would run into him again. So, before he could retreat or she could entertain second thoughts, she grabbed the front of his jacket and hauled him to her.
Their lips bumped clumsily before settling in place. His were firm, the pressure sweet. She expected him to pull back afterward. Mission accomplished. That would be that. She would be on her way. But one of his hands came up. His palm cradled her jaw. The pad of his thumb stroked her cheek. Long fingers tangled in the hair over her ear. A pair of smoky eyes closed as a sigh escaped. His breath was a feather-soft caress on her face. When his mouth dived back in for seconds, she was grateful to be seated since her world tilted on its axis.
“Hey, buddy. You gettin’ in or what?” the cabbie asked in a voice edged with impatience.
It served as a wet blanket to the unexpected bonfire that had flared inside Lara. The man eased away, his smile crooked and slightly self-conscious.
She felt the same way. Public displays of affection really weren’t her thing.
“Nah. The lady won the cab fair and square,” he said as he straightened.
“Good luck,” Lara told him, reaching out to give his fingers a squeeze.
“Thanks.” He studied their linked hands a moment. “You know, I don’t think I’m going to need it after all.”
Afterward, he closed the door and gave the cab’s roof a thump with the same hand that had slid along her jaw. He was no longer smiling when the car pulled away. In fact, he was shaking his head, his gaze on the pavement. But he looked more bemused than annoyed, even as the heavens opened up and Mother Nature wrung out her wash.
It was with an effort that Lara regrouped. It wouldn’t do to be distracted by hot lip-locks with even hotter strangers. She needed to be focused, fearless. She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. What she looked was frazzled, flushed and a bit dazed. Her hair was mussed, her lip gloss long gone. Still, she considered the pleasure that had the corners of her mouth curving to be a pretty fair exchange for her disheveled state.
She pulled out her compact and used the drive time to touch up her makeup. Aside from lip gloss, she didn’t wear very much, but given the long hours she spent indoors, a little blush on her pale cheeks was a must. The second swipe of mascara she added to her lashes helped keep her eyes from looking tired, even though she had slept poorly the night before.
Nerves.
Today was a big day. Today she would get her first glimpse of the people who stood between her and her rightful place in the Chesterfield’s kitchen.
* * *
Luck.
The only kind Finn Westbrook had experienced since his divorce two years earlier was the bad variety. In spades. Now here he was, running late for the opportunity of a lifetime, and he’d lost his ride in a stupid game of chance. Still, as he watched the cab pull away with the pretty young woman tucked inside, he couldn’t complain.
She wasn’t the sort of female who would have turned most men’s heads, especially at a mere glance. Her looks were too understated for that: small, freckle-dusted nose; arched brows that all but disappeared beneath a fringe of bangs; lips that were not quite as full as was the current fashion; wide-set green eyes that, up close, revealed flecks of gold.
But the moment their hands touched, she’d had Finn’s attention trussed up like a holiday turkey. In that moment, he’d experienced something he hadn’t felt for a woman in a very long time: attraction. The real, punch-in-the-gut kind that knocked the wind out of a guy for a split second before his breathing resumed in a white-hot rush.
Damn, if it didn’t feel good. He’d been dead inside for so long. And that kiss? Heat was still licking through his veins, threatening to consume him. He settled his hands on his hips and shook his head in amazement.
Fate, bitch that she was, chose that moment to offer a swift kick where it counted. The rain that had held off during their game of Rock, Paper, Scissors gushed from the sky like water sprayed from the business end of a fire hose. Still, Finn could only smile. Maybe he should be grateful for a dousing of cold water.
TWO
Peel and chop
By the time Lara reached her destination, she’d managed to push thoughts of the sexy man to the back burner. But those nerves had her feeling as if she’d eaten bad shellfish. She paid the cabbie and, holding her purse over her head, made a dash for the building, dodging raindrops and umbrella-wielding pedestrians as she went.
At the reception desk in the lobby, she checked in, donned a visitor’s badge that bore the name Lara Smith and headed for the nearest elevator with a sigh of relief. She’d cleared the first hurdle. She’d half expected someone to recognize her, new bangs notwithstanding, and call her out on the alias.
On the fifteenth floor, the waiting room for Sylvan Studios was crowded with people. The best of the best in the industry sat in the tastefully upholstered chairs. They were an eclectic-looking bunch, but that was to be expected. Chefs came in all varieties, from the artsy and avant-garde to the down-home and downright dowdy. She knew better than to discount any of them based on appearance alone. All of them had won their preliminary round and were after the same thing as Lara: a job.
Not just any job, but one that would have been hers if she hadn’t taken her rebellion to the extreme. Leave it to her father to rub salt in the wound by publicly proclaiming the need for a “successor,” and then agreeing to let Cuisine Cable Network fill the head-chef position at his restaurant via its highly rated Executive Chef Challenge show. By the time the last of the weekly installments aired in the fall, Lara or one of eleven other über-qualified chefs from around the country would be deciding the Chesterfield’s dinner specials.
Lara had entered the competition without her father’s knowledge. Indeed, no one at the network knew about her ties to Clifton and the Chesterfield. She could only count on anonymity because the program was taped in advance. If it aired live, she would have been found out right away. If she made it to the final round, which her father would judge personally, she would be forced to come clean. Between now and then, however, she had to do some of the best and most creative cooking of her life.
She scanned the faces of the six men and four women in the waiting room. Add her and that made eleven. She frowned. Someone was missing.
She was still standing just inside the door, surreptitiously checking email on her cell phone, when she heard it open. Contestant number twelve had arrived. She turned, ready to size up the competition, and came face-to-face with...
“Paper,” she murmured in surprise and resisted the urge to touch her lips.
The gray eyes regarding her widened fractionally before his mouth softened with a grin.
“Actually, I go by Finn. Finn Westbrook.” He peeled off his drenched jacket and hung it on the coatrack just to Lara’s left. “Enjoy your ride?”
“I did. Thank you.” Even though the answer seemed obvious, she inquired, “Did you have to wait long for another taxi?”
“I gave up on waiting there. I hauled ass for three blocks before I was able to flag one down at Columbus Circle.”
A drop of water spilled down his temple. Lara resisted the temptation to wipe it away. Instead, she reached into
