Scrumptious (4 page)

Joe reached between them to press his palm firmly against the denim between her thighs. She pressed back.

“Marlene?” a deep voice called out from the dark beneath them.

She stiffened, hissed, said nothing.

“Marlene? Are you up there?” the man called again, louder this time.

“Shit,” she panted and slid out from underneath him to weave across the roof, pulling her shirt down as she went. Joe followed and recognized the long-haired guy from the bar standing on her porch.

“I saw your lights,” the guy said.

A booty call for sure.

Reality reasserted itself in the cool, midnight breeze.

No
more
sluts
.

“You said you wouldn’t do this, Danny.” Marlene sounded admirably patient for a woman who had been half naked five seconds ago. “We talked about it, remember? Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She turned from the rail. They both listened as his footsteps thumped slowly down the staircase.

“That was Danny. The grill cook. Keith’s right-hand man.”

Fantastic.

“We’re friends,” she added.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

Marlene shrugged and sat beside him on the chair. Her hair was slipping out of its clasp, and she reached up to release it. It fell in a thick, bright mass around her shoulders, and Joe wanted to touch it. Instead, he stood. He wasn’t going to have a second chance at redemption tonight.

“Thanks for the food. I need to get some sleep,” he said.

She stood with him, leaning into his chest. “Sleep here.”

Even with the bizarre interruption, his body responded. She was exactly his kind of girl. He was still plenty hard, plenty ready, but he’d lost the recklessness he’d had before her friend showed up. If he took what Marlene was offering, this night would end like every other hookup he’d had since his mother died. Empty. Guilty. Forgotten.

He had no doubt whatsoever that they would enjoy each other. Hell, they fit together like two pieces of the same twisted puzzle, but any joy they found tonight would be temporary. He wanted a return of the easy peace he’d felt driving into town tonight, and he wasn’t going to find it with Marlene, that was for sure. He couldn’t believe he felt this way, but it wasn’t worth it, especially since they were going to be working together at Chameleon. And she had been drinking. A woman who could whip out first-class omelets after several martinis and leave the kitchen spotless deserved more than that, even from him.

“I can’t stay,” Joe said.

“So don’t. You can leave. After.” She reached up to pull him back down to her mouth.

He caught her arms and twisted them behind her back to keep her still. “I don’t want you to be accused of beer goggling, sugar.”

“My reputation can take it.” She took advantage of her position to press even closer to him, forcing him to embrace her or fall over. Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. His cock twitched. “I only had one beer,” she whispered.

“And a few martinis. Let’s pick this up tomorrow and see where we are.”

Marlene froze.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She shook off his arms and stepped back, hands on her hips. Her gold-flecked eyes shot hellfire and her voice was sharp as disbelief turned into visible fury at his rejection. “There is no tomorrow. I’m a
Top
Gun
kind of girl,” Marlene said.

“I’m trying to do the right thing here,” he protested, stifling a chuckle. He knew exactly what she meant: he’d get one chance and one chance only. They were birds of a feather all right.

Marlene raised her chin. “I wasn’t expecting an attack of scruples from you, Rafferty. I could swear Olivia told me you seduced a chef instructor in her own kitchen.”

“She seduced me,” he answered automatically.

“And her husband?”

“Watched.” He crossed his arms, getting annoyed.

“Yeah, well, where’s that Joe Rafferty? I was looking for him.”

He stared at her for a long minute. She’d certainly nailed that one. Good fucking question. At last, he said, “He’s gone.”

“You could have mentioned that earlier,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, probably. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Joe paused. “This probably isn’t the best time to tell you this either, but Olivia hired me to help out at Chameleon for a few weeks. Is that going to be a problem?”

The only outward sign of whatever emotion she might be feeling was the slight dip of her chin and the way her eyes sharpened and glowed gold in a glare worthy of a deadly jungle cat. She shook her head slowly. “Not for me.”

Joe stepped over the balcony railing and made his way back down the roof.

Since he’d pretty much ruined any chance of being invited back, he paused to enjoy her kitchen again. It was small, cozy, with no wasted space. She had all the right equipment, with plenty of counter space and good lighting too. He almost regretted that he’d never have the chance to eat a meal at her weathered cherrywood table with the Mason jar of daisies, never have a chance to fire up that sweet looking stove.

He should have just had sex with her. Then he could have made pancakes in the morning in her perfect kitchen. Blueberry. Or maybe banana–chocolate chip. Joe cursed the changes that had come over him. Since when did he turn down a willing woman? Since when did working together make any kind of difference to two people out for a quick, convenient lay? Sex was simple, almost involuntary, like breathing.

And
since
when
did
he
want
to
make
pancakes?

Joe forced his brain to a swirling halt. He had to be at work in
—
he checked his cell phone
—
six hours. Driving all day had taken its toll. He was toast. His head ached, his balls were killing him, and he still had to find a decent motel.

Joe opened the kitchen door and descended the stairs.

She was just a girl. Enough.

It was time to focus on the next relevant task, like finding a place to get some sleep, not that it was going to help very much. Yup, should have just slept with her. Tangling with Marlene had probably guaranteed his next two weeks at Chameleon would be hell.

Joe slid into the Jeep and turned the key. As he put the truck in reverse and glanced up into the rearview mirror, he was surprised to discover a smile on his face.

Marlene’s head pounded in time with her blaring alarm clock. She smacked the top of the clock until it shut off, but her head still ached to the beat. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Her blood froze.

She burrowed deeper into the covers trying to find a safe place to hide before her memory caught up with her. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was. Boom. Boom.

Oh God.

It was. It totally was. She tried to pinpoint the exact moment that the beer had kicked in and she had gone from cheerfully buzzed to shit-faced without pride. She groaned aloud.

The only thing that made her feel marginally better was that Joe had made the first move to kiss her. Of course, he probably would have had to jump off the roof to avoid her. She carefully drew back the covers and sat up, assessing the damage. Throbbing head, unstable stomach, but not going to throw up. Not yet at least.

She walked slowly into the bathroom, trying to keep her head on a level plane. After popping two ibuprofen, she reversed course to the kitchen to get a large glass of water and a couple of crackers.

The dirty omelet pan mocked her from the sink. She ignored it and programmed the coffee maker to begin brewing in an hour. Hopefully, she’d feel alive by then.

Safely back in bed and under the covers, with her pillow over her head, Marlene permitted herself to think about Joe’s kiss without remembering its disastrous aftermath.

Kissing him had been like having a conversation
—
a really hot, unexpected conversation with a stranger. Holy shit, that man could think with his lips. Heat stole through her arms and legs. Even in her weakened, half-dead state, Marly wanted to finish that conversation. She wanted it bad enough to consider finishing it by herself.

No, taking care of things herself in this condition would probably make her head explode.

Oh God, she should have hit the road when she started talking to herself in the ladies room. Every girl knows that’s a bad sign. She remembered ignoring a number of dangerous signs last night. Drinking on an empty stomach, having more than one drink in an hour, ignoring the word no, begging, for heaven’s sake
—

The full effect of her crash and burn touched down in her tender brain, and she groaned into the pillow. She had failed to seduce the man who slept with everyone. And she’d referenced
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Gun
in the attempt. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

Olivia was going to laugh her ass off.

***

“We need butters piped,” Shane greeted Marlene just inside the back door of Chameleon. “Who’s the new guy?”

“Huh?” Marlene needed more coffee.

“He’s in whites, and he’s talking to Olivia in the office. He’s hot. Do you know anything?”

“Nope.” Deny, deny, deny.

Joe’s beat-up black toolbox was sitting on the dish rack, locked with a heavy padlock.
Rafferty
was scrawled across the top in indelible marker.

Marly’s mouth watered. She closed her eyes and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She would not puke. Aside from matters of pride, no one ever cleaned the employee bathroom. She took a shallow breath to conquer the nausea just as Joe and Olivia came around the corner from the back room.

“Good morning,” she said, clearing her throat. “I think. Sorry I’m late. I’m considering the hair of the dog.”

“Doesn’t work. I’ve tried it,” Joe said.

Naturally.

He was clean-shaven and wearing a blindingly white, double-breasted chef coat with his name on the pocket and traditional checked pants. He looked good, damn it. His baseball cap was on backward, and his apron was folded down and looped twice around his hips. The bastard looked Downy fresh.

“Danny’s late again,” Olivia said. “I’m gonna have to talk to him. He didn’t look sick at Johnny’s last night.”

“No, he didn’t,” Marly agreed. He also didn’t look sick when he was standing on her porch, ruining her damn night.

Joe raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Olivia followed Marlene toward the bakeshop. Joe, mercifully, headed toward the line.

Olivia followed her into the back and handed her a glass of water straight from the tap. “Here, drink this and give me all the dirty details.”

“Joe didn’t tell you?” Marlene asked.

“He said you make a great omelet, which I already know. He stayed for breakfast? He’s not usually into that.”

“Oh, right.” Marlene sagged against the cold glass of the dessert reach-in cooler, head back, eyes shut, feeling Olivia’s scrutiny.

“You are the exact shade of a pistachio crème brûlée.”

“Thanks. Every girl should hear that the morning after,” Marlene said, opening her eyes.

Olivia’s expression was expectant.

Marlene didn’t say anything. Hurt and surprise warred across her friend’s face. “You really aren’t going to tell me anything?” Olivia asked.

She always dished the details of her sex life to her poor, married friend. There was no way she could freeze her out, especially now. Olivia claimed a vicarious thrill or two kept her honest. Not that it was really an issue anymore. Marlene sighed. Deeply. “It seems your friend Joe is not interested,” she confessed.

“Huh? Not possible.”

“He took me home. I made omelets. Everything was going great. Then Danny showed up.” Olivia’s eyes widened. “I sent him packing, but by the time I turned around, Joe had changed his mind. I made an ass of myself and he left. Then I passed out.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry!” Olivia gave her a hug.

“Plenty of other fish in the sea.” She could be philosophical, right?

“I never would have asked him to help out around here if I thought there was going to be a problem,” Olivia said, releasing her.

“How could you know? A heads-up would have been greatly appreciated, though. I might have been able to control myself if I’d known he was going to be working here,” she said sourly.

“He hadn’t said yes yet,” Olivia explained with an apologetic frown.

“Any chance he’ll change his mind?”

Olivia shook her head.

Marlene exhaled. “I’ll live. Leave me to my misery, but get me the prep list soon, okay?” It was going to be a long day and an even longer night, but even with her hangover and Joe in the house, she couldn’t wait to step back into her old job on the line. Anticipation and adrenaline began to chase away her headache.

Olivia grimaced. “Ummm, I told Joe you’d show him how things work prep-wise after lunch. Want me to do it instead?”

Marlene swallowed the returning flood of salt water in her mouth and shook her head. “I can handle it. What’s he going to be doing around here, anyway? Prep?”

Olivia gave her a bewildered look. “No
—
I thought you understood. He’ll do Keith’s job on the line until I can hire somebody. You’re absolutely right: we can’t work doubles forever. It’s not fair of me to expect you to cover for Keith anymore. We need another chef in here.”

“Right. Silly me,” Marlene said faintly, swallowing convulsively.

Olivia was already heading back to the line.

Of course Olivia would want to get a chef, a real chef, into the kitchen. Alcohol must have dissolved her brain cells or Marlene would have immediately realized where Joe fit in around here. After all, someone had to fix all the damage Keith had done over the past two years, and it couldn’t be her, not really. Who would make the desserts on such short notice? She couldn’t do justice to both jobs, and Olivia spent a good twelve hours of the day at Chameleon already. She couldn’t start spending every night on the line too. They’d have to put a cot in the office.

Resentment flared inside her, a brief flash of bitterness that left her exhausted. They definitely needed another cook at Chameleon, but she hadn’t expected Olivia to replace her completely. Part of her wanted to chase after Olivia and tell her she wanted to work on the line again, but just like with cooking, timing was everything. She didn’t want to have that discussion when she was so hungover she could barely see straight. Plus, what good would it do? Joe was already here.

Marlene leaned over her prep table, resting her head on her forearms. Sudden, debilitating depression made her want to lie down on the floor mats. The day’s work loomed in front of her, seemingly impossible. Self-loathing brought on by last night’s miscalculation was acute and agonizing, and that wasn’t even the worst part. The real kicker was that she was going to have to answer to Joe now. He was going to be giving her his prep lists, and she was going to be explaining her dessert specials to him before she left every night. For the next two weeks, Joe Rafferty was going to be all over her world, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it except suck it up
—
and pretend like she didn’t care.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. It wasn’t the end of the world. She recognized the symptoms of the hangover blues, and she only knew one cure: time. Since she couldn’t do anything to make the day pass faster, she’d have to go for the second best remedy: work. She forced herself to get moving.

By the time service started, she had lemon tarts and more crème brûlées in the deck oven and garlic marinara at a bare simmer on the back of the stove. Veal demi-glace was reducing on the front burner, sending up thick, rosemary-scented steam. Her headache had receded to a dull buzz, and her stomach was behaving nicely after a pile of extra crispy hot wings, thoughtfully provided by Olivia, who kept a gallon of Anchor Bar wing sauce on hand for hangover emergencies.

Marlene filled a bain-marie with marinara, another with demi, and carried them both up to the line where Olivia was explaining the lunch menu to Joe. Danny had finally called in sick again, so Joe was going to jump in on the line. On any other day, it would have been Marly. She ignored the stab of jealousy and plunked the tall, round pots of sauce into his steaming water bath.

“Thanks,” he said, taping the grill menu above his workspace. Hotshot. The sauté station was easier on the lunch menu. He should be starting there. She turned her back.

On her way to the bakeshop, she was struck by sudden inspiration and veered into the waiters’ station, where Eric and Shane were doing last minute side work before the lunch rush hit.

“Hey, guys, do me a favor? I really don’t want to get into a long explanation, but could you slam the new guy for me?” She nodded in Joe’s direction. “Please? Really bury him, okay?”

She didn’t have to explain what she meant. Waiters held a lot of power over timing in the kitchen. They could steer all their customers toward grilled entrees or, if that didn’t work, they could simply turn all their tickets in at the same time. A few pissed-off servers could wreak havoc on a busy lunch.

Shane scowled. “Hell no. I need forty bucks to make rent this week, and I’m not gonna get it if the food is slow.”

Eric nodded in agreement.

“Come on, guys. I’ll make sure it doesn’t affect your tips,” Marly promised.

Shane arched one eyebrow. “If I get a single complaint, you’re sending out free desserts.”

“Done.” She nodded.

Eric shrugged his assent, and Shane tucked his order pad into his apron. “I hope it’s worth it.”

She grinned. “Oh, it will be.”

Marlene felt bad for Joe for about five seconds. They had fifty on the books, not counting walk-ins, and lunch was fast. Joe was really going to get it.

Twenty minutes later, the orders came in.

All for the grill. All at the same time. It was beautiful.

And the perfect cure for a hangover.

***

Marlene heard Olivia bellow her name just as she pulled her lemon tarts out of the oven. Olivia rushed into the bakeshop with Joe close behind her. “Could you break these down into lunch steaks?” She flipped two bloody beef tenderloins onto Marlene’s prep table and didn’t wait for an answer. “Joe, you want to switch stations? I told those idiots to go easy on the grill.”

“Hell no.”

Marlene hummed as she stripped the chain off the first tenderloin and began trimming silver skin. Perfect six-ounce steaks fell away from her blade.

“Quit showing off.” Olivia pulled the digital scale off the shelf and set it next to Marly’s cutting board. Marlene rolled her eyes but began checking every other steak as Olivia herded Joe back toward the line.

When the last steak was cut, she arranged them in a shallow third pan and added whole cloves of garlic and a handful of rosemary stems. She poured olive oil over the meat to preserve it and carried it up to the line.

Ten tickets were hanging. Olivia worked in silence, her face stern as she pulled pans down to heat side vegetables. Joe, on the other hand, was whistling. Marlene counted eight steaks, six chicken breasts, and three pieces of salmon on the grill. He probably had more in the oven too. Her lips twitched. He crossed two perfectly charred Cajun shrimp skewers on each of the three salads that Anthony, their newbie garde-manger cook, had placed in the cold window.

Eric reached into the window.

“Don’t even think about it.” The waiter jerked his hand away from the salad plate. “That’s not your table.” Joe nodded at the long line of tickets. “If you boys are going to pull this shit, then you’ll have to wait your turn.” His voice was a silky snarl. “Your tips are in my hands now.”

Eric backed away from the line.

“You guys need anything else?” Marlene asked quickly.

“Not a thing, sugar,” Joe replied.

She fled to the bakeshop.

***

Joe appeared by Marlene’s side when lunch died down to a trickle of deuces. He didn’t look like he’d been in grill hell for two hours straight, she thought. The heat should have made him sweat a little at least.

She turned off the mixer and heaved the twenty-quart bowl of tart dough onto her table. “How was lunch?”

“It was all right.”

That was an understatement. Joe had cooked himself out of that pile-up in fifteen minutes flat, and Eric and Shane were still sucking up to him. She hadn’t had to comp a single dessert.

“Did you have a good time?” Joe asked, leaning against her reach-in.

“Huh?” Marlene widened her eyes.

“Your little boyfriends squealed on you. You can’t trust waiters, you know.”