Torrie Lassiter paused just before she stepped into the bar of the San Francisco
Monahan House. Her plan — to hire herself a pretend lover for the weekend — had
seemed so simple and clever during the long flight from Chicago. But now that
she was on the brink of implementing it, the warning bells and buzzers were
going off in her mind.
But she was not going to let herself back down. In her mind, she pictured
pulling one switch at a time until every one of the bells and buzzers clicked
off. Visualization was a technique she'd picked up from her globe-trotting aunt
Jan, and during the past year it had helped her get her confidence back.
Avery La Rue, the man who'd stolen that confidence and a prestigious job at the
Turtle Bay Inn from her, was not going to get the chance to triumph over her
again. When she faced him with a new lover on her arm he would know that she was
no longer the stupid, naïve girl he'd been able to manipulate so easily a year
ago. And tomorrow morning when she competed against him in a cook-off, she would
win! Mr. Monahan himself was going to sample the dishes and the winner would be
offered the job of executive chef at the San Francisco Monahan House.
Just as Torrie stepped into the arched entrance of the bar, her cell phone rang.
Putting it to her ear, she said, "Yes?"
"Well, what does your gigolo look like?"
"Aunt Jan. I'm not hiring a gigolo." Torrie couldn't prevent a smile. Her aunt,
who reminded her of Auntie Mame and General Patton all rolled into one, was the
only person she'd shared her plan with. "I'm merely going to find a nice
businessman who will do me a little favor."
"By pretending to be your lover for the weekend." Her aunt's crack of laughter
sounded in Torrie's ear. "Okay, call him whatever you want, but why don't you
have him yet? The clock's ticking!"
Torrie glanced at her watch. It was five o'clock and she was meeting Avery for
drinks at seven. He'd called her in Chicago to set it up — just a friendly
little drink for old times' sake.
Right! Avery was about as friendly as the snake in the Garden of Eden.
He'd called her because he'd wanted to size up his enemy. Perhaps he thought he
could even seduce her again.
He wasn't going to get the chance. By seven o'clock this evening, she was going
to have an attractive, sexy man on her arm. She pictured it in her mind.
"You're wearing the skirt, aren't you?"
"Yes." Torrie glanced at her reflection in one of the mirrored walls that
flanked the bar's entrance. Her aunt had been with her when she'd gotten the
skirt that had always acted like a magnet with men.
It had been spring break her junior year in college, and their cruise ship had
blown off course to a tiny island that wasn't even on the map. Torrie had never
forgotten the words of the woman who'd sold it to her: The island women weave
the fabric in the moonlight with a special fiber. Whoever wears this skirt will
attract her true love.
So far, the "magic moonlit fibers" hadn't brought Torrie her true love, but
every time she'd worn the skirt in college, some man had asked her out. More
recently, she'd been wearing it for luck during the taping of her TV cooking
show in Chicago.
Turning sideways, she checked her profile in the mirror. The skirt had always
looked ordinary to her — basic, black. It went well with any top, including the
sleeveless shell she was wearing.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Aunt Jan asked. "Time's a wasting! If that
skirt can attract your true love, it should certainly be able to reel in a
gigolo or two."
"One will be quite enough," Torrie said. "Talk to you later, Aunt Jan."
She was placing the cell phone back in her purse when something in the mirror
caught her eye. For a moment she could have sworn the fabric of the skirt
glowed. And there'd been something else, too. Narrowing her eyes, she waited for
it to happen again.
It didn't.
Maybe she was getting a little too good at the visualization thing. For an
instant while the skirt was glowing, she'd also seen a man with his arms around
her.
Pushing the image away, she turned and saw the man again. Tall, dark, and
handsome enough to make her eyes blink, he was standing behind the bar staring
straight at her.
He was perfect. For a moment, that was the only thought in her mind. But
he was the bartender. She could hardly hire him. Pulling her gaze away, she
glanced around the room.
He was also the only man in the bar! What in the world was she going to do now?
Jake Monahan tried to recall the last time his mind had been wiped clean by a
woman. Third grade, when Mary Jane Delaney had offered to kiss him in the
cloakroom? Even then, he'd managed to snap out of his trance long enough to take
her up on her offer.
Eyes narrowing, he gathered his thoughts and tried hard to assess the woman
striding toward him. Because the room was dim and the light was behind her, he
hadn't caught a good look at her face yet. What had captured his attention first
were her legs.
She wasn't that tall — perhaps five foot two or three, but her legs were
amazing: long and slender and — he could see every inch of them through the
sheer fabric of the skirt she was wearing.
The elemental pull that he'd been feeling ever since she'd stepped into the
doorway of the bar tightened at the same moment that an alarm sounded in the
back of his mind.
Damn! The last thing he needed was a professional lady of the night drumming up
business in his hotel bar. Good thing he'd gone with his instincts and
registered incognito so that he could personally check out the problems that had
been threatening the reputation of his latest addition to the Monahan House
chain. The hotel was celebrating its grand opening in less than a month, and it
was crucial that it be running up to his standards by then.
Forcing his gaze upward, Jake noted the woman's slender, athletic build, the
snug fit of the tank top. His gaze lingered there, too, before he forced it
higher, taking in the long, almost ebony-colored hair, the whimsical spirals of
thin gold that dangled from her ears, and the eyes — a clear, deep blue. A
flicker of recognition moved through him. Then for the second time in as many
minutes, Jake felt his mind go blank.
"Could I have a seltzer water with lime?" she asked.
Jake heard the words, struggled to make sense out of them. She thought he was
the bartender — no doubt because he'd stepped behind the bar for a minute to
check the supplies while the real bartender went to fetch the champagne he'd
ordered. Dragging his eyes from hers, he took in her other features — the
delicate line of her cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin, the full, unpainted
lips, a little pouty right now. She was speaking again…. Her mouth alone was
enough to make a man's blood move.
Suddenly, recognition flooded in. Her lips had always been curved upward in a
smile on her television program. The woman standing before him was Torrie
Lassiter, the Cordon bleu chef he wanted to hire for the top job in his San
Francisco Monahan House kitchen. Right now she was looking at him expectantly.
"Sorry. What did you say?" Jake asked.
She climbed onto the stool and let her gaze sweep the room. "It's five o'clock
and the only people in this bar are women sipping tea. Where are all the men?"
She glanced at her watch. "I need one in a hurry."
Jake Monahan knew that top-of-the-line chefs were often temperamental and
eccentric. But the last thing that he'd expected on his anonymous visit to check
out the problems threatening his Monahan House San Francisco was to find Torrie
Lassiter in his hotel bar…on the prowl.
Over the top of the bar, he watched her cross her legs. As the skirt inched
higher up her thigh, his mouth went dry and he wished for the bottle of
champagne he'd just sent the bartender to get.
This certainly wasn't the image that she projected on her TV cooking show. He
made a point of watching it whenever he was in the Chicago viewing area because
of the passion and enthusiasm she had about cooking. He'd known from the first
time he'd seen her that he wanted her.
No, that wasn't right. Jake forced his gaze away from her legs. He wanted her
in his hotel kitchen. Nothing more.
And he had to have misunderstood what she'd just said to him. He cleared his
throat. "What did you just say?"
She turned those wide blue eyes on him again. "I said, I need a man in a hurry,
and I thought the bar would be the best place to pick one up. Where are they?"
No, he hadn't misunderstood her, nor had he misread his own reaction to her. He
wanted to be the man she needed.
And that was impossible. He didn't get involved with women on a whim — certainly
not on the basis of the kind of reckless desire that had been building in him
since he'd seen her framed in the doorway. And he made it an unbreakable rule to
never become personally involved with the people he employed or intended to
employ in his hotels.
"Look." She leaned a little closer to him. "I don't want to interrupt your break
or anything — but could you get me a glass of seltzer water with a twist?"
Get a grip, Jake told himself as he pushed himself back from the bar and fixed
her a drink. Another minute of gazing into those blue-as-the-sea eyes of hers
and he might have pointed out to her that he was a man — and available for
anything she might have in mind.
This was what came of working nonstop for the past five years. Perhaps
Arthur, his right-hand man, was right, and he did need to take a break.
Otherwise, why would he have to remind himself that the only reason he'd invited
Torrie Lassiter here to the Monahan House in San Francisco was because he wanted
her to be his executive chef? It was the hotel's manager, Marjorie Lyndon, who'd
arranged a cook-off for publicity purposes. And she'd done it all without
checking with him.
That was one of the reasons why he was here. A lot of things were happening at
this hotel that he didn't know about, and he had a feeling that the incidents
weren't accidental. A man didn't get as far as he had in the business world by
ignoring his instincts. Nor by throwing caution to the wind.
What was it about Torrie Lassiter that had him suddenly wanting to do just that?
As he placed the drink in front of her, Jake studied her. It was a lot easier to
look at her in profile than it was to be trapped in those eyes of hers. People
fascinated him almost as much as running a business did. And Torrie had
intrigued him from the first time he'd seen her on TV.
His gaze seemed to move of its own accord to her mouth. The urge to taste it, to
taste her, was becoming irresistible.
He couldn't recall ever having been pulled this quickly, this strongly to a
woman before. One thing was for certain. He wanted to know more about Torrie
than what was on the résumé he had in his files. If she intended to use his bar
to pick up men, then she wasn't the right chef for Monahan House. This time, he
leaned toward her and let himself flick one of the thin gold spirals that hung
from her ear.
"You know, the last time I checked, I was a man," he said conversationally.
There was surprise and a touch of embarrassment in the look she gave him. "I
didn't think you weren't. I mean…I just thought…you're the bartender."
"No. She went to get the bottle of champagne I ordered. They're a little short
staffed, and I told her I'd cover for her." The lack of adequate staff was
something he would speak to Marjorie Lyndon about. "I assure you I'm a paying
guest. And I imagine there'll be a lot more men coming in here in a couple of
hours. It's only three o'clock."
Torrie glanced at her watch and then groaned. "I'm still on Chicago time."
Jake signaled the bartender, who'd just reappeared, for a second glass to
accompany the champagne. "That must mean you have two hours to relax." He passed
a bill to the bartender and signaled her to keep the change.
"Thank you, sir. And thanks for keeping an eye on my customers."
Stepping out from behind the bar, Jake smiled at Torrie. "Why don't you have a
drink with me and we can talk about what you have in mind?"
The man had a killer smile, complete with dimples. And Torrie had to admit he
was perfect — tall, dark, handsome, and very attractive. Kind, too. She'd noted
his generosity to the bartender. Quickly, she sized him up. The clothes were a
bit travel worn. But even without a change in wardrobe, any woman who could
breathe would give him a second look.
Suddenly, an image slipped into her mind — his arms were around her, just as
they'd been in that flash she'd seen in the mirror, except that one hand had
moved beneath her chin. In a moment, he would draw her closer and kiss her.
And she wanted him to.
Warning bells and buzzers sounded in her mind. The last time she'd felt this
drawn to a man — Avery La Rue — disaster had resulted.
"I can vouch for the fact that the champagne's excellent. What do you say?"
Torrie forced the image of Avery out of her mind, and took another look at the
man standing in front of her. No doubt about it. He was the perfect man to make
Avery La Rue rue the day he'd ever messed with her.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "You want a man, and I'm available.
Why don't we drink to it?"
Heat unwound in a ribbon of fire up her arm. As he pressed the glass into her
hand, his fingers brushed hers and champagne spilled onto her skirt. Only when
he dabbed a napkin on the fabric to absorb the spill did his words finally
penetrate the haze that had settled over her mind.
You want a man, and I'm available.
As he rubbed the napkin across the skirt a second time, an image filled her mind
— just as clear and as potent as the one in the mirror had been — the two of
them entwined on a small narrow bed.
Torrie felt the heat stain her cheeks as she reached for his hand and removed it
from her skirt. "I've given you the wrong impression. When I said I wanted a man
— well, what I meant was that I have a business proposal to make."
His left eyebrow shot up, but she could have sworn the smile left his eyes. "Not
a problem. I'm a businessman. How much do you charge?"
More heat flooded her cheeks. "Not that kind of business. I'm not
proposing that you and I… that we…" Swallowing to ease the dryness in her
throat, she tried again. "My proposal is strictly business. A job offer for the
weekend. And it has nothing to do with sex. Understood?"
He studied her for a moment, and then smiled that killer smile again. "Maybe we
could negotiate that part?"
"No. That part is nonnegotiable," Torrie Lassiter said firmly. "I need a man to
pretend to be my lover just until tomorrow at noon. There will be no sex
involved."
Relief surged through Jake, warring with the wave of desire that had been
building inside of him from the moment he'd seen Torrie standing in the entrance
to the bar. Torrie Lassiter was not here to pick up a man in the Monahan House
bar.
Well, at least not exactly…not in the way he'd thought. And it certainly wasn't
disappointment he was feeling. It was definitely relief. That sudden urge to
throw caution to the wind was probably because he was suffering from burnout. Or
jet lag.
And if he didn't stop looking into her eyes, he was going to kiss her. Drawing
back a little, he plucked the champagne out of the bucket and tipped it
carefully into the two glasses. "If I'm going to accept your offer, the least
you can do is tell me why you need a pretend lover."
Torrie studied him over the rim of her glass. He had dark intelligent eyes, and
there was a determined gleam in them. She imagined he must be very good at
whatever he did. With a sigh, she realized she was going to have to tell him the
whole story. Not that she would have lied to him. But she'd been hoping for
someone she wouldn't have to bare her soul to.
Taking a sip of champagne, she poured the entire sordid saga out. He was a good
listener. Not once did he interrupt, nor did he judge her. When she'd finished,
she felt…better. He looked thoughtful.
"So you met this La Rue guy at a big celebrity chefs' dinner and he follows you
back to your job at the Turtle Bay Inn because he can't bear to be separated
from you. You put him to work in your kitchen and one night, diners get
mysteriously sick on your linguine with clams."
Torrie nodded. "My signature dish. I always prepared it personally."
"You resign at his suggestion — to protect the reputation of the inn — and he's
right there, Johnny on the Spot, to take your place. Then he dumps you." He took
her hand in his. "That's cold."
Torrie glanced at their joined hands and absorbed the feeling — strong and warm
— that moved through her.
"Do you think he doctored the clam sauce?" he asked.
She met his eyes in surprise. "No. A chef wouldn't ever use food as a weapon."
She was a true innocent, Jake realized, and decided to have his assistant,
Arthur, check into it. But right now, he had something else on his mind
entirely.
"About your offer…" Jake kept his eyes open and on hers as he cupped her chin.
In business, he knew the value of making a strategic first strike, so he brought
his mouth within a breath of hers. "This Avery sounds like a sharp guy. If we're
going to pretend to be lovers, we ought to see if we can pull it off."
She drew in a quick breath when his lips brushed hers. She didn't protest,
didn't pull back, but he felt the tension ripple through her. He kept the kiss
soft at first, teasing, testing them both.
The moment her lips warmed, he parted them and took them both deeper. He watched
her eyelids lower, felt the pulse under his finger skip. Each separate sensation
moved through him and settled hot and hard in his center. Something in the back
of his mind told him that tasting her was different than tasting other women.
The depth of what he was feeling was different.
Something inside of him warned him to pull back. But to do that would be to deny
what had always helped him succeed in business. A man who discovered something
new and didn't explore it was a fool. Sliding his hand to the back of her neck,
he nipped at her bottom lip and took them both deeper still.
As sensations bombarded her — the scrape of his teeth, the heat of his tongue
sliding seductively over hers — Torrie fought to keep her hands fisted in her
lap. Not to keep from shoving him away, but to keep from touching him. Oh, how
she wanted to press her fingers into those dimples, to run them through his
hair, to test the muscles under that shirt. It was shocking how much she wanted
to feel his skin heat beneath her hands. The desperation racing through her was
so different, so new.
When he drew back, all she was aware of was how cool the air-conditioning felt
on her skin, how devastating was the sense of loss that had settled over her.
Jake signaled the bartender. "Send the rest of the bottle up to my room." There
was only one thought in his mind. He was going to take Torrie Lassiter there.
Taking her arm, he eased her from the stool. "Let's go."
"Mmmm?"
It was a mistake to look at her. Somehow, the skirt had inched its way even
higher when she'd slid from the stool. One look at those legs and he had a vivid
image of what they would feel like wrapped around him. One look at that mouth,
still swollen from his kiss, had an edgy blade of desire slicing through him
again. "We're going to my room."
"Your room?"
Another minute and those dreamy eyes were going to have him on his knees. "Come
on."
He'd managed to drag her fewer than two steps before his words finally began to
sink in. They were going to his room — the image flashed suddenly into her mind
— the two of them on a narrow bed, pressed so close they seemed to be one.
She couldn't.
She could.
Just then she spotted two people moving through the lobby toward the entrance to
the bar. Avery La Rue and a woman she'd never seen before. Torrie stopped and
pulled Jake to a halt. "We can't."
He turned then, moving his hands to her shoulders. "Of course we can. I won't
hurt you."
Peeking past his shoulder, she saw that Avery La Rue and the woman were only a
few feet away from the entrance. "It's him."
"Who?"
"Avery La Rue. I can't face him right now. I'm not ready." Frantic, she looked
around for a spot to hide. But the only place that offered any kind of cover was
a cluster of potted plants at the side of the bar.
"Come on," she said. Pulling him with her, she ducked down behind the plants.
As they settled themselves on the floor, Torrie slipped her hand into his. Jake
held it tight and struggled with the emotions running through him. Analysis was
his forte in business, so he could put a name to some of them.
Jealousy because Torrie Lassiter obviously still felt something for this man
she'd been involved with a year ago. But overriding that was an urge to protect.
And something else that ran deep, even deeper than the passion she'd aroused in
him. It spread from where her hand gripped his tightly, running through him,
sweet and true.
A man's voice spoke. "Bartender, we're looking for a small, slender brunette —
Torrie Lassiter."
"You just missed her," the bartender said.
"Avery." It was the woman speaking now. "I don't see why we had to rush down
here. You're going to meet the woman for drinks at seven. And you promised me
some…private time before then."
Jake immediately recognized the voice as belonging to his San Francisco manager,
Marjorie Lyndon.
"Just trying to get the jump on the competition. I have a history with Torrie. I
know her vulnerabilities. Throwing her off stride is a key step in my plan to
win."
"But you're going to win, darling. I told you I have everything all —"
"Yes, I know, my dear. But we shouldn't be discussing this in public. The walls
have ears."
As the voices faded, Torrie let out the breath she was holding. Time was running
out. In so many ways the man crouched beside her was all wrong for the job. She
needed a clear head if she wanted to win the competition against Avery La Rue.
And the man sitting beside her… She realized with a little start that she didn't
even know his name!
She should call the whole thing off right now. She could tell him that she'd
changed her mind. She would…immediately.
From her position on the floor behind the potted plants, Torrie considered her
options. Somehow, in all of her planning, this little complication had never
occurred to her. The problem was — could she spend any length of time with the
man whose hand was gripped tightly in hers and just pretend to be his lover?
"I'll do it," Jake said. "I'll be your pretend lover — on one condition."
Torrie tore her gaze from their joined hands and met his eyes. There was
something in them that she hadn't seen before — the kind of intensity that might
be visible in the eyes of a shark studying its prey. It occurred to her again
that she'd kissed him, almost gone to his room with him, and she didn't even
know his name! What was she thinking? This was her last chance to tell him that
it had all been a joke, to send him away.
Then she thought of Avery, the smug confidence she'd heard in his voice. It had
been more than enough to rekindle a memory of the pain, the self-doubt. Torrie
cleared her throat. "What's your condition?"
"Our pretend love affair has to last beyond tomorrow when your cook-off will be
over. We're going to spend the entire weekend together."
His words — we're going to spend the entire weekend together — sent
images tumbling into her mind. Each one of them was enough to bring back the
sensations that had flooded through her when he'd been kissing her — when she'd
been kissing him back. Drawing in a deep breath, Torrie eased her hand out of
his and clamped down ruthlessly on the little fantasies that were doing their
best to settle themselves in her mind.
"I don't think that would be…wise. My only reason for doing this is to prove to
Avery that I'm not the same woman I was a year ago."
His eyebrows rose. "But you did say this was strictly a business proposition."
"It is."
"Then I should get something that I want out of it." When she started to say
something, he raised a hand. "All I'm asking in return is your company for the
weekend. I hear that San Francisco is a beautiful city. Why don't we explore it
together?"
She lifted her chin. "Okay, but I have two conditions. Number one, I want to
know your name."
Jake stared at her for a moment, completely nonplussed. He'd completely
forgotten about the fact that they hadn't as yet exchanged names. And when he
told her, it was definitely going to complicate things. He had a feeling that
she might not be too comfortable with the idea of having her future boss
masquerading as her pretend lover. Hell, he shouldn't be comfortable with it
himself. She might not agree to spend the weekend with him.
He didn't want that. For reasons he didn't want to examine too closely, he
wanted very much to spend the weekend with Torrie Lassiter.
"Jake," he said, extending his hand.
"Jake…?" she asked as she shook it.
He smiled easily. "Since I'm your pretend lover, you can make up the last name."
She nodded. "Okay, condition number two, we're not going to… I mean, you may
have gotten the wrong impression from that kiss… I'm not going to… We're not
going to…"
She was babbling. So the kiss they'd shared had thrown her as much as it had
him. There was some satisfaction in that. And she was going to agree to the
weekend. It was comforting to know that he still had the power to negotiate
until he got what he wanted. For a moment there, when he'd been kissing her,
he'd lost all track of where he was and what he'd come to San Francisco to do.
And as much as masquerading as Torrie Lassiter's lover might help him to figure
out exactly what Marjorie Lyndon was up to behind his back, he wasn't doing it
for that reason. He was doing it because he wanted Torrie Lassiter.
"I don't think… It would be better if we didn't kiss again," Torrie said.
"I couldn't disagree more. We're going to kiss again," Jake said. And more, he
thought, but he didn't say it aloud. There were vulnerabilities as well as
passions that lay beneath the surface of Torrie Lassiter. "For starters, because
we're never going to pull this little charade of yours off if we don't put on a
convincing act of being lovers. Perception is everything — and your whole point
is to shake this La Rue guy up, isn't it?"
"Yes." She couldn't argue with that.
"And then there's another reason why we're going to kiss again." He took her
hand again, and when it trembled, he merely held it in his. No, she wasn't at
all what he'd thought she was when she'd first walked into the bar. And she
wasn't nearly as confident as the image she portrayed on TV. Jake was certain of
one thing. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to know everything.
"I don't think so," she said.
"Reason number two," he corrected firmly. "Neither one of us is going to be able
to forget that first kiss. We're both wondering right now if it was a fluke or
if we can strike up that fire again."
Torrie opened her mouth and then shut it. How in the world was she going to
answer that when even now, she was thinking of kissing him again? Her gaze had
dropped of its own accord to his mouth. His lips were curved in that half smile.
And the dimples were about to appear. Quickly she forced her gaze down. She had
to focus on something else. Anything.
The skirt. In the dim light that fell through the palm leaves they were crouched
behind, she thought she could see the trace of a shiny thread in the fiber. As
she studied it, she felt her nerves begin to calm. It reminded her of the
glimmer of moonlight on water. Funny, she'd never noticed it before.
"Have you ever made love just for the fun of it?"
Her eyes flew to his. For one moment, Torrie allowed herself to think about
making love with Jake. All right, think again about making love with him.
Truth told, the thought hadn't been out of her mind since she first laid eyes on
him.
"Look." Pushing the images out of her mind, she met his eyes squarely. "I came
here for one reason — to win the job of executive chef at this hotel. I can't
afford to make love or anything else just for the fun of it until I get this
job. Can you understand that?"
He nodded. "How about a compromise? In public, I call the shots. I do what's
necessary to carry off the role of your lover. In private, I'll let you make the
first move."
She would have felt a whole lot easier if Jake hadn't looked so damned
confident. Perhaps it was time to shake him up just a little. Taking his hand,
she drew him to his feet and pulled him with her. "C'mon. I'm making my first
move."
He was drawing her in a beeline toward the bank of elevators when she tugged his
hand and veered off toward a row of shops.
"I thought we were going to the room."
"First we're going shopping," she explained. "If you're going to be my lover for
the weekend, you need a new wardrobe."
"Now wait just a minute —"
"Hey, you said it. Perception is everything." She turned into a shop with men's
clothes in the window. "Unless you're going to renege on the deal?"
Three hours later, Torrie paced back and forth in front of the small balcony in
her hotel room. She felt as if she'd been caught up in a tornado. Every so
often, she glanced at the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance to assure herself
that she hadn't been deposited somewhere over the rainbow with Toto and Dorothy.
How could so much have changed in the past few hours? Moving toward the bed, she
sank down on it. She should be thinking of her upcoming meeting with Avery, but
she couldn't stop thinking about Jake. The shopping had been fun. He'd been such
a good sport in the men's store. She recalled how they'd laughed together at one
of the outfits the sales clerk had recommended and how he'd teased her, warning
her that like Pygmalion she might fall in love with her "creation."
Could she?
No. Impossible. Pressing a hand against her stomach, she tried to still the
panic that threatened to bubble up. Her mind was just playing tricks on her
because Jake had invaded her room.
Perception is everything, he'd said. His grin in combination with his
dimples had driven any reasonable objections she might have had right out of her
mind. As a result, his "stuff" was sitting next to hers on the nightstand and
the desk. Right now he was puttering around and getting dressed in her bathroom.
All during the long shower he'd taken, she should have been visualizing her
upcoming meeting with Avery. Instead, all she'd been able to picture in her mind
was Jake. What it would be like if she just had the courage to join him in that
shower. To run her hands over that slick, wet skin, that narrow waist, that…
No! She had to get a grip. Moving to the bed, she sank down and smoothed the
material of the skirt over her legs. Touching it had helped to center her
before.
The words slipped so quietly into her mind: Whoever wears this skirt will
attract her true love.
"Well?"
Torrie turned just as Jake stepped out of the bathroom, and her eyes widened. He
had a white T-shirt in one hand, a blue silk dress shirt in the other. But the
only thing he was wearing was a new pair of jeans.
"I'm thinking the dress shirt might go better with the jacket," he said.
She struggled to picture him wearing the shirt and the linen jacket they'd
chosen together. But the image wavered. Even his feet were bare. Suddenly, the
room seemed smaller, the air thicker.
"What do you think?"
She thought she was in very big trouble. For the past year all she'd done was
run — from Avery, from her job. Even her work on the television show had been an
escape — because she'd been afraid to take a job in a restaurant. When you
cooked in front of a TV camera, you didn't have to worry about making people
sick.
Torrie Lassiter was a coward.
But for once in her life, she wasn't going to wait and she wasn't going to run.
Jake was in very big trouble. No woman had ever made him beg, but in another
minute he was going to be on his knees.
One look into her eyes, and he was cursing himself. Why in the world had he
promised her that she could call the shots between them in private? If he
hadn't, he could move toward her right now, it would be so easy. She was already
on the bed, and he could have her beneath him in a second.
"Torrie," he finally managed. "I know what I promised. But if you don't stop
looking at me like that…"
"I've never wanted anyone — anything — as much as I want you right now."
Jake let the two shirts slip through his fingers. Then he moved toward her. "You
can't say something to me like that when we're alone and expect me not to —"
"Kiss me," she said.
He did then, taking her face in his hands and lowering his mouth to hers. He was
going to take it slow and easy, to draw out the pleasure for both of them.
During the long, cold shower he'd taken, he'd imagined all of the things he'd
wanted to do to her. His plan vanished the moment her taste poured into him. "I
don't think I could have waited much longer," he murmured as he trailed kisses
down her throat.
"No." Her hands were busy. It seemed as though he'd been waiting all of his life
for the press of those strong, slim fingers on his skin. Everywhere she touched,
heat — waves of it — spread through him.
"This is crazy." Her voice was just a breath in his ear.
"Insane." Never had his control been stretched so thin. Never had he been this
desperate to taste, to touch, to possess. She was so slim, so strong. He pushed
the skirt out of his way, slipped his fingers beneath the lace of her panties
and found her.
"I want you to come for me." He barely managed to whisper the words when he felt
the shudders move through her and watched the stunned pleasure flood her eyes.
He'd wanted this, needed to see her trapped in the pleasure he could bring her.
And it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
Then her fingers were at the zipper of his jeans. He closed his hand around
them.
"Wait." Tightening the slipping grip he had on his control, he snagged the
shaving bag on the nightstand and found the foil packet.
"Please." Her softly spoken demand started a drumbeat in his head.
Desperate, they worked together to get rid of his jeans. Then he slipped the
condom on.
"Now," she said. Wrapping her legs around him and taking him in. Through a haze
of pleasure, she saw him rise above her, dark hair, intense eyes. He was all she
could see.
Then she was moving with him, they were moving together, quickly, almost
furiously. Never had she imagined the speed, the sheer recklessness of it, and
the glory of it delighted her. Then all she knew was bright spiraling colors,
arrowing flames of heat, and an unbearable explosion of pleasure. And through it
all, all she could see was Jake. All she wanted was Jake.
The ringing of the phone was the first thing she heard. Jake reached for it.
"Hello?"
Lifting her head, she sent him a questioning look and saw his face harden a
little. "Tell Mr. La Rue that Ms. Lassiter was unavoidably delayed. She'll join
him shortly."
"Avery!" She shot straight up and off the bed. "I completely forgot. How could I
have —?" She let the question trail off as she looked at Jake's discarded
clothes. He was naked. She was still fully dressed — except for her panties.
They were lying on the floor on top of his jeans. Picking them up, she tossed
them at him. "Get dressed."
"Relax," Jake said, taking her hand and pulling her back down beside him. "You
might get to call the shots inside this room, but I draw the line at wearing
women's panties."
Torrie stared at what she'd thrown at him, then handed him his jeans and took
her panties back. "You made me forget why I'm here."
He smiled at her then, and she sighed. "It's not going to help me think clearly
at all if you use those dimples on me."
"We're going to get dressed, go down to the bar, and throw Avery La Rue off
course."
Hearing Jake say it so calmly helped ease the bubbles of panic in her stomach.
Then he was reaching into the pocket of his jeans. "And just to give you a
little extra confidence, you're going to wear this.
The moment he took the small box out of his pocket, the panic bubbles attacked,
and they weren't content this time to remain in her stomach. They were exploding
through her whole system as Jake slipped a diamond ring on her finger.
Torrie's head was still spinning half an hour later when she and Jake walked
across the lobby to join Avery in the bar. Somehow, her simple plan to hire a
pretend lover for the weekend had spiraled out of control.
She hadn't planned on seducing him. And she certainly hadn't expected him to put
a diamond ring on her finger. He'd picked it up on approval in one of the hotel
shops while she'd been settling the bill for his clothes.
If she'd been able to string two coherent words together, she would have told
him to take it off. She should have pulled it off herself, but every time she
looked at it, the brilliance of the stone made her eyes hurt and her stomach
knot.
And seeing the ring on her finger made her wish….
She caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirrored walls that flanked the
entrance to the bar — the tall, darkly handsome man in the pale linen jacket and
jeans — and the woman in the skirt that for just a second seemed to glow with
light.
They looked so perfect together.
But they weren't real, she reminded herself. Then Jake's hands moved, one
gripping her shoulder, the other her waist. As he pulled her into his arms, she
remembered she'd seen this image before in the mirror.
Then his mouth covered hers, and she couldn't think at all. The kiss was hard
and potent, and her body responded instantly, her mouth opening for him, her
arms gripping his shoulders. A fresh wave of excitement rushed through her. He
touched. She wanted. It was simple, elemental.
Kissing Jake just felt so…right.
Even as the realization moved through her, he ended the kiss. Still holding her
close, he moved his mouth to her ear. "Remember. Perception is everything."
Just beyond his shoulder, Torrie saw Avery La Rue rise from his table. And she
remembered that they were doing all this for his benefit.
"Showtime," Jake murmured as he steered her toward the table.
The scene was just as she'd visualized it in her mind hundreds of times. She was
walking toward Avery La Rue in a public place with a handsome man — a lover — on
her arm. She was strong, self-confident and nothing at all like the woman he'd
found it so easy to manipulate a year ago.
The expression on Avery's face — curiosity at first, then astonishment and a
flicker of annoyance — was exactly what she'd hoped for.
"Torrie," he murmured, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.
The shock when he saw the diamond — that was an added bonus. She might have
appreciated it even more if Jake hadn't just reminded her that the kiss, the
ring, everything was just a show. She watched Avery's gaze narrow just before he
shifted it to study Jake.
"I'm Jake. Torrie's fiancé."
As the two men shook hands, the differences between her ex-fiancé and her
new, fake one suddenly struck Torrie. Avery was all smooth sophistication from
his gestures right down to the sleekness of his clothes. As he recovered from
his initial surprise, he began to take Jake's measure. She caught a gleam of
calculation in his eyes that she'd never seen before. The champagne bucket, a
single white rose in a delicate vase testified to the care with which he'd
planned this meeting.
Had his original pursuit of her been this carefully orchestrated? Had she been
too blinded by her feelings for him to see it?
She certainly couldn't accuse Jake of any calculation. Spontaneity seemed to be
his middle name — and hers, too, since she'd met him. But there was a quietness
about him now that made her think of the stillness of a jungle predator as it
waited for its prey to show some kind of weakness. The focused intensity was
there in the way he was studying Avery and in the way he was still holding her
hand.
"Congratulations," Avery said. "I had no idea…."
She jerked her gaze back to Avery. Though his tone was puzzled, she saw anger in
the frowning glance he gave her.
"I spoke with Maynard Glassman two days ago. He never mentioned an engagement."
Torrie's mind began to race. Maynard was her TV producer. He would have been
among the first to know about any engagement.
Jake gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I just popped the question a few
minutes ago. You're the first person we're sharing our happiness with."
"You flew out here together then?" Avery asked.
"No," Jake said.
Torrie shut her mouth. She'd been about to say yes. And she was sure that Avery
could tell. The calculating look was back in his eyes.
"I surprised her by showing up about two hours ago," Jake continued. "A spur of
the moment decision on my part."
"We'll have some champagne to celebrate. I want to hear all about this spur of
the moment engagement. Sit down and I'll pour."
"No thanks," Jake said with an easy smile. Then he sent her a look that had her
knees melting. "We have other plans for celebration."
The way he was looking at her, Torrie could almost believe the plans were real.
She wanted them to be. Worse, she wanted Jake and her to be real, too.
"I distracted Torrie so much that she nearly forgot she'd promised to meet you.
She insisted that we come to give you the news in person and to wish you luck
tomorrow at the cook-off. You'll have to excuse us."
A second later, Torrie found herself being propelled out of the bar. Once again
she caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirrored wall.
They weren't real, she reminded herself.
And if she didn't get a grip and separate reality from the little fantasy she'd
convinced Jake to participate in, she stood a good chance of losing everything
she'd worked so hard to achieve. A year ago she'd allowed a man to sweep her off
her feet and snatch her dream away from her.
Was she about to make the same mistake again?
"I don't think it's a good idea — going up to my room right now," she said.
Jake turned to study her and he could see exactly what she was thinking.
Everything was always so clear in her eyes. She'd been a pushover for Avery La
Rue. He felt the flash of anger burn through him and forced it down.
"History is not going to repeat itself," he said. "I'm not Avery La Rue. And
what happened between the two of you was not your fault. He wanted your job at
the Turtle Bay Inn, and he seduced you to get it. He may very well have put
something in that clam sauce just to move his plan along."
She blinked, but she didn't argue with him.
"You want to blame yourself, but it wasn't your fault. Hell, he was about to try
the same game plan tonight."
And he might have succeeded. That was the thought that had been rolling through
him since he'd taken in the little scene in the bar. And Torrie had feared it,
too. It wasn't merely for revenge that she had come up with this fake lover
charade.
What he wanted to do was take her up to the room right now and make love to her
until she wouldn't, couldn't ever think of Avery La Rue again.
But that was the last thing that Torrie needed right now.
"He wouldn't have succeeded," she said.
It helped a little to hear her say it — to see the truth of it in her eyes.
Something inside of him, the hard knot of jealousy perhaps, began to ease.
"I can handle Avery," she said. "But I really think it would be better —"
She was going to brush him off, Jake realized. She was going to back out of
their deal.
Torrie was going to back out of their deal. Jake could see it in her eyes, and
the panic sprinting through him was taking away his ability to speak, to think.
"You've been very kind. You've helped me to see Avery very clearly. But I have
the cook-off in the morning and I really should —"
When she backed a step away from him, Jake finally moved, taking her arm and
pulling her with him toward the door. "I've got a better idea." In just a minute
he'd know what it was. He was sure of it. Just as sure as he was that he
couldn't let her go.
"What?"
The moment they were out of the street, he spotted the cable car, pausing to
release passengers in front of the hotel. "A date," he said, suddenly inspired.
"A date?"
She sounded as if he'd just said a word in a foreign language. But she'd lost
the look of determination that had been in her eyes a moment ago. Jake felt his
panic begin to ease. "You know — two people go out, have dinner, get to know one
another. We haven't had one yet."
"But —"
He raised a hand, beginning to enjoy himself. "Besides, we had a deal. Lovers
for the weekend. We have two days to go." The whole time he was talking, he was
drawing her toward the cable car. "Besides, if you go back to your room, you're
just going to worry about the cook-off tomorrow." Hopping up the first step, he
drew her with him. "I've never ridden on one of these. Have you?"
"No."
The car lurched suddenly and he pulled her close. He felt her stiffen, but she
didn't pull away as the car lurched again and started up the hill.
It was after midnight when Torrie stood in front of the window in her hotel
room and stared out at the Golden Gate Bridge. Thin strips of moonlight poured
through the slatted drapes. One of them striped the skirt lying on the back of a
chair and caused the threads to shimmer. Once again, the words of the island
woman slipped into her mind. Whoever wears it will attract her true love.
She was pretty sure she'd fallen in love with the man who lay sleeping on the
bed a short distance away. Whatever had started when she'd first seen him
standing behind the bar had solidified during the evening they'd just spent
together. He'd given her a whirlwind tour of the city — a cable car ride, a walk
on the wharf. They'd even danced to an old-fashioned jukebox in the Fog City
Diner. And then they'd made love again.
But she didn't kid herself that there was going to be a future for Jake and her.
What the island woman failed to mention was that stories of true love frequently
ended unhappily.
And not once during the evening they'd spent together — or even after, when
there'd been almost desperation in his lovemaking — had Jake mentioned anything
beyond tomorrow.
Neither had she.
Even now, watching him sleep, Torrie could feel the pull he had on her. It was
as strong and true as gravity. She'd been tempted to run from him in the lobby
earlier — to take the coward's way out as she had with Avery. She would never
let herself play the part of the coward again.
And for tonight, Jake was hers. She could show him what she might never have the
chance to tell him.
Heart pumping, head whirling, Jake shot awake to find himself steeped in her.
Her mouth was already busy on his, her kisses hot and hungry. Her body kindled
flames in his where it pressed full length on top of him.
Even as he struggled to think, her scent surrounded him, taunting him with all
the dark secrets he'd been dreaming about. Wants and needs rocketed through his
system as those slender, clever hands moved over him. Before he could even get a
thin grasp on control, his only thought was to take, to devour.
He found her then — those small, firm breasts, the strong, slender ribs, the
narrow waist and finally that soft inner heat. He pushed into her and in that
moment of joining, he felt the tremor move through her. She was his. Just as
she'd been his in the dream before she'd begun to slip away.
In the moonlight, he could see her face flushed with passion, her eyes dazed
with pleasure. This time he wouldn't let her go. He couldn't. His. The word
sapped his control, pushing him to drive them both to the brink of madness.
"I want you." Neither was sure who said the words. They were too lost in each
other as they began to move as one.
Later, they lay together in the moonlight, their limbs tangled as they slept.
Jake woke this time to sunlight pouring across the bed. A bed that didn't
contain Torrie. Panic knotted in his stomach as he pushed himself up and looked
around. "Torrie?"
Silence.
The moment he stood up, his gaze fell on the note. It was lying on the desk,
propped against the case that held his laptop.
I've gone to meet Avery for the cook-off.
He might not have thought twice about the brevity of the note if it hadn't been
propped right next to the name tag on his briefcase — a name tag that identified
him as Jake Monahan. On the back of the tag was the embossed logo of the Monahan
chain of hotels — the same logo that decorated the note she'd left.
She had to have seen it. What would she be thinking?
The worst. That he was a liar, just as Avery had been before him. Grabbing his
jeans, he dragged them on, then strode across the room to pull a shirt off of a
hanger.
He should have told her the truth last night. The excuse that he'd given to
himself — that he didn't want to rattle her before the cook-off — was a lie. He
hadn't told her who he was last night because he'd quite simply wanted to be
with her. He didn't want to lose her.
Now, there was a good chance that he had. Worse than that, he'd allowed her to
discover his deception at the worst possible moment — just as she was about to
compete with La Rue in the cook-off.
He had to find her.
The ringing of his cell phone reminded him to pick it up as he headed toward the
door. Arthur had promised to call the moment he had something on La Rue and the
incident at the Turtle Bay Inn.
"What have you got, Arthur?"
"I'm not Arthur. Are you the gigolo my niece hired? And where is my niece?"
Damn. It was Torrie's cell phone that he'd grabbed. "It's a long story. I'm on
my way to find her right now."
"To find her? Have you lost my niece?"
As he left the room with the cell phone pressed to his ear, Jake wondered if
things could get any more messed up.
Torrie entered the kitchen of the Monahan House San Francisco fifteen minutes
before her cook-off with Avery was scheduled to begin. The scents made her mouth
water. The sounds nearly deafened her. Waiters rushed past, shouting orders, and
amidst the confusion, a young chef to her right teased a perfect omelet onto a
plate.
She was home. For the first time since she'd accidentally discovered the name
tag on Jake's briefcase, she was able to shove aside the questions and fears
flooding through her. She'd come to San Francisco to become the executive chef
at this hotel, and learning Jake Monahan's true identity was not going to
deflect her from her goal.
That's what she'd told herself in the room when she'd dressed in slacks and her
white chef's jacket. She'd left the skirt behind along with the fantasy that
Jake Monahan was her true love. Ignoring the little band of pain that tightened
around her heart, she let her gaze sweep the room. It was time to get back to
reality and to what had always been important to her. When she spotted a man
pointing a TV camera at Avery, she started toward him.
The tall blond woman who'd been with him in the bar yesterday stepped forward.
"I'm Marjorie Lyndon, the manager of Monahan House San Francisco. A local TV
station will be taping the entire event. I believe you and your opponent have
met."
"Torrie."
"Avery." She was very much aware that the TV camera was running as Avery took
her hand, drew her toward him and kissed her on both cheeks. When he reached the
side away from the camera, he whispered, "History has a way of repeating
itself."
Torrie felt a familiar twist of panic in her stomach. Pushing it down, she
turned and moved toward her workstation. A man clipped a small microphone to her
jacket.
Marjorie Lyndon began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen…"
Out of the corner of her eye, Torrie caught sight of her reflection in the
stainless steel refrigerators that lined the wall. For just a second, she
thought she saw Jake there, too, with his arms around her. Pushing the fantasy
away, she focused her attention on the group that had gathered in front of her
workstation, and she saw him again.
Jake was here and he was real. For the first time since she'd left him in the
room, Torrie let herself want more than the job. As impossible as it was, she
wanted Jake, too.
"On the counter in front of each of our chefs is a set of ingredients that they
must use in whatever they create," Marjorie explained. "And the results will be
tasted by none other than Mr. Jake Monahan, who I see has arrived."
When Marjorie introduced Jake to the audience, Avery shot her a look of pure
hatred. But there was no fear. The man's confidence was definitely back.
The moment the white cloth in front of her was whisked away, Torrie realized
why. The ingredients on the counter were the ones she used for her signature
dish at the Turtle Bay Inn — Linguine with Clams à la Lassiter. The last time
she'd prepared it, everyone who'd ordered it had become ill.
Avery's words came back to her. History has a way of repeating itself.
Jake stood at the back of the small crowd and debated what to do. The quick
surge of relief he'd felt when he'd first seen Torrie had faded the moment he'd
seen the ingredients that lay on the table before her. Was this La Rue's way of
throwing her off stride and getting the upper hand? And what part was Marjorie
Lyndon playing in it?
He could put a stop to the cook-off right now. It wasn't the fact that a TV
camera was rolling that stopped him. It was Torrie.
He'd been thinking only of himself last night. Right now, the least he could do
was to allow her to do what she'd come to San Francisco for.
The look on her face told him that she had become totally focused on what she
was doing. The energy, the enthusiasm for cooking that had fascinated him on
that night when he'd first seen her on TV began to fill the room as she spoke
directly into the camera.
Jake leaned back and began to enjoy the show.
In one quick motion, Torrie scooped up the parsley she'd just minced and
sprinkled it over the finished platter of Linguine with Clams à la Lassiter. The
rush of adrenaline she'd felt when she'd started the dish was fading. Avery's
threat chanted its way back into her mind.
Relax, she told herself. The clams had been perfectly fresh. And she'd sampled
the sauce three times. It was as good as any she'd ever made.
As the heady aroma of garlic and spices wafted up from the platter, Torrie felt
the first wave of nausea sweep over her.
She saw Marjorie motioning Jake forward.
"No. You can't," Torrie began, then swallowed quickly as another wave of nausea
hit her.
"Nonsense." Marjorie was quick to interrupt her, moving toward the platter and
picking up a fork.
Something was definitely wrong with the linguine. Torrie fought against
dizziness as Marjorie deftly twirled strands of pasta around a fork and offered
it to Jake.
Lunging forward, she grabbed Marjorie's hand and heard the fork clatter to the
floor just before the darkness closed in around her.
"Ipecac? That's what Avery slipped into my linguine?" Torrie asked.
"Both times, I imagine," Jake said, sitting down on the edge of the bed to
prevent her from springing up. "They found traces of it in the olive oil." In
spite of the assurances of the doctors in the ER and the lab report he'd just
received, Jake still hadn't fully recovered from seeing her sink bonelessly to
the floor. He hadn't let her out of his sight since then.
"The doctor at the ER said Ipecac's the standard first line of treatment when
little kids swallow something they're not supposed to. It causes them to toss
their cookies in a very short amount of time. Marjorie wanted everyone on the
six o'clock news to see me getting sick on food from my own hotel. She met Avery
when he flew out to personally apply for the job. Once she learned the history
between the two of you, she enlisted Avery's help, believing that when I
investigated things, he'd take the fall and she'd remain in the clear. In the
meantime, she'd have succeeded in garnering some very bad publicity for the
grand opening and she'd also be able to continue causing me problems."
"Did she tell you why?"
"No. But I've had my assistant, Arthur, checking into her phone records, and
she's been in frequent contact with the corporation I outbid for the hotel. The
man who heads it is an old business rival of mine. I imagine her motive was
simple greed. And they may have believed that I'd be willing to sell if the
Monahan House San Francisco ran into a spell of bad luck."
"Would you have?" Torrie asked.
"No." He met her eyes squarely. "I don't give up that easily. And I'm not going
to give up on you."
Torrie felt the bubble of panic in her stomach expand until it threatened to
burst. More than anything she wanted to get up and pace, but Jake sat next to
her on the edge of the bed, blocking her way.
She glanced down at where their hands were joined on her lap. She was still
wearing the ring he'd placed on her finger. Closing her eyes, she summoned up
the image in her mind that had gotten her through the cook-off — Jake standing
with his arms around her.
He cleared his throat. "I wasn't…I haven't been honest with you, Torrie. There's
no excuse for that. But I want you…I need you to believe me now. Look at me."
Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his.
"I love you."
When she opened her mouth, he raised a hand to stop her. "I think I fell in love
with you the very first time I saw you on TV in Chicago. There was something
about you even then."
Her eyes widened. She'd been wearing the skirt. She'd worn it every time she
taped a show. Was he only in love with her because of the skirt?
"I tried to analyze what it was — your obvious talent and expertise, your love
for your work. Now I know that it was just you. It took me a year to come up
with the idea of offering you a job. I thought once you were here working for me
I could prove to myself that what I'd felt was a passing fancy. Then within two
hours of seeing you, I found myself putting a ring on your finger. When I woke
up this morning and found you gone, all I could think of was finding you. And
when I saw you standing in the kitchen of my hotel, ready to face Avery La Rue,
I suddenly realized that I want that ring to stay where it is. I want you to be
a permanent part of my life."
She hadn't been wearing the skirt during the cook-off. She wasn't wearing it
now. Still… "Are you sure? Maybe it's the skirt."
"What skirt?"
The look of utter bafflement on his face had her hurrying on. "Don't tell me you
never noticed it. I'm always wearing it — except for today."
Jake gripped her hands. "When I look at you, Torrie, all I can see is the woman
I love. If you'd like, I'll buy you a new skirt as soon as you tell me that
you'll marry me. Will you?"
"Yes. Oh, yes," Torrie said as she threw her arms around him. "There's just one
more thing."
"What?" Jake asked.
"I love you, too," Torrie said.
And then Jake was kissing her.
She'd tell him all about the skirt later, Torrie decided as her thoughts began
to slip away. When they were very old she would tell him about what the island
woman had said. It would be the kind of story they could both tell to their
grandchildren.
The End