Turn Up the Heat (11 page)

“Jackson help you muscle the old one outta there?”

Guilt washed over Shane in the silence that followed. He should've waited for Grady, or at least called him to tell him he was going to pull the transmission. Shit.

Grady continued. “You're good, but I got a feeling that tranny was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. It probably gave the two of you a run for your money, yeah?”

Hell if the old man didn't miss a trick. It had taken all the muscle Shane and Jackson had to pull the fried transmission out of that Miata.

“Yup. It was a nightmare. Be glad you missed it.” The consolation didn't work for a second, not that Shane really expected it to.

“You want to tell me what's goin' on here? I know you need the cash,” Grady rasped. “But all of this workin' feels like somethin' else.”

Shane stood up slowly. He knew he owed Grady more than a bunch of double speak and canned excuses, but his iron-clad defenses wouldn't let the real reason past his lips.

“I've, ah, had a lot on my mind. Working just helps. I didn't mean to step on your toes, though.” God knew this was the truth. Nothing else calmed Shane like working on cars, even the grunt work like oil changes and tune-ups, but he wasn't about to disrespect Grady in order to right his head.

Grady measured Shane with a knowing, steel-gray stare. “You can't hide from this forever, you know.” It wasn't an accusation, just a simple statement of fact. And one that deep down, Shane knew.

“I'm not hiding. This is who I am.”

The words made Grady chuckle. “Oh, no denyin' that. You are who you are. But you got some loose ends to tie up, and they're gettin' pretty tangled while they wait for you.”

Damn it. Grady was nothing if not right to the point. “You don't cut any corners, do you?”

“'Fraid not. You work as much as you need to, Shane, if it'll get your head right. Just don't let it get in the way of what matters.”

Shane frowned, looking around the garage. “This is what matters.”

Grady's laugh was long and loud. “Boy, you got a lot to learn. Good thing you don't have to do it all in one day.” His eyes glinted over Shane's in a knowing glance that told Shane not to argue. Still, the look told him that Grady was onto him, which made his stomach ache with unease.

The expression lasted for only a second longer before it busted into a silvery-stubbled grin. “Now pop the hood on this thing and let an old fart see what'cha been doing with all your time, would you?”

“Surpriiiiiiise!”

Jenna and Holly could barely contain their excitement as they held up a cream-colored envelope, both grinning like total lunatics.

“Okay, you're freaking me out. What did you do?” Bellamy eyed her friends from where she sat on her bed with pages of scribbled notes in her lap and her cell phone glued to her hand. She'd spent three hours piecing together what she could from various e-mails, trying to make heads or tails of the impossible task in front of her. Without the contract in-hand, the research was spotty at best. Not even taking a break for that yoga class had calmed her, even though the yogi had been very male and oh-so limber. Of course, no matter how enticing the view of his Downward Facing Dog was, men were still on Bellamy's shit list.

“Well, when you were—” Jenna paused to clear her throat. “
Out
last night, we cozied up to one of the resort managers.”

Holly interrupted with a snort. “And by ‘cozied up to,' she means ‘flirted mercilessly with.'” Bellamy's brows popped, prompting Holly to raise her hands in an I-didn't-do-it gesture. “Her, not me. I don't share.”

“Anyway,” Jenna interrupted right back. “He told us all about this little event the resort is hosting this evening. It's a very small, very exclusive and very hush-hush thing, but of course . . .”

Holly picked up where Jenna left off. “We, and by ‘we' I mean ‘she,'” Holly pointed at a devilishly beaming Jenna. “Just
happened
to run into the manager again after breakfast while you were getting your
om
on . . .”

Jenna took the baton and ran. “. . . and he mentioned that he might be able to snag three tickets to this little shindig . . .” Her eyes shone like runway lights, and her grin was a perfect match.

“. . .
and
since we knew you were having a really bad day and could use some cheering up, she made out with him so he'd fork the tickets over!” Holly squealed in the gossip-girl's version of a grand finale.

It took Bellamy a full minute to process the verbal tennis match. “Wait a second, let me get this straight. You made out with a random guy to get us tickets for some top-secret exclusive event?” Helluva way to take one for the team.

“First of all, Chase isn't some random shmo. He's Pine Mountain's events coordinator. And he's a very nice guy who's taking me out for drinks later because, as much as I love you, you're not the only reason I kissed him.” Jenna held the envelope out. “Here. Open it.”

A current of excitement rippled up Bellamy's spine as she took the envelope with the Pine Mountain Resort crest stamped in the corner, and by the time she'd opened the flap, she was laughing right along with Jenna and Holly. She felt like an idiot, but at least she was a getting-happier idiot. A girl could only handle so much drama before going off the deep end.

“Seriously, you guys, what could you possibly . . .” Bellamy's voice trailed off as she read, then re-read, the square of card stock that slid out of the envelope. “Wait.” Her heart went from zero to oh-my-freaking-God in about three seconds.

No. Way. Her brain was malfunctioning.
Had
to be.

“This can't be right. This says that . . .”

“Chef Carly di Matisse, direct from New York City, is doing a one-night-only menu tasting for an intimate crowd of people and we're going?” Holly supplied with an ear-to-ear grin.

Holy shit, her brain
was
working properly!

“Do you guys know who Carly di Matisse is? I mean, do you
know
who she is?” Bellamy released the breath she'd only just realized had been pasted to her lungs, the paper starting to flutter in her hands.

Jenna laughed, nudging Holly. “Told you she'd do this. She gets all fan-girl freaky for those cable-channel chefs. And that's not even the Food Network.”

“You bet me she'd hyperventilate. You haven't won until she asks for a paper bag,” Holly pointed out with a wry smile.

Bellamy ignored their teasing and pressed on. “Carly di Matisse is only the most awe-inspiring human being on the planet, that's all! Her show,
Couples in the Kitchen
is where I got all of the ideas for my parents' anniversary dinner.” She stopped to take a breath, but it was a quick one. “There wasn't a peep of publicity about this on her show, although come to think of it, they've been doing a lot of reruns lately. Still, how the hell did I not know she'd be here this weekend?” She sank to the bed, trying to get a handle on the part of her brain that dealt out rational thought.

Nope. The giddiness that was quickly setting in blotted out every levelheaded cell she possessed.

“Nobody knows. Apparently, she just inked a deal to come run the kitchen in the restaurant they're rebuilding on the west side of the resort. It's part of some mission to restore the place to its former glory. I guess the old one was doing as badly as the room service, so the resort is overhauling the restaurant in the lull between ski season and the summer rush. Did you know a lot of people come for the spa and the lake when it's nice out?” Jenna motioned for Bellamy to move over so she could sit down next to her, and Bellamy relegated her pile of notes to the nightstand as she shook her head.

Jenna continued. “Anyhow. This little soiree is like an added bonus, sort of a kickoff party for her to introduce the new menu she's planning to incorporate. But she wanted to keep her move on the down-low for some reason, so they didn't really publicize things. Apparently, her husband . . . uh . . . what's-his-name . . .”

“Travis,” Bellamy supplied. “They do the cable show together. He's really good-looking.”

“Yeah! Well, he's running the restaurant in New York and she's coming here, so maybe that has to do with why it's hush-hush. Except for those of us who know event coordinators.” Jenna winked with a sly grin. “Everyone else just thinks it's some private party, like a wedding.”

Bellamy shook her head in shock, convinced she'd taken up residence in some alternate universe where the world included things like tasting Carly di Matisse's minestrone soup. Not just her recipe, mind you. But food the chef had prepared with her own two hands.

No
way
.

“Oh my God, do you realize that right now it's quite possible I am breathing the same air as Carly-fricking-di Matisse?” Bellamy couldn't help it. The maniacal laugh she'd been trying to suppress flew out as she channeled some serious twelve-year-old-girl vibes from the depths of her adult psyche. Considering the shit factor of her week, it was about time karma showed her a little love.

Holly laughed and climbed onto the bed, sandwiching Bellamy in. “Well, we figured it was going to be the only way we'd get a decent meal around here. Plus, if anybody deserves a break from the crap parade, it's you.”

“Are you kidding? If anything will make me forget the kiss-and-diss, it's
definitely
these.” She went to hold up the tickets in a jubilant wave, only to see both of her friends staring at her with enough wide-eyed
oh really
to sink a ship.

Well, crap.

“Looks like the boss from hell isn't the only thing putting your panties in a kink,” Jenna noted, waiting. The irony of her words caught in Bellamy's chest. Forget a kink, her panties had been downright double-knotted. In the best possible way.

Right up until Shane lame-excused her all the way home.

“It's really nothing,” she started, and both friends opened their mouths to throw the bullshit flag at the same time. “Okay!” Bellamy held up her hands. She knew when she'd been beat. “It's really nothing major,” she amended.

“Look, sweetie, I know you've had a rough week, so if you don't want to talk about it, that's okay.”

Damn it. This really
was
a dream. “Are you serious?” Bellamy asked, looking at Holly as if she'd sprouted wings or something else equally ludicrous.

“Nah. Spill it before I lose my marbles!”

Bellamy sighed. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she hadn't been able to keep her thoughts from Shane since she'd walked away from him in a huff last night. A well-deserved huff, but still. Maybe if she talked about it, she'd be able to let it go and really enjoy her evening.

Twenty minutes and a giant bag of chocolate chip cookies later, she'd gotten the whole story out, and the only thing she felt was her jeans size going up.

“Wow. He really said that to you?” Holly shook her head in a wordless paraphrase of
what a dumbass
.

Bellamy's nod sent a wisp of hair from the loose knot on top of her head. “Yup. Not that it really matters in the grander scheme of things.” Except that she was twelve hours removed from the whole thing and it still burned. Worse than when Derek had said it, which was just plain weird.

“Oh my God, you like him.”

Jenna's weird sixth sense for this kind of thing reared its perceptive little head, and Bellamy gave herself a mental kick in the ass for opening her yap in the first place.

“I don't
like
him.”

She continued, ignoring the little whisper in her head. “And the feeling is mutual, obviously. So now that we're all up to speed on my abysmal love life, or lack thereof, can we drop the whole thing? In fact, it would really make my day if I could just pretend that Shane Griffin didn't exist.”

As Bellamy brushed the cookie crumbs from her hands and marched her no-nonsense self to the bathroom to start getting ready for her evening, she came to the realization that just because you liked to lay it all out on the table didn't mean you couldn't bend the truth while you were doing it.

 

 

Shane had been awake and ignoring Monday morning for twenty minutes before his alarm clock went off, and he brushed his palm over it to silence the beeping. He thought about going for a good, long run to boil off some of the frustration that had been mounting for days now, but the one he'd taken last night did nothing but move his blood through his body, and given the state of things, he wasn't sure that was the best plan.

God, he'd wanted to do more than kiss Bellamy. A lot more. And didn't that just make lying in bed all by his lonesome nice and uncomfortable. He needed to get up and get in the shower before he admitted that what he
really
needed was to get laid.

Maybe that run wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

His boxers and T-shirt offered little protection from the January cold lingering inside the walls of the log cabin he'd rented since moving to Pine Mountain. The place was small, just the one bedroom and what Shane guessed qualified as mostly a kitchen, although it was really more like a stove, an ancient fridge and a sink crammed in one corner. He crossed the threshold of his bedroom door and made it to the coffeepot in less than five strides, scooping enough grinds to jump-start a rhino into the filter before filling the pot to brew.

There was no room for a couch in the cramped living space, but he had the well-worn recliner and a TV, which suited him just fine. With all the time Shane spent at the garage or running on the trails around the cabin, everything else was basically an afterthought, anyway. Except for the afterthought that had set up residence in his frontal lobe and refused to budge, leaving sultry memories of a velvet laugh and a pair of oh so provocative lips on his . . .

Strike the run. What Shane needed was a nice, cold shower. One that lasted until Bellamy Blake had her keys in her hand and her body behind the wheel of her runs-like-a-dream sports car. Because both times he'd kissed her, it had proven that his gut instinct was spot-on. A girl like her was bad for him, period.

No matter how good a kisser she was.

Shane compromised with his libido and took a lukewarm shower, but promised himself to keep the image of Bellamy out of his head, especially when he wasn't dressed. He didn't seem to have much control over his parts when it came to the thought of her, and he knew if even one tiny flicker snuck its way into the shower with him, his resolve to not call her or see her would resemble burnt toast.

After getting dressed, he rummaged through the pitiful contents of the lone cupboard over the sink. A couple of apples went into a bag, and he grabbed a pre-made turkey sub, courtesy of the deli at Joe's, from the fridge. It wasn't much, but it'd do for him and Grady. Shane turned the collar of his jacket up, but he was greeted with a blast of icy air that shot right through him as if he were wearing nothing but swim trunks and a smile.

“Damn,” he muttered. The temperature must have dropped about ten degrees from yesterday, and the unforgiving wind was back with a vengeance. The F150 protested the trip, warming up just in time for Shane to pull into the side lot of the garage. He'd been there for all of five minutes when a familiar voice snapped him out of his morning routine.

“Hey, I was driving by on my way to work and saw your truck. I'm surprised you're here.” Jackson rubbed his hands together, stomping the cold from his boots as he entered the garage.

“Why wouldn't I be here? It's Monday. I've got a little more work to do on that Miata, plus I've gotta make sure the order for the parts is on its way.” Shane creased his brow. Why did Jackson look so shocked?

“Dude, do you live under a rock, or what? That massive snowstorm that was supposed to stall out in the Ohio Valley changed course and picked up a ton of steam. We're going to get dumped on, starting any minute now.”