Fire Me Up (10 page)

Understanding dawned, and Adrian followed her through the swinging door, flipping the light switch with his good hand. “Ah. So how did he take your plan?”

“About as well as he enjoyed breakfast. But even though both were tough to swallow, he knows there's no other way to do this until he gets better.” She cast her eyes back toward the door to the bar. “Most of it, anyway.”

Talk about something Adrian could relate to. “I can show you some things to make for him that'll go over better than twigs and berries, if you want.”

Teagan's hands screeched to a stop under the hand-washing sink by the door, her gaze flashing over him with unflinching certainty. “I don't cook for my dad.”

The
don't touch
vibe pouring off her was so strong, Adrian didn't push. “Okay. Just trying to help.”

Her shoulders dipped slightly before she righted herself, giving a tiny, apologetic smile. “Thank you. But you've got your work cut out for you here as it is, so why don't we stick with that?”

“Sure.” Adrian's mind switched gears, clicking seamlessly to the menu he'd been mulling over since last night. “I'm going to get you started on some of the basics while I check inventory and see what's what in your walk-in. The key to a well-run kitchen is being prepared, which unfortunately means a lot of grunt work. But you've got to get it right, otherwise nothing else will happen. Think of it like the foundation for your house.”

She stood at rigid attention, hands in lockdown at her sides as she stood by the workstation opposite the grill. “Okay. What do I do first?”

“Relax.”

Although he'd thought it impossible, her body coiled even tighter. “What?”

Jesus, this was going to be more than he bargained for. “Being tense sucks the energy right out of you, sweetheart. If you don't want to burn out before you even start, you have to relax.”

She faced the counter with military precision, both palms on the scuffed white cutting board covering half of the work surface. “But I am relaxed. Just give me a job. Tell me what to do.”

Whether it was the look he'd seen on her face just moments ago or the bossy
dare me
demand coming from her mouth, Adrian couldn't be sure, but something dark and hot propelled him right past reason and into her space, eliminating the no-man's-land of empty air between them until his chest pressed against the slim line of the back of her shoulders. She was probably going to deck him for this—hell, he might even deck himself—but he had to do
something
to get her to breathe.

“You're not relaxed. See this line of tension, right here?” He traced a path from behind her ear all the way down her neck, fingers gliding from warm skin to soft cotton to land on the ridge of her shoulder. “You need to let it go if you want to be able to move in the kitchen.”

To his absolute shock, her muscles unfolded against his hand. “Like that?” Her voice, all husky and low, shot through him, and walking away was as impossible as moving the moon.

“Mmm.” He pressed his palm against the outline of her shoulder, and bit back the groan building in his throat. “Like that.”

“Where . . . where else?” Teagan whispered, and holy shit, this was going to go south really fast if she didn't stop sighing like that. She leaned her head back just slightly, but it was enough to brush his pounding chest and resurrect that earlier hard-on he'd done his best to dismiss.

“Wherever you need it.” He dropped his mouth to her neck, the heat of her skin pushing him to take a taste, and for a second, he resisted. But then she arched into his hand, sliding her body so his fingers rested in the curve of her shoulder blade by the center of her back, and he gave in.

“There.” The word was barely audible as it spilled from her lips, but he answered as if she'd shouted, running the edge of his tongue along her delicate neck. He slipped his hand low against her back, sifting his fingers over her spine as he set his mouth to the spot where her hair met her neck. Her ponytail tickled against his cheek, but the heady scent of rosemary and the silky heat of the spot under his tongue had him so hard, he dove in without thinking. He tasted her in slow circles, working his hand over her back in tight, even strokes as he went.

“Oh God.
There
.” Teagan arced into him from the slope of her shoulders to the sweet swell of her ass, destroying his last shred of reason. He ground against the press of her hips just once, and the friction of her lush curves and the rough denim between them was enough to lift a groan from his chest.

Adrian's free arm darted around her, latching on to the belt loops on her jeans as he swung her to face him. Their mouths came together in a rush of raw want, lips parting, tongues sliding together, and god
damn,
he'd never wanted anything so much, so fast, right now.

Maneuvering around the arm pinned between them by his sling, he angled his body against her, moving her backward toward the dishwashing alcove until her shoulders pressed against the wall. Using the leverage to his advantage, Adrian pushed beneath the hem of her thin T-shirt, fighting his knees for control as he reached the even thinner satin cradling her breasts.

More wasn't going to be enough.

“Don't stop,” Teagan said, and the throaty command had him pushing the material aside to bare one perfect, tightly drawn nipple, blush red and begging to be plucked, just like her mouth.

Adrian uttered a low oath, holding her fast as she braced her hands overhead, gripping the edge of the open-aired shelf above to allow him unfettered access.

“Careful what you wish for, Red.” His thumb lingered over her nipple, wicked satisfaction pulsing through him as he watched her tighten even more. “I could taste you for hours.”

She answered with a frustrated whimper, snapping his control. He lowered his mouth to her breast, taking her in with one slick parting of his lips, and his moan twined with hers at the intimate contact. Teagan dropped a hand from above, lowering it toward her body before letting it veer off at the last second, and the move struck him with swift realization.

Adrian parted from her nipple, his breath coming in short bursts as he cast his eyes to her hand before locking his gaze on hers.

“Show me where you need it.”

She took the dare without hesitation this time, replacing his palm beneath her breast with her own while she used her other hand to guide his fingers to the hot seam of her jeans. Her boldness had him within inches of wanting to come, fully clothed and all. But his want was nothing compared to the decadent tension thrumming beneath Teagan's skin, as if she didn't just want to break apart, but
needed
the release, like food or water or breath.

And no way was he going to deny her.

Adrian curled his fingers against her sex, sliding them over her jeans with intention until he reached the indent between her thighs that told him he'd hit home. Keeping them pressed there, he lifted his thumb against the midline between her legs until she sucked in a breath, then he lowered his mouth back to her breast.

Teagan choked out his name on a sob. “There. There. I need it right
there.
”

Oh. Hell. Yes.

Finding a rhythm between the steady swirl of his tongue above and the purposeful glide of his fingers below, he worked her jeans open, sliding them from her hips just enough to reveal the top edge of her pale pink underwear. Her fingers went taut beneath her upturned breast, the wordless encouragement sending his fingers back into play, only this time without barriers.

He sank into her, letting his thumb discover the tight bundle of nerves hidden above her core while he returned his mouth to her flushed, straining nipple. The harder she thrust against him, the more he coaxed her to come undone, using his tongue, his fingers, the edge of his teeth. He buried his thumb more tightly at the apex of her thighs, pressing into her folds as he felt her muscles quicken around his fingers, threatening release. Although his cock was unbearably hard, screaming with the need for release of its own, Adrian refused to give in to his own base desire.

“Take what you need, sweetheart. Take it.”

With one last thrust of his fingers, she unraveled around him, clutching his shoulders with hot fists. The heat of her climax vibrated deep inside of him, wrapping them together in delicious tension before she went loose against his body. Adrian slowed his movements, lessening the contact between them but not the space, until he slipped his hand from the cradle of her hips to gently right her clothes.

Teagan looked at him, confusion covering the residual blush still on her face. “But you didn't, ah . . .” She gestured downward, sliding her hand over his abdomen with a glint in her eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

“And would it be so bad if someone just took care of you for a change?”

He'd meant to tease her with the words, but the way her body jerked to stillness had him tensing right alongside her.

“I don't need anyone to take care of me.” She pulled back, and just like that, her guard snapped right back into place, stamping out the sweet abandon of just moments ago.

“You sure about that?” He let his eyes linger on hers, just long enough to watch them go dark with heat, like liquid copper.

“Is that was this was about? You trying to ‘relax' me?” She slashed air quotes around the word, but didn't budge otherwise.

Adrian gave an involuntary flinch. He might be a lot of things, but
that
guy wasn't one of them. “No.”

Teagan smoothed a hand over her T-shirt even though it was perfectly in place, repeating the process twice before continuing in a crisp tone, “I owe you an apology. You came here to help me in the kitchen, and clearly, I got carried away. It won't happen again.”

He opened his mouth to call bullshit—it wasn't as if he was an innocent bystander, for God's sake, and he didn't have any regrets. The last thing he wanted was an apology for what had just happened between them. But reality kept his jaw hinged shut, the sharp edges of truth like vicious bits of glass between his teeth.

He'd gotten carried away too, and that only led to bad things in the long run. Had he learned
nothing
five years ago?

“No big deal,” Adrian said, and yeah, that one burned coming out. “I'm square if you are.” As much as he hated it, snuffing out anything other than business between them was the best plan.

“I'm square.” Teagan's voice softened just slightly as she spoke, but she cleared her throat, her next words infused with familiar resolve. “Now how do I get this kitchen ready for lunch service?”

“Orders in, last of the night! Two bacon-Swiss burgers, both medium rare, one barbecue chicken sandwich, two large orders of wings, one hot, one mild, and another bacon-Swiss burger with a side of fried onions to make three all day!”

No two ways about it. This dinner shift wasn't going to stop until Teagan was dead.

“Tell me where to start!” she hollered back at Adrian, who stood opposite her workstation, barking out gruff directives just as he'd done for the last three days straight.

“One ticket at a time, Red. Plate what's in front of you first and get it out the door. Jesse!” He tossed the word over his thickly muscled shoulder, readjusting his Harley-Davidson baseball hat over the hard-edged platinum hair slipping out from beneath the brim. “Drop the fries for the two coming up, then the wings as soon as those new burgers get fired. Go!”

Teagan's eyes stung from the one-two punch of smoke and heat coming off the grill, and she swiped an arm across her forehead in a sad attempt to keep her perspiration at least manageable. She gave the burger currently laid out on the plate in front of her an unsure glance and an even more unsure poke. How the hell Adrian knew if it was properly cooked with just one touch was a total flipping mystery.

But not half as magical as the
other
things he could do with just a few touches. Not to mention his mouth.

“Shit.” Teagan watched helplessly as the top of the perfectly split, perfectly toasted burger roll tumbled from her shaking grasp to the floor, sadly not the first food-victim of her wandering, lust-addled mind. Frowning, she whirled to grab another roll from the shelf above her station, shoving it into the wide-mouthed industrial toaster with a firm
clank
.

Adrian shot a stare at the digital display on the fryer before sending his focus onto her station without so much as a hint of emotion, either good or bad. “Those fries are coming up in sixty. Let's get those burgers on the floor in sixty-five.”

Things had been all business between them ever since the reality check of his comment the other day had reminded her that her number one focus—her
only
focus—should be on taking care of things, not being taken care
of
. She needed him to help her in the kitchen, not the bedroom, and she'd do well to keep that thought front and center.

Damn it, how had she dropped two rolls in a row?

Teagan kicked the latest offender into the pile beneath her workstation and focused on her remaining tickets. While being in the kitchen still sent unease rippling under her skin, at least she was starting to get the hang of things. Adrian might be brusque, but he sure as hell knew his stuff. For the third night in a row, nothing massive had cropped up to sink them, although tonight's dinner rush had done its best to try. Teagan suspected it was more Adrian's skill and anticipation than anything she or Jesse had done, although Jesse had gone nose to grindstone with impressive dedication. She really owed him—and Brennan, and everyone else left on her skeletal payroll—answers about those glitchy paychecks.

Problem was, as far as she could tell, there weren't any.

Teagan had genuinely meant to honor her father's request to handle the accounting on his own. She couldn't deny that the Double Shot was his business, one he'd built from a pile of fresh dirt and a dream of something more. And after twenty-five years, he could run the books in his sleep.

Which was exactly why she'd printed out the records the minute she'd crossed the threshold the other day. Her father hadn't made an accounting error since she was in the eighth grade, and something about this didn't pass the smell test.

“Your fries are up, unless you're waiting for them to invite themselves onto the plates.”

Even though Adrian had notched his voice one level lower than normal as he approached her from behind, she still jumped halfway to the giant stainless steel updraft hood positioned over the grill.

“Oh!” Thankfully, she'd already put the replacement roll on the plate awaiting the fries and garnish, otherwise it would've likely joined its buddies in the reject pile spilling out from beneath her station. “Right. Sorry.” She turned to finish plating the burgers in front of her, waiting for Adrian's nod of approval before sending them to the hot window and focusing on the next orders. As little as she liked it, her niggling worries over the books were going to have to stay pretty low on the priority totem pole until she could press more answers from her father. She had bigger fish to fry. Along with two batches of wings and some onions.

Twenty minutes later, she finally,
blessedly,
made the call to close the kitchen. Jesse headed back to the dishwashing station to work with the new guy, who had thankfully been eager enough for a job that he'd offered to work for peanuts and start today. Teagan braced both hands on the cool surface of the countertop, letting her chin loll onto her chest with a slow, exhausted exhale. The iron fingers of pain gripping her lower back didn't even consider relenting, although the rest of her was sorely tempted.

Working with food was sucking the life out of her.

“Just because the kitchen's closed doesn't mean you're off the hook, Red. We've got breakdown to do, and not a little bit.” Adrian fixed her with his standard-issue smoky stare, and the nickname slid over her awareness to land smack in her libido's lap.

“You don't have to call me that,” she said, hating the irritation seeping into her tone at his low-level teasing. But to her surprise, rather than pop a brow or get indignant, Adrian cracked a dark, sexy, holy-hell grin.

“I know. Now check your lowboy and tell me what you've got left. As much as it sucks, tomorrow's garnish vegetables aren't going to slice themselves.”

Teagan consolidated what she had left from her line containers before starting in on the tomatoes they'd surely go through in tomorrow's lunch rush. Assembling already-prepped ingredients in the surging insanity of a shift felt somehow different from putting her hands on food with nothing but time, and the knots in her shoulders went for the full corkscrew.

“So do you want to tell me why you hate food so much?” The lack of judgment in Adrian's rough voice tripped up both her brain and her hands, and Teagan fumbled her tomato halfway across the cutting board, following the gaffe with an unladylike swear.

“I don't hate food,” she said, but the words had none of the conviction she'd wanted to pin them with, so she added, “I'm just not crazy about cooking.”

“Mmm. It shows.”

“Thanks. I hadn't noticed.” She reset her grip on the smooth knife handle, focusing even harder on slicing the tomato. How the hell did some people find this relaxing?

“Here.” Adrian took a step toward her, the corded muscles in his forearm flexing tight over the scrolled letters inked there as he gestured to her body. “You're losing all your energy to wasted movement. Keep your arms close to you, otherwise you'll burn out
and
get burned.”

“Sounds fun.” Despite her sarcasm, she let her elbows list in toward her rib cage as she continued to slice, and damn if Adrian wasn't right.

“It's not. How come you don't like to cook?”

Teagan's gut doubled down, but she didn't flinch. “I'm not good at it. What's your tattoo mean?”

“You're not bad at it. And nice try with the bait and switch. What's the real reason?”

For a split second, the words almost surfaced, begging to come up for air. “I . . . ouch!” Pain streaked across the pad of her finger, making her drop the knife with a clatter.

“Whoa, let's see it.” Adrian snapped up her hand with surprising gentleness.

“It's fine.” The default response pressed past her lips, as involuntary as her heartbeat, but he didn't let go.

“Ahh, you got yourself pretty good.” He had a clean kitchen towel over the cut before she could see it, a tiny crimson stain blooming on the white cloth as he held her hand with pressure that was both firm and full of care.

“I'll be fine.” Teagan made a move to extricate her fingers from his grip, but he didn't let go.

“I know. But if it doesn't stop bleeding, you're going to have to redo all this prep work. So give it a minute. Where's your first-aid kit?”

The question was so methodical and straightforward that she gave in to it. “On the wall, by the pantry.”

Adrian nodded, but didn't move. With his eyes focused on her hand in his, he quietly said, “Live with no regrets.”

She blinked. “I'm sorry?”

“My tattoo. It means live with no regrets.” He cradled her fingers just a fraction tighter. “It's something my
nonna
used to say all the time.”

“Oh.” Teagan was so stunned by the revelation that she couldn't come up with anything else for a long minute. “So, um, that's your grandmother?”

Adrian nodded, his unreadable gaze still fixed on their hands as he spoke. “It's Italian for grandmother, but we weren't actually related by blood.
Nonna
was my legal guardian. She adopted me from foster care when I was ten.”

“So how come you called her
Nonna
and not Mom, then?” Teagan winced, inwardly cursing the nosy question, but to her surprise, he answered without pause.

“She always said that even though I didn't know the woman who gave birth to me, that person was still my mother.
Nonna
was in her fifties when she took me in, so the name just seemed to fit. She passed away not long after I finished culinary school.”

The residual heat from the kitchen coupled with the closeness of Adrian's body, and it hummed over her skin where he cradled her from forearm to fingertips.

“I'm sorry. It sounds like you were close.” Before she could cut the move short, Teagan lifted her right hand to cover their already-twined fingers.

“Mmm-hmm.” He leveled her with a no-nonsense gaze as he fell quiet, and something about it loosened the words from deep in her chest.

“I don't like to cook because my mother was a chef.” Her heart pounded with the admission she'd held inside for so long, and suddenly she couldn't stop herself from letting the whole story spill out.

“She was classically trained at a crazy young age—New York, Paris, you name it. She'd been everywhere before she was even twenty-five. Food was her whole life. But then she met my father in Dublin. They had this whirlwind romance, love at first sight and all that.” Teagan couldn't squash the sardonic eye-roll that welled up every time she thought of it, but she continued, unable to rein the story in now that she'd popped the cork on the long-buried words.

“All my father ever wanted, besides her, was to run his own pub. Cheap land and amazing opportunity brought them here to the States, and in hindsight, I think my mother thought it would be an adventure, just like the rest of her life. But they had me by then, and things got harder.”

Teagan paused, waiting for her survival instincts to catch up to her impulsive mouth. But there was no pity in Adrian's hazel stare, and the urge to stop talking didn't come.

So she didn't.

“It takes a lot of elbow grease to open a bar, and Pine Mountain is a far cry from big-city glamour, you know? My mother began to resent coming to the States, and she missed the life she had before she came here with my father. Before they had me. But by then, it was too late.”

Adrian's hand remained steady over hers. “Sounds tough.”

“Not too tough.” Teagan shrugged, her lips feeling like sandpaper as they scraped over the rest. “A week before my eighth birthday, she walked out the door and never looked back.”

His steady hand flinched just slightly before going even tighter. “I'm sorry.”

She'd always hated when people went the sympathy route over her mother's departure, even though she knew the sentiment was usually well-intentioned. But pity was like pouring alcohol on an open wound. Sure, the person offering it up thought it would help. But really, all it did was end up stinging like a sonofabitch.

So how come she didn't want Adrian to let go?

“Yeah.” Teagan snapped herself back to the kitchen with a hard blink. “My father was devastated, but he raised me by himself regardless. So now it's just me and him.”

“And that's why you hate to cook.”

Teagan nodded, the loss of the story she'd kept on lockdown making her shoulders strangely light. “My mother wanted me to be a chef, just like her, to live the dream she gave up. But I'm
not
like her. I chose to stay. I chose my family.”

“You can have both, you know.” Adrian unwound the towel from her injured finger, testing the cut with a gentle touch. It was shallow, the bleeding all but stopped now, although it stung with all the force of a small wound in a well-used place.

“I guess I'm going to find out, whether I want to or not.”

She gathered her thoughts while Adrian went and got the first-aid kit, centering herself while she cleaned the cut and wrapped it in a thick dressing of gauze and waterproof bandages. They worked side by side in comfortable quiet as they finished breaking down the kitchen, and Teagan felt oddly energized despite the fatigue she knew should be invading her bones. When Adrian went to check in with Jesse, she headed to the bar, zeroing in on the spot where Brennan leaned heavily against the burnished wood.

“Hey. You okay?” Her brow pulled in concern as he shifted his weight with a grimace, but the expression was gone just as fast as it appeared.

“Yup. It's getting pretty quiet now that it's after midnight. Well, more quiet, I guess.” Brennan tipped his head toward the thinner-than-usual crowd dotting the bar, and Teagan took advantage of the lull.