Into the Fire Read online

  He snorted. “You realize the irony, right? I hired you to fix the menu, and now you’re asking me to help you do it. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “As it turns out, creativity doesn’t respond to a contract. I need inspiration.” Her eyes flashed blue fire as she put her hands on her hips. “It’s your menu, Jack. Inspire me.”

  He blinked, surprised into a snort of laughter. Had she really just said that to him? He wanted to inspire her, all right, and not only in the kitchen. Her sweet scent drifted up to him, melons again, mixed with herbs, and he fought the urge to step closer.

  Frustration roiled inside him. This was bullshit. All of it. His resentment of Lila, the messes he’d had to mop up this week because someone had been too lazy to properly maintain equipment, his father taking off for Fiji and dumping the restaurants on him when he needed to be at Inferno, the fact that he had a half-dozen eateries under his care and he hadn’t eaten a single thing today—it was all bullshit, and he needed a break. The Calabrese empire wouldn’t fall apart if he took a night off.

  Satisfaction coursed through him, and the exhaustion of the week began to recede. His panic was gone. Now he was glad Lila hadn’t been able to fix his menu so easily because it gave him an opening. She wanted to talk about food, huh? Well, he wanted something, too.

  The high color in her cheeks and the defiance in her gaze told him he wasn’t the only one aware of the attraction between them. That kiss had been hot. They both knew it could get hotter. So what if they didn’t like each other? They had incredible physical chemistry, and he’d heard how hard she’d been working this week. Yes, he decided, she could use a break, too. If she wanted to talk about food, she could do it on his terms.

  He set his coffee on the counter and grinned. “I have a proposition for you.”

  …

  Lila felt her jaw drop. Hell, no. Not again. “The last time you proposed something, I said no, and you ran roughshod over my life. I’m not real fond of your propositions.”

  “Don’t knock it. That particular proposition is going to make you a wealthy woman…if you can fix the menu. But you just said you need my help to do it. You want something from me. I want something from you, too. Let’s negotiate.”

  He made it sound logical, but she didn’t trust the gleam in his eyes. Maybe she could do the menu without him after all. Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough. In fact, she had a great idea for another chicken dish right now. She turned her back on him and headed for the line.

  Jack followed her. “It isn’t going anywhere,” he said quietly, as she pulled marinated chicken halves out of the lowboy.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “The attraction between us. It isn’t going anywhere.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest, and she fought a wild urge to pinch herself. She was awake, right? Her dreams about Jack had become so real, she woke up aching, wanting him more than she wanted her next meal or even her next paycheck, but that was fantasy Jack. This was real Jack. Real Jack was a user, and since it was hard for her to fight her natural inclination to be helpful, she had to resist him. No more propositions.

  She ignored him and laid the chicken breasts on the grill.

  He took the tongs out of her hand. “I propose we declare a truce.”

  She tried to snatch the tongs back, but he held them out of reach. In order to get them, she’d have to climb straight up his body. Heat flashed through her. The thought was so tempting, she went to the dish room to get another set of tongs.

  When she turned back toward the kitchen, Jack was standing directly in front of her. “Move,” she commanded, staring at the center of his broad chest.

  He didn’t budge. “You want to talk about food so you can fix my menu. I propose we have some fun while we do it.”

  “Fun?” She was having trouble focusing on his words and even more trouble stringing a sentence together. He smelled good, like rosemary in the sun. The gap at the top of his chef coat displayed his tan throat, making her remember how good it had felt to press her lips to the hollow where his pulse beat. It didn’t make sense. She did not like this man. He was arrogant, manipulative, and utterly used to getting his own way. She should not want to kiss him. Kissing Jack was dangerous—like drowning in something that tasted good. He was like the chocolate cake she couldn’t resist, full of artery-clogging butter and heavy cream, heaven in her mouth but hell on her heart.

  “Fun.” His eyes gleamed, and a wicked smile crossed his lips. A strangled sound escaped her throat. She clamped her lips shut. He chuckled. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing to her. The heat between them was undeniable and impossible to ignore. She was trying, though. He could cut her a break and try a little harder, too.

  “Jackson,” she warned. “Get out of my way.”

  His throat was so close to her lips, her mouth watered.

  “Remember the graduation party, Delilah? The dry storage room? Remember how much fun we had? Before all the other stuff got in the way…”

  “You mean before you used my ideas, bought Personal Chef, forced me to work for you…”

  “The sex part is good, Lila. The best.”

  “Stop right there.” He couldn’t possibly be proposing what it sounded like he was proposing…could he? She looked around for witnesses, but they were alone in the dish room.

  “You hate my guts, but you like the rest of me just fine. I know you want to be mad at me, and I suppose I deserve it, but let’s declare a truce. One night. Let’s get away from Inferno. Let’s go out to dinner. Hell, I’ll take you on a tour of my favorite restaurants in New York, and we can talk about food as much as you want. And then I want to take you home and make love to you again. For hours. With no competition in the morning and no interruptions. Nothing but us and this…whatever it is that makes it impossible to think about anything but kissing you, touching you…being inside you. We fit together. When we aren’t arguing, we do some pretty amazing things.”

  She stared up at him. He wasn’t touching her, yet she felt aftershocks of every one of those amazing things. “You’re actually serious. You want me to forget about everything that’s happened between us…and have sex with you?”

  ”Every time I look at you, I see you naked. I can’t walk into my own restaurant without getting a hard-on. I am losing my mind.”

  “Clearly.” He’d been picturing her naked?

  He pinned her with a look. “Don’t try and pretend it’s only me. You’re practically drooling. If you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t be standing here discussing my proposition when you have chickens on the grill.”

  “Shit!” She pushed past him and raced for the smoking grill. She flipped them just in time. “I hate you even more now.”

  “No, you don’t. You want me. And you hate that you want me. I know exactly how you feel. Let’s get it out of our systems and go back to hating each other next week.”

  He hated her? She was the one who had been wronged. Repeatedly.

  Jack stroked a hand down her arm and turned her to face him. “Please say yes…but not because I’m forcing you. Say yes because you want me. Say yes because of this.” His lips were a whisper away from hers, but he didn’t kiss her. She could hardly breathe. Her pulse roared in her ears, and it was impossible to care about anything except the ache in her center. She could deny it all she wanted, but it didn’t change the truth. He was right. She wanted him. Under his convenient truce conditions, she could have him. She could have everything, the menu, the money…and Jack.

  “A truce. Purely physical. No strings attached.” His eyes darkened to slate. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” She shook her head. “Pick me up at seven.”

  Chapter Nine

  She heard a knock on the door and wanted to pretend she wasn’t home.

  She wore her anger like armor when she was around Jack, and she didn’t know how to behave during a truce. She’d been
crazy to think they could do this. The temptation had been overwhelming, and she’d lost her mind for a second. It had been stupid to borrow this little black dress from her neighbor and stupid to curl her hair and put make-up on, too. She should have quit when she had the chance.

  She was going to tell him to forget it.

  She jammed her feet into her hated high heels, knowing she would do no such thing.

  Going out to dinner with Jack would give her tons of ideas for the Inferno menu. A great menu would give her a good Times review and a secure future. Spending time with Jack one-on-one would also give her plenty of time to exploit his weaknesses. She couldn’t make him miserable during their truce, of course, but she still had two weeks. She’d had every reason to say yes.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t thought of a single one of those rational reasons until about an hour ago. She heard another knock, this time louder. Her reason had been pure, simple lust, hard to resist in the heat of the moment and equally difficult to summon in cold blood. She stared at the door, wondering how he felt waiting on the other side.

  He wanted her. She took a step. He’d admitted it, and there was no faking the hunger in his gaze. He didn’t have an ulterior motive this time—she did. She was in control, not allowing him to take advantage of her. She could do this.

  She unlocked the bolt and opened the door.

  Crap. She inhaled sharply. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, an expensive-looking t-shirt, probably with silk in the blend, but still a t-shirt. Had she misunderstood the plan? “I thought we were going out,” she said. “Please tell me your favorite restaurants aren’t dives.”

  His slow grin made her stomach do flip-flops as he stepped into her apartment. He turned, shut the door, and locked it. Then he grabbed the back of his t-shirt and pulled it off over his head. His grin grew wicked as he waved the white shirt at her then dropped it on the floor, advancing. “Truce, remember?”

  She stepped back, feeling outmaneuvered already. And now overdressed.

  He grasped her arms, lightly caressing them. His palms were rough, toughened by calluses, and they awakened every nerve in her body. “I can’t sit across from you at dinner and enjoy the food until I kiss you again.” She didn’t know whether to be offended he was so bold or relieved he had spared her the excruciating experience he had just described. She was both, sort of.

  “That’s all you want to do?” she asked slowly, trying to find her balance in this sudden shift between them.

  He shook his head. “Not even close.”

  His eyes blazed green fire, hot and dazzling, and she felt her blood heat. His bare chest was gorgeous, every bit as tan and muscled as she remembered. Her fingers tingled with the desire to run her palms over his smooth chest, down his lean sides, and over his hard arms. His spicy scent warmed the air between them, and her mouth watered, eager to taste his skin.

  It was much easier to hate him than to want him.

  She swallowed, unable to pretend. “I can’t do this. There’s so much between us…” None of it settled, none of it sweet.

  “Not tonight. Tonight, there’s nothing between us but this.” She didn’t resist as he pulled her into his embrace. “It’s been a hell of a week, hasn’t it?” His quiet chuckle turned into a sigh.

  It was his fault her week had been rough, his fault for hiring her, kissing her, leaving her alone. There was no reason why leaning against him should make her feel better. But it did. “This makes no sense at all,” she whispered, sighing.

  He hugged her tighter. “Nope.”

  Her arms stole around his waist. Their bodies fit together, her curves against his hollows. He rocked her lightly back and forth and the brush of their bodies made desire beat through her in a quickening pulse. She wasn’t going to listen to reason tonight. She wasn’t going to give. She was going to take.

  His fingers played over the bare skin of her back, explored the dip of her waist, and brushed her breast. His hand rose to cup the side of her neck, and he dipped to lightly brush his lips over hers, a gentle taste. “I love your dress, but you won’t need it.”

  Her muscles were melting like butter under the heat of his hands, and she didn’t care about dinner anymore. His arms closed around her, squeezing her tight enough to make her lose her breath as he swept her off her feet.

  “Bedroom?”

  She pointed down the hall.

  When he reached her room, he pushed the door wider with his foot and carried her to the bed. He laid her on top of the comforter, kicked his shoes off, and stretched out beside her. He traced her body from shoulder to thigh, and she moved restlessly under his touch.

  “Just let me touch you. I’ve been dying to,” he whispered.

  Need flared through her at his admission, but she lay still as he brushed his fingers through her hair, then ran his fingertips over her jaw. He leaned forward and tasted her lips, then outlined them with his tongue. With every touch, she fell further under his sensual spell. She could feel each breath expand her lungs. Her blood ran through her veins like thick molasses. Time slowed down, and she felt as if every separate heartbeat was an eternity in itself as he explored her body.

  She moaned, a low sound of pleasure, as he cupped her breast through her dress. His thumb found her nipple and stroked back and forth. She moved to his rhythm, responding to his touch and her own growing urgency.

  His hand drifted lower, to the hem of her dress, and she felt the silky material slide up her thigh. He pressed her backward, and she opened to him. His finger slid beneath the edge of her panties. A strangled sound escaped her throat when he stroked between her thighs. He cupped her, holding her inside and out, while he kissed her deeply, claiming her.

  “Naked,” he groaned. “You need to be naked.” He tore his mouth away from hers and reached down to yank her shoes from her feet. She sat up, fumbling with the bottom of her dress. There were no zippers or buttons, thank God, but it was difficult to get the tight material over her head when he had just melted every bone in her body. She felt his hands stroke her sides and suddenly the fabric was flying toward the floor, and she sat on the bed in her strapless bra and panties. He reached behind her, and her bra sailed after her dress. He hooked one finger in the lace of her panties. She lifted her hips.

  “Yes, just like that.” His eyes had darkened, and his gaze touched every part of her.

  He shifted until he was lying on top of her. Arousal burned through her. His jeans felt rough on the inside of her thighs, and she could feel his belt buckle against her stomach. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, completely focused on his mouth. His breath was warm and tasted like him, sweet and spicy. “You like this,” he whispered into her mouth.

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  His hand found her breast and squeezed. “Me, too.” He moved his hips in a slow, short movement, grinding into her. She tilted her hips in answer, widening her thighs, desperate to ease the ache he was creating. “But right now I want you to be still.” He moved his hand to her hips and pressed down. “Just so we’re clear—I don’t want you to talk back to me or give me any attitude, and if you roll your eyes at me, it had better be because you are coming so hard you’ve lost consciousness.”

  His autocratic tone shot heat through her core, but she resisted. “That doesn’t sound like a truce to me. That sounds like surrender.”

  “Who cares what it sounds like?” He slid one hand between her thighs. “How does it feel?”

  She gasped as he found her clitoris and began to draw slow circles around it. Then he flicked back and forth across the sensitive tip with the pad of his finger. It felt like the wings of a butterfly beating softly, steadily, and lightly. She wanted more. He kept stroking her, maintaining the same intensity until she thought she would scream.

  She looked up to find him watching her closely. “How does it feel?”

  “Good…but a little harder and it would feel great.”

  A faint smile creased his face. “Maybe I want to torture y
ou a little now, in the most pleasant way possible, of course.”

  “Of course,” she repeated faintly, reaching up to stroke her fingers along his tight jaw. “How long will this torture last?” She might be willing to surrender for now, but she had plans for later. She wasn’t going to lose out on the opportunity this night offered, especially now that he had given her an idea. Two could play his game.

  He glanced at the clock next to the bed. “Hard to say, but if I had to guess, about a half hour. It’s getting late, and I did promise to feed you.”

  “Takeout?” She asked hopefully.

  He shook his head. “Our first stop is Brill.”

  She gasped and sat up, pushing away from him and grabbing a pillow to cover herself. “How on earth did you get reservations at Brill at the last minute?”

  “I didn’t. I called in a favor. We’ll pop in the back door after the rush dies down, say hello to the chef, and eat in the kitchen. I don’t know about you, but I hate getting all dressed up to go out to eat. Too formal. That’s not my world. I like the kitchen. Plus, we’ll get to see them cooking, and maybe you’ll get some ideas.” His laugh was knowing. “You’re torn now, aren’t you? That’s why I got you naked before I told you where we’re going.”

  He thought she might want food more than him? “Are you kidding? Sex first, then dinner—and I don’t have to wear uncomfortable shoes? Sold.” But she held up a hand as he leaned toward her. “Not so fast. You basically just demanded I surrender to you before dinner. In fact, it sounded like you were special-ordering sex off a fast food menu. This isn’t Burger King, Jack. You don’t get it any way you want it…not all the time. I call the shots after dinner.”

  A dangerous grin curved his lips. “Are you sure that’s what you want? If you aren’t in a complete food coma after dessert tonight then you didn’t try hard enough. I want to make love to you now so we can stuff ourselves silly for the rest of the night. Are you sure you don’t want to call the shots after I cook you breakfast tomorrow morning? That might be more practical.”