Sizzle in the City (3 page)

Though his eyes were steady as a rock, there was something fun and alluring about his smile. As if the rest of his perfection was hard-won. As if rebellion was natural and refinement a birthright he’d reluctantly accepted.

“You’re the chef?” he asked.

“Yes,” she managed to answer without stuttering.

“More crab than fluff,” he commented. “Rare at these gatherings.”

“I grew up in Savannah. It’s a Southern-pride thing.”

“Well deserved.” He angled his head. “And the accent fits. I got the sense you weren’t from here.”

“You, either.”

He nodded. “I was raised in London.”

“That fits.” Given the nature of her undercover plan, she wondered at the quirk of fate that had presented her with a flesh and blood James Bond in the middle of her investigative adventure. “Shelby Dixon,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Trevor,” the man said as he enveloped her small hand in his elegant, long-fingered one.

Their gazes held as they shook.

Shelby would have been happy to let their closeness linger for the next decade or two, but she was supposed to be working, both as a caterer and a spy.

A quick scan of the room noted several new guests. Max had assured her there would be no more than fifteen, but they were pushing twenty-five. Good thing she’d made extra hors d’oeuvres.

Drooling over the luscious Trevor No-Last-Name-Given would have to wait.

And why hadn’t he given a last name anyway? Wasn’t that odd? He was probably Max’s bookie or possibly something even more nefarious. But by the time she’d considered this and turned to question him, he was walking away…directly toward Max.

The hotel owner-swindler welcomed Trevor with a hug and a broad grin.

“Well, damn,” Shelby grumbled.

She should have expected this turn, as no man could be that perfect and have moral standards, too. If he was Max’s investment recruiter, it was easy to see how the lousy crook had gotten his hands on thirty-million bucks. There was probably a line outside his office door to get in on the next deal.

Guests were starting to come to her to get a crab cake, so she reluctantly tore her gaze from Max and Trevor and roamed the room with her tray. After a while, she retreated to the bedroom to load up again, adding prosciutto-wrapped grilled-chicken bites, as well.

She passed Calla chatting up the hotel manager and hoped her friend was getting insightful info to use in their quest to bring Max and his schemes down. Full bellies and a cocktail or two were secret weapons in getting people to talk incessantly. Maybe she should share that tidbit with law enforcement.

She found Victoria next to the windows of the twenty-ninth-floor suite and offered her appetizer selections to her fellow conspirator, whose eyes were uncharacteristically dazed.

“I love New York,” Victoria said, staring in Trevor’s direction.

“He has an English accent, too.”

Victoria’s eyelashes fluttered as her face glowed with pleasure. “Oh, my.”

“However…” Shelby said sharply, striving to bring Victoria back to her senses, “he seems pretty friendly with Max, so no matter how beautiful he is, he’s now moved to second on the list of suspicious characters in this room.”

“He’s number one in my book,” Victoria said, licking her lips.

“Helloo?”
Shelby waved her hand in front of her friend’s face. “Revenge? Vigilante justice? Any of these concepts sound familiar?
Max
is Project Robin Hood’s Enemy Number One. He’s our Sheriff Nottingham, our Al Capone. And anybody who cozies up to him is an accessory simply on principle.”

“You’re right,” Victoria said slowly. She took a step in Trevor’s direction. “I’ll do some up-close and personal investigation.”

Shelby caught her friend’s arm. “Not so fast, Eliot Ness. I think observation is the best plan for now. Besides, I’ve already made contact.”

“So?”

“I saw him first.”

Victoria crossed her arms over her chest. “Really?”

“His name is Trevor.”

“Trevor what?”

Blushing, Shelby shrugged.

“You can’t be that committed to him. A conversation that didn’t last long enough to get his full name? Get a hold of yourself. I thought he was Enemy Number Two.”

Even more embarrassed, Shelby recalled her conversation that morning with her mom, who’d sounded so tired and defeated. The doctors had increased her anti-anxiety meds, and she was having a hard time adjusting. Not daring to glance at the object of her and Victoria’s conversation, she rolled her shoulders. “He is,” she said firmly.

And he was.

Except he was also the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on.

No one could tell her fate wasn’t enjoying a hilarious and cruel joke at her expense.

“Go chat him up,” Shelby said to Victoria. “Maybe you can get his last name.”

“Oh, no. This one’s all yours.” With a knowing smile, Victoria took Shelby’s tray and glided away.

Well, she’d asked for it. She ought to be woman enough to take it.

After sending a glare toward Victoria’s retreating back, Shelby started across the room toward Max and Trevor. Along the way, several guests stopped her to compliment the culinary offerings and ask if there were more. She assured everyone there was and indicated Victoria, who, despite her smart-ass tendencies, was one of her best and most loyal friends.

A definite BFF, since she’d gracefully conceded the path to Trevor and was currently doing Shelby’s job, as well.

Trevor is a bad, bad man,
her conscience reminded her.

Actually, she didn’t know that for sure. Probable, but not certain.

She could only help her parents through this hardship if she knew the facts. This investigation was her duty as a daughter. This was business, not romance.

On the way toward her prey, she noted an unbalanced collection of the female population surrounding Trevor and Max. This phenomenon could be easily explained. Because, while Max had Trevor’s dark coloring, his eyes were a muddy brown, he was shorter and more rotund than the sophisticated Englishman she’d met earlier, and there was a distinct shiftiness in his eyes.

Wow. She really needed to focus on what she was supposed to be doing here.

Yet another guest stopped her. “I’m dying for one of those delicious crab cakes,” the clearly desperate woman pleaded.

Shelby cast a glance at her gorgeous goal. Like she’d get his attention in her wilted white chef’s apron and limp hair anyway. However, he’d seemed to enjoy the crab cakes… “Okay, sure,” she said to the desperate guest.

Retreating to the prep room, she assembled another tray of crab, but halfway through her task, she was startled by hot and mysterious Trevor walking in, then closing the door behind him.

“How do you know Max?” he asked without delay.

“I’m his caterer.” His curiosity only furthered her suspicions of him. He was protective of Max. Meeting that alluring, blue-eyed gaze boldly, she added, “How do
you
know Max? You two seem like old friends.”

“We know each other well,” he returned vaguely as he moved toward her. “What about the writer and the icy brunette? You’re friends with them.”

“How do you know that?” she accused, wincing, as she realized she’d inadvertently confirmed his assumptions.

Some secret agent she was.

He smiled, confident and tempting. “I saw you talking to them earlier, just as you obviously saw me with Max. The brunette even refilled your food tray.”

“You’re observant.”

“I like watching you.” He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead in a surprising, quick and intimate gesture that made her mouth go dry. “You stand out in a crowd.”

“You, too,” she managed to whisper.

His penetrating stare unnerved her nearly as much as his proximity.

He was a friend of her enemy. He shouldn’t fascinate her. She wasn’t one of those women who went after bad boys, hoping to change them. She wasn’t intrigued by danger or darkness.

And more turmoil she certainly didn’t need.

But she didn’t step back. If anything, this endeavor of justice was about standing her ground, standing up for her parents, who couldn’t endure alone.

She wasn’t about to retreat now.

3

T
REVOR
FOUGHT
AGAINST
THE
impulse to slide his arms around the beautiful redheaded caterer. To find out the source of the worry behind her intriguing hazel eyes. To forget that he was only present to save Max from yet another of his follies.

But he was certainly losing the battle.

He wanted a taste of her as surely as he’d savored her food. Not so many years ago, he’d have indulged in the impulse to sweep her from the party, no matter about either of their obligations.

But he’d grown up, grown smarter and more successful along the way. Yet, as hard-won as his control had been, Shelby Dixon, with her fiery locks and petite frame, somehow tested it.

Reminding himself there were things in life more important than his own pleasure, he stepped back.

“You weren’t suspicious when the owner of a hotel asked an outside service to cater his party?” he asked, hoping to get the conversation back to business.

She shrugged. “He’s shorthanded in the kitchen.” She paused a long moment before adding, “And my friend Victoria—the brunette who helped me earlier—is looking to get his PR business. I offered to help out.”

That explanation made sense. He might be reading too much into this party and everyone attending…but then he had plenty of reasons for being suspicious of Max and anyone in his circle. “You’ll certainly get future bookings after tonight, including ones from me.”

“Good to know. What business are you in?”

This lot was a curious one. “Transportation, but I was thinking of personal needs.”

Her eyes widened.

He smiled. “Mmm. Those, too. Though at the moment I was referring to social events. How do you feel about dinner parties?”

“As long as the check clears, I feel pretty great about them.”

Beautiful and practical. He was smitten already. “A wise decision.”

She walked over to a canvas bag sitting on the desk and pulled out a cell phone. “What day were you thinking about?” she asked, tapping the screen.

“Well, I—”

The blonde who appeared in the doorway was the writer Trevor had met earlier. “Shelby, where’s—” She glanced at him before directing her attention to Shelby. “The guests are asking about crab cakes and lettuce wraps. You’d think these people hadn’t eaten in a week.”

“Free food brings out the animal in everybody,” Trevor commented.

“Nice,” the blonde said, pulling a tiny spiral notebook and pen from her blazer pocket. “Mind if I use that line?”

Trevor made an old-fashioned bow. “Be my guest.”

She blinked. “Hmm. Hot
and
polite.” She tucked the notebook away with the same efficiency in which she’d retrieved it. “More crab and wraps soon,” she said, pointing to Shelby.

“I’m bringing out the last tray now,” she said as the blonde backed from the room.

Shelby cleared her throat. “That’s my other friend, Calla—she’s a travel and lifestyle magazine writer.”

“So I heard. She attempted to interrogate me earlier.”

An uncomfortable expression crossed Shelby’s lovely face. “Interrogate? That’s an odd description.”

“But apt.”

There was certainly something unusual about this trio of beautiful women appearing in Max’s life, but he’d be damned if he could figure out what.

The title? Not likely. His father was hale and hearty and likely to hang around several more decades. And the status of dating the future Earl of Westmore didn’t hold quite the same cache in New York as it did in London. Film or sports stars got much more notice.

The ladies also didn’t seem after money. Good thing, since Max didn’t have any, and would likely have less after a few months in the hotel business.

Plenty of people were eager for any work they could get these days. Maybe these women were simply hungry. In NYC ambition was practically a sport, after all.

Yet he didn’t trust them—he didn’t trust anyone easily. Never had, even without The Max Episodes to reflect on. People had used him many times over in an effort to get access to his powerful family, so he wasn’t anxious to reveal too much to Shelby, no matter his attraction to her.

“You and your friends are quite a team,” he said as she tucked her phone away and went back to loading her tray of appetizers.

“We stick together.” She straightened with her tray resting expertly on her shoulder. “Much like you do with your friends, I bet.”

Trevor nodded. “Naturally,” he said, though he was embarrassed to acknowledge, even privately, that he didn’t have a huge group of friends. He had acquaintances, business partners and lovers, but not a whole lot in-between.

Well, other than family.

He had an avalanche of family.

“The crab-cake devotees await,” she said, heading toward the door, which he opened. She cast a glance at him. “This is the last of them, so I may need a discreet exit in a few minutes. Are you available?”

“Absolutely.”

She handed him a business card as she strode from the room. “Call me when you decide about that dinner party.”

He glanced at the card and sighed. A strawberry dripping in decadent chocolate sauce dominated the background. Shelby’s name and contact information were printed in black ink in the corner.

The idea of keeping his distance was a lost cause.

* * *

A
T
NEARLY
MIDNIGHT
,
HER
delivery van pulled into the hotel’s loading dock. Shelby and her friends moved her equipment and reflected on a successful, if somewhat frustrating, catering event.

The food—and service, thanks to Calla and Victoria—had been first-rate. The investigation had only led to more questions than answers.

Predictably, she’d run out of crab cakes and had to fill in with more chicken wraps and cheese-stuffed tomato skewers. She’d finished the party with luscious dark-chocolate truffles filled with raspberry creme. Max and his guests had loved every bite. She’d handed out cards by the dozens. Then, at some point, despite his promise to protect her from the crab-crazed crowd, Trevor had disappeared.

Poof, like a magician.

Or the longtime friend of a crook.

He was sneaky, no doubt about it. Somehow, while complimenting, flirting and getting all kinds of details about her, her friends and their motives, he’d avoided revealing his last name, his true relationship with Max or much of anything about his own business. “Transportation? Bah.”

For all she knew, he could be up to his gorgeous neck in trafficking—and she didn’t mean black-market seafood.

“Sister, we have bigger problems than the Beautiful Brit,” Calla pointed out. She handed over an armload of dirty serving platters. “I didn’t get a whole lot out of Max.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Victoria said drily, storing the last of the warming trays on the rack installed in the back of the van. “He’s a
swindler.
He’s an expert at deceit and misdirection.”

“But I’m a professional information gatherer.” Calla frowned. “He bragged a lot, which I expected, but refused to set up a time for my
City Magazine
interview, even though he’d agreed to do it.”

“Empty promises,” Victoria said.

“And,” Calla continued, “he never gave many details about his plans or his partners of this new venture, if there are any.”

“We did overhear the information about the investors’ meeting scheduled for next week,” Victoria reminded them.

“Investors for what, though?” Calla asked.

“Whatever his backup plan might be after he screws up this hotel thing.” Victoria dusted off her immaculate black pantsuit as she climbed out of the van. “It’s obvious he doesn’t have a clue about the business. I talked to him for three minutes and knew that much. And he had cold eyes, dismissive, arrogant.”

“I didn’t see that,” Shelby said, surprised by her friend’s assessment.

Victoria waved off her concern. “Not important. I’m just put off by the subterfuge of this whole thing. I prefer the direct route, as you know.”

Calla fisted her hand at her side. “We need to get invited to that investors meeting.” With a sigh, she sat on the tailgate of the van. “Somehow.”

Shelby heard her own frustrated reflection echoed by her buddies, but her regrets were more personal. She knew she should be focused on Max, but Trevor dominated her thoughts. She’d all but thrown herself into the man’s arms at one point. “Why did I blab to him like a starry-eyed gossip?”

Calla stared at her. “Max?”

“Trevor,” Victoria answered before Shelby could. “And you didn’t. You gave him your cover story.”

Shelby resisted the urge to sink onto the floor of the van. “And my business card, my last name and, oh, yeah, yours and Calla’s names and what you were doing at the party.”

“What we were
allegedly
doing,” Victoria insisted.

Shelby recalled the gleam in Trevor’s eyes—and not just the carnal one. “He knew we were up to something.”

“So?” Calla countered. “
He’s
probably up to something, and Max definitely is. We’re going to find out what. Remember, to think like a shark, you have to swim with the fishes.”

Victoria planted her hands on her hips. “That metaphor is all wrong.”

“Do sharks even think?” was Shelby’s instinctive question.

“Don’t sharks
eat
fish?” Victoria added.

Calla waved her hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re the fish,” Shelby said.

“Which we are not.” Calla helped Shelby out of the van, then they closed the doors. “We are women, hear us
holla.
”

“That’s roar,” Victoria countered.

Calla shook her head. “Trust me, it’s
holla.
I recently did a piece on urban slang.”

“It doesn’t matter if we bellow, shriek or wail,” Shelby said, leaning against the van. “We’ll still be two steps behind, and I still won’t know anything about that Trevor character.”

Calla patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. I’m all over that.” She cocked her head. “I’ve seen him somewhere before. I just can’t place the circumstance.”

“And I’ll start asking around about the investors’ meeting and what it’s for.” Victoria slid her arm around Shelby’s waist in a rare show of physical affection. “Max will need money for this new project, so my family will be high on the list. Don’t stress out. We’re going to get this guy.”

Shelby leaned against Victoria and at the same time grasped Calla’s hand. Her friends’ support meant everything. They’d been through bad breakups, job losses and family drama. They’d get through this crisis with the same bond of solidarity they’d shared for years.

Footsteps echoing on the ramp leading from the hotel brought Shelby out of her reverie.

She exchanged brief, wary glances with her friends before peeking her head around the corner of her van to see the source of the interruption.

Trevor.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said as he approached the van.

Shelby, along with her coconspirators, were struck dumb by the breathtaking sight of him.

His glossy hair gleamed blue-black beneath the streetlight. His suit—which had to be handmade—fit his trim body and broad shoulders to perfection. His dark blue eyes glowed with power.

“Nice party,” he said, and stopped directly in front of Shelby.

“Ah…thanks.”

After quick elbow jabs into her sides, Shelby’s best buds fled like vegans confronted with rare steak. They mumbled excuses about checking the suite for leftover supplies, then disappeared.

Ironically similar to Transportation Trevor’s exit from the party earlier.

“Where did you go?” Shelby asked—okay, maybe she accused. “You said you’d defend me if the crab-cake masses attacked, and you were nowhere to be found when the goods ran out.”

“Sorry. I had to take an important call.”

“From whom?”

He moved in, his tempting body nearly brushing hers and laid his palm against her cheek. “My father.”

“Oh.” Given the state of her family, Shelby wasn’t oblivious to the idea that others faced the possibility of caring for their parents. “Is he okay?”

“Irate, but that’s normal. So, yes.”

The look in his eyes, plus his warm hand against her skin scattered her thoughts. “I’m glad, but what—”

Before she could draw another breath, his lips were against hers.

He touched nothing but her lips with his mouth and her cheek with his hand. The moment drew out, romantic, alluring and teasing, as if he was waiting for her approval, as if he knew he’d crossed a line, but was confident he wouldn’t be shoved back.

Shelby had no intention of pushing him away.

She didn’t know him; she suspected him. Of all manner of things.

But she moved closer. There was something about him she couldn’t dismiss or forget. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Leaning into him, she initiated another kiss.