Chapter 5

Brian’s unhurried perusal of Jill’s outfit left her with no illusions about how charged this night would be. Sexual tension sizzled along with whatever was crackling and popping on the stove.

His navy V-neck sweater showcased his strong shoulders while his faded jeans snugly fit his muscular butt and legs. Her mouth watered from more than the smell of food.

“Hi there, he drew out, pulling her flush against his hard, warm frame.

Whoa! The slow kiss caught her by surprise, but yearning and lust sparked through her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and dove into the kiss. His tongue slid between her lips without preamble and explored her mouth with the same leisureliness of his heated gaze. She moaned deep in her throat. After years of fantasies, she was putty in his arms.

He broke the kiss and buried those warm lips against her neck. What in the world had gotten into him? She took a moment to quiet her panting. Jeez. She needed to go to kissing boot camp to get into shape for all this action. When he pulled back, she raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss me after dinner?” she asked although she hadn’t dared to expect that.

“I couldn’t help it.” His wink was playful. “Cooking for you kept you on my mind all day. What you might like. What textures might delight you. How you’ll respond when my food hits your tongue.”

If she didn’t have a good grip on him, she probably would have slid to the floor. Oh. My.

“I see,” she managed to say with a dry throat, trying to banish Peggy’s cautionary words—and her own—from her mind so she could enjoy the moment.

“It’s also a I’m glad you’re not in jail for the stunt on the fire truck today kiss.”

She cleared her throat, praying he wouldn’t say anything more—like he knew she was a stalker and needed serious medication. “Me too.”

He helped her out of her coat, brushing errant curls down her back. Then he took her hand and led her into his loft-style apartment. It had high industrial ceilings, and the main floor boasted a family room and kitchen area separated by an island surrounded by bar stools.

She reached down to say hello to his bulldog, Mutt, who lay drooling on the rug, as they passed the leather sofa. Like everything in his trendy loft, the walls were black, white, and gray. Brian clearly didn’t mess with color. Even his artwork had a monochromatic feel. She felt the urge to add a bop of red paint to the wall-size landscape of a foggy Paris bridge.

The kitchen was serious business with stainless steel appliances, black granite countertops, and a mega-industrial stove. He had canisters meticulously printed with the names of herbs and baking ingredients. Man, he had four kinds of flour—pastry, white, wheat, and rye.

He tugged her over to the stove. “I made chicken fricassee, potatoes with a beurre blanc sauce mixed with fresh parsley, and a watercress salad with orange segments and honey bourbon pecans.”

She’d thought she was putty in his arms? Try a puddle at his feet. “Wow! You’re going to spoil me.”

“Come taste.”

The smell of onions, wine, and herbs blended with roasted chicken wafted up at her, making her mouth water. He held the wooden spoon to her lips and placed a gentle hand on her waist. She opened her mouth, acutely aware of his touch, feeling a little off balance. He was feeding her like they were characters in a silent film about the Roman Empire, sans the succulent grapes.

The creamy sauce just about exploded her taste buds. “Yumalicious.”

“Is that a Jill-ism?”

“Maybe.”

The sauce’s seductive flavor only inflamed her desire for him—a lifetime of repressed feelings. She linked her arms around his neck again and brushed her lips across his, wanting more, needing it. She ran her fingers across the base of his skull, and he tilted his head to make the kiss deeper. A wooden spoon clattered to the counter. The stove’s heat only added to the rising burn in her body. She yanked her mouth free.

“God! I love kissing you.” The connection, the texture, the heat was even better than she’d remembered.

“Yeah,” he murmured against her neck, sending chilly bumps down her legs.

“And I’m going to absolutely love being able to do it any time I want.” Dating and kissing. Learning about each other. Peggy was right. Let things take some time. Evolve. She almost snorted. God, she sucked at that.

Those warm lips nipped her chin. “That’s not all I want to do.”

Her nerves came back, full force. She wasn’t ready to make love with him. There were things she needed to know first. His past. How he felt about her. Where he wanted this to go. Her mind wandered away from the kiss.

Brian must have sensed the change in her mood because he ran his hands up and down her spine and stepped back. “I know you don’t care much for wine, so let me grab you a beer. Then I’ll finish everything up.” He’d set the bar for two. Even stuck flowers in a clear blue vase. The cloth napkins surprised her.

“Can I help?” she asked when he placed a frothy beer mug in front of her after pouring an ale into it.

He turned, brow furrowed. “Ah…”

She made a slicing motion, shaking off her heavier emotions. “I…can…cut…bread,” she mimed like an ignoramus.

He snickered. “Sorry, I’m not used to…normal people helping.”

“So I’m a normal person now?”

He lurched forward and kissed her smack on the lips. Then he darted back to the stove. “No, you’re the least normal person I know. Which is exactly why I like you.” And he sent her another wicked wink over his shoulder.

The “like you” comment dropped her firmly in reality. Right, they were still getting to know each other again.

“How was your day?” He plated the food with flair. His right hand swept out like a painter with a paintbrush as he squirted sauce onto the dishes from a clear bottle.

Mac Maven’s call came to mind, but she didn’t want to go there, not when she was after Bryan to start a restaurant with her.

“Meredith, Tanner, and Grandpa came in the shop today, arguing about an editorial,” she said instead.

“Ah, the Trio of Truth strikes again. They’ve been sparking some lively debates lately. I’ve heard Tanner had them attend the evening journalist class he’s teaching at Emmis Merriam. The students loved it.”

“Grandpa gave me a hard time when I offered him a raspberry mocha. He said couldn’t believe someone would drink fruity coffee.”

Brian cleaned up the plates’ edges with a towel. “I love his descriptions. He’s eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world. I wonder what he’d say about them.”

“He’s probably on his best behavior at those places.”

“You know he was only kidding.”

She fiddled with her napkin. “Yeah, but it’s like a burr under my saddle sometimes. I’ve always wanted his approval.”

He set the towel aside. “Trust me, he doesn’t care that you’re not a journalist. He knows you’re happy running the shop. He’s proud of you, Jill. We all are.”

“Does it bother you, ever? Cooking in town, where people used to make fun of you for wanting to be a chef?” His family had been brutal about it. She still couldn’t believe all the horrible names his asshole father had yelled at him, especially after Brian’s mom had skipped town.

“Funny you should mention that.” His eyes narrowed. “I ran into Mrs. Thomilson today in the grocery store.”

That nosy old biddy, she thought, clenching her fists. “Whoever came up with the term battle axe had her in mind. Ignore her. She wouldn’t spend the money to eat at a nice place.” Jill dashed over and wrapped her arms around him. His back resembled iron. “Trust me, you’re the most smoking hot, manly man I know. All those people who used to call you terrible names can eat Spam.”

His laugh snorted out. “What a punishment. Thanks. Now go back to your chair and let me dazzle you.”

She stayed where she was and kissed the place between his shoulder blades. Let her fingers drag away slowly. Smiled at the hiss of his breath.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Uh-huh.” But she did as he asked, watching the play of his back muscles as he finished adding the pecans to the salad.

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 pulled 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.