Some Like It Hot (9 page)

“Great!” Jules’s eyes lit up the way they did when her imagination was sparked. Scribbling madly, she asked, “Any other thoughts?”

“Oh!” Winslow jumped as if he’d been goosed. “I know another thing Chicago’s known for—jazz. Jazz, clubs, Prohibition, the mob, lounge singers, soul food … hey!”

As always, Win looked surprised that his seemingly random brainstorming had produced a real idea, but Danny was no longer shocked by it. “Good one, man,” he said, clapping the younger chef on the back.

“Yeah, but I bet the southern team will think of it, too,” Win said. “And my mama might be black, but she grew up in New York City, and so did I. Food that feeds the soul at my house is take-out pad Thai and delivery Chinese dumplings.”

Danny tilted his head back to stare at the ventilation-hooded ceiling. “It’s a little early in the competition to start trying to beat the other teams at their own game. We need to stick to what we know and love to cook—which is steak.”

Lunden’s Tavern had been the go-to spot for a great steak in the West Village for decades. Their family had served everyone, from Ronald Reagan to Luciano Pavarotti. Up until his death, they’d kept a special supply of a certain type of canned Italian sardines on hand, just in case Frank Sinatra blew through town.

“But we did steak at the regional finals,” Jules argued. “It’s too obvious to do it again so soon. Even if we didn’t replicate Max’s soy-lacquered tenderloin, I think it’s too similar, makes us too much of a one-trick pony.”

“Ms. Jansen did say we’re supposed to show who we are as chefs and as a team with this dish,” Win reminded them. “So it’s all about what do we want to show. We got talent here, folks. No need to cook ourselves into a corner this early on.”

Despite the sharp stab of nerves that always assaulted Danny at the idea of breaking away from the familiar, he nodded firmly. If everyone already agreed, he wasn’t going to be the one to make waves. “You’re right. No steak for this challenge. So what do we do instead? What’s left on the list?”

Silence descended while they each ran through the options they’d already brainstormed. Danny’s brain whirred through the choices at lightning speed, adding and tossing ingredients in different combinations and configurations. It was hard to work out what he’d be doing for his dessert course until he knew what the main would be, because all three courses needed to flow together seamlessly to create one perfect, coherent taste experience.

When Beck was the one to break the pause, they all looked at him with varying degrees of startlement. It wasn’t that Beck never spoke, but he was on the strong-and-silent side, more a supporter than a leader.

But something was different about him today. Danny studied him closely, trying to figure out what it was that made the guy seem more … there, and present, than he usually did.

“I’ve got an idea,” Beck said slowly, his deep voice rumbling over the words like tires over gravel. “What if we did a breakfast-for-dinner thing? There’s this seafood sausage I’ve been wanting to try my hand at…”

And just like that, a world of possibilities opened up. Danny licked his lips as the potential swirled through him. Around him, his teammates were all lit from within by the fire of a great idea, talking excitedly and sketching plans on Jules’s notepad.

They had a shot. They could win this thing, Danny knew it down to his bones.

And as the wall timer ticked down, Danny looked up to catch Eva Jansen’s eyes on him.

One moment of eye contact, the suggestive curl of her shimmery red lips, had Danny hardening in a scorching hot rush.

Okay. They could win this thing—if he could manage to keep his dick in his pants and his mind in the kitchen.

Somehow, as he watched the way Eva’s hips rolled while she sauntered around the room making sure each team had what it needed, Danny thought that might be easier said than done.

As soon as the judges left the kitchen, Claire handed her wireless mike to the PA and took off down the hall without a single glance back.

Kane clenched his fists and forced himself to pay attention to what the other male judge, celebrity chef Devon Sparks, was saying.

“You’re my wife’s favorite singer. She’s beyond pissed that I get to hang out with you all over the country for the next few weeks. Almost as pissed as she is that I’m leaving her alone to deal with morning sickness and cravings for peanut butter and fried pickles.” Devon smiled, and unlike the brilliant grin the cameras loved so much, this one went all the way to his electric blue eyes.

It made Kane pause, breathe in, because Devon was clearly talking about something—someone—that mattered to him, and Kane had promised himself a long time ago that he would never, ever be the kind of person who ignored what mattered.

It was a hard promise to keep when he existed between the shallow, glittery world of LA parties and the surreal eternal road trip of touring, but he did his best.

Ignoring the fact that Claire was waiting for an elevator, about to slip out of his reach, Kane returned Devon’s smile and said, “Congratulations on the baby thing! And thanks, man. It never stops being awesome to hear about someone listening to my stuff. What’s your wife’s name?”

The guy’s almost-too-perfect face melted into something human, right before Kane’s eyes. “Lilah. Lilah Jane Sparks, and she listens to your music so much—if I didn’t know she loved me, I would’ve tossed every one of your CDs out in the street a long time ago.”

The deep, comfortable assurance of his wife’s affections gave Devon a settled, grounded air that affected Kane strangely.

He was curious about it—what would it be like to know yourself to be loved, completely and utterly, by someone other than your family?—but he was curious about a lot of things, so that wasn’t weird. What was weird was the way Kane was simultaneously attracted to and repelled by the idea.

To be loved … sure, who didn’t want that? But to be settled and grounded. Ugh. Kane suppressed a shudder. That wasn’t for him. He had too much to do, too much to see and experience and accomplish, to take a dive, clip his wings, and start shuffling through the dirt.

Song lyrics tickled at his brain, distracting him. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” he said vaguely, trying to blink the fuzziness away. “You … want me to sign something for Lilah?”

“Actually, I had a different favor to ask,” Devon said, looking sheepish as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his perfectly tailored camel blazer. “Today is her birthday. Would you mind…?”

Kane relaxed. This was easy. “Sure, man, no big. Dial her up for me, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Devon tapped the phone’s screen once, then handed it to Kane. A sweet molasses voice drawled in his ear, slow and husky with sleep, “Mmm, time for my morning sugar. How do you always know just the thing to make me feel better?”

Sending Devon a smile, Kane started to sing into the phone, to the accompaniment of shocked silence followed by a bit of squealing and laughing. By the time he’d made it to “And many moooore,” Devon was beaming, Lilah was practically in hysterics, and Claire was long gone.

Suppressing a sigh, Kane brushed off Devon’s thanks and said good-bye to Lilah.

“You’re the best, Slater. I won’t forget it. Catch you later!”

As soon as Devon got his phone back, it was clear he and his wife needed a little alone time—and after witnessing their connection up close and personal, Kane kind of wanted to be alone, too. He waved Devon away with a smile and stuck his hands in his pockets, wandering the hallway in front of the hotel kitchen doors.

He was trying to decide if he could stomach the idea of using his famous face to pry Claire’s room number out of the chick working the reception desk upstairs when Eva slipped into the corridor, pulling the doors gently closed behind her.

“Hey, babe,” Kane greeted her, glad of the distraction from his increasingly circuitous and unhappy thoughts. “How’s it going in there?”

She brought a hand up to her mouth as if she wanted to bite the nail of her index finger, but as soon as she realized it was shellacked with red paint, she twisted both hands behind her back. “It’s going okay. Maybe. I don’t know. God, what made me think I could pull this off?”

“Aw, now.” Eva never failed to move him to big-brotherly tenderness when she dropped that shark-like armor and showed her vulnerable white belly. “It can’t be as bad as all that. The chefs looked like they were ready and raring to go when we left ’em. C’mere. You’re doing good.”

He gave her a one-armed hug, squeezing her shoulders tight. With her in those spike heels, they were almost the same height. It made Kane wish nostalgically for his old, scuffed-up cowboy boots to give him an extra inch or so on her, but he’d left those behind when he left Texas.

“The chefs are crazy. They’re fighting already and we haven’t really even gotten started yet,” Eva wailed, turning her face into his shoulder and probably smudging makeup all over it. “And the cameraman is driving me bonkers—the producer from the Cooking Channel keeps saying he’s not sure there’s enough action and drama even to make a B reel for if they do the live feed from the final challenge in San Francisco. What does he expect?”

“I don’t know, I think things have been pretty action-packed so far,” Kane said. “What about that fistfight yesterday?”

“But I don’t want them to air stuff like that,” Eva wailed. “That’s not what the RSC is about!”

Kane put his hands on Eva’s shoulders and set her back a step so he could look into her face. “Hey, hey. Come on, now, sugar. ’Fess up about what’s really eating you.”

She fidgeted for a second, which made her look awfully young. It reminded him of the Eva he’d first met, five years ago at a holiday bash at some skeevy record producer’s house—a wild child with long, mink-brown hair and an irrepressible need to have the attention of every man at the party.

Not because she wanted to have sex with them, Kane had seen at a glance. But because it fed some deeper need hidden under her sparkly tank top and tight little jeans.

Eva was a wanderer, a seeker, like Kane. He’d known it instantly, in one of those freaky moments of understanding, and when she’d gotten in a little too deep—vodka tonics and handsy rich guys made a bad combo—Kane had stepped in and rescued her.

She’d been his soul sister ever since. And even now, half a decade, two platinum records, and a successful restaurant empire later, he still didn’t always get what made her tick. Which was, of course, part of her considerable charm.

“There’s this guy,” she told him, then smacked his arm and sulked when he laughed.

“Baby, with you? There’s always a guy,” he said fondly. “That part, I knew already. Tell me what’s messing you up about him.”

Her mouth twisted and she got a faraway look in her eyes. “He’s not … like the others. I don’t know how else to describe it. I just … I want him.”

Kane shrugged. “So go get him, girl.” For Eva, it was usually exactly that simple, and if he couldn’t help the pang of envy, he could at least keep it from showing on his face.

But Eva didn’t seem to agree. She shook her head, sending her short brown hair lashing against her chin. “It’s complicated. He’s one of the contestants.”

Well, now,
Kane thought.
Like father, like daughter
. But he knew it would hurt her to hear that, so instead he asked, “And that’s a problem for you?”

“Not usually,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s just sex. It’s simple biology, right? You build up tension and stress—you need to open a valve somewhere and let it out, or you’ll explode. Nothing deep and emotional about it, just a bodily function. Like sneezing.”

“Sure,” Kane said, nodding sagely. “Coed naked sneezing. The next wave in porn.”

“Oh, shut it. You know what I mean, and I know you agree with me. Don’t try that soulful artist thing with me; I’ve seen the way you blow through women, like a flu patient with a box of tissue.”

“Gross,” he told her. “What is it with you and mucus today?”

Her eyes got big and anguished. “I don’t know!” she cried. “I’m totally off my game. I got him to kiss me in the elevator, and it was perfect, all hot and bothering, but then … he made me feel something. And he just walked away afterward, like it was nothing!”

Hmm. It sounded as if The Diva had met her match. Kane put on a sympathetic face. “Would it have been better if he tried to ravish you in semi-public?”

“Yes!” Eva set her chin stubbornly. “I mean, at least it would’ve been normal. Now I don’t know where to go from here.”

Once again, he and his soul sister were on the same cosmic wavelength. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so sad. Kane sighed, “Tell me about it, babe. I’m a little stumped, myself.”

Her gaze went from dejected to crafty in about half a second. “Oh, I think I’ve said enough. It’s your turn. Why don’t you tell
me
all about it, and I’ll see what I can do to help?”

“Unless you can convince an extremely intelligent, very stubborn woman that I’ll be worth going against her very nature, you’re no good to me.”

“You are worth it,” Eva declared, ever loyal. “And Claire should give you a chance to show her. I can’t convince her, myself, but I can make it possible for you to have a shot at it.”

Heartbeat quickening, Kane grabbed for Eva’s hands. “Oh, baby girl. If you do that, I promise I’ll name the first hit single off the next album after you.”

She grinned. “Hey, if I can’t get a handle on my own love life, at least I can help you with yours. Claire’s in suite thirty-two eighteen; I upgraded her this morning after she complained about the lack of a desk in her room. I bet she’s up there right now, settling in with the bottle of complimentary champagne I sent up.”

Kane waggled his eyebrows, deliberately blanking out the fact that this was exactly the sort of thing he’d promised not to do. “Maybe she could use some company.”

“Go get her, boy,” Eva said, giving him a little push in the direction of the elevators. “And remember, she’s French, so she thrives on being contrary. And beware the pout! If she pulls out the big guns, you’ll know you’re getting to her.
Bonne chance!
”

Kane blew her a kiss and stepped onto the elevator, heart lifting as he began to rise up through the hotel, closer and closer to Claire Durand.

Bonne chance,
indeed.

He was going to need all luck he could get.

Eva watched her friend rush off to make sweet nookie with her other friend, and struggled not to feel abandoned.

It’s not always all about you,
she lectured herself.

Well, okay. She was the pampered only child of a wealthy man who’d lost his best friend and his moral compass when he’d lost his wife, and who had therefore spent most of her childhood and teen years leaving Eva alone in their Long Island mansion, then showering her with guilt gifts later.

So really, it kind of was all about her. Or at least she came by the feeling honestly.

She checked her watch. The sapphire-blue minute hand had barely progressed at all.

Ugh, this waiting! It was interminable.

She’d left the kitchen to get some distance from the frenetic energy of the chef contestants in full planning mode, but in less than half an hour it would be time to pile them all into the cars for the trip over to the grocery store.

Not for the first time, Eva felt a glow of accomplishment at the fact she’d managed to woo Lincoln as a sponsor. The car company was not only providing a brand-new SUV as a prize for the final winner, they were also lending several Town Cars as transportation to get the chefs to and from the different challenge venues. Whipping out her phone, Eva called to make sure the cars and drivers were pulled around to the front entrance of the hotel, and that they knew the address and best route to get to the grocery store.

After another glance at her watch, Eva decided she’d better get back in there and hurry the chefs through their final minutes of planning time. With a little, very minor manipulation and wrangling, Eva was sure she’d manage to arrange matters so that she and Danny Lunden had a car all to themselves for the drive over to Fresh Foods.

Time to stop feeling lost and nervous,
she told herself. She was Eva Jansen! Successful restaurateur, millionaire playgirl, and all-around catch. Just because some hotshot pastry chef made her special lady bits tingle, that was no excuse for morphing into a silly, starry-eyed girl.

I do better on the offensive anyway,
she mused as she called time on the chefs and herded them out to the waiting Town Cars, where she maneuvered Danny into her limo and locked the doors behind her.

“Drive,” she told the uniformed man up front before twisting in the comfy leather seat to face Danny, whose look of startled confusion changed to narrow calculation in the space of a single heartbeat.

“You again,” he said. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being stalked?”

Adrenaline and excitement pumped through Eva’s veins, warming her blood and filling her with that fun recklessness she loved so much. The thrill of the hunt…

“Because you are,” she told him, settling back into the cool embrace of the deep car seat and crossing her legs very deliberately. An air-conditioned breeze chilled her legs where the hem of her dress had inched up, but she didn’t make a move to pull it back down.

Sure enough, Danny’s interesting blue-gray eyes flicked down to take in the newly bared expanse of silk-stocking-clad thigh—but only once, and so quickly that if she hadn’t been watching for it, she wouldn’t have noticed it.

But Eva noticed everything Danny did.

“I’m not sure if I should be freaked or flattered,” he said, angling himself to face her. The backseat of the car was spacious and comfortable, but Danny’s long legs and rangy frame took up quite a bit of it.

His legs sprawled naturally, and the dark denim of his jeans rubbed teasingly against Eva’s knee when she shifted. Danny’s gaze went hooded and intent, sending a shiver down Eva’s spine.