Ransom showed up in her office at nine the next morning. Ava hadn’t expected him to get through the entire meal plan overnight, and certainly not this early.
“Good morning.” Then she took in the state of him.
In all the years of seeing him on TV and in the press—not that she’d been searching him out—he’d never had a hair out of place, never looked anything less than immaculate. But today, a shadow of beard covered his chin, wrinkles creased his T-shirt, and his hair stuck out at all angles.
But God, he’d never looked better.
Despite herself, her breath caught in her chest. He was so real right now. Looking like hell and tired as all get-out, but still gorgeous.
“Did you even sleep?” He’d obviously been up all night working on her plans.
His answer was a mere grunt as he stalked to her desk, dropped a sheaf of papers in front of her, then turned and flopped down on the sofa, closing his eyes.
She suddenly regretted being such a hard-ass the day before. Because today, looking over the work he’d put in on her behalf moved her beyond measure. He’d created an incredible proposal. The menus made her mouth water, and his execution plans, right down to the staff he’d need and an incredibly reasonable budget, stunned her.
How had he accomplished this overnight?
But then, he’d always been amazing at whatever task he took on. Her catering needs were no different. She looked up, ready to give him the kudos he so deserved. “This is brilliant.”
He was asleep, completely out, slumped against a sofa pillow.
She had two choices. Like they did in the movies, she could grab a glass of water and throw it in his face to wake him up. Or she could put a blanket over him and let him sleep. She’d slept here many times when work consumed her.
A crushed piece of her heart obviously still lurked inside her, because part of her actually wanted to throw that glass of water on him. But she wasn’t that young woman anymore. She had to move past the pain he’d caused her, had to be bigger than throwing water in his face.
Because she was grateful for the effort he’d put into helping her. Even if he decided against working on the project, with these plans she was far better off than she’d been before. And she was mature enough to feel gratitude.
She pushed to her feet and removed a blanket from the top shelf of the closet. Spreading it carefully so she didn’t wake him, she looked down at him for a long moment. With his face in repose, he looked like the younger man she’d known.
And more than taking her next breath, she wanted to touch him.
But she dragged herself away.
Going over the plans a second and third time, she made a few notes, then got down to the other pile of work while he slept.
It had been only an hour when he startled himself awake, sitting up straight, one side of his face lined with pillow marks. After lifting the corner of the blanket as though he couldn’t figure out where it had come from, he stared at her groggily, blinking, then his gaze traveled the room as if it would tell him why he was there.
He hadn’t spoken since he’d walked in, but she said to him, “The shower’s through that door, if you’d like to freshen up.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the closet. “And my brothers have some clothes in there for the odd occasions they need them. I’m sure there’s something that’ll fit you if you want to change.”
He heaved himself up from the sofa with a grunt, swaying slightly as if he was still woozy, and spoke in a raspy voice. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Then he disappeared behind the door.
When she heard the shower running, all manner of thoughts zipped through her mind and shimmied down her body. Good Lord, the man was in her shower. Only three feet away. Naked. And though her anger and lack of forgiveness for the past simmered somewhere inside her, she could barely keep herself from ripping off her clothes and joining him beneath the hot spray. The vision was so vivid she could almost feel his hands on her, almost taste his skin beneath her lips.
She actually groaned aloud. Why couldn’t she have a boyfriend? It would make everything so much easier if she had a man in her life. She wouldn’t be having all these thoughts.
But that near constant hum of desire inside her belied the words. A boyfriend would only make her feel guilty about the thoughts she’d inevitably have about Ransom.
Why did he have to be the best she’d ever known? Not just his cooking skills, but in every skill he possessed. And Ransom had been so very skillful with her body.
She damn near jumped from her chair, paced her office, then stood in front of the long windows with their view of the bay.
But she could still hear the pounding water.
She suddenly realized he hadn’t taken any of her brothers’ clothing into the bathroom. Seized by the need to open that door, she now had an excuse. Riffling through the various articles in the closet, she found something she was sure would fit.
Knocking first, loudly, she cracked the door a couple of inches. Steam billowed out. It bathed her face in warmth, but the perspiration on her skin had everything to do with him.
She slipped her hand through the slit she’d made and dropped the clothing on the floor. “You didn’t take anything in with you,” she called. “These should fit.”
He gave a muffled reply, and she snapped the door closed, rushing back to her desk—before she pushed it all the way open and walked in.
It seemed he stayed in there an interminable amount of time after the water shut off, though the clock told her it was only a matter of minutes. Impatiently, she drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair.
She held her breath when the door opened, then it came out in a rush when he stepped through. The scent of shampoo and body wash and masculinity drifted out with him.
Tailored slacks, fitted shirt. Every muscle defined. It was even worse than last night when he’d taken off the bomber jacket. She could make out the tight beads of his nipples through the material.
She held on to the chair for dear life. Because if she didn’t, she might jump into his arms. He was a magnet for her. It hit her then that all those years ago, they’d just been kids, even if he was ten years older. Now he was all man.
And she wanted him badly.
But she was a CEO, a professional at all times. So instead of throwing herself at him, she said ever so politely, “I read through your entire proposal, and everything looks excellent.”
He was more alert, his eyes brighter, his chin clean-shaven. Thankfully, she had men’s razors in the bathroom for her brothers.
When he smiled, she did not allow herself to melt.
“Did you stay up all night working on this?”
He’d literally walked in, laid the plans on her desk, sat down, and fallen asleep. Of course he’d been up all night.
He grinned. “No big deal. I work on stuff overnight all the time.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts and raised one eyebrow. “I’m not sure I buy that. You’ve got a lot of people working for you to pull the all-nighters. Just like I have.”
He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You want the truth?”
Did she ever—not just about this, but about their past, and why he’d never come back after she’d found her own success. But of course she’d never ask.
She only nodded.
His eyes crinkled attractively. “I haven’t pulled an all-nighter in years.” He paused, then added, “Clearly, I’m too old for it.”
She had no compunction about saying, “Well, you are pretty ancient.” That had always been their joke. With their ten-year age difference, she’d razzed him about being an old man, and she couldn’t help doing it now.
Yet it hit her like a punch to her rib cage. Not only was she working with him, now she’d made another inside joke. What the hell was she doing? Why was she letting him back in? Yes, she needed him to do the job. But exchanging cute inside jokes? It was untenable.
Things between them hadn’t ended with a bang heard around the world. They’d simply ended without a single explanation. They’d never spoken again, as though she’d been nothing more than a casual fling or his temporary mistress, and since she hadn’t accepted his offer, he had no further use for her. His rising star had only been climbing higher in the sky, and he’d invited her along on his journey, completely ignoring her dreams. When she’d become angry, he’d ghosted her for fifteen years.
That was the thing she couldn’t forgive. Being erased from his life as if she were nothing important to him.
* * *
She was so damn beautiful in her pale blue power suit—tasteful, elegant, while the lines accentuated all her curves.
As he’d stood naked in the shower with her only a few steps away, Ransom remembered all the showers they’d taken together. All the sexy, mind-blowing things they’d done with each other beneath the hot water. And he’d wanted nothing more than to drag her in there with him, strip her down, and make love to her with his lips, his hands, his whole body.
They were dangerous thoughts in the here and now.
She might still feel the temptation of their past, but she hadn’t forgiven him. He’d seen that clearly in the tense lines of her body when she’d walked into his office yesterday. There was history there. Bad history. And coming on to her would only make everything worse.
So he went back to what he’d planned to say when he walked in earlier. Before he’d collapsed on her couch. “I need to see one of your facilities. The kitchens. The equipment. The dining room. Everything. As soon as possible, since we’ve only got twelve days to pull this all together.”
She stood abruptly, without even teetering on those sexy high heels of hers. “How about now? We’ll go to San Juan Bautista.”
He rubbed his hands together. Not just because she’d agreed to his suggestion, but because he’d have more time with her. “Great. I’ll call my driver.”
She wagged a finger. “No. I’m driving.”
She probably had a sedate luxury vehicle that would be far more comfortable than his sports car. And if she was doing the driving, he could do all the watching—her, not the scenery. He didn’t even know how good a driver she was, since they’d been apart far longer than they’d been together. When they’d gone anywhere, to a park for a hike or the beach for a swim, he’d done the driving.
But he knew Ava. She was good at everything she did.
Absolutely everything.
The car was waiting for them when they stepped into the garage, and Ransom almost let his jaw drop.
All those years ago, lying in bed with her in his arms, he’d told her every one of his dreams. About the restaurants he wanted to own, his vision of his future. And more. As soon as I get rich, the first thing I’m buying is a Pantera.
And there it was, the car he’d coveted. The red 1972 De Tomaso Pantera was a beauty, with its flying buttress styling in the back that made it such a classy sports car. Elegant Italian design paired with a brawny Ford engine, the car had been a joint venture between Ford and Italian sports-car maker De Tomaso. Only seven thousand of the cars had been produced, which made them rare in the current market.
Ava shot him a knowing smile as he drooled over her car as if it were a woman. As if it were her. “I haven’t taken a good long drive in quite a while,” she said. “I’d really like to feel her tearing down the highway again.”
On her lips, the words were sexy as hell.
“Where did you find her?”
She waved a hand. “A private seller.”
“I bought mine from a private seller too.”
She didn’t even raise an eyebrow, as if she’d known he’d make his dream come true. The way he’d made all his dreams come true.
Except one.
He marveled at their similar paths. A flat in the same neighborhood. Their headquarters in the same downtown district. The same car in the garage.
She must have been thinking about him over the years. Otherwise, why would she buy that car? What was she trying to prove?
The attendant handed her the keys, and she rounded the hood to the driver’s side, while Ransom opened the passenger door. He had to bend deeply to slide into the low-slung car, and once in, his head almost touched the roof. But the nice thing about the Pantera was its legroom.
Not the easiest car to drive, though. You really had to control the clutch or it would stall, especially on the San Francisco hills.
But as she revved the engine and gunned out of the parking garage, Ransom knew Ava Harrington would never stall this car.
* * *
The thing Ransom Yates had loved second best to cooking was a sports car. When they were together, he’d driven a beat-up old Alfa Romeo that broke down as often as it ran. But he’d always said that when he had the money, he’d buy a Pantera.
Ava hadn’t bought the car because of him. She’d simply fallen in love with the sleek styling when he talked about it.
Naturally, he would have bought one himself.
She’d chosen San Juan Bautista in order to check on Mrs. Greeley after the other day’s horrific incident. But she also wanted Ransom stuck in the passenger seat for ninety minutes while she drove south. And maybe, too, she wanted to show him how she’d mastered the car. The first few times she’d taken it out, she’d stalled it over and over. Pounding the steering wheel, she’d been certain Ransom would never stall his. But she’d conquered the beauty, had become its complete and total boss.
As she negotiated the San Francisco traffic heading out to Highway 280, usually the clearest route down to San Juan Bautista, it struck her that they were like two halves of a whole. The same Pantera, living in Pacific Heights, high-rise headquarters in the city.
Dammit, she was not his other half. She didn’t need Ransom Yates to make her feel whole.
But she did love this car, loved its power beneath her hands.
When they’d merged onto the freeway, he said, “You might just handle her better than I do.”
“That’s because it needs a woman’s intuition, listening to it and feeling what it wants. Instead of a man trying to bend the car to his will.” She pulled into the fast lane and realized she’d jumped all over him because of her own emotions. But he was actually paying her a compliment. So she said very softly, “Thank you.”
Since it wasn’t rush hour, there was little traffic, and it was almost a straight shot down to San Juan Bautista, with just a couple of freeway changes.
“So,” Ava said, “give me the rundown on your career from thirty-one to forty-six.” Without looking, she could tell he’d turned slightly in his seat. “I know you’ve done some TV.” She sounded as if she’d never seen the show. And really, she’d seen only a couple of episodes, maybe a few more, only by accident as she was flipping channels. It wasn’t a lie to act as if she didn’t know, more like an omission. “And I’ve seen your cookbooks in the bookstore. So tell me the rest.”
There were the snippets she’d heard from Dane and those couple of shows she’d watched. And maybe she’d leafed through a cookbook or two when she was breezing through a bookstore looking for something else. She’d never bought one, of course. Between the recipes, there were too many pictures of him doing what he was good at.
“You know a lot of it from when…” He let the words drift away. From when we were together.
She didn’t want to think about those times. Didn’t want his scent surrounding her in the close confines of the car. Didn’t want to feel that prickle of desire his body’s heat seemed to bring out in her. Maybe she should have let him call his driver. His car would have been bigger, and she could have pushed herself into the opposite corner, far from him. But Ransom seemed to take up the whole cabin of her sports car. She even rolled down her window for air. Being around him made it hard to breathe.
But she pushed on, just in case he tried to turn the conversation personal, the way he had last night. She would make absolutely sure they stayed all business. “Fifteen years is a long time. I can’t know everything. Catch me up.” She hoped she sounded conversational, not overly interested.
“There’s not much to tell. After—” Again, he cut himself off, as though he knew she’d steer the conversation away from their history. “I did a lot of those celebrity cook-offs. And the catering for a bunch of celebrities. It’s funny how it only takes one person to like what you do and then it’s all word of mouth.” She glanced over long enough to see him smile. “They all want the best for their big parties. And if they think you’re the best, then they all want you.”
She couldn’t help thinking that Ransom was the best. Of course everyone wanted him. Many of the exquisite meals he’d made for her had almost been an aphrodisiac.
“And somehow I just slid into the cooking show after the cookbooks took off in stores.”
“Do you enjoy preparing food on camera?”
“I like giving people tips and tricks to make their cooking time easier.” He gave a throaty laugh that weaseled its way inside her. “Like recommending a really good package mix for béarnaise sauce. It’s a pain in the ass to make, and the package mix tastes just as good. When I first did that, the producers were shocked I didn’t make everything from scratch.”
She gave him a sideways glance with a little smile. “Oh, so you take shortcuts.”
God, he’d always had the biggest, most beautiful laugh. “If I can’t make it any better than something I can buy, you’re damned right I use a shortcut.”
She snorted, pretending she was aghast. “Don’t tell me you use precut vegetables,” she drawled.
He waved a hand. “I have to draw the line somewhere. Precut can be dried out and flavorless. I’m not afraid of telling my viewers that.”
“I see the cooking show and the cookbooks are doing amazingly well.” He was always number one in the online bookstores. Not that she’d looked for him specifically.
“I always enjoyed when you and I sliced our vegetables together.” His voice dropped to a sexy note, sending a shiver running through her.
She couldn’t let that happen. “You’re going off topic here,” she singsonged.
“I’m still answering the question about packaged versus fresh.” Humor laced his voice.
But she had to push past it. “You’ve done catering for the rich and famous, extravagant billionaire parties, fancy resort celebrations, cruise ship festivities.” His events were so impressive they were written up in magazines. At least, that’s what Dane had told her. She might have seen a few articles when she was leafing through the magazines at the dentist.
“Yeah. Like Gideon Jones’s New Year’s Eve fundraising gala at Dane’s Napa resort.”
When Dane had told her Ransom was catering the gala, Ava had almost backed out. But the whole family was there, and they’d needed to support the Mavericks. Gideon’s charity, Lean on Us, for veterans as well as foster kids, was a good cause, and she’d donated. But she’d steered clear of the kitchens. And when she’d seen Ransom across the ballroom talking to Dane, she’d made sure to stay on the opposite side.
“So you know the Mavericks,” she said casually, hoping her voice hadn’t gone too high.
She picked up his nod in her peripheral vision. “The Mavericks are great. They invested in my restaurants and helped me open the first three in Vegas.”
She raised her eyebrows as if she didn’t know. It was uncanny how much she actually did know, as if she’d been following him on social media. “You opened three restaurants at once?”
“We figured it was a great marketing strategy. Different restaurant styles. A Brazilian chophouse. Something slightly lower-end that anyone can afford. Then a high-end dining experience on top of a casino.”
“Obviously, the strategy worked.”
He chuckled. “Big-time. The Mavericks are savvy businessmen. I wouldn’t have attempted it on my own, but we keyed off the cooking competitions I’d done and some of the better-known events I’d catered. But with the lower end, we were also saying you didn’t have to be a billionaire to dine at a Ransom Yates restaurant. Since I had all the contacts overseas, once the Vegas restaurants took off, things seemed to go viral. Now I’ve opened a restaurant in every major city.” He paused, and she sensed he was looking at her. But she didn’t turn. She just kept smiling. And driving.
She couldn’t avoid walking by his San Francisco restaurant—it was right there downtown—but she’d never gone in, had never even felt the urge.
A voice inside whispered, Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Not wanting to even acknowledge that naughty voice, she said, “So you’ve spread out internationally. Restaurants in London, Paris, Berlin, Oslo.”
“We’ve hit all the capitals of Europe. But they’re not all high-end. I don’t want only the very rich to taste my food.”
Just like his mom and dad’s burger and milkshake joint back in the Midwest. She knew his history. That’s where he’d caught the cooking bug and the desire to be a restaurateur. He’d come out to San Francisco only because his grandmother was living in a care home. After marrying her second husband, she’d moved to the Bay Area, and Ransom had visited often.
When he’d become the huge success he was, he could have pulled up stakes and gone anywhere. But obviously, he’d loved the area and stayed.
He certainly hadn’t stayed because of Ava.