Room Service

5

To: Pastry Chef Ed Mohr

From: Sous-Chef Jacob Hill

Tonight send a basket with fresh makings for Bouche S’mores to room 1212, with my compliments.

JACOB WATCHED EM SHIFT her weight from foot to foot as she glanced again at the bold art deco painting of the threesome. It made him want to smile. God, he loved to ruffle her feathers.

“I really was talking about something else,” she said.

“Like I said, it’s really too bad.”

Embarrassed or not, she met his gaze straight on. “So it’s true. Men really do fantasize about two women in their bed.”

“Doesn’t have to be in bed.” She rolled her eyes, and he laughed. “You asked.”

“I thought it was a myth. That men couldn’t really be so…so base.”

“’Fraid not, and that we are.”

She cocked her head and studied him thoughtfully. “What’s the draw? Two women? Seems like a lot of work.”

“You mean ’cause there are two of every body part, and in some cases, four? Not work.” He grinned.

“Women don’t fantasize about two men.”

“Never?”

She squirmed just a little, went a touch red, and he knew she was torn between lying or admitting a truth she preferred not to.

A minute ago he’d turned in the staff schedules for the week, and had planned on spending the next few hours on his own before he had to get started in the kitchen, but he’d seen her standing here and had been drawn to her like a metal rod to a magnet.

What was it about her? He wished he knew. He’d always been attracted to beautiful women, the more outspoken and unabashedly sexual the better. Em was beautiful, no doubt, but neither outspoken nor unabashedly sexual, and yet she fascinated him. She stood there in a long floral skirt and cream angora sweater with a row of tiny buttons down the front, looking very together despite her blush and wry smile. She’d made an attempt at taming her hair, which amused him. The sides were pulled up in clips, but her long bangs had escaped, framing her jaw on either side. She wore gloss on her lips, something peachy, and he was hungry for it, for her.

Then there was the way she was looking at him, with a repressed yearning that stopped his jaded heart. Damn, her eyes were intoxicating, and suddenly, or maybe not so suddenly at all, he wanted to know what made her tick, what her bare skin felt like, what it tasted like, every inch of it. He wanted to see her lost in him, coming for him, wanted to feel her wrapped around him, panting his name.

No, make that screaming his name.

Em turned back to the erotically charged painting, but he put his hands on her arms and pulled her around to face him. Her eyes were a little dilated now, the pulse at the base of her throat racing. She was every bit as turned-on as he was, which made his condition worse. “Let’s go.”

“What? Where?”

He looked into her wary, but undoubtedly excited, eyes. “You up for an adventure, Emmaline Harris?”

“An adventure? I don’t know…”

“Say yes.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Yes,” she said softly, then hemmed when he led her to the front doors of the hotel. “Where are we going?”

“It’s an amazing day out there, have you seen it?”

“I haven’t been out yet.”

“Can’t stay inside all day. Not on a day like today.” Jacob nodded to the doorman. It was Jon, who grinned and gave Jacob the thumbs-up sign behind Em’s back.

As they stepped through the doors, a gust of wind wrapped around them in a chilly caress, and Jacob took a moment to admire how it molded Em’s clothes to her belly, hips, legs and breasts, which were not big but not small, either, just right.

Unaware of his perusal of her body, Em tugged a rioting strand of hair out of her mouth. “Jacob, there’s something I really wanted to talk to you about first. My work-”

“No work. Not yet. Look at that sky.” It was a brilliant, shimmering blue, and when Em tipped her head up, it brought a slow, beautiful smile to her face.

He stroked another wayward strand of hair from her cheek just for the excuse of touching her. “Come on. It’s too perfect a day to waste.” Taking her hand in his, he began walking.

Keeping up with him, she said, “Do you ever ask?”

“What?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you do. You just do whatever you want.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I just can’t believe women let you get away with it. Why would they? Wait, don’t answer that.” She looked baffled and just a little off her axis at the same time. “You are a very spoiled man, Jacob Hill.”

“Spoiled?”

At that, she actually laughed at him at that, a sound he thoroughly enjoyed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You are not.”

That tugged a grin out of him. “How about some coffee?” He spread his hands. “Hear that? I’m asking.”

“You’re teasing me is what you’re doing. But yes. Coffee would be great.”

He loved that, quiet or not, she spoke her mind. No pretense. No games.

Traffic was a bitch this morning, nothing new, so he steered her through a throng of pedestrians, easily weaving her across the street between bikes and cabs and honking cars.

“Oh, my God,” Em grumbled beneath her breath when a car came close. “Crazy.”

“It’s New York.”

“In L.A.,” she gasped breathlessly, as she kept up, “cars actually stop for people.”

“Here, cars use pedestrians for parking spaces.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her to him when a cab nearly did just that with her toes. “Stick close.”

“Yikes,” she muttered, but stayed against him. Now the strands of her hair stroked his face, the scent delicious enough that he wanted to breathe her in. As her long legs moved in tandem with his, he enjoyed the feel of her thigh brushing against his every step they took. Her breast was pressed up against his ribs and he wanted to turn her to face him, to savor the full experience, but when traffic slowed, she pulled away.

Where was a speeding cab when he needed one?

They walked through the gorgeous Bryant Park, an oasis in the midst of chaos, and were only one block from their destination when a bicyclist came out of nowhere, barreling down the middle of the sidewalk, without any apparent concern that they were in his way.

Perfect. Jacob turned toward Em, put his hands on her waist and pushed her back against the wall of the building at their right.

The bicyclist sped past, swearing at them for good measure.

Em lifted her head, blew a strand of hair out of her mouth and blinked at him. “That man should get a ticket.”

“Not likely, not here.” He touched her chilly cheek, letting his finger linger on her soft skin. “Em.”

Her eyes flickered with something far more than irritation at the cyclist as she licked her lips and slowly raised her gaze to his. The pulse at the base of her neck beat like a poor overworked hummingbird’s wings.

“I’m not going to ask if you mind this time,” he said softly.

Understanding lit her gaze as he lowered his mouth toward hers. In spite of his words, he gave her the chance to stop him. Even a slight pressure from the hands she’d set on his chest would have done it. Instead she did the opposite, slowly curling her fingers into his shirt.

He smiled then, and as he kissed her, he thought, That’s the first time I’ve wanted to smile and kiss a woman at the same time.

LOGICALLY EM KNEW this was a mistake but once Jacob’s mouth touched hers, logic flew right out the window, and her body cut off all circulation to her brain cells, including the one that was supposed to say, “Don’t even think about it!”

With a low, rough murmur deep in his throat, his hands came up and framed her face, sliding into her hair to palm her head, changing the angle of the kiss, deepening it.

Oh. My. God.

Helpless against the onslaught of pure lust, Em did as any woman who’d already tasted heaven and wanted to savor it some more would have done-she pulled him even closer and held on for all she was worth. But it was more than just his kiss, his touch. He aroused her physically, no doubt, and yet her need for him came from her heart, too.

If she could think, she’d have been terrified. But she couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything other than feel.

When his tongue slid to find hers, she heard a throaty, desperate sort of growl and realized it came from her.

Oh, boy. She was a goner.

It wasn’t her fault, though. The man was the best kisser she’d ever been with. The best kisser on the planet. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a walking dream.

And she didn’t want to wake up.

So she tuned out the sounds of the streets around them-the talking, the footsteps, the honking of impatient drivers-and did what she knew she didn’t do enough: let the experience wash over her. And it did wash over her, everything, his scent, deliciously male, the feel of his long, hard-muscled body pressed to hers, her soft thighs spread by one of his, and his hands…the way they slowly, knowingly glided up and down her arms, then up her throat to hold her face. It all simply undid her.

Finally, when he’d thoroughly ravished her with the kiss, he raised his mouth a fraction and opened his eyes, filled with a searing heat and desire and that ever-present wry amusement.

“What could possibly be funny?” she demanded, her knees still shaking.

“It’s just that you kiss like you think.”

She blinked. “I what?”

Again, that fleeting smile, the one that flashed his dimple and crinkled his drown-in-me eyes. “You, Emmaline Harris, are a series of contradictions. You dress like a businesswoman, for instance.”

“I am a businesswoman.”

“But you have a very carefree, come-what-may streak. It’s sexy as hell, you know.” He ran his thumb, rough with work calluses, over her lower lip, which was still wet from his mouth. She had to stifle the urge to suck the pad of it into her mouth.

What was happening to her? She’d always managed to go for stretches of time without thinking about sex. Or having sex. She’d slept with her last boyfriend-what had it been?-only four months or so ago. Not so long. Surely not long enough for this overwhelming longing, this heartbreaking ache to be sweeping through her body at the mere touch of his mouth or thumb.

“I see,” she said, but she didn’t. She had no idea where he was going with this, or where she wanted him to go with this, and yet when he spread his fingers over her jaw, she turned her face into his palm, pressing her lips there.

“I’m not sure what it is about you,” he murmured, his voice a little husky now. “You talk like a schoolteacher. A little uptight, a little reserved.”

Uptight? Reserved? She lifted her face away from his touch to look at him.

He smiled. “And yet you think things, things that have your eyes smoldering, things that bring heat to your face. Things that make me hot, Em.”

She stared at him, no longer sure what she was feeling, though it caused her tummy to quiver and an embarrassing dampness to gather between her thighs.

“A contradiction,” he whispered in that Southern honey of a voice that, along with his knowing smile, made her think of Matthew McConaughey in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. “Still up for caffeine?”

“Please.”

He took her hand. As they began walking again, his long-legged easy stride eating up the sidewalk, she risked a quick sideways glance at him. What was she doing? She needed to get across the fact that she wanted him to host her TV show, and yet all she’d done so far was stare at him dreamily.

And kiss him. Let’s not forget that. Sheesh. Good going.

“Here we are,” he said, and stopped in front of a small hole-in-the-wall Irish pub called Patrick’s.

Em stared at the Celtic sign swinging from the eaves. “But…it’s ten in the morning.”

“Yep.” He opened the door for her.

She stepped inside, and was surprised. Even at this hour, the pub was filled, and with the mahogany bar and raw-wood floors and ceiling, the place felt warm and welcoming, exuding a natural charm. The conversation that greeted them was a good-natured mixture of gossip, wit and discussion. She could imagine sitting here comfortably with a drink, and when she looked at Jacob, could also imagine him perfectly at home in the middle of a brawl right there on the floor.

As if he’d read her mind, he grinned. “I’ve been known to escape here now and then.”

“Isn’t there a bar right in the hotel? Erotique, right?”

“Yes, but I feel more at home here.” He pulled her up to the bar.

A woman came out of the back, sixtyish, with hair the color of a bright red crayon piled high on top of her head. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, with an apron that read, If Your Order Hasn’t Arrived Yet, It’s Probably Not Coming.

“Jacob, my love,” she said with a heavy Irish accent and a surprised wide smile. “You came to cook up me day’s special again!”

“That was for your birthday, Maddie.”

“Damn.” She sighed mightily. “I had a real hankering for one of your omelets…” Only someone with great love for someone else could lay on the guilt so thick.

Jacob looked at Em. “Em, meet Maddie. She owns this place and runs it with an iron fist, so watch out.”

Maddie tossed back her head and laughed. “I’ll iron fist you, boy. And don’t think I can’t.” She hugged him hard, her head barely coming up to his chest. Then she pulled back and smacked his chest. “Now how about that special?”

Arm still around Maddie, Jacob looked at Em.

“I don’t mind,” she said, curious at the obvious great affection between the two of them.

“See, the girl doesn’t mind.” Maddie smiled innocently. “And then there’s the added bonus of letting her see your soft side.” She laughed again, and so did Jacob, as if they both found the possibility of Jacob having a soft side extremely funny.

“Come on, then,” Jacob murmured to Em, leading her behind the bar, to the back. “Since you’ve let her get her way, there’ll be no living with her.”

Making himself right at home in the postage-stamp-size kitchen that had to be poorly equipped compared to what he was used to, he grabbed a pan and set it on the stovetop. Then he opened the refrigerator and said, “Heads up.”

Em barely caught the red pepper he tossed her, and then the green one. And an onion-“Hey.”

He straightened, his hands full with a carton of eggs and a hunk of cheese. Before her eyes, he chopped and diced and mixed it all up, hands moving quickly and efficiently, like a well-honed machine. God, was there anything sexier than watching a man in the kitchen? He caught her looking, and flashed her a dimple and a wink as he tossed the ingredients into the sizzling pan. And in less than two minutes, he was flipping an omelet in the air and then back into the pan.

Em couldn’t tear her eyes off him. He wasn’t just regular sexy, but beg-him-to-take-her sexy.

Maddie came into the kitchen in time for Jacob to hand her a loaded plate. Her carrottop hair wobbled as she leaned over the plate and took a bite, then grinned broadly. “Jacob, me boy, you’ve outdone yourself. I don’t suppose you’re going to do the dishes?”

Jacob laughed and led Em back to the front to her bar stool.

Maddie followed them out, still chewing. “Well, hell. I suppose I have to serve you now.”

“We’ll have two coffees,” Jacob said. “Unless I need to brew that, too?”

“Smart-ass.” Maddie moved back into the kitchen.

Jacob looked over at Em, his eyes full of laughter and mischief and memories of their kisses, maybe? Just thinking about them made the heat rush to her face, and to other parts of her body. “Jacob.”

“Em,” he said with mock obedience.

“I, uh, might have given you the wrong idea back there.”

“Back there…”

“Outside.”

He just looked at her.

Damn it. “When we kissed.”

“Ah.” He nodded seriously. “And what idea would that have been?”

“That I intend to sleep with you.”

He arched a brow. “And you don’t.”

“No. I’m sorry.” No matter that you’ve made me so hot my skin is steaming. “I don’t.”

Maddie came back with two mugs of coffee. Jacob didn’t say anything while Em doctored hers up with sugar, lots of it, and cream. Not sure what to say, or how to get back to broaching the subject of her TV show, Em looked around her. The place had mismatched chairs and flooring that had probably been there for fifty years, yet was scrubbed to a shiny clean, as were all the surfaces. The crowd was much older than Hush’s, and most were eating, not drinking. Two men past retirement age were playing cards in the corner. Others hunched at the counter over their mugs, some talking, some not. All the while Maddie ran the show with her boisterous voice and easy laughter. It was curious to Em that Jacob came here.

“Taste your coffee,” he said with that uncanny way he had of reading her mind. “It’ll make better sense to you.”

She looked into Jacob’s eyes, which matched the color of her coffee, thinking it’d be nice if he would read the rest of her mind, at least regarding the hosting gig. She took a sip of her drink, and the brew melted a delicious path all the way to her belly. “Oh. Perfect.”

“Yeah.” He smiled.

“No, I mean it. This is almost better than your food.”

“Careful.”

She laughed. “You been coming here a long time?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked at Maddie. “A long time.”

It occurred to her how much she wanted to know him. Not the chef, but Jacob Hill, the man. “Tell me,” she said quietly.

“The first time I showed up here, it was raining. Pouring, actually. It seemed like the skies had just opened up. I was cold and wet and hungry and, quite frankly, lost.” His mouth twisted wryly. “At night, that hanging sign out front flashes like a beacon. Maddie harassed and badgered me, but she finally let me in.”

“Why wouldn’t she have?”

“I was fourteen.”

Em gasped. “Fourteen? What was a fourteen-year-old doing alone on the streets of New York?”

“Ah.” He sipped his coffee.

“Ah? What does that mean?”

“You probably had a curfew at fourteen.”

“Well, of course I had a curfew at fourteen.”

“And a bunch of rules.”

“Yes.”

“And you followed them.”

“Well, not always.” But mostly. Her parents had been wonderfully warm and loving, and yet even she had done her share of chafing at the teenage bit.

“Which means what?” he said. “That maybe you didn’t always do your homework, or once you stayed out an extra five minutes?”

“I was basically a good kid,” she admitted. “Big surprise, huh?” Their worlds couldn’t have been more different, and yet those differences fascinated her. “Kids need boundaries. Where were your parents?”

“Never really had any.”

Em couldn’t even imagine, and her heart squeezed.

“Typical story,” he said. “Young girl grows up in a trailer park outside of Nashville, dreams of getting out, gets herself knocked up by the first sweet-talker, who then vanishes at the special news. The unwanted baby grows up to be a kid who looks just like his daddy and the girl can’t handle it.”

He spoke easily enough, but Em’s throat tightened at all he didn’t say about those young, impressionable years when he’d thought of himself as the “unwanted baby.” “What did you do?”

“Oh, I had a thing for cooking, even back then, and a wanderlust spirit that made the whole thing an adventure. I left when I was ten. Never went back.”

“Ten. My God, you were just a kid,” she breathed, unable to even fathom it. “On your own like that…no one should be alone that young.” She could hear the angry tears in her voice. “You should have been taken in by-”

“Social services? Hell, no.” He let out a harsh laugh. “Happened once. It didn’t work so well for me.” Reaching out, he ran a finger over her temple, pushing her bangs from her eyes. “You have such beautiful hair.”

She caught his hand. “We were talking about you.”

“Then get that pity out of your pretty eyes. So I was young, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m not feeling pity,” she said around the ball of emotion still lodged in her throat. “It’s empathy. Anger for that kid you once were. How did you survive?”

“By cooking for traveling fairs across the South. I was pretty good. I did all right.”

Having tasted his talents firsthand, she nodded. “Yes, you’re extremely talented in the kitchen.”

He shot her a wicked look. “Actually, I’m extremely talented in a number of areas.”

Her stomach did a flip. “Finish your story.” She’d intended a dry tone, but sounded more like Marilyn Monroe on a particularly hot summer day.

He touched her nose, looking amused. He knew what he did to her, and he liked it. “From the fairs, I progressed to hole-in-the-wall diners. Then I caught a train and ended up here in New York for a while. It’s where I met Maddie. Her uncle took me in for a year-he worked at a culinary school uptown. I learned a bunch there but didn’t have much loyalty in me then. I didn’t stay.”

“Where did you go?”

“Everywhere. I’d worked my way up to restaurants by that time.” Shoving up the long sleeves of his black shirt, revealing corded forearms that made her mouth water, he picked up a set of knife, fork and spoon, and began to juggle them.

She just stared at him. She would have been no more surprised if he’d grown a set of horns.

“I was a real hit at the Japanese places, where they toss the ingredients and knives for the customers.” Much to her disbelief, he added a plastic jam packet to the juggling items, leaning back a bit, craning his head up to keep everything in sight.

Maddie whooped her encouragement. The two old men in the corner stopped playing cards to watch.

All the other customers did the same.

Jacob grinned, then added yet another knife, a sharp one this time, his finely tuned body working effortlessly.

Em put a hand to her pounding heart.

“Don’t worry,” Jacob said. “I hardly ever miss and lose a finger.”

Maddie wrapped her hands around her mouth. “Show-off,” she yelled.

Jacob just kept up the amazing feat, his arms and hands moving so fast they were a whirl, his eyes carefully trained on the task as he continued his story. “Now I’m in the posh Amuse Bouche, happy to be there, of course, but…” With a grin, he leaned forward and planted a quick, hard kiss on Em’s lips, all without dropping a single thing.

She could only stare at him.

He merely winked. “But I’m not nearly as sophisticated as people think.”

Mouth dry, body not, Em could believe it.