Stef Ann Holm (15 page)

She wasn’t sure she could trust herself with him.

But Drew had clout. She sorely needed something to draw in clients. Unfortunately, cooking for Drew was like the open stock sale at Williams-Sonoma. Even kitchen-handicapped customers wanted a pan or a lid because the deal was just too good to pass up.

Drew was Lucy’s key to success. Once everyone heard he was her regular client, her phone would start ringing like crazy. Raul wouldn’t be able to do a darn thing to stop the steady influx of clients headed her way.

The fact of the matter was, what Drew Tolman did in this town carried power. Power she couldn’t afford to turn away.

So here she was. In his kitchen. With him looking yummier than a seven bone roast, and her with her confidence being tested. Could she actually go through with this and not botch it?

His presence got to her. Flustered her. She wasn’t sure if she was coming or going. He walked past—more like brushed past—as he went to one of the cupboards and took out a glass. He smelled to die for. She couldn’t place the scent. She just knew that she couldn’t breathe in deep enough to take him inside her lungs.

“You sure I can’t get you a glass of wine? Beer?” he asked.

She momentarily forgot herself, and was unable to reply. Then she muttered, “Uh, no. But feel free.”

“I’m going to have OJ.”

He poured orange juice, then slid out one of the breakfast bar stools and sat down.

Lucy stared at him, unable to move. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to watch you.”

Her reply was swift and steady. “But you can’t!”

“Why not?” Indolently, he propped his elbows on the marble top as he casually rested his chin in his left hand. His brows furrowed, his forehead creased and he had an expression that made her want to kiss him. It was that adult-male, little-boy look.

“Because you just can’t. I can’t cook under that kind of—”

Pressure.

He grinned. “Lucy, do I make you nervous?”

“Absolutely not.” The lie was about as bold as Colombian roast coffee. “Stay there,” she insisted, back-pedaling as fast as she could so he wouldn’t sense her discomfort any more than she’d already shown it. “I don’t care. You’ll just get bored, anyway.”

“No I won’t. I’m interested in what you do.”

Swallowing, she forced herself to take control. Be collected. Very unconcerned that his gorgeous gaze followed her every move. And then some.

She noticed he appreciated the outline of her breasts in her top. She’d chosen something subdued, nothing overtly sexy. But she did prefer feminine things, and that’s what she’d picked. Pink. It was her favorite color.

Vowing not to let him bother her, she reached into her bin and took out a white chef’s apron.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose when she turned away to set a saucepan and sauté pan on the stove. It was almost as if he had touched her; she felt tingles across her skin and up her spine. Quickly slipping her apron over her head, she tied the bow in front, her fingers fumbling with the knot. She tucked a terry-cloth towel through the tie so she could keep her hands dry and clean as she cooked. Still, she didn’t turn to face him. She couldn’t.

He just sat there, watching. Gazing. Slowly. Feasting. It was all she could do not to shiver.

She forced herself to maintain indifference, willed him out of her mind. She was preparing a medallion of beef tenderloin with a roasted sweet pepper reduction, spring mix salad with apples and feta, and garlic mashed potatoes. Preparation time would be approximately fifty minutes.

Lucy clicked back a groan. Could she last fifty minutes?

“How long have you been doing this?” Drew asked.

She slanted him a quick glance. His hand grasped the orange juice glass and raised it toward his mouth.

“About five years,” she replied.

He took a slow drink, his eyes never leaving hers as she watched him over the glass’s rim. “How come you wanted to do it?”

“I love to cook.” Lucy had to turn away. She focused on what ingredients she needed first. The red peppers, onions and shallots.

Spearing the peppers, she turned on one of the range burners and began to roast them. She liked to do that first for flavor, then she cut them up and added them to the large pot of Spanish onions with the golden-brown peels still on. She sautéed everything in oil—peppers, onions, shallots, several cloves of garlic. She even threw in one carrot for sweetness.

“What are you doing?” Drew asked, and this time his voice was a lot louder because he stood directly behind her.

Lucy could feel his body heat surrounding her, and smell him when she breathed. “I…uh, I’m making a sauce.”

“What kind?”

His eyes pierced hers, and she knew this was no accident. He was trying to shake her up, rattle her. Make her fall for him like all the other women in town.

He wanted her.

That became so utterly clear she almost laughed aloud.

My goodness—Drew wanted
her?
He could have any woman he wanted. Why her? Why now? Was this a game? What about Jacquie? Yes, they’d parted company—but when was that? It felt like only yesterday. He wasn’t ready to start something new with someone so soon.

And yet he was definitely trying to start something with her as he leaned closer.

“A…roasted pepper sauce.” Lucy fought her feelings, fought the magnetism that radiated from Drew. She wanted to curse him, to shove him away. A whole summer of this? She wouldn’t be able to take it. She’d break down and do something stupid.

She hadn’t had sex with anyone since Gary—and even then, it had been almost seven months prior to their divorce being finalized. One night, they’d done it, even after she’d found out about Diane. Lucy had thought that maybe if she’d tried harder in bed… But it had been a disaster, and her last memories of intimacy were filled with shame and insecurity. Now she wasn’t even sure if she knew how to make love.

There hadn’t been anyone she’d dated, been interested in since becoming single. In hindsight, perhaps she should have had a one-night stand. A fling. Something meaningless to get the bitter taste out of her mouth. Her neighbor had wanted to set her up with a good-looking man she worked with, but Lucy had turned her down. She just hadn’t been ready. Maybe she’d never be ready.

But with Drew standing so close, fantasy images of slipping his shirt off filled her head to distraction.

Smells of roasting peppers, a charred odor, caught her attention and she quickly took them from the stove, almost burning her hand over the blue flames.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping in closer to assess the peppers. His shoulder brushed her arm. It was all she could do to keep from screaming.

“You have too much time on your hands—don’t you ever go to work?”

“Sure. I coach Little League in the summer and I teach high school baseball in the fall when the school term restarts. Anything in between is leisure time.” He stared at her, the level of heat in his gaze almost making her tremble.

“Drew!” she finally snapped. “You can’t watch me cook. I’m having a hard time concentrating with you hovering.”

He stood back, smiled—slowly. “Well, sugar, all you had to do was ask me to get out of the way.”

But he didn’t go far. He went into the library off the kitchen and sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs. Propping his bare feet on an ottoman, he clicked on the television. The volume was a bit on the loud side, but she wasn’t about to ask him to turn it down. She’d simply have to tune him out.

He flipped through the channels until he found a baseball game. The commentators’ voices droned on and, with great effort, Lucy soon forgot he was there.

Within forty-minutes, she had everything done and was ready to clean up and get out of there. She plated the meal, which wasn’t typical of a cook job. But Drew didn’t want to be bothered doing anything himself, so he’d arranged for her to cook hot meals for him three times a week, and on special occasions if he requested her time in advance.

In exchange for her services, he had agreed to tell everyone he knew that she was working for him. But only if he liked her cooking. She didn’t want him to say he was enjoying her service if he wasn’t. Although that really was a moot point. She knew he’d love it.

The red pepper sauce, thickened with cream, went on the plate first. She arranged the grilled filet on top, put a twig of thyme over it for presentation. Then she shaped the roasted-garlic mashed potatoes, put them next to the beef. On a separate plate, she presented the salad. She had made this up—spring mix, thinly sliced Braeburn apples, candied walnuts, feta cheese and a simple grape seed oil and balsamic vinaigrette. It turned out perfect every time, and people were surprised to find apple in their green salad.

“Okay. It’s ready,” she said. “Where would you like to eat? In your dining room?”

“Not hardly.” He came toward her and she sucked in her breath, refusing to succumb to the erratic beats of her heart. “I never eat in there. Only if I have company or something. Which isn’t real often. I always eat here.”

He motioned to the breakfast bar, so that’s where she put the dinner. He didn’t sit down right away, rather, he made his way to her as she turned to wipe off the stovetop.

In the half breath she took as he reached out to her, she forgot herself. Whatever he was doing, she didn’t care. She leaned toward him, emotions colliding within and every sense on alert.

“You have something on your lip.” He ran his thumb across her lower lip, then brought it to his mouth. “I think it’s that pepper sauce.”

Mortified, erratic, unsteady, breathless—those thoughts and feelings crashed within her brain. “Y-yes…I tasted it to see if I needed more sea salt.”

“You don’t.”

That he could stand there, mere inches from her, so tall and wide and strong and everything that any woman could ever want, was beyond comprehension.

Drew was the epitome of masculinity, of fantasies and bedrooms and nakedness…and sex.

Lucy groaned, unable to stop herself.

“Lucy,” he whispered. “You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not!” The denial was too abrupt. She tried to move past him, to leave. But where to go?

He caught her shoulders, stopped her, made her stand directly in front of him as he looked down at her face. His smile was gentle and kind. She saw his heart in his eyes, and a slight insight into his soul. He wasn’t all that he appeared. He had feelings, depth. Complexity and character.

Had she misjudged him? Within those green eyes was loneliness.

The truth had her gravitating toward him. She fought winding her arms around his neck, wanting to soothe, to take away his emptiness. She knew it, because she felt it as well. She might live in a house with two boys, but at night, alone…in her bed it was a different story. She longed for arms around her, for lips to settle over hers.

And now they became a reality.

Drew reached out, cupped her cheek with his large hand, then tucked her flush against him with an assertiveness she hadn’t known with Gary. Yet she didn’t feel overpowered. She liked that he took control.

Even so, she resisted. “No,” she moaned, trying to break free.

“Yes,” he said simply, softly.

Their eyes held, locked and neither spoke. Then Drew’s firm mouth covered hers, in a light, brushing kiss that immediately intensified and grew deeper.

She held on to him, the hard wall of his chest pressing into her breasts. His heartbeat thudded against hers, the tempo strong. She felt light-headed, almost as if this were happening to someone else and she was simply an observer.

His kiss was subtle, but commanding. He didn’t have to think about it, he just did it. He took charge, control. And she let him. It felt too good not to fall into him, to kiss him back.

It had been an eternity since she’d been kissed, and never like this. She knew she’d curse herself in the morning, call herself every kind of idiot. But right now…right now—

Her slender hands roamed up his neck, felt the fine hair at his nape. He was so masculine, yet his hair was so soft. The texture was cool against her fingertips.

Lucy kissed him, opened her mouth to him, and his tongue slid inside. His jaw was smoothly shaved, yet rough at the same time. It bristled lightly against the tender skin of her chin. She didn’t care.

She couldn’t think straight.

If it hadn’t been for the doorbell’s ring, Lucy didn’t know how long she would have stood in that kitchen with Drew, arms wound around his neck, her body pressed tightly to his.

Or worse, how long it would have taken her to ask him to carry her into his bedroom.

My God.

Lucy backed away, trying to pull herself together. She grew immediately embarrassed, self-conscious. “I’m…” She let the thought trail off, and Drew instinctively finished it for her.

“Don’t be sorry.” He leaned in, kissed her quickly on the lips. “I’m not.”

Then he went down the hallway to answer the door. In the time he was gone, Lucy made fast work of cleaning the counter and shoving her washed pots and pans into her totes, mindless of the clatter. She had to get out of here. Quickly.

In the middle of slipping her apron over her head, Lucy looked up and stopped cold.

Jacquie Santini.

Oh my gosh—Drew and Jacquie had gotten back together. And here she’d been kissing him.

Lucy wanted to die.

Jacquie looked down her nose at her, but didn’t say anything. Lucy immediately went into rambling mode. “Hi, Jacquie. I’m only here to cook for Drew. It’s nice to see you.”

Not saying anything, Jacquie glanced at Lucy’s cookware and the gear she’d brought in. While the evidence of professionalism was there, clearly Jacquie wasn’t buying into the whole story. Probably with good reason. Lucy’s cheeks were hot, flushed. Her lips felt full and plump, bruised from Drew’s kiss. There was no denying what they had been doing before she came over.

Once more, Lucy wanted to die.

Drew didn’t seem to be alarmed over the situation, or if he was, he sure could play it down as if nothing had happened. To read his expression, you’d never know he’d just had his tongue in her mouth. “Jacquie came over to have me sign some real estate papers.”