Some Like It Spicy (16 page)

But when they arrived back at the Inn and she headed to the second floor, she turned down the wrong hallway, and suddenly she realized she was in front of his door.

Leave
, she ordered herself harshly. Her feet didn’t seem to understand the command, though. Neither, apparently, did her hands, which of their own accord inserted the key in the lock and turned.

The room was bathed in moonlight. Ty wasn’t waiting for her, but someone recently had been in here. The bed had been turned down, a bottle of champagne was on ice, and the hot tub bubbled and spewed on the back deck.

He must have called ahead, she realized. This wasn’t a room intended for sleep; it was one intended for seduction.

Yet again, her brain urged her to run, but her heart made her sit on the edge of the bed and wait for Ty.

…

Ashton was going to break up with him. Okay, maybe
break up
wasn’t the right phrase, since they were technically only sleeping together. Whatever one called it, she was about to put on the brakes and Ty still had plenty of more mileage in him before this affair was over.

Something had happened to spook her. If he could just find out what it was, he could calm her down and talk her out of prematurely breaking things off.

He arrived at the hotel and made his way to his room, hoping Ashton had used his key.

Knocking softly, he called her name. His heart bounced in his chest like a Ping-Pong ball as he waited, and waited, and waited a little more, until the door finally inched open.

He pushed his way inside.

Ashton crossed the room to the bed, then apparently thought better of it and moved to a chair. “We need to talk,” she said stiffly.

“Yeah, you mentioned that before. Can I get you a drink?” He nodded toward the champagne chilling in an ice bucket. He picked up the bottle. Cristal. Nice. He’d have to remember to tip the staff.

Ashton shook her head, keeping her eyes averted, like she couldn’t stand to look at him.

Was this the same woman who had nearly ripped his clothes off yesterday?

Opening the bottle, he poured two glasses. “We can’t let this fine champagne go to waste. At least have one glass.” He held out his hand.

She didn’t take it immediately, so he held it there. “Fine. Just one glass.” She took a sip and her face instantly brightened. “This is fantastic.”

The tip to the hotel staff just doubled.

“Want to tell me what this is all about?” He didn’t need to explain further, just used a hand gesture to indicate her ridiculously stiff pose. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Everything was fine yesterday. Did Ellen or Scott say something to make you uncomfortable?”

Her shoulders sagged. “No, they were lovely. I had a great time, but…”

“But?”

“I spoke to my business partner Chloe this morning and she watched last night’s episode. Ty, she could totally tell something was going on with us.”

“She’s your friend. Of course she could read you, know you were attracted to me.”

She swatted him on the bicep. “She’s not the only one, I’m sure. We shouldn’t be taking risks like this.”

“No one knows anything,” he promised. “If you’re that worried, I’ll have my press rep drop hints around town that the show is editing the episodes to make it look like something is going on. You know, for publicity.”

She stared at him. “You have a press rep?”

“Sure. I’m a celebrity.”

That one got him another smack, one he enjoyed because she was laughing now and her eyes lit like she had life in them again.

But she returned to serious way too soon. “I can’t ruin my reputation over a fling, Ty.”

His chest ached. “I know. That won’t happen. Just…it’s too soon, okay? No one knows and it’s too soon.” He couldn’t find the right words, so he just prayed she understood him.

When tears glistened in her eyes and she nodded, he knew she had. He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her as tightly as he could. “You’re staying, then?”

He felt her head move up and down against his shoulder. Her voice was muffled against his shirt, raw and throaty. “I’m staying.”

“Can I offer you another glass of champagne?”

She laughed. “Are you trying to get me drunk? Because I gotta tell you, I kind of already am.”

“How drunk do you have to be to get in that hot tub with me?” He gave her a kiss intended to make her toes curl. “Naked.”

She bit her lip and seemed to ponder it for a moment. “I think I’m just drunk enough.”

…

The birds chirped a song Ashton wanted to sing along with at the top of her lungs. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and she stretched without opening her eyes.

The night had been amazing. First she and Ty had made love in the hot tub, on the private balcony overlooking a forest of trees. Then, they’d gone back to his bed where they’d made love again. He’d touched and kissed every inch of her and she him. There wasn’t a part of one that didn’t belong to the other.

Her body felt too relaxed, like she wouldn’t be able to stand if she tried.
Maybe not such a bad thing
, she thought with a sly smile,
to be stuck in this bed all day
.

“I take it from that smile you’re awake.”

She kept her eyes closed but her smile grew. He sounded hoarse, as if the hours spent stifling his moans had made his throat sore. Her own felt raw for the same reason.

“If you pretend to be asleep,” Ty joked, “I’m going to have to try and wake you.”

“And how would you do that?” She kept her eyes shut.

He crawled on top of her, his chest to hers. His tight abs were hard against her soft belly and the swirls of brown chest hair teased her nipples. “Maybe something like this.” He kissed her lips. “Or this.” He kissed her neck. “Or this.” He lowered his head and caught a nipple between his teeth.

He teased, suckled, and nipped until she bucked beneath him. “I’m awake,” she croaked.

“Are you sure?” Ty let go of her nipple and traveled down her stomach, laving at her belly button.

She bit her lip instead of answering. This had just gotten interesting. She could feel him grin against her belly. “I guess you’re not awake yet. Good thing I asked.” His head moved lower and lower and
yes!

God what this man could do with his tongue, and yes, his fingers. He played her like a violin, knew exactly where to pluck to make her want to scream. She couldn’t make any noise, aware of the thin walls in the old house, so all she could do was clutch his head as his tongue darted inside her. When his fingers replaced his tongue and his tongue moved to flick the spot he knew drove her wild, she grabbed a pillow and held it over her face.

Only seconds later, she shouted into the feather down as her release burst within.

She barely had time to recover before Ty was poised at her center, already covered and ready. “Yes,” she whispered throatily. “Come inside me. Now, Ty!”

He plunged deep and they both moaned simultaneously. She curled her legs around his hips, pulling him in even more. As he thrust deeper and then deeper still, she grabbed his buttocks, urging him on.

He reached back and grabbed one of her legs, pushing the limb higher. The change of angle put him exactly at the right spot. “There,” she said with a moan. “Keep doing that. I—aahh.” She exploded for the second time in minutes.

He followed, biting her neck to muffle his scream. His body dropped on hers, and they both lay panting.

“That was some workout,” she gasped. “I could give up my gym membership if I had regular activity like that.”

“No, you’d probably still need it. After a workout like that, I could eat an entire farm. I’m ravenous, woman.”

Food. The word jabbed at Ashton.

She realized at the exact moment Ty did.

“What time is it?” she asked, her voice bordering on hysteria.

Before he could answer, someone pounded at the door.

“Chef Cates.” They heard Morgan from the other side. “Time for breakfast. Hope you’re hungry.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Get off me,” Ashton choked, her hands pushing at Ty’s sweat-slicked chest.

Instantly, Ty pulled out of her and rolled off the bed. He stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door.

Ashton jumped to the floor, not bothering to cover her nakedness with a sheet. Her heart pounded like a hammer in her chest. “Holy shit. What are we going to do?” she whispered, hysteria in her voice.

Common sense fled from her mind as she looked toward the balcony doors.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ty warned. “You’ll break your neck.”

“It’s only two stories. People have survived falls from much higher.”

“You’re not jumping off the balcony. I’ll just tell them to come back later.”

Ty stalked naked to the door and without opening it, said, “I just got out of the shower. Can you serve Claude and Andrea first and come back in fifteen minutes?”

Ashton’s eyes dropped closed as she prayed.

Apparently, God wasn’t listening.

“We’ve already served Claude and Andrea.” That was Sally’s voice, and she sounded annoyed as hell. “The next chef is already in the kitchen and if we don’t do this now, we’ll be behind schedule. Just get in bed and let us do this.”

Pure defeat filled her. This was it. Her career was over. She should probably grab a sheet to cover herself before the cameras came in, but what was the point?

Ty snapped her out of her coma of embarrassment by grabbing her arm. “Get under the bed,” he commanded softly.

“What?”

“Get under the bed. The bed skirt will cover you.”

“Do you really think you can pull this off?” Her tone was sarcastic. “The room smells like sex. You’re covered in sweat. For God’s sake, you’re still wearing a condom!”

He looked down at himself and ripped off the condom with a growl. He pitched the used latex at the small trashcan by the bed.

“Chef Cates.” Sally pounded on the door again. “We need to do this now.”

“Just get under the bed,” he pleaded. Tenderly, he cupped her cheek and she found herself nuzzling against his hand. “Even if they suspect someone has been in here, they won’t know it was you.”

It was worth a try, she supposed as she dropped to her knees and slid beneath the bed. Belatedly, she wished she’d grabbed a sheet or towel or anything to cover herself. Clumps of dust stuck to her damp skin like white cat hair on black.

The bed dipped as Ty climbed on. “Come in,” he said.

She stopped breathing as the door swung open, afraid someone would hear a faint pant of breath from under the bed and investigate. Shoes gathered around her. She counted five pairs.

“Good morning, Chef Cates,” Morgan said in a sweet voice that was the polar opposite of her personality. If there were a prize for acting in this contest, Morgan would have been the winner, hands down.

“Good morning, Morgan,” Ty replied. “What do you have for me today?”

“This is a decadent breakfast for a true hedonist,” Morgan said. “I’ve made bananas foster pancakes, maple sausage patties, and a caramel-mocha cappuccino to drink. Enjoy.”

Ashton held back a gag. Forget the fact that she didn’t like breakfast; that meal was a diabetic coma waiting to happen. She pitied Ty having to eat the plate of sugar, but at least it meant this horror show was almost done. As soon as he tasted, the cameras would leave and she would have a few minutes to sneak out before the next chef arrived.

A heavy black shoe shifted closer to the bed and her body froze.
Please don’t come any closer
, she silently begged. The bed skirt had eyelets, and if anyone looked too closely, she would be seen.

Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, only a few feet away from the shoe.

A used condom.

The condom that Ty had thrown at the trash bin, but obviously hadn’t made it.

She slowly extended her hand beyond the edge of the bed skirt and toward the condom. As long as the crew and Morgan kept their faces on Ty, they wouldn’t see her hand.

Her shoulder screamed as she contorted to allow a few extra inches of stretch. She wiggled her fingers, trying to catch any piece of the rubber. Just another inch…

Got it! Two fingers grasped the edge.

And then the black shoe shifted, stepping on her index finger.

She screamed silently and yanked, her finger throbbing. But she couldn’t escape the black shoe. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain as she waited for the crew to leave. Finally, she heard Ty thank Morgan, and the shoe lifted off of her.

She drew her hand, along with the condom, under the bed, taking care not to cry aloud with relief.

The door clicked closed, and then Ty was on the floor, grasping her by the arms and pulling her out from under the bed. “Are you okay?”

A tear escaped her eye and she could only shake her head. No, she wasn’t all right. She’d nearly been caught flagrantly breaking the rules, a finger on her right hand—her dominant hand—had nearly been broken, and she was covered in enough dust to wallpaper a house. A sob broke free.

Ty’s arms were instantly around her and she buried herself against his chest. “Why are we doing this?” she wept.

He put a finger to her chin and lifted. Passion and tenderness flared in the depths of his eyes. “Do you want to stop?” he asked.

She answered honestly. “No.”

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “You better get going before they come back.”

Ashton grabbed her undergarments and the dress she’d worn last night from the closet, glad she’d taken the time to hang it up. The condom apparently had gone unnoticed, but the crew probably would have seen a dress crumpled up beside the bed. She yanked on her bra and panties and then shimmied the black silk over her body as she raced to the door.

Ty grabbed her hand as the other reached for the knob. He whirled her around and placed a quick, possessive kiss on her lips. “Last night was great,” he murmured.

Her insides tingled. “It was,” she admitted. She kissed him again. “I’ve really got to go.”

“I’ll see you later.” Another kiss, this one soft and tender.

Reluctantly, she turned away from him. The next chef could be approaching at any minute, and she needed to sneak unseen to her room.

She opened the door slowly and peered into the hallway. The hall was silent and she tentatively stepped out. Hearing no oncoming footsteps, she raced down the corridor, turned the corner, and dove into her room.

Her heartbeat didn’t move into the safe range until she’d showered and dressed. She glanced at the watch and realized she was due in the kitchen.

The last cook had been Jolene, but she was already gone when Ashton arrived. Sally’s assistant, Liz, was cleaning the countertops in preparation for her arrival. Instead of Clint, Ashton was relieved to see a camera perched on a tripod just outside the small kitchen. She didn’t want to have to compete with the cameraman for space.

“Are you ready?” Liz asked.

She nodded.

“Then your time starts now.” Liz hit the start button on the giant stopwatch that followed the chefs to every challenge.

The benefit to such a tiny kitchen was that everything was within reach. Ashton could grab her ingredients, open the refrigerator and oven, all without taking a step. Even with shaving off those precious minutes, time still flew by. Without her notice, the film crew stood outside the kitchen as the stopwatch counted down to zero, startling her when Sally yelled to stop.

She placed her dishes on the first tray. Liz would be following with the trays for the other judges.

“We’ll be starting with Chef Cates,” Sally told her. She leaned in closer. “One of the dishes made Andrea a little sick, and she needs some time before we bring her another meal.”

At least the dish that had made Andrea sick wasn’t hers. A familiar twinge floated around her stomach. Even though she was thrilled with the way her food had come out, she couldn’t shake the nerves that followed her to every tasting. Or maybe it was a reaction to seeing Ty. Would he still look like he had that morning? With his unruly dark hair that looked as if he’d spent the night rolling around in bed? Or muscles still glistening from a night of exertion?

She pushed the image back. She could feel her skin begin to flush and the last thing she needed was to show up in Ty’s room with cheeks that matched a ripe tomato.

Sally knocked on Ty’s door.

“Come in,” Ty called.

Sally opened the door and the film crew went in first, filming as she walked up to Ty’s bed.

He had managed to put on some clothes from the last time she’d seen him. He was propped up against the headboard, wearing a gray T-shirt. A blanket covered his lower half. But to her, he still looked like pure sex.

She’d seen that smoldering gaze before, last night when he’d been buried deep inside her. God, if he didn’t stop that, the sheets would set on fire. Of course, if they hadn’t last night, then it probably wouldn’t happen now.

“Ashton,” Sally hissed from behind the camera.

She focused her attention on her food. “This morning, I have my own variation on eggs Benedict. Instead of an English muffin, I made a potato pancake, and instead of Canadian bacon, I used smoked salmon. It is topped with a poached egg and hollandaise sauce. Sprinkled on top is a fresh mango salad. To drink, I have my secret recipe Bloody Mary.”

She moved to the bed to set the tray on his lap, her hand grazing his groin. He was hard as a rock.

She caught her lip between two teeth before her jaw fell open.

He winked. “This looks delicious, Ashton.”

Where he was hard, she was now wet. Her thighs tightened around the sensation. She swallowed hard. “Bon appétit.”

He licked his lips and took a bite. She could see the deliberateness to how he tasted, how he chewed, then let the flavors meld against his tongue before swallowing. She could have watched him eat all day.

“We need to move on,” Sally said. She looked at Ty. “We’ve got one more chef left. Then we’ll do the interviews in the garden before heading back to the city. The elimination will take place at the studio.”

Ty nodded at Sally’s words, but his gaze never left Ashton. “Thank you, Chef.”

Ashton didn’t trust herself to answer.

She delivered her dish to Claude’s room next, and then Andrea, who looked green. Andrea just nibbled at her dish, but Ashton didn’t take this one personally. Andrea looked like she was seconds away from a projectile-vomiting episode, and Ashton didn’t want it to be equated to her dish.

Hours—and a whirlwind of activities later—the crew arrived back in the studio. The chefs waited in the Wreck Room to be called into the kitchen.

“Nervous?” Jolene asked Ashton. They were sitting side by side, both sipping bottled waters. “I know breakfast isn’t something you normally make.”

“Actually, my dish turned out better than I could have hoped,” Ashton said. “How about you?”

“I don’t know,” Jolene admitted.

For the first time Ashton could remember in this competition, Jolene looked truly nervous. She bobbed around her chair, as if she couldn’t sit still.

“Healthy cooking is important to me,” Jolene said. “But sometimes I wish I could just load on the butter and fat. Egg-white omelets aren’t exactly exciting.”

Ashton put an arm around her. “If anyone can make egg whites taste great, it’s you.”

“Thanks.” Jolene stilled in her chair.

“Isn’t that touching,” Morgan mocked from across the room.
Ashton looked at Morgan and was unable to resist returning a jab. “You’re certainly cocky for someone whose meal had enough sugar in it to raise the national obesity average.”

Morgan sent a hard stare her way. “How do you know what I made?”

Too late, she realized her mistake. They hadn’t been in the kitchen together, so they hadn’t seen one another’s dishes. The only way she could have known was if the crew or judges had told her—and why would they?

Or if she’d been hiding under the bed of a certain judge.

Everyone was staring at her. She had to say something, but what? “I…I—”

Luck was with her. Sally poked her head into the Wreck Room and called them to the kitchen. Ashton leaped on the opportunity to avoid a response.

The setup for the elimination mimicked previous ones, but this time there was only one chair for the winner. The other four chefs would have to face the flames.

The cameras started to roll.

“Today’s winner provided not only a delicious dish,” Ty started, “but also an innovation on an old classic.”

She tried to meet his gaze, to get some sort of indication from him, but he was careful to keep his eyes averted.

“Today’s winner is…Ashton.”

She clapped her hands together and tried not to squeal. She could feel Morgan’s laser eyes boring into her back, but she didn’t care. Jolene gave her a hug, as did Jin. Duffy slapped her five. “Thank you,” she said to the judges.

“As the winner,” Andrea told her, “you win a week-long getaway to La Maison de Rêves. Congratulations.”

As she took her seat in the safe zone, she couldn’t help but wish she could spend the week at the Inn with Ty. But she wouldn’t be able to get away until after the competition, and their relationship would be over by then. As she looked at the remaining chefs, she realized how few weeks she had left with Ty. The happiness she’d radiated only seconds earlier deflated within her.

She would give the package to Jenna and Hal, she decided. Going back by herself was too depressing and going with another man was unthinkable.

She turned her attention to the elimination, praying Jolene would make it through the round.

“Jolene,” Ty said, “technically nothing was wrong with your dish, but I found the egg-white omelet boring and uninspired.”

Jolene nodded, her eyes rimmed with moisture.

“Your brand is about making healthy food interesting, and today you failed,” Claude said.

Andrea added her two cents. “You’ve been a natural in front of the camera since day one, but today you looked uncomfortable. I think you knew your dish wasn’t quite right for the challenge.”

They moved on to Jin, whose fried matzo pancake had been too dry, and then Duffy, whose grits were too mushy. Then, it was Morgan’s turn.