The Perfect Ingredient (Dare Valley) (16 page)

“Abbie. She loves to do it, and she knows me some. I figured it would be nicer than hiring a stranger.”

“She did a great job,” she said, noting the small feminine touches that softened the masculine space, like the Irish merino wool throw in blue, white, and Kelly green folded over the arm of the sofa and the trio of beeswax candles on a curvy candelabra.

“Come. The kitchen is this way.”

When he held out his hand, she hesitated. Touching him this early in the night wouldn’t be a good idea.

“You never were afraid before.”

That cinched it. She put her hand in his, feeling the familiar jolt of attraction fan out inside her, then explode like fireworks.

His kitchen’s industrial perfection didn’t surprise her one bit, from its Viking range to the selection of copper pots hanging on the wall. Even his knives gleamed from their perch on a magnetic strip, looking menacing—ready to slice any vegetable or fruit that dared cross their path.

“So what’s for dinner specifically?” she asked as he made their cocktails.

Everything he needed was already prepped on the counter. Watching Terrance cook had always been arousing to her, almost as much as having him caress her. He brought the same intensity and passion to cooking as he did to sex.

"I didn’t think you’d go for crayfish pie, although Rye could have brought me some from Dare River.” He dropped a sugar cube and a splash of water into a glass and swirled it around until the sugar dissolved, then added ice chips.

Crayfish? Thank God he’d refrained. She winced at the thought of those squirming bottom feeders. Rhett loved to suck their heads, which made her queasy every time.

“So my chef friend, Beauregard Boudin—”

“God bless you,” she quipped.

His easy laugh made her smile, and she knew they had found their old rhythm again. Or was it their new rhythm? Oh hell, who cared?

He added the cognac, bitters, Pernod—an anise-flavored liquor—and more crushed ice. After stirring, he strained the mixture into an Old-Fashioned glass and then impressed the heck out of her by grabbing a cigarette lighter and lighting a lemon peel on fire to release the oil. He slid the cocktail to her.

“I won’t tell Beauregard that. He’s wicked with a knife.”

He made himself a drink next, giving it his full attention. As she watched him become lost in the art of mixology, she sipped the Sazerac. It was potent and sweet and spicy—just like her host.

“I made a combination of Cajun and Creole food to be more specific,” he said as he finished preparing his drink, “but I expect you’re not that interested in the difference, right?”

“Not when the food smells so good that I want to start eating right away. I didn’t eat lunch.” She could tell he was being purposefully vague, but she was going to call him on it.

“Saving yourself for me, were you?”

The double meaning had her thighs clenching. “Are you going to feed me or what?”

“You always did have a one track mind.”

They both remembered she had never been able to wait for anything with him.

“Cheers,” he said and held out his glass, which she touched with her own. “To new memories with old friends.”

Oh, the things she wanted to do for him when he was sweet like this. “Cheers.”

“How does Oysters Rockefeller sound for starters?” he asked after taking a sip. “That sure hits the spot.”

“I love oysters.” Of course, he already knew that.

She’d fed him raw oysters one night after a super long day in the kitchen. The jokes he had cracked about oysters’ supposed aphrodisiac powers had made her laugh—at least until he had proven them all correct.

He brought out a platter of already prepared Oysters Rockefeller. “I fired up the grill before I picked you up. This will just take a moment. Why don’t you bring your drink out to the deck, and you can watch me?”

Oh, the way he said that…

“I might just stay in here.”

His mouth twitched. “Too bad. It’s a pretty good show.”

Yes, this is why
The Tattooed Chef
garnered big ratings.

Her laughter sputtered out. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Absolutely. Can you bring my drink too?”

With both hands holding their drinks, she followed him out onto his massive deck. Terrance was already laying the oysters on the grill, shell down, in a straight line.

“About dance class last night…”

“I was hoping you weren’t going to mention it,” he said as he closed the lid and picked up his drink.

“Are you kidding? You show up with Rhett, Rye, and Clayton, and take off your shirts in my class… And as for Jill teaching you, that girl is in big trouble.”

“I wanted to show you how much I want to be with you again. You never thought I’d come, did you?”

She took a drink, taking her time with her answer. “I thought you might welsh or walk out early. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.”

“You threw down the gauntlet, and trust me, part of me thinks it would have been easier to whirl chainsaw blades over fire than dance like that in front of a bunch of women.”

“Hence your boys.”

“You know them. They weren’t going to let me go into the den alone.”

Now that the sun had set, the night was all around them. She saw the first star over his right shoulder and made a wish.

Please don’t let me get scared again.

“What were you all thinking, taking your shirts off like that?” She already suspected, but she wanted to hear his side.

His laugh was more of a snort. “We hoped to throw off either you or your class. As you could tell, we weren’t experts. Especially when you got sneaky and changed the music on us.”

He checked the oysters and fished out some tongs from under the grill cabinet to remove them and nestle them back onto the platter.

“That didn’t work so well for me,” she commented, grabbing his drink as they headed back inside.

“Thank God. I had this horrible vision of being emasculated in front of Dare’s female population.”

Emasculate
him
? There wasn’t a girly enough song on the planet to make that happen.

“You guys did really great for your first time, but don’t you
dare
tell the other guys I said so.”

He set the tray down on the counter and made the motion of zipping up his lips. “I promise. Hearing you say it is enough to rebalance my testosterone.”

Her laughter bubbled out. “I have a hard time imagining it’s deficient.”

Their gazes locked, and his hands stilled on the counter. Like he wanted to touch her and was fighting the urge.

“Come on,” he said, his voice husky now. “We need to eat these while they’re warm.”

Arranging them on a serving dish, he carried them to the dining room table. “Hang on. I forgot to light the candles.”

Candles? Oh boy. He was going all out, and her chest was growing tighter by the minute. Arousal and romance were an impossible combo to fight. She sat down and put her white napkin in her lap. The flames danced on those twin pillars after he lit them. When he finally took his seat, he extended the platter to her.

“Ladies first.”

It was another joke between them, and heat flashed through her body.

“Thank you.”

“
My pleasure.
”

Yep, no way she was going to last the night. Maybe she could text Jane in the bathroom to call her with a fake emergency. But that would be wimping out, standing down out of fear, and she wasn’t going to do it.

The soft, delicate oyster slid into her mouth, and as she chewed, her tongue danced with the flavor of bread crumbs, melted parmesan cheese, chopped spinach, and other spices followed off by the tartness of the lemon he must have squeezed when she wasn’t looking.

“Oh, these are so good. It makes me miss New Orleans.”

“When is Rhett playing there again?” Terrance asked, making his own sound of appreciation when he sampled the first oyster.

“We don’t have anything planned yet. He and Rye are talking about taking Abbie and Tory there sometime in the fall after Rye’s summer tour is over. We’ll see. If that’s the case, I may not go with him. He won’t need me to play recreationally in the casinos there.”

“What’s it like being his publicist now?” Then he wiped his mouth. “Is it okay to talk about you being Vixen?”

She wasn’t sure what he planned on asking. Nor was she sure if she was ready to answer all his questions, but this one seemed harmless enough.

“I love it, honestly. It’s been fun interacting with his fans and thinking up inventive ways to promote him. Now that he’s given Annie to Jane, we don’t have the dog to add to his flamboyance, but he’s fine with that. With Rhett’s colorful way of speaking, I usually have plenty of things to tweet about or supply to the media.”

He chewed thoughtfully, and she knew what was coming.

“Do you miss being Vixen?”

“Sometimes. You didn’t tell me what you made for the entrée.”

For a long moment, he only sipped his cocktail. Like he was waiting her out. Well, she wasn’t going to bite. If she started talking about Vixen, it would only dredge up the past and other questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer tonight.

“I made Shrimp Creole,” he said finally. “Another one of your favorites.”

He’d kept an eclectic menu at The Peacock, developing regional specials to suit the various poker players. Cajun had been on the menu as a special for a week during their summer together, and she’d been in seventh heaven.

When the last oyster was gone, he rose and grabbed the platter. “I just need to finish our dinner.”

This time he didn’t ask her to come into the kitchen with him, and it seemed as though the earlier spell between them, the one where everything was easy and light, had been broken. Now the heaviness of the past and her secrets hung between them.

She pushed back from her chair and headed to the kitchen, determined to restore it. He was flipping shrimp in that spectacular move chefs make, jerking the pan from front to back to somersault the food through the air like a circus performer.

“I didn’t tell you who I really was before because no one but Rhett and Jane knew,” she said in a hushed voice.

Even through his jacket she could tell the muscles in his back were tense. He set the pan down and turned to look at her.

“I don’t want to go into everything,” she continued, “but Jane and I both had our reasons for becoming Raven and Vixen. Can we leave it at that for now?” She reached for her diamond necklace to anchor herself. “I don’t want to spoil tonight.”

He turned down the flame on the stove and approached her. “If there’s one thing I thought you knew, it was that you could trust me.”

She shook her head. “We never trusted anyone with the information. Well, except for Mac… Rhett told him in strict confidence. I wanted to tell you…”

“But you didn’t,” he said softly.

“But I didn’t.” And there was regret in her voice.

His progress back to the stove was slow, even though he finished off the entrée with his trademark efficiency. He took another platter out of the refrigerator and set a pan on the burner, adding olive oil. As it warmed, he slid the circular cake-like objects from the platter into the pan. That done, he drew out another platter, this one filled with sliced okra.

She fiddled with her clothing as he cooked—he was either totally immersed in cooking, or he was gathering himself.

It wouldn’t surprise her one bit to hear him constructing a new wall of plaster and brick between them.

And she wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Not one bit.

When he brought the food to the table, her appetite had disappeared, but she pointed to the cakes anyway and asked, “What are these?”

“Andouille sausage and goat cheese cakes made out of grits. I hope you like them. Unlike creamy grits, they have a nice crunch to them. I like the structure it gives to the meal.”

She served herself a small portion of food. The silence grew heavier between them as they started to eat.

“This is really good.” As a compliment, she knew it was weak, but it was becoming more difficult to speak.

She knew she had two choices.

Tell him some of her past.

Or remain guarded and leave as soon as she pushed around the food on her plate.

“I forgot the wine,” he said and made a motion to rise.

Didn’t that speak volumes as to how tense things were between them now?

“No need. The cocktail was enough for me.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing as he sat back down. Only speared a large tiger shrimp and chewed.

The awkwardness between them was like a heavy fog descending from the mountains, obscuring the way forward. As she took small bites of the delicacies he’d created especially for her liking, she could feel herself drawing away.

If she told him why she became Vixen, it would mean something. And she was so afraid of going back to that place with him, of making herself vulnerable.

She was afraid to care about him again. To have him show her that there could be so much more than simple fun and sex. To trust a man was the biggest gamble of all, as Vince had taught her. What if the violence was still in Terrance, and it resurfaced again, destroying her faith in him?

“You’re not eating much,” he finally commented, and truth be told, he hadn’t cleared his plate either.

Her mouth lifted at the corners. “The food is excellent. I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought. Perhaps you should take me home.” The words made her want to cry as she said them, but she forced them out anyway.

He wiped his mouth and rested the napkin on the table. “All right.”

Why wasn’t he arguing with her? Why wasn’t he pressing her to tell him? Just yesterday, he’d shown up at her dance class and danced—actually danced—to a series of embarrassing songs just to go out with her again.

Would Terrance Waters ever make sense to her, and would she ever want to stop running away from him when her heart asked for more? Her earlier wish on the star rising in the sky had amounted to nothing.

Rising from the table, he strode to the front door without further comment and grabbed his keys. She set her napkin aside and picked up her purse and shawl on the way out. This time he didn’t open her car door. They drove in silence back to her house.