The Name of the Game (11 page)

Then he was gone and she could only stare after his car in utter shock.

Chapter Nine

It had been a strange, crazy day.

Gracie hung up the phone, tapping her pen on the pad of paper in front of her. Including Ron Sorenson, she now had five orders from people who'd attended Shane and Cecilia's engagement party.

Five. And it was only Monday.

She wasn't sure why she was surprised. She had confidence in her baking abilities. She might not be a professionally trained pastry chef, but she'd worked her ass off perfecting her craft. When she'd made the cake for Shane and Cecilia's party, all she'd been thinking about was her love for her friends and how she wanted to create something spectacular for them. Getting new clients from the party had never crossed her mind. If she had thought about it, she would have assumed all those Chicago people had some couture bakery they all patronized.

She put down the pen she'd been holding and took a deep breath. This was a huge deal. All the potential customers wanted elaborate designs that would stretch her skills as a baker. They'd asked for Web pages and portfolios. Tasting menus and cupcake flavor profiles. Things the good people of Revival never asked for, considering they'd known her since the day she was born. And they rarely wanted artistic. Sure, she did wedding cakes, but most of the town's residents were conservative and liked the traditional, white-tiered cakes she could do in her sleep.

These cakes were for the high society, Chicago power-set Shane and Cecilia ran with. They expected perfection and grandeur. Ideas raced in Gracie's head at the speed of light as butterflies danced a tango in her stomach.

Ron Sorenson's daughter's sweet sixteen party was in three weeks. Crazily enough, his wife had canceled the other cake she ordered because she'd loved Gracie's so much.

She blew out a hard breath. Yes, five orders less than forty-eight hours after the event was a lot, but it was still only five cakes. The deliveries to Chicago would be a bit tricky, but it was doable. It would be fun. Something different that would stretch her as a baker before she returned to her regularly scheduled program.

In the town where she'd lived her whole life, she never got a chance to stretch her wings creatively. And that was fine with her for the most part. She was happy. She had a good life. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. She had a nice, comfortable business. She was busy but not crazy. She made a decent living that allowed her to cover her expenses and still save some money. She had her friends and Sam, and she loved them all fiercely. Yes, sometimes she wished she'd gone on some of the grand adventures she'd dreamed of when she was a girl. But that wasn't the way her life turned out, and she wasn't one to whine, especially when she was so fortunate.

But these orders would be a chance to do something new, to test the skills she'd honed but rarely had a chance to use. She did love a good challenge.

And, the cakes were going to Chicago.

She traced her lower lip with her fingertip, remembering James's mouth on hers. How every cell sparked to life when he'd kissed her. He challenged her.

And scared her.

She hated that he was right. She couldn't control him. He didn't conform to her expected mold. While the men she dated dripped with testosterone, they were vanilla cupcakes with buttercream frosting and sprinkles, something she could handle in her sleep.

She gripped the counter and took a deep breath.

Had she started playing life safe? She thought of all the adventures she'd planned that had never happened. All the things she'd wanted to do that had faded into the background as real life took over.

When she'd graduated high school she'd never wanted to go to a traditional college. Instead, she'd longed to attend a program in Paris. As soon as she'd finished high school she'd started working with her mom, who'd baked for extra money. Gracie also took any odd job she could get her hands on, working two or three jobs at a time. Four years she'd worked her ass off, saving every cent she'd earned until she had the money to apply to the program, pay the tuition, and live for a year in the most beautiful city in the world. When she'd received her acceptance she'd been overcome with joy.

Two weeks later her mother had been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer.

Gracie had never claimed her spot. In fact, she'd never even replied, throwing every letter from the institution into the garbage, unopened. She'd turned her back on her dream and devoted all her energy to taking care of her mom, promising herself that after her mom was better she'd reapply. But slowly her savings dwindled away as she dipped into her stockpile to pay for the things insurance wouldn't cover.

Her mom never got better.

Gracie used the last of the money to pay for her mother's funeral, and never dreamed of Paris again.

Sam had tried to convince her to go, but even if the money weren't gone, she wouldn't leave him. Three years younger than she, he'd been finishing high school, running with a bad crowd, and getting into too much trouble. She needed to stay and make good on her mom's dying wish of getting him straightened out.

She'd never broken her promise.

And she'd never regretted her decision.

She shook her head and straightened. She walked over to her industrial oven and turned the temperature to three fifty.

Maybe it was time for a little adventure. Break out of her comfort zone and do something different. Since that adventure wouldn't include Professor James Donovan, fancy cakes for Chicago high society would have to do.

 

 

“So that was the infamous Gracie, huh?” Jane Conway asked, sitting across the large island in her open kitchen.

It had only taken her five minutes to ask. That must be a world record in restraint.

James gave his best friend a droll look. He'd met Jane his first year of college and he'd been trying, and failing, to keep things from her ever since. Despite his best intentions, she'd ferreted out information on Gracie shortly after he'd met her and had been bugging him ever since.

Still sweaty and hot from their long run, he took a sip of his Gatorade and tried not to remember the way Gracie's mouth tasted. It had been an impulsive move, brought on by her insistence that he would be bad in bed and the kisses that they'd shared hadn't meant anything. Despite what she believed, he wasn't the prude she thought he was, and he itched to disabuse her of the notion. Now he paid the price.

The woman had proved to be as big a distraction as he'd feared. At times when he needed to concentrate he found himself plotting what he'd do to her. How he'd make her beg. Scream his name.

“Earth to professor.” Jane snapped her fingers in front of his face, yanking him out of his thoughts. “Damn, I knew you had it bad, but I didn't know it was
that
bad.”

“I don't know what you mean. I had a thought about the Jane Doe we've been working on.” He did not have it bad for Gracie, she just . . . preoccupied him.

Jane grinned. “Oh really? What is it?”

His mind instantly blank, he blinked. Well, he hadn't thought that through, had he?

He blamed his blond vixen.

Colleagues at the university, James and Jane often consulted on cases together and had recently been called by the Chicago police to help identify the remains of a woman found in the Chicago River. Several pieces of data had stumped them and they'd been working on solving the mystery of what happened to the woman.

Caught in his lie, he cleared his throat and said, “I'm still formulating my theory.”

Jane snorted. “Sure you are.”

In an effort to change the subject he focused on their late afternoon run, a Tuesday ritual left over from their college days when they'd shared an apartment. Jane was as much a fitness fanatic as he was, and they still trained together a couple times a week. “You knocked a minute off your time. At this rate you'll break your marathon record without any problem.”

Jane took a large bowl of fruit from the fridge, a vintage-inspired red number that reminded James of a 1950s diner, and put it on the counter. “You're avoiding.”

“You're nosy,” he shot back.

He was saved when Anne, Jane's partner, bounced into the kitchen. “Who's nosy?”

James smiled at the petite strawberry blonde. “Your wife.”

“You promised to wait for me!” Anne sat on the stool next to him and grinned. “Gracie is
seriously
hot; I don't blame you one bit for crushing on her.”

James pinched her arm. “I'll be thirty-four this January. I do not crush on women.”

A loud harrumph from Jane's corner. “Please, this is us.”

James glanced around the kitchen. “Where are my goddaughters?”

“At their grandparents',” Anne said, rubbing her hands together in maniacal glee. “They can't save you.”

Damn it. Gracie Roberts was a subject he had no intention of discussing. Which was precisely why he needed his goddaughters; these two women were downright ruthless when they wanted information. Seriously, they could teach the CIA a few things about torture.

James sighed, a long-suffering sound that wouldn't fool Jane or Anne for a minute. “For the last time, there is nothing between Gracie and me, nor will there ever be.”

A few kisses didn't count. Of course, if he were smart, he'd never have kissed her in the first place. He'd always known once he touched her, he'd turn greedy.

“Don't be stupid,” Jane said, using that pragmatic tone with him.

James shook his head. “You haven't even met her.”

“Exactly,” Anne said, rifling through the fruit bowl and pulling out a bunch of red grapes. “Don't think we didn't notice you kept her far away from us.”

“Please, what was I supposed to do, drag her across the room and randomly introduce her to my closest friends? Why would I do that?” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
“She's not my girlfriend.”

James grabbed an orange and started peeling as he planned his exit strategy.

Jane shot her partner a sly glance. “Did you see the way they kept staring at each other all night?”

Anne grinned, nodding her head vigorously. Clearly they'd already discussed this. “So perfectly synchronized too. First he'd watch her, in that brooding Mr. Darcy way he has.”

James frowned. “I am not Mr. Darcy.”

Anne ignored him, holding out her hands like she framed a movie scene. “Then he'd turn away, with a stiff upper lip, and like magic, she'd turn those big blue eyes on him.” She pressed a hand to her chest, sighing dramatically. “The longing. But the very best was when their gazes would lock from across the room. All that tension. All that heat.”

“Jesus Christ,” James said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. Yes, maybe he'd been hyperaware of her all night, but they were clearly exaggerating. “You had a
Pride and Prejudice
marathon again, didn't you?”

“Yes, but that's beside the point.” Anne gave Jane a big goofy smile. “Do you remember those days?”

Jane returned the smile with a big goofy one of her own. “I remember them well.”

Anne swiveled on the stool. “See, we've been together for ages now, so we need to experience the excitement of new love through you.”

“Are you high again?” James asked, shaking his head. “For the last time, there is no new love.”

“Well, you and the blond cupcake do a spectacular job pretending to be infatuated with each other,” Jane said.

The comment stuck in James's side and didn't sit well. “Don't call her that.”

“Oooh, look, he's all protective.” Anne giggled, before puffing out her lip in a pout. “I guess that means I'll have to scratch her from my list.”

Jane patted her hand. “I told you, honey, you can't have real people on your list. They can only be movie stars or fictional.”

James's head was starting to hurt. He shot confused glances back and forth between the two of them. “List?”

Anne threw her head back and laughed. “It's what we long-term couples do to keep up the fantasy that you can still sleep with other people. Surely you've heard of people's lists.”

“Yes, but . . .” James sputtered. “You can't have Gracie on your list.”

“That's what I just said,” Jane reminded him.

What was this irrational spike of jealousy poking him in the ribs? What in the hell was happening to him? Gracie was straight. He had greater threats to contend with than Anne.

Threats? He frowned. Why was he thinking this way? Gracie
was not
his. He gritted his teeth. See, this is why he'd always stayed away from her. He'd kissed her twice and it was already making him stupid.

James shook his head as though it would help rid him of the thoughts. “I'm not participating in this conversation.”

Jane sighed. “So explain to me, what exactly is your problem with her? I mean, I know with those big blue eyes, wild blond curls, gorgeous face, and Marilyn Monroe body, there's a lot to complain about.”

“And don't forget she bakes.” Anne made a gagging noise. “I mean, ick. How can you stand it?”

Jane nodded, her expression serious. “True, true. Did you see that cake? It was horrid. There wasn't even a piece left. I swear I saw a congressman licking the plate, so, you know, stay away from that one.”

James could not believe he was being forced to participate in this conversation. As calmly as he could, he countered, “So you're saying being good-looking and making baked goods is the standard for women? Seems a bit at odds with your militant feminism.”