This was getting ridiculous.
“You know he’s crazy about you?”
“It’s just one of those older-woman crushes,” she said dismissively.
“He’s what, two, three years younger?”
“Still.” She leaned against the bar stool next to mine. “He’s not…I mean, he’s awfully boyish. I’d feel all, ‘Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me.’”
I laughed. “With that outdated reference, you are old.”
But I knew what she meant. I wasn’t sure why I’d even broached the subject. Maybe her needling me about my slow love life had made me realize how un-characteristically long it’d been since she’d mentioned hers.
“You aren’t seeing anyone these days, are you?”
She started, her eyes wider than normal. “Why do you ask?”
“Seems like it’s been a while since you were telling me about the guy you’re involved with or want to be involved with or are dumping after your brief but torrid involvement.”
“And you’re complaining? I thought you didn’t want to talk about stuff like that.”
Her casual tone seemed forced, and I wondered in a surprising flash if I’d hurt her feelings during some previous conversation. “I don’t need to hear every guy’s exact talents and proportions, but I’m still interested in who’s who in the life of Amanda White.”
“Oh. Good to know.” Her smile was rueful. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time there is a man.”
Speaking of men.
Wow.
Todd had reappeared, jangling the keys to the main entrance door, and behind him—did I already say wow? The patron who’d come inside from the cold was tall with golden-blond hair, striking features, piercing eyes that I was pretty sure were green, a black leather jacket and dark jeans. Literally everything about him made me want to volunteer to warm him up. And I do not mean with my signature cayenne-spiked gourmet hot chocolate.
I can’t even explain what made him so…let’s just say he had a quality. Certainly he had a gorgeous face, complete with a strong chin and jaw that proclaimed masculinity and strength and decisive power. From what I could tell, he also had an amazing body beneath the charcoal knit sweater and perfectly sized jeans, neither tight nor baggy. But it wasn’t any of those things that turned my knees to custard. It was the overall impression he created, something about the way he carried himself. Trying to define it would be like trying to properly explain the taste of truffles to someone who’s never had them.
Standing next to me, Amanda let out an appreciative sigh, and I figured my days of not hearing about her love life were over. Jealousy scalded me, but I smiled in her direction as the source of our mutual—cross-eyed, drooly lust—admiration came toward us.
“He…” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, and I doubted her breathy tone was due simply to keeping her voice low.
“Has a certain quality, doesn’t he? Sensual. Confident. Powerful.”
“Jumpable.” She cut her gaze to me. “And, damn, do you need a man.”
This was why I was a chef and Amanda microwaved most of her meals; she wasn’t big on savoring.
“Ladies.” His deep voice was rich, as velvety as a perfectly prepared roux. His smile held none of the arrogance I’d sometimes glimpsed in Trevor when he realized women were checking him out.
“Hello, there.” Amanda had the presence of mind to flash an answering smile. My greeting so far consisted of openmouthed ogling. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” He frowned at her. “Do you work here? I thought…Are you Miriam Scott?”
Amanda’s gaze whipped toward me, and I could feel her shock. Or maybe what I felt was my own shock. This man had sought me out? On purpose?
My heart accelerated when I spoke to him, in that nervously infatuated way I’d assumed people outgrew after puberty. It was difficult to get my pulse back to normal when I was reeling from the surprise of a gorgeous stranger appearing and asking for me by name. “That’s I’m. Me. I’m her. Miriam.”
Was it too late to take Amanda up on her offer of a drink? A gin and hemlock would hit the spot.
The stranger’s green eyes widened. “You’re Miriam? Oh. So sorry about the misunderstanding.” For a millisecond, his puzzled frown not only lingered, it deepened. But then he replaced it with a polished smile. His arm snapped up at the elbow, suddenly bent and extended toward me so that we could shake hands. “Dylan Kincaid, here to get you ready for public appearances.”
He was professional enough not to say what I’m sure all three of us were thinking: And, Lord, do we have work to do.
3
Homey comfort foods definitely have their place, but are they enough to satisfy you? Rich, exotic pleasures are more accessible than you think.
LIKE A PANICKED GENERAL trying to rally the troops, I gathered my thoughts. I needed everyone to report for duty now. “Mr. Kincaid, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I braced myself for the handshake, vowing not to dissolve at his touch. His palm was warm, but not soft, and his fingers wrapped purposefully around my hand. Can I be your love slave? Amanda was right, I did need a man.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” I managed to choke out, awarding myself points for remembering to let go of him.
He smiled apologetically. “I hope I’m not inconveniencing you by arriving early. My previous job ended sooner than expected, and Joan mentioned you were a bit nervous about the promotional events.”
His eyes warmed affectionately when he mentioned my editor, and suddenly I wondered what she’d meant when she’d said she “knew him.”
“I stopped by your house,” he continued, “thinking that if you weren’t home I could check in to the hotel and then try your restaurant, but a neighbor told me you’d be here.”
I nodded. That would be Mrs. Asher, widowed busy-body who would no doubt quiz me about the handsome stranger later. “Spicy Seas is closed on Tuesdays, so I was keeping my friend company.” That sounded better than admitting I’d shown up here needing reassurance that my book wasn’t porn. “This is Amanda White.”
“Very nice to meet you,” she said in a voice that stopped just shy of a purr. At my sidelong glance, she cleared her throat. “But I guess I should be getting back to work.”
I’d been so intent on Dylan, I honestly couldn’t have said whether or not the first customer or two had trickled in now that the door was open. I waggled my fingers in a half wave at Amanda as she left us alone. Something about Dylan…
“I’m sorry, but have we met?” I asked.
My question may
