Taste the Heat (13 page)

The smirk became a smile as he combed a hand through his hair. “Just trying to decide
if it would’ve been worse if that had been Cane.”

A flare of annoyance piqued at the mention of her brother. Colby still had no clue
why he reacted the way he did the other day, or why he thought her love life was any
of his business. But she also loved the overbearing brute and knew he had his reasons.
They would just have to make sure he never found out about their arrangement.

Going for levity, Colby said, “It’s a toss-up. Sherry will taunt me forever, and Cane
would’ve kicked your ass.” The smile on his face dimmed and she nudged him with her
elbow. “Dude, I was joking. Who cares what Cane thinks? This is about us.”

Jason nodded and let out a breath, worry still etched on his forehead as he wrapped
his hand around the keys to start the engine. Apparently, the sight of one sibling
and the mention of the other was a mood killer. Colby flipped down the visor and checked
her makeup in the mirror in the hopes of minimizing the teasing she knew was coming
the moment she stepped inside. Then she glanced back at Jason with her hand on the
door. “I had fun tonight.”

He slid her a boyish grin. “Me, too.”

Jason’s smiles always did decidedly funny things to her tummy. Squeezing the door
handle to keep from launching herself back into his arms, she asked, “Pick this up
Monday?”

He took her unoccupied left hand and brought it to his mouth. “I won’t be able to
think of anything else.”

Mission accomplished.

Then he pressed a kiss against her opened palm and Colby’s eyelids fluttered.

Now, neither would she.

…

Jason deserved a damn medal. Or at the very least, a freaking fist bump. Driving away
from Colby tonight, when every fiber of his being screamed for him to go back and
pick up where Sherry had interrupted them, had to be one of the hardest things he’d
ever done. But he’d done it. Gritting his teeth, fists clenched around the smooth
steering wheel, but he’d managed to do it. And despite the cold shower he knew awaited
him, he was almost certain it had been the right decision.

But damn it sucked.

As he drove home on autopilot, he told himself that accepting her tempting offer would’ve
destroyed any chance he had with her. All night long, his old man’s words replayed
in his mind. The puzzle pieces aligned, the game changed, and his plan shifted. Now,
a summer fling with Colby was no longer going to be enough. But if Jason had any shot
of making her stick around Magnolia Springs at the end of this, he had to play his
cards right. He had to get his head on straight and his plan in place. One wrong move,
one moment of weakness, and she’d slip through his fingers in a few short months.

At the four-way stop, Jason leaned back against the headrest. She wasn’t going to
make it easy. Colby Robicheaux was temptation incarnate. And she was a woman on a
mission. He reached into the glove compartment, grabbed his pack of spearmint gum,
and then pushed his foot down on the accelerator. The rising hum of the engine matched
his frustration. He’d been out of the game for a while, but he could still read signals.
Especially when they were as loud as Colby’s. That woman wanted him all right. Just
maybe not in the same ways that he was beginning to want
her.

Oh, he wanted her physically; that was a damn given. But he also wondered if she could
be the right fit for Emma’s mother. Watching them together tonight, he knew he couldn’t
ask for a better person for the role. As for what his dad had implied before, that’s
where it got sticky. Holding Colby in his arms tonight, looking into those endless
smoky gray eyes, a warmth had flickered in his chest. And it scared the living hell
out of him.

It was time for him to cool off, regroup, and think up a new strategy. One that, if
things went his way, could have a whole new objective in mind. An entire summer sounded
long, but with a woman as hurt and stubborn as Colby, time was not his friend.

The flickering sign for Jake’s Seafood caught Jason’s eye as he made a tight right
turn on Stinson. Known for supplying restaurants and boiling aficionados with the
biggest and freshest Gulf coast seafood, the weather-battered establishment was like
an omen. If he wanted to break through Colby’s defenses, the first thing he had to
do was get her to fall back in love with Cajun food. The cuisine was part of her heritage.
It was a staple of her family’s restaurant. And it was a major wall keeping her from
healing from the past.

While Jason enjoyed cooking, a true chef he wasn’t. A plan like this called for the
absolute best. Normally with the new chef in town, Jason would turn to Robicheaux’s,
but this required an outside job. Copeland’s, Acme, Brennan’s. Jason needed to call
in the big guns.

Next, he would move on to helping her rediscover her love of their city. New Orleans
was magical when you let it in. From its people, to its century-old superstitions
and traditions, to the art and music that influence every facet of daily life, the
city burrows into your soul. Jason would bet his Saints season tickets that though
Colby fought it fiercely, New Orleans was still a part of her. Maybe buried deep,
but it was in there. Just like the starry-eyed girl he remembered, who wore her heart
on her sleeve and believed in love, was still inside her, too.

Jason pulled into his garage and turned off the engine. This plan felt solid. It meant
delaying what he wanted, what his body was aching to do, that much longer. But it
felt right. Despite what he’d told Colby, he was starting to realize he wasn’t in
this for a hookup or a casual fling. As much as it sucked, he knew he couldn’t take
Colby to his bed until she could take a tearless carriage ride with him through the
French Quarter—while eating a beignet from Café Du Monde.

With his new plan now firmly, if not begrudgingly, in place, Monday night couldn’t
come fast enough.

Chapter Eleven

Colby shook out her hands on Jason’s doorstep, wishing her crappy day could shake
off with the gesture. Lights blazed on the other side of his etched glass door, and
from somewhere within she could hear Jason singing along—loudly—to the classic rock
blaring over his speakers. He was surprisingly in tune. She grinned, imagining him
serenading a simmering pot of something delicious, wiggling his
Kiss the Chef
apron clad hips.

At least one of them was in the proper mood.

While all of the days since their nighttime interlude had dragged like the sluggish
bayou behind her family’s restaurant, today had sucked the hardest. She just didn’t
get it. There were
tons
of Italians in the Greater New Orleans area. Her mom’s side of the family proved
that. So did the yearly Irish/Italian parades and the huge St. Joseph’s Day altars
residents built city-wide. But make a few small changes to the menu, switching out
one or two hardcore Cajun classics with fresh, updated Italian ones, and the natives
go crazy. Apparently, an act like that was akin to sacrilege.

Colby had hoped changing up the menu would bring fresh lifeblood into the restaurant.
She’d also hoped it would make it easier to stomach the kitchen during the next few
months. Day in and day out cooking the same recipes she’d learned alongside her father
was starting to take its toll. But she hadn’t come home to ruin her family’s legacy,
so she’d just have to suck it up. If the people wanted Cajun food, then by God, Cajun
food they would get. Even if it killed her.

She rolled back her shoulders. If she weren’t such a workaholic, she wouldn’t have
known there was an issue. Most women would’ve spent their day off primping when they
had a hot date. Instead, her perfectionist-self just
had
to go in to check over the day’s prep work, leading to her overhearing Cane and Sherry’s
hushed conversation. Listening to them worry about her, question her decisions, yet
agree to believe in her regardless of customer complaints had sealed the deal. She
loved her siblings more than air and this wasn’t about being selfish. She could think
with her head and not her heart, and doing that, everything would go back to normal
tomorrow.

Tonight, however, she was dressed to impress and standing outside her childhood crush’s
home. Wasting way too much energy thinking about work and depressing guilt. Worrying
about the restaurant could wait until morning—
now
it was time to focus on more enticing, enjoyable thoughts. Such as rocking Jason’s
world.

She rang the doorbell.

The radio cut off mid-song and she watched through the glass as Jason walked up. The
eager smile on his face was the absolute sexiest thing she had ever seen.

“You’re late,” he teased after opening the door. He leaned in to brush his lips across
her cheek, and her knees nearly buckled at the clean scent of soap and aftershave.
He slid his hands around hers and tugged her inside. “I was starting to think you
were gonna stand me up.”

Colby laughed, the annoyance of the day already lifting off her shoulders. “Everyone
knows a woman has to make an entrance.” She inhaled deeply, trying to get a hint of
what he’d cooked. Not picking anything up, she asked, “What’s for dinner?”

A muscle clenching and unclenching in his jaw was her only clue—and not much of one—before
he said, “That’s a surprise.”

Curious, she let him pull her farther inside. But instead of heading toward the dining
room as she’d expected, or even toward the more intimate kitchen table, he led her
into the living room. He gently backed her against the leather sofa. “Take a seat.”

Okay
.
No need for concern here
, she told herself, sinking into the soft cushions. Just because she absolutely hated
surprises, didn’t trust them, and hadn’t had a good one since her life fell apart
twelve years ago, she didn’t need to go mental. This was a date, and dates were supposed
to be fun. Spontaneous. She could go with the flow.

Besides, it was possible he wanted to talk before they ate. Or watch a movie, breaking
out the TV trays like they did when they were kids. She could handle that. It wasn’t
romantic, but she didn’t need romance. She and Jason were just two old friends hanging
out, throwing in some much needed benefits, and getting their freak on.

Do people still even say that?

Colby shook her head, her inner-monologue only confirming how long it had been for
her. And how badly she needed this. She put on her sexiest smile and glanced up at
him, feeling it freeze on her face when she glimpsed the object in his hands.

A black silk blindfold.

Now
that
was the type of surprise she could get behind.

“And the night takes a turn for the intriguing.” She bit her lower lip as Jason started
rubbing the soft material between his long, work-roughened fingers. She cleared her
throat and asked, “But shouldn’t we eat first? You know, shore up our strength?”

Jason chuckled. “This
is
for eating.” At her nose crinkle of confusion, he sank to his knees in front of her
and said, “I’m going to feed you blindfolded.”

Oh my.

She didn’t know what she had expected from tonight, but this certainly wasn’t it.
Not that she was complaining. She knew very well how sensual food could be. And how
turning off one sense heightened all the others. Colby swallowed hard as Jason leaned
forward, gently stretching the elastic band of the blindfold.

“Do you mind?” His voice was a husky whisper at her ear. All she could manage was
a small shake of her head. Already her pulse was taking flight and heat was pooling
in her belly.

What will it be like later?
Was it possible to self-combust from anticipation alone?

He chuckled lightly under his breath, most likely hearing the pant of her breath.
She’d be embarrassed if she weren’t so damn excited. As he secured the band around
her head, the spicy scent of his aftershave flooded her senses, making everything
electric. Goose bumps skittered down her spine as his palm smoothed the back of her
hair. Just before tugging the silky material over her eyes, Jason looked into them
and said, “
Bon appétit
, Chef.”

A pop of a joint and the rustle of fabric told Colby that he was moving. The pad of
his footsteps on the carpet grew faint, letting her know he was walking away, probably
into the kitchen to get their dinner. She still couldn’t pick up any scents, but then,
the thrum of expectation coursing through her body made it hard to concentrate. Soon
those same soft footsteps returned, growing louder as Jason neared. “I hope you don’t
mind, but I outsourced dinner tonight.”

She heard the
plop
of something heavy hit the ground. “Was that a brick?”

He chuckled again and the sound made her shiver. “Just my basket of provisions. This
is a three-course tasting.”

She stopped herself from saying that all she wanted to taste at that moment was
him
. The admission seemed a bit over the top—even if it was the truth. Instead, she said,
“Can’t wait to see what you brought me.”

The sounds of preparations stilled and then the warmth of Jason’s hands pressed on
her thighs. “Colby, before we start, I just want you to know that I care about you.
And all I ask is that you trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Right now, in this moment, she couldn’t think of anyone she trusted
more.

He squeezed the sides of her legs and moved away, taking the heat of his skin along
with him. A clink of glass meeting glass then, “Open your mouth and suck.”

Colby barked a laugh. The teasing tone of his voice told her he knew exactly how that
had sounded. “So that’s how you’re gonna play it, huh?”

His seductive whisper came at her ear. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

Heat zipped through her core as he grazed her jawline with a kiss, then he leaned
away with a laugh, deep and throaty. The teasing helped. Suddenly, muscles in her
lower back that she hadn’t realized were tense began to relax. Colby wrapped her lips
around the straw she knew was waiting, and proceeded to suck. The familiar smell of
rum, then the sweet bite of fruit—cherry or passion fruit—hit her palate.

It was smooth, refreshing. Tart. And then she knew exactly what it was. A hurricane.
To be specific, a Pat O’Brien’s Hurricane, if she had to guess. It was delicious,
one of her favorites when she was in high school and flaunting her fake ID. And just
like that, the memories began.

High school graduation. Her dad beaming with pride. After shutting down the restaurant
for a private party, he’d hired a limo to drive her friends and family to Bourbon
Street. Normally, hanging with your parents wasn’t exactly “cool,” but her friends
had always loved them. Especially her dad. He could hold his own, throwing back more
drinks than they could, and he had deep pockets. Colby loved having him there because
she adored him. The first stop they’d made that night was the back patio of Pat O’s
where in front of the landmark Flaming Fountain the group guzzled hurricane after
hurricane, laughing and dancing.

Colby clamped her already closed eyes tighter.

A cold sweat prickled the nape of her neck as she tore her lips from the straw. “Jason?”
That one taste of hurricane revealed exactly what kind of meal he’d prepared.

“Shh,” he said, running his hands along her arms. “Just trust me. Please?”

It was the hesitant please that got her. She tried to relax the fists in her lap.
Heaviness had replaced the desire once pooling in her stomach, but she didn’t
want
to be angry. If she was angry, they’d never get to dessert—the kind that she’d actually
come there for.

She trusted Jason. His actions were severely misguided, and about the furthest thing
from a turn on the man could get, but he meant well. She knew that.

And there was safety in this experience. He was here with her. The memories were going
to burst through—there was no stopping them now—but he would be here to catch her.
Protect her. Hold her. And hopefully in the end, kiss them all away.

Colby slowly nodded. “Let me have another sip.” If she was going to do this, at least
the buzz would help dull the pain.

This time, when the slight sting of rum hit the back of her throat, she was prepared—this
drink had an extra shot. Good, that would help. The sip went down easily so she took
another. That was the danger in hurricanes, and the reason teenage boys loved supplying
their dates with drink after drink. They tasted so good the effects snuck up on you.

After draining what had to be half the glass, she raised her head. Things were definitely
fuzzier. “What’s for round two?”

Warm, calloused hands suddenly cradled her face as Jason’s firm lips pressed against
hers. She latched onto his arms. Her mouth parted, reeling from the abrupt change
in direction the evening had taken, and he nipped her upper lip between his teeth.
Her breath caught and a chill shot down her arms as his tongue rimmed the inside of
her mouth, licking the remnants of the fruity drink from her lips. She snatched the
fabric of his cotton T-shirt, twisting it in her hands.

If this was what awaited her after every round, she could handle just about anything.

“God, you’re sexy,” he rasped, pulling his talented mouth away. His hands slipped
from her face and slid down her arms. “And strong. You can do this, you know. I’ve
got you.”

Colby nodded. Whether she could do this or not remained to be determined, but she
wanted to see it through. Especially if she had to cook these meals for the rest of
the summer, she needed to try. And the fact that Jason cared enough to want this for
her made something in her chest ache, in a good way.

She let out a heavy breath as the sounds of him preparing her next course broke the
silence. Stretching her hearing, she tried to get a handle on what it was he was doing,
trying to guess what lay ahead. But she got nothing.

A moment later, “Open up.”

Hesitant but resolute, she did as Jason asked. And the first thing to touch her tongue
was crisp, crunchy French bread. She moaned. That was something New Orleans always
got right. The sharp crust of the outside, and the airy softness of the inside. It
kicked hoagie bread’s ass. Then she detected the nuttiness of cheese and as she closed
her mouth around the entire bite, the sweet luxurious lump of crab.

She chewed, waiting for the sting of hurt and pain to come. But it didn’t. The flavors
were familiar and a series of memories played in rapid succession, but the ache was
dulled.
Thank God.
Her spine relaxed against the cushions. The day of the competition had been a shock,
tasting the spices and recipes of her past after so long. And at the restaurant, in
her father’s kitchen, sampling the food to ensure the quality was a responsibility
always done begrudgingly, in the shadow of the man who had broken her heart.

But tonight was different. This was with Jason. He was safe, and he understood.

So the memories continued with each new taste. The crunch of fried crawfish tails,
the velvet tenderness of the linguine. The tang of the garlic and the smoke of the
Andouille. All brought memories of meals she’d eaten, dates she had gone on, meals
she had prepared. And they brought memories of her dad. Not the bad ones this time—only
the good.

As Colby closed her mouth around a forkful of étouffée, the punch of herbs and cayenne
enveloped her. She was no longer in Jason’s living room, but right back in her childhood
kitchen, closing her eyes as she tasted her dad’s recipe. She heard the laughter in
her daddy’s thick Cajun-accented voice as he asked, “Good stuff,
cher
?” Her younger self giggled with a nod.

And then the pain came.

It lanced through her heart, tearing through the hurt of the past twelve years, and
adding intense longing for her dad. Undoubtedly, the man had made some
huge
mistakes. But in all the calls she’d never taken, in the years of messages he’d left
on her machine, he’d said he had ended the affair. For twelve years, he apologized
to Colby’s voice mail. Telling her he loved her, wishing she’d come home. Saying how
proud he was of everything she had accomplished, and confessing how much he missed
her.