French Roast Page 5

  He presented a finished plate to her. “Voilà.

  “Incredible! Five stars all the way.” As she draped the white napkin in her lap, Mutt started audibly snoring. “Does he sleep all the time?”

  “Pretty much. He’s my dog couch potato,” he replied, bringing over his white wine.

  “You always wanted a dog.”

  “Yep.” He gestured to the food. “Bon appétit.

  She responded with her best Julia Child imitation.

  His hand slapped his forehead. “Please, don’t ever do that again. It’s like taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “Like that bothers you.”

  “Eat, Jill. I want to see what my food does to you.”

  That comment stopped all conversation and almost made it difficult for her to swallow the first bite of mouth-watering gastronomic magic. The cream sauce clinging to the juicy chicken held hints of garlic and thyme. The potatoes couldn’t have held less than a stick of butter. And together, they gave her a foodie power-packed punch. Her eyes closed in sheer delight.

  “God,” she cried out, awash in a food stupor.

  Even without looking, she felt his body tense beside her. Her lashes fluttered open. As she watched, his fingers flexed on his leg like he was itching to grab her. She cleared her throat in an attempt to get a grip. “Did you get Mutt in New York?”

  His fork paused before it reached his mouth. Then he took a bite and chewed. “No. My work schedule was too crazy for a dog. The Chop House doesn’t stay open late, so I decided to go for it when I moved back. Plus, I can run home on my break to let him out. He’s pretty easy going, and he’s good company.” Brian speared a potato. “For a while, the only people I thought would ever talk to me in this town were Mutt, Jemma, and Pete.”

  As she fiddled with the watercress, some of the magic of the night faded. Their past was a minefield, and if they were going to move forward, she needed to stop being afraid it would explode. “Bri, I need to ask you something,” she whispered. “Did you go to New York and not Denver because of me?”

  His eyes narrowed as if he didn’t understand the question. Then he sighed. “How long have you thought that?”

  “Since you left.”

  “Are you sure you want to know the answer?”

  Her heart fluttered like butterfly wings, fragile and slow. “Uh-huh.” Maybe. Not really.

  He swiveled on his barstool and took her hand. “You thought that it would be perfect if we both went to school in Denver, but I knew that if I did, we would have gotten serious. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to give you what you needed. I knew how demanding culinary training was going to be.”

  “So that would be a yes.” Jeez, the sharp pain in her heart made her blink.

  “We were so young, Jill. My parents married right out of high school and look how that turned out.”

  They were nothing like his parents. A spurt of anger rose up in her. “We might have been young, but I knew what I wanted.” You.

  He let go of her hand. “You didn’t know what you wanted to do for the rest of your life. Heck, you didn’t even really want to go to college. You figured things out just like I did.”

  “And what did you figure out?” she asked, hoping that he would give her a straight answer.

  The way those Bengal-tiger blue eyes studied her made her want to turn away. “I figured out I want to be a chef more than anything.”

  The fiery determination made his eyes look like blue flames. “Why did you come back if New York was your oyster?”

  Brian speared the chicken. “Because I missed my friends.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I wanted us to be friends again. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even after so much time apart. We were friends for eighteen years. It was hard to lose a relationship like that. I’d…never had what we had…with anyone else.”

  God, she’d waited forever to hear him say that. “I missed you, too. I blamed myself for you leaving.”

  He spun her around and pulled her against his chest before she could blink. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Jill, I needed to prove to everybody—and maybe even to myself after everything my fucking dad used to say—that there was nothing wrong about a guy wanting to cook French food. Hell, if they could feel the heat off the grill, feel the sweat dripping off them in gallons, hear the cursing, and heft the pots as heavy as dumbbells, they’d realize how much of a man’s world a restaurant kitchen is.”

  His pine and musk aftershave tickled her nose. “You didn’t work with any women?”

  His fingers tensed on her back. “Ah…some. Like I said, the kitchen’s mostly a man’s world.”

  She let the sexist perspective go and drew back. “So you weren’t driven away by some mystery woman or anything?”

  His head darted back. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you never talk about it.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “There’s not much to tell. I went to school. Then I worked like a dog from the time I got up until the wee hours of the morning at a five-star French restaurant.”

  Had his determination led to isolation? “Didn’t you have friends?”

  “You make friends with people in the business, casual ones you drink with after a shift.” He ran his fork over a potato, making a train track.

  “So you didn’t have a long-term girlfriend?”

  He broke eye contact immediately and scooped up more watercress. The silence made her bounce in her seat.

  “No, I didn’t have a girlfriend.” Another pause. “But I wasn’t a monk, Jill,” he finally said after taking a bite.

  She looked down in her lap and fiddled with her napkin. She knew it wasn’t rational, but she didn’t like to think about him with other women. In fact, she hated it.

  “What about you? Jemma never talked about your personal life.”

  Her insides turned raw. “She wouldn’t.” Because there wasn’t much to tell.

  He ran a hand down her back. “I know, but that doesn’t answer my question. Was there anyone serious?”

  “No,” she replied, feeling her face grow warm.

  “Okay, then.”

  He leaned in to kiss her, his lips brushing hers like she was a crème brûlée-coated spoon. Chances were good Brian wouldn’t disappoint her in bed like her only other lover, who’d brought new meaning to the saying zero-to-sixty…as in he hadn’t lasted more than sixty seconds. Still, he didn’t know her experience quotient was worse than a farm team’s batting average. Would he freak if she told him? She didn’t want him to turn away from her again.

  He swiveled on his barstool. “Are you sure you want to explore going into the restaurant business with me, Jill? I want this, Jill, and I need you to be sure. The Chop House is a…temporary plan for me. My plan has always been to have my own place someday.”

  She thought back to Mac Maven’s call again, but pushed it to the back of her mind. Infusing her voice with more certainty than she felt, she said, “Yes, I think we should explore it.”

  “Is being with me the only reason you want to open a business together?”

  He’d always been able to read her. “Well, I won’t lie. I want you to stay.” Hadn’t he just said his current job was temporary? “But I also think Dare is ripe for a new restaurant that’s geared toward the Californians and the student/professor crowd. I need a talented chef to make it shine.”

  “Then I’m your man.”

  The vision she had of the restaurant rose to mind. The food would cater to their small town with its farm-to-table simplicity while serving a streamlined menu of avant garde cuisine for the more adventurous. Brian would give the job everything he had. Together, they could create something truly spectacular, and working together would give them the opportunity to combine their love for their work with their friendship and interest in each other.

  “Let’s do it.”

  He took her hand. “Deal.” His palm stroked hers. Their warm skin ignited fires in her body again. He pu
lled her closer and caged her against his body, taking her mouth in a wild kiss. He pressed her against the counter. It dug into her back, so she pushed forward. Off balance, he grabbed her and sidestepped them to the couch. He lowered her while caressing her all over with his hands and lips. Her neck, shoulders, waist, hips.

  When he tugged her sweater off, she tensed for a moment at the newness of his touch, but then his hands covered her breasts, and the sensation made her writhe and moan. God, it felt good. Before she knew it, he had her bra open, his mouth tugging one nipple and then the other. Her chest rose, seeking deeper contact. The tug and the pressure sent electric shocks down her toes and up her spine. Jill gave another anguished moan.

  He pulled his sweater over his head and threw it aside. Her mouth dropped at the sight of his six-pack abs, and when he brought their bare chests together, the heat and sensuous slide of their skin made her clench with pleasure. He thrust his hand in her hair, pulling her mouth to his and stroking her with his tongue, nibbling her lips with his teeth.

  Her body turned to water. Thundering, forceful, rushing, always rushing, like a mountain-fed stream. A new longing had her running her hands down his back to his butt, fitting her hips close to the hard bulge of his groin. God, the feelings inside her. He let out a throaty groan and undulated his pelvis in a way that made her fight for breath and call out his name. She pressed against him, seeing starbursts behind her eyes. The current inside her could go anywhere, do anything. It was so much…

  “I want you, Jill,” he whispered as he sucked on the skin where neck met shoulder.

  The hot breath and the incessant rhythm of his hips had her wanting more. But when he dipped a hand into her jeans, she pushed him away. Took a few shaky breaths to clear her head even while her body thundered.

  She wasn’t emotionally ready for this.

  His blazing eyes scorched her. Years of understanding passed between them. After a moment, his face fell. Her heart clamored in her chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears burned her eyes. He looked away. Took a few deep breaths. Then met her gaze, the pulse pounding in his neck.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” He stroked her cheek with a finger. “That was pretty fast.”

  She disengaged from him with a lump in her throat and stood there blushing. Her body pounded with unmet desire. She covered her breasts and watched the muscles in Brian’s stomach clench with each ragged breath.

  He stood, his mouth pinched. “I need a moment. After all these years…Jill, I can’t look at you right now without touching you.”

  Her pulse pounded in her neck. She eyed her sweater and bra on the sofa. “I’ll get dressed and take off. I can’t eat anything else now.”

  “Me either,” he agreed, his voice strained.

  Her hands fumbled with the bra strap, but after three attempts it finally hooked. She tugged on her sweater and stumbled to the door.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she rasped, jolts of electricity still igniting in her thighs.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll call you.” He didn’t move from where he stood, his bare chest all hard grooves of sinew and bone.

  Her last glimpse of him stole her breath. She opened the door and ran down the hall. So much for being on the path to liberation.

  Chapter 6

  It was pathetic to wear a jacket with a pocket in it just so you could carry your phone around waiting for some stupid guy to call. After her evening with Brian had ended so abruptly a week ago, pathetic pretty much summed it up. Brian had texted her, but he hadn’t called. Hadn’t popped by, either. Without anything else to distract her, she had dived into the plans for the restaurant, wanting to have something more concrete to share with him. She’d convinced Morty Wilson to allow her some time alone in the furniture store he was selling so she could assess it as a possible location.

  In a low blow, when she’d asked Brian to get together to discuss some of her new ideas for the restaurant, he’d begged off, saying he had too much work. She’d started to doubt herself, them, everything.

  But today was Valentine’s Day! And she’d had so many dreams about spending it with him growing up. This was her chance, or so she’d thought. She’d hoped he would send her a card or something, even if it was super early in their relationship. Maybe they didn’t have a relationship. God, she was becoming neurotic. No, she was neurotic.

  “You sulking?” Meredith wrapped her arms around her from behind as she finished making a latte.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Your face is as long as your hair. It’s Valentine’s Day. Why aren’t you happy?”

  “Because I don’t have plans.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe something will turn up. Tanner’s taking me to a lovely cabin up in the mountains. Roaring fire. Nice bottle of wine and—”

  “Someone needs to put a lid on it. There are single mothers around here who might break down and cry,” Peggy announced, stepping up to the counter and shrugging out of her coat.

  Jill and Meredith turned, greeting Peggy in unison.

  “I need a jolt to get through this love brings out the worst in people day. I’ve already had to pick up one peeping Tom who blubbered all over me about how he couldn’t live without his ex-girlfriend. After seeing all his surveillance equipment, I think the girl did the smart thing.”

  Jill handed Peggy her regular. “That makes me feel better. I forgot that it’s a field day for stalkers. At least I don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Like you’d be upset if Brian stalked you,” Meredith quipped, grabbing a chocolate from the red and white cupid bowl.

  Peggy assumed what Jill thought of as The Police Position, hands on hips, legs planted wide. Her forest-green button-down shirt with the Sheriff patch and Eagle County logo emblazoned on the shoulder screamed authority, while her tan slacks begged for help from What Not to Wear. The police belt holding her radio, gun, mace, and handcuffs looked like it weighed a ton of bricks. “You got problems with the guy?”

  “No.” Jill shoved away thoughts of the other night. “He’s working.”

  Meredith rested her hand on her shoulder. “It’s a big day for The Chop House. Heard it’s booked solid up to 10:15.”

  Jill snagged a chocolate—the consolation prize for girls everywhere who had no V-day plans.

  “Why don’t you have lunch with us?” Meredith asked. “Peggy, you can take off, right?”

  “I have an hour.”

  “Okay,” Jill agreed. “I’ll get my purse and coat. Margie—”

  “We’ve got it, boss,” her barista responded without missing a beat, filling the machine with more beans.

  When Jill reemerged, Peggy was talking with Margie. “Where’s Meredith?”

  “She’s warming the car up.”

  “What a wimp. It’s gorgeous outside. If I didn’t have to work, I’d head up to the canyon, maybe eat outside.”

  “You must be nuts. It’s winter! The sun appears for a second, and you people wear shorts.”

  She handed a cookie to Peggy. “This is for Keith, since I really do want to marry him someday.”

  “Thanks. He’s mastered the farting armpit sound this week. I’m so proud. Oh, he made you a card.” The red paper had glue globs of glitter in star shapes. “You ready?”

  “Sure.”

  Her hand mimed the royal wave, eliciting a laugh from Margie and the customers. She pulled her sunglasses on as she stepped onto the street. Her whole body froze when she saw Brian standing next to her sister—all decked out in winter gear.

  “You ready for some cross-country skiing and a picnic, Red?”

  Her hand thumped her heart. “You…you…”

  “At a loss for words? That’s a first.” He produced a bouquet of red roses. “You thought I forgot? That’ll teach ya.”

  Her eyes burned. Meredith and Peggy smiled. People stopped on Main Street to watch.

  Brian’s silver mirrored glasses reflected her face’s shock as he sauntered forward. “Happy Valent
ine’s Day, Jill.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, their parkas making a sound like cicadas. “I thought…I thought…”

  He kissed her head. “Keep working at it. You’ll get it out.”

  The loving sarcasm stopped her stuttering. “I thought you had to work.”

  “Tonight. No getting out of that. But we have the afternoon to ourselves. Okay?”

  “Okay!”

  He framed her face and kissed her gently on the lips. In front of the whole town.

  “You’re making quite the public declaration here.”

  “Like it’s a newsflash that I want you.”

  Her stomach clenched as she thought about all the ways he wanted her. Her breathing hitched.

  He leaned closer to her ear. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Red.” And he kissed her smack on the lips again.

  Meredith hefted a bag forward. “I brought your gear. Brian already has your skis stowed. Go inside and get changed. Margie’s taking care of the shop.”

  “You were all involved?”

  Peggy shook her head. “Yeah, Jill. Duh.”

  “Oh, my God!” She stumbled back into the coffee shop to change, realizing she might float off the mountain if her skis didn’t keep her grounded.

  ***

  Brian savored familiar motions: snapping cross-country skis into place; planting poles into the snow; feeling the sunshine beat down on him, warm and bright; sliding along the glaring white banquet Mother Earth had laid out in Mountain Laurel Canyon. And best of all, Jill was right there with him. The basin stretched out in front of them, flanked by mountain laurels, aspens, endless rows of pines swaying in the breeze, and rugged mountains dotted with white swirls, making him think of whipped cream.

  He’d missed afternoons like this in New York, where everything was quick and cramped and the streets were all dirty concrete.

  The drive hadn’t dimmed Jill’s happiness, but she’d recovered her powers of speech. Damn if he wasn’t pleased with himself. Who said women were the more romantic sex? The text-message-only run-up had totally worked. After all the Valentine’s Days they’d missed spending together, he wanted to make this a day to remember for both of them.