Into the Fire (6 page)

Emily shook her head. “Let Jack explain, which I’m sure he would be doing already if you weren’t late, as usual. Get your ass up to the line.” He gave Lila one last wary look before he dropped his hoodie on a hook and shot back up toward the line.

A few seconds later, Jack bellowed her name.

Nervousness buzzed inside her, and she took a deep breath, trying not to show it.

“See you later.” She nodded at Emily and went to meet the rest of the staff.

Chapter Seven

Jack looked at his crew and wondered what Lila was going to think of them. They were a ragtag bunch, but they were fast, clean, and consistent. They had their faults, of course. Luis, his
garde manger
cook, was consistently late, but Perry came in early to get the sauté station prepped and often got salad prep underway as well. Perry liked to have something to hold over Luis’s head anyway, and Jack figured if the guy didn’t enjoy the flak, he’d start coming in on time.

Roz, his grill cook, worked the middle and kept both of the guys in line, and Daniel, his sous chef, seemed to be everywhere at once, setting up, prepping, tasting, and expediting. It was a small crew, but a tight one, and he had faith they could handle whatever Lila threw at them. The hard part was making sure they knew she had authority. He had all but swallowed his tongue telling Emily to take orders from Lila, but he’d managed.

“Guys, this is Lila Grant. She’s here to put the finishing touches on our menu, or change it completely, whatever she thinks is necessary. We want to set New York on fire when we open, and I don’t think the menu is hot enough to do it yet. But it will be.”
It had to be.
“Just do whatever she says.”

They stared blankly at him, then at her.

Lila glared at him. “Jesus, Jack. You make it sound like I’ve got a magic wand in my pocket.” She patted the pocket of her checked pants and shook her head. “No magic wand, people, and don’t worry, I’m not changing anything yet. I want to see it and taste it first.”

A collective groan rose from the ranks. They’d been through this show-and-tell routine too many times already and were dying to start working up some specials. To his surprise, Lila laughed instead of administering the verbal ass-kicking he was tempted to deliver. “Sick of the food, huh? Maybe Jack here should go out and get us pizza as added incentive.”

His crew cheered. Daniel, the traitor, grabbed an order pad and a pen. Before he knew it, Lila was nudging him toward the back door. “Loaded for me. Thanks, Jack.” The look she gave him was loaded, too, and even though he could understand why she wanted him out of the kitchen, it rankled. If she wanted to develop a rapport with his cooks, he wasn’t going to stand in her way, but this was his kitchen. His staff. His restaurant. He wasn’t going anywhere. He’d give her authority, but there was no way he was stepping aside. He thrust the pad at Daniel. “Call this in for delivery then get back here.”

If Lila was going to make a power play, then he would, too. He turned to Lila. “You planning on making them do all the work while you loaf? I have a better idea. Let’s show these jokers how to cook. Side by side. You game?” He paused. “Unless you’ve been catering so long you’ve forgotten how to hustle. I’ll understand if you’re afraid you can’t keep up with me.”

Her smile was sweet, but her eyes were deadly. “I don’t think keeping up with you is as
hard
as you think it is.”

Her double-entendre elicited an admiring gasp from one of his cooks.

He chuckled, surprised she’d gone there, but he was ready to dish it back. Unlike her, he pitched his voice too low for the staff to hear. “That’s not what I remember, but I’m glad you want to do it again.” Louder, he said “Pick your position, sweetheart. Ladies choice.” He wasn’t at all surprised when she said, “Sauté.”

Sauté was generally the most complicated station in the kitchen, and Inferno was no exception. “Give us some room, folks.”

His crew jockeyed for the best viewing positions on the other side of the window as he and Lila squared off. He pointed at the menu hanging above the station. “Chicken Alighieri.” He ducked to meet the eyes of his sauté cook. “What’s your best time on the chicken, Perry?”

“Eleven minutes, boss.”

“Watch and wonder.” Jack went to work.

Lila studied his every move. He was hyper-aware of her standing beside him. Even with all of the hot, greasy smells in the kitchen, he could still pick out her clean scent, like melons and mint, as she mirrored his movements, one burner over. Their chicken breasts hit the pans skin side down at the exact same moment. The sizzle of fat sounded like his nerves felt standing so close to her.

A few seconds ahead of him, she slid her chicken breast into the oven to finish cooking. “What’s it go with?” she asked.

“I’ll show you.” He got out the triangles of polenta and seared them in a pan. They each pulled their chicken breasts out of the oven and checked them for doneness. She set hers aside, while he heated vegetables and sauce, then plated his dish and slid it into the window. He glanced at the clock and grinned. “Beat that.”

Perry cursed.

Lila was quiet, considering, then asked, “What’s your favorite thing about the dish, Jack?”

He thought for a minute. “The herbs. The crispy chicken skin. It’s a warm dish. Comforting.” He could almost see wheels turning in her head.

“What’s it need?” he asked. He had been asking himself that same question for a month now. His crew was silent, having stopped their heckling to listen.

She stared at the chicken.

He gritted his teeth, winced, and remembered his plan.

She raised a fork to the chicken while he mentally removed all of her clothing except a lacy red thong that clashed with her hair. He stared at her breasts, full, bare and tipped with light pink nipples. His mouth watered at the memory, and he swallowed hard. He felt his fingers curl into fists as he fought the urge to reach for her. He lifted his gaze to her face and saw her looking back at him. Heat flared in her eyes.

She cleared her throat. “I’m feeling fall in the air. Fire. Burning leaves. Indian summer. Corn. Yes, corn. We’re heading into fall soon, right?” She moved purposefully away from the line. He resisted the urge to follow her, needing a minute to recover from his thoughts. If he were a pile of leaves, he’d have already burst into flames. Had he imagined the answering fire in her eyes?

She returned with an ear of corn, which she soaked with water then tossed on the grill. Then she disappeared into the storeroom for a minute and returned with a can of pumpkin. As soon as she got back to the sauté station, she reached underneath and grabbed chilies in adobe sauce. Silently, she went to work on the dish.

Five minutes later, she put it in the window, transformed.

He stared. It had basically the same plate components as his, but now it made him think of the late summer harvest. There were still root vegetables, polenta, chicken, and rosemary demi-glace on the plate, but she had added roasted corn and garnished the plate with a bit of husk, and there was pumpkin in the now-spicy sauce. It was exciting. Perfect. And it stuck in his throat.

As his crew devoured the new dish, ignoring the plate he had made, he bent to whisper in Lila’s ear. “You know I hate you, right?”

She tilted her head toward his. “Why? Because I’m brilliant? You knew that, Jack. That’s why you stole my competition recipes.” Her breath feathered his ear, and he hardened instantly. “That’s why you want me.”

God help him, he did. He couldn’t move away. It was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her and haul her against his body. It had taken her ten seconds to figure out what the dish needed. He’d tinkered with the chicken for months and made something utterly forgettable. It was infuriating—and arousing.

She stepped away, leaving him in her sweet breeze.

“Next,” he growled, glancing up at the menu. “Beef tenderloin medallions.”

As he heated a pan, something tugged at his memory. “Wait—I didn’t steal your recipes. I stole a lie you spun out of thin air,” he reminded her.

She frowned. “Mind your pan, hotshot. Your oil is smoking.”

Her comment sparked a volley of helpful cooking advice from his staff as he laid the medallions in the pan. They howled with laughter when he responded—with his middle finger. Lila slid her pan into the oven and bent to peer into the reach-in.

Jack kept his beef on the stove, wanting it rare, and thought about their conversation in the kitchen at the bachelor party. She’d said she needed the prize money, but she’d never actually admitted she’d lied about her menu. He’d drawn his own conclusions.

“Lila? Were you ever planning on cooking that duck menu for the competition?” he asked quietly, not allowing himself to hope one of those ducks he’d seen in the cooler had been ordered by her. Maybe she hadn’t lied to him. Maybe she had changed her mind.

She stood, holding cilantro and looking irritated. “Does it matter, Jack? It’s over. You won.” She gestured at their avid audience, clearly hanging on their every word. “I’m not discussing this now. Shut up and cook.”

“Later then.” He cut the flame, grabbed a pair of tongs, and put the medallions on a pan to rest while he assembled the plate.

“Or not,” she retorted.

His suspicion grew. If she had changed her menu at the last minute that would certainly explain why she had flailed during the contest. He’d changed his recipes out of spite. Why would she have changed hers when she clearly had him beat? After all, her menu, if not her actual cooking skills, had won the competition. Shame rose up to burn him with flames hotter than the stove in front of him.

He pointed at his staff, then at the back door. “Smoke break.”

When he heard the screen door slam, he turned to Lila. “I would have won no matter what I cooked.”

Her hand froze mid-chop. “You did not just say that to me.”

“You choked—hard.” He raised an eyebrow when she dropped the knife and spun to face him. “Truth hurt? I’m familiar with the concept. I’ve had to live with a shit-load of guilt for the last six months as well as the knowledge that even though I won, I didn’t really win. I know I fucked up, Lila. Stealing your ideas was a terrible thing to do, and I’m sorry. But I never would have done it if you had cooked the duck yourself. I freely admit my original plan was boring compared to yours, but I would have finished it on time and gotten it onto the plate. I know why I changed my game plan—I was pissed you lied to me. I wanted to teach you a lesson.” He crossed his arms and followed his hunch. “Why did you change yours?”

…

Lila froze, realizing her mistake. She should never have gotten close enough to Jack to whisper in his ear. His body heat had scrambled her brain, making her forget he believed she’d lied to him about her menu. Why did he care so much about the stupid competition? He’d won and she was working for him now—a double victory. Why was he still rubbing it in? First he’d forced her into this impromptu cook-off—which rivaled her nightmares of the competition—and now he wanted to humiliate her further. If he thought she was going to admit he had psyched her out of the win, he was nuts.

She turned to face him. “Is that how you sleep at night? By telling yourself you would have won anyway? I bet that goes a long way toward easing your conscience.”

“Not as much as you might think.” He wore the same grim expression he’d worn outside of Personal Chef the other morning.

She hardened her heart. Oh no, there was no way he was going to make her feel sorry for him. He’d made his bed—right after he’d seduced her in it. Twice. The bastard deserved every minute of uncertainty.

He stepped closer, trapping her between his body and the counter. “You didn’t answer the question, Lila. Did you lie to me? Or did you change your game plan?”

She felt the heat of him again, threatening and seductive. He wasn’t going to let it go. She met his gaze, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I lied to you about the recipes.”

“That evens the score a little bit, don’t you think?” A dangerous smile spread across his face as he leaned forward to put one hand on each side of her.

“What are you talking about?” She tried to dodge to the side, but he held her in place. “Jackson, stop it.” She tried to sound forbidding, but her voice squeaked on the last word.

“You wronged me first. You lied.”

“So what? You suckered me into talking about the competition after you seduced me.”

“Sweetheart, I did you a favor by seducing you.” His smug chuckle made her gasp, only half in outrage. “And just to keep the record straight, you seduced me.”

She stamped her foot. He was so close, their knees bumped. “I most certainly did not!”

“The hot black dress? The fuck-me heels? The way you were looking at me?”

“You were looking at me, buddy!” she said through gritted teeth.

“Busted.” He grinned and closed the distance between them. His hands rose to clasp her arms, stroking up and down in a way that reminded her of exactly why she found him so irresistible. He had good hands—no great hands—unforgettable. “Let me go, Jack.”

“Nope.”

She raised her head, preparing to blast him, but she couldn’t get the words out because he was smiling at her. His green eyes glowed with humor and tenderness just as they had that first night they made love. His hands settled on her hips, pulling her closer, and she wanted to sink into his embrace so badly she groaned. Every inch of her skin was hungry for him. He clasped his arms around her waist and bent his head. All it took was a touch, and she was lost. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him take her.

His lips moved over hers, demanding and satisfying. His teeth nipped her bottom lip, telling her he was hungry, too. She opened her mouth and he drove inside with his tongue. His hands were urgent on her back, sealing her body to his. She thrilled to the evidence of his arousal pressed against her belly. She felt him groan and caught the echo in her throat, aching with emptiness. Only Jack made her this empty, this ravenous, and she wanted him.

The thought was so sharp and startling, it shocked her into awareness. She opened her eyes and saw wicked satisfaction in his green gaze.

Her heart plummeted.

She should have expected something like this. Jack had used her ideas to win the competition and he was going to use her ideas on his new menu. Trust Jack to push his advantage and think he could take this from her, too. Kissing wasn’t part of their contract. She struggled away from him just as the cooks clattered through the back door.

“No need to stage a seduction this time, Jack. You’re paying me, remember?” Her chest was heaving, and she knew her cheeks must be flushed, so she turned her back to the rapidly assembling crew and pretended to wash her hands at the sink until she felt normal again.