestants have a week off to rest up before the finals start. I’m spending mine in San Francisco with you, helping set up for the finals. Or wandering around all day and seeing the sights while you set up, whichever. I’m easy.”

“Since when?”

Ignoring her muttering, he continued blithely, “But the non-negotiable part…” He leaned in, made sure she was listening. “Is that when you get done working every night, you come back to the hotel or meet me at a restaurant, and let me be there for you.”

Her breath quickened—he saw the fast rise and fall of her rib cage. But all she said was, “I don’t understand. Danny, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, you’re not alone. You don’t ever have to be alone again. Not in San Francisco … and not in having feelings. You know, for me.”

Whoops, a little more awkward than he’d hoped. Maybe he should’ve planned out what he’d say.

Eva didn’t seem to agree. Her eyes were shining, her whole face was shining as hope and fear and relief and love and the beginnings of belief collided in her expression with a starburst shower of joy.

“Danny,” she breathed. “You mean it?”

He leaned in farther, brushing her cheek with his nose and nuzzling into the soft, lemony sweet scent of her skin. “Every word.”

“But what about your team?” She pulled back, a frown pulling at her mouth. “You’re really leaving them to make their way to San Francisco on their own?”

Danny felt a quick twinge, but he let it go. “They’re competent adults. Sort of. Anyway, it’s time to cut the cord. I’ll always be there for them, but they don’t need me to take care of everything. And I don’t need them to let me. Not anymore.”

Her breath caught, a tiny puff of air against his cheek. “What changed?”

“I found you, Eva. You’re the one I want to take care of, from now on.”

Even narrowing her eyes couldn’t quite dispel the joy radiating from Eva. But her voice was stern as she said, “And you’ll let me take care of you, too. Right?”

Danny pretended to think it over. “I’ll work on it.”

Leaning her forehead against his, Eva closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening. When I went into that judging room today, I thought I was about to lose everything. Instead, my father told me he loved me no matter what, and now, here you are.”

“Here I am,” Danny agreed. “Telling you pretty much exactly the same thing.”

She choked a little, and when he kissed her, her lips were salty with tears. Something about the way her mouth trembled under his told Danny that she needed him to spell it out.

“I love you, Eva. No matter what.”

Danny spoke the words into her mouth like a secret, but his heart had never felt more open.

“When my father let me take over the Rising Star Chef competition this year, I thought it was my chance. My golden opportunity, the one that would bring me everything I always wanted—and it did. But by far the best thing it brought me was the one thing I never knew I wanted.”

The sincerity in her voice, the truth beating behind her words, made Danny’s heart pound.

“I love you, and I’m going to keep loving you,” she vowed, her eyes shining and wet. “You’re it for me, Daniel Lunden.”

“Hmm. No more playgirl of the Western world, huh? You’re breaking a lot of hearts, here, Eva.”

“Pssh. What do I need with all those boys when I have the best one ever, right here in my arms?”

Danny grinned. “I don’t know. The parties, the gala events, the men falling at your feet. Maybe you’ll miss your wild and crazy adventures.”

She arched one perfect brow, that look he loved coming over her face. Wicked, dangerous, seductive, exciting … talk about everything he never knew he always wanted.

Eva was it for him, too.

“Who says I plan to give up my wild and crazy ways?” she purred into his ear, with a sinuous slide that brought her body into close contact with his.

Danny shifted in his seat, wishing he’d had the foresight to grab one of those blue airplane blankets to cover their laps.

“Eva…”

He actually felt her smile against his cheek. “Don’t worry, Danny. All my wild and crazy is reserved for you, from now on. Speaking of which, ever heard of the Mile High Club?”

Groaning and laughing, Danny grabbed her and brought her sly mouth to his. She moved against him eagerly, her lips parting.

“God, you taste amazing,” he muttered.

“What do I taste like?” He loved how one kiss made her breathless.

Let’s see what two kisses does.

Two kisses had her cheeks flushing pink and her eyes glazing over. Surveying her with satisfaction, Danny whispered, “You taste like hope and happiness, fun and anticipation. The whole wide world I haven’t seen, and the chance of exploring it together. You taste like love, Eva.”

She swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her full, swollen lower lip. “Oh? And what does love taste like?”

Dipping his head again, Danny kissed her once more. “A little tart, a little sweet. Complex. The kind of flavor I can never get enough of, no matter how many times I try it.”

She tilted her chin up, silently asking for more kisses. Danny was happy to oblige.

He kissed her as the plane taxied down the runway, gaining speed and momentum. He kissed her as they made the leap that broke the bonds of gravity. He kissed her as they soared up into the clouds, weightless and free.

It would take a lifetime—maybe longer—to discover every nuance of the taste of Eva Jansen’s mouth.

And Danny was prepared to give it everything he had.