Seducing the Playboy (A Hot Nights Series Book) (Entangled Brazen) (10 page)

She sighed. “No, not at all. He was lovely. We didn’t talk business, though. I can’t figure out how to get him on board.”

The uncertainty in her voice surprised him. The formidable Stella Gallagher always had a plan. “We’ll get him in Vegas.”

“Speaking of Vegas, what’s for dessert?”

A taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant and Jenna got out. “Individual croquembouches,” he said firmly. “And I have to go. It’s time to start baking.”

“Croquembouches? Are you kidding me? Wait—you’re baking? I assumed you’d get help.” She sounded shocked and more than a little doubtful. He couldn’t blame her.

“I did, and like I said, it’s all under control. It’s going to be fine, I promise.”

He hung up as Jenna stopped in front of him.

“You didn’t have to wait out front for me,” she said, instead of hello.

“It’s late, and you’re a girl.” His teasing didn’t even garner a smile.

“Sexist.”

“Yup.”

She shrugged. “Thanks, I guess.”

He followed her into the restaurant, hating the distance that had grown between them since his stupidity this afternoon. When they reached the line, she pulled a sheaf of papers out of her purse. “These are the recipes for the Beach House desserts. I’m running out of time to train whomever you hire, and I wanted you to have hard copies, just in case.”

“I thought you were going home to nap.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Her gaze was shuttered, with none of the warmth he had come to expect from her.

The words broke free with a sigh. “Sometimes I’m an asshole.”

He took the papers out of her hand, noticing they even had the Beach House logo printed on them. Yup, he was an asshole. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I used to date Alex, and I didn’t mean to imply your dessert wouldn’t be good. It isn’t about you. It’s about me…and the fact nothing I do is right these days. I just got off the phone, and my mother’s pissed about the changes I made to the menu. I can’t win with her. I’m not sure why I keep trying, but I can’t stop now. Eventually, she has to retire, right?”

She stood, staring at him, head cocked to the side. “The woman is starting another business. It doesn’t sound like she’s planning to retire to me.”

“She swears it’s her last project.”

“I don’t care what she says. Actions speak louder than words. People who want to retire finish projects, they don’t start them.”

Insistent throbbing erupted between his eyes. He’d never be able to stop working so hard, never please his mother enough so she turned over the reins to him. He rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Could we focus on making a kick-ass Vegas dessert, so I can get her off my back?”

“It’s so weird to discover you’re a momma’s boy. Big, bad, Roman Gallagher, playboy of the West Coast is a momma’s boy.” She shook her head. “Weird.”

His mouth fell open, and his teeth knocked together when he shut it. “Shut up. That’s not cool.”

“Just calling it like I see it. She should be proud of you. This place is going to take off, Ro. I know it. You are going to be up to your ears in happy customers before you know it.”

Her faith humbled him again. He’d acted like an ass, and she was still cheering him on. Not only that, she’d spent her afternoon and evening working on recipes for the Beach House, another gesture of goodwill—and a reminder that they had limited time to spend together.

He tucked the recipes into a safe spot on the shelf and resolved to return the favor as soon as possible. He would write down every step he had taken this week, catalog every change he had made to the Beach House menu, dining room, and exterior, and why he had made it. He had enough experience flipping restaurants to write a damn manual. After everything she was doing for him, she should have more than some hastily scrawled notes when she went back to New Jersey.

“Have you figured out your niche yet?” he asked, feeling guilty when she shook her head. She’d probably been too busy working for him to think about Cooper’s.

She frowned. “It’s harder when you’re close to the project. It was easy to walk in the Beach House and see the flaws, but I grew up at Cooper’s. It’s like home to me. As much as I want to keep it going, I don’t want to change a thing.”

He put his arm around her. “You’ll figure it out. I believe in you.”

“Do you?” She lifted an eyebrow. “It didn’t feel that way this afternoon.”

His heart squeezed. “That’s because I’m a selfish jerk. Can we start over? Please? I am fully on board with the croquembouche plan, and I’ll do anything I can to help, even learn how to bake.”

Slowly she nodded. A smile tilted the corners of her mouth, and relief swept through him. He held out his arms. “Friends?”

As she stepped into his embrace, his body’s response was immediate and predictable.

She met his heated gaze, and the wicked gleam in her eyes dared him to do something about it. He couldn’t resist. He bent his head and fell into her comforting heat. The distance between them was gone, and he found himself right back on the edge again, as wild for her now as he had been last night. He guessed from the way she was riding his thigh she felt the same way.

“Fuck,” he breathed into her mouth. “This is nuts.” His conscience was barely protesting, and after what had happened in the hot tub last night, he knew she wasn’t going to change her mind. That was fine with him. He wanted to taste her, to dip his tongue into the hollow of her throat then work his way down, savoring every inch of her body, the pink tips of her breasts, the valley between them, the swell of her belly, and the folds of her sex.

He wanted to put her on the counter and devour her…but he’d never be able to look a health inspector in the eye again. Dining room? Ditto. It would have to be the office. Max was absolutely right. It was time to finish this. He grabbed her hand and tugged, only to find she wouldn’t budge.

“Work before play.” Her smile was innocent as she echoed his words from last night. She handed him a list. “One thousand perfect cream puffs aren’t going to make themselves.”

Chapter Eight

By Saturday, Jenna was losing her ever-lovin’ mind. Roman met her in the kitchen every night after service, and they baked until morning. Being near him was agony—and ecstasy. Every time she caught a whiff of heat rising from his skin, she wanted to tackle him to the kitchen floor, but she refused to give him any reason to think they couldn’t pull this off when he already had so many doubts. There was too much at stake, and they had too much work to do. So much work she’d made a list and broken it down into days just to have a prayer of getting it all done. When the cream puffs hit the plates in Vegas, it was go time. Until then, Roman was right. They needed to haul ass in the kitchen and keep their minds on the job.

She pored over her lists, ignoring the scent of sugar on his skin, the most potent aphrodisiac she had ever encountered. She made more lists, making sure they had every ingredient they would need to create the desserts, coolers and icepacks to transport them, and tools to serve them. She’d gotten over her jealousy of Alex, but she’d be damned if she’d ask the other woman for equipment or ingredients.

Each time she crossed an item off that night’s list, her anticipation grew, knowing Roman would drive her home and kiss her on the front porch: deep, soft kisses that began slow, blasted her to the stars, then brought her back down to earth in time to stagger into the house before Barb and Devon got up.

It was her favorite part of each day.

Neither one of them tried to take it any further. An accord had grown between them. They were working toward the same goals—great food at the Beach House, a seamless dessert for Vegas, and an ending to their standoff. But she was still going bonkers.

As she sat on the bus on the way to the Beach House, she relived how his hands had felt in her hair last night, the way he had cupped her cheek, caressed her lip with his thumb, and then followed the motion with his tongue. A warm wave of desire weakened her muscles, and she sagged in her seat, staring out the window at familiar scenery.
Shit.
She jumped to her feet and careened down the aisle, barely making it off the bus before the doors closed. Her body throbbed with every step, a constant pulse of arousal at the thought of seeing him again.

She went in the side door.

Roman had hired two lunch cooks. Max and T-Bird had worked doubles to train them, and all hands were on deck for the beach party tonight. The four of them worked side by side on the line, and it took her a second to figure out what was wrong with the scene. Everyone was silent.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Max looked up. “Have you seen the paper?”

“I haven’t done anything but crawl out of bed and shower today. Haven’t even had any coffee.”

“You’re going to want some before you read this.” He handed her a folded newspaper. “We got reviewed. Roman is ballistic. You may want to disappear until he cools down.”

“Oh shit. What does it say?” She opened the paper, searching for the food section. How bad could it be? The food was awesome, not fancy but perfect in its own way. She’d stand behind her desserts, and Roman’s menu was inspired—comfort food with California flair.

Playboy Restaurateur and Pastry Chef Make Love on the Beach.

The headline was bad, but the pictures were worse. How on earth had someone snapped a shot of their beach picnic? And a picture of her getting into his car? And holding hands as they entered the Beach House at night? Roman must be furious. The pictures of the food couldn’t compete with the beach make-out shot. If the
LA Times
was running this, she could only imagine what was on the Internet. No doubt someone would connect the dots and figure out it was her in the other picture, mostly naked in Roman’s arms that first night on the beach.

She read the article, hoping to find something to quell her horror.

Drinks as refreshing as the beach breeze…soul-satisfying burgers…homey sweets that hit the spot.
She took her first full breath since opening the newspaper. She combed the words for criticism but found none. Was it possible this was a good thing? The timing was perfect. With the beach party tonight, a great review might bring people in droves.

“And here I thought you two had been baking all night.” Max smirked as he took the paper out of her hand. “I should have known better.”

“We’ve been baking our asses off. Check the freezer,” she shot back. “We’re in great shape for Vegas.”

Max chuckled. “I know, kiddo. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Roman’s pissed, but he’ll get over it. He likes anything that increases the bottom line, and he’s dying to get out of Venice Beach and back to Hollywood. Just ignore it. No one is going to believe he’s a one-man woman anyway.” He smiled when he spoke, but his eyes were dark and watchful.

She bristled at the subtle warning. Did he think she didn’t know the score? “Work hard, play harder, right?”

Max nodded slowly.

Roman’s voice echoed down the hall. Then a door slammed. His voice continued, softer now, but still irate. She assumed he was talking to his mother, who was no doubt furious, too.

“Let me know when I can get some oven space,” she said, heading for the office.

Before she reached the hall, her phone rang, and she dug it out of the deep pocket of her chef pants. She blanched when she saw Cole’s name on the display, tempted to let it go to voice mail, but he never called unless it was important. She veered out the side door and headed for the beach. “Hey, Cole.”

“What the fuck are you doing making out on the beach with Roman Gallagher?”

Oh shit.
“Fine, thanks, how are you?” She pumped sarcasm into her tone. “Everything okay with Angela and the baby? Mom and Dad okay? Have you talked to them lately?”

“You bet I have. They got an offer for Cooper’s, and they are planning to sell. Please tell me you didn’t know the family business was about to go belly up when you took off for California to screw my best friend.”

“Cole, it isn’t like that. I have a plan.”

“Of course, you always do.” His voice was cold and frightening. When Cole got mad, he yelled. His calm fury terrified her. “You better start talking, sis.”

“I came out here to pick Roman’s brain—”

“Using your tongue?”

She ignored the gibe. “I wanted to learn how he turns failing restaurants into overnight successes, so I could do it with Cooper’s.”

“Using what, Jenna? There’s no money.”

“Are you going to listen or are you going to keep taking potshots? I promise I’ll explain everything if you shut up for a second.”

“By all means, but you better make it good, or I’m going to come out there, kill Roman, and drag you back to Lambertville by your too-big britches.”

She snapped. “Get off your high horse, Cole. It’s easy for you to make judgments. You got out of the restaurant business and built yourself a stable little life with your stable little wife. Mom and Dad are ecstatic. They’re so damn proud of you. They made me promise not to tell you what was going on at Cooper’s because they don’t want you to come home to help. Instead, they want to sell, so I’ll get out of the restaurant business, too.” Anger flared hot in her chest, and hurt made her voice tight. She forced words through the tears. “But I love Cooper’s. Running that restaurant is all I’ve ever wanted to do, but no one will give me a chance. If I hear ‘too young to understand
’
or ‘it’s a rough business
’
one more time, I swear I’m going to explode. I
know
it’s a rough business. For crying out loud, I grew up in it. I went to culinary school. I’ve worked other places. I know it’s tough. But I want to do it. I want to run a restaurant, no, not just any restaurant. I want to run Cooper’s. And I want my family to give me a chance. Is that so much to ask?”

“Can I talk now?” he asked dryly.

She took a breath. “No.”

If she was getting things off her chest, she was going to unload everything. “My relationship with Roman is none of your business. I’ve had a crush on him since you two walked into the kitchen and stole my oatmeal cream pies. I’m a grown-up. He’s a grown-up. End of story. If you interfere, I’ll make you regret it.”

“He’s a player—”

“I’m counting on that. It would be a shame if he couldn’t deliver the goods after all the time I’ve spent fantasizing about him. I plan to enjoy every inch of his wide range of sexual experience before I come home to Lambertville with a plan for saving Cooper’s.”

Cole groaned.

“Butt out or I’ll start spewing dirty details.”

“Roman will break your heart,” Cole threatened grimly.

“He’s an amazing kisser,” she shot back. “When he touches me, I swear it feels like every muscle in my body—”

“Stop. You win. Just stop. I don’t want to hear any more.”

“And he isn’t going to break my heart. Quit underestimating me. I can fool around without falling in love, and I can come up with a plan for saving Cooper’s without screwing it up.”

“You better. The offer is on the table, and Dad said they’re taking a week to think about it.”

“A week? The bank gave them four months.”

“It’s a good offer. You better have a hell of a plan.”

“I do.”
I will.
The Beach House review was good and changing the menu and the theme had been her idea. She could do this. She was just going to have to do it faster than she had planned. She heard Cole take a breath, so she cut him off before he could start asking questions. “Don’t talk to Roman about this.”

“No promises.”

“And don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

Cole grunted. “You’ve got one week, sis. Get your ass back to Lambertville and lend a hand. Unless there is no plan, and you used Cooper’s as an excuse to go after Roman?”

“How dare you—” But the shot hit home, and that was as far as she could get before shame closed her throat.

“Typical.” He hung up.

She walked to the Boardwalk and sat on a bench, seething with anger. The beach breeze roared in her ears, punctuated by the loud beat of her heart. After a few minutes, she cooled off enough to be able to think again. Maybe Cole was right. Maybe she had come out here hoping to hook up with Roman. But she’d learned a lot this week, and by the time she went home, she
would
have a plan. She’d convince her parents not to sell Cooper’s, but first she was going to finish what she started with Roman—at the Beach House and in Las Vegas.

She had one more week to come up with a plan. It would have to be enough.

She stood and began making her way back to the Beach House, wondering how Roman had fared with his mother. No doubt she was livid about the kissing picture in the review making Gallagher Holdings look bad, but there wasn’t anything they could do now. Or was there? Could they spin the review in a positive direction?

An idea took shape in her head, and she paused, chuckling quietly while she sent Cole a text.
Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet. You promised me a week, and I’m holding you to it.

She dropped the phone back into her pocket and skipped through the sand, needing an outlet for her excitement. It was a crazy idea, but if it worked, it would mean even better press for the Beach House, and it might just cement a victory for Roman’s mother’s business deal.

She just needed to convince Roman to play along.

…

“What the hell are you doing?” His mother’s voice was sharp.

Roman clamped his teeth shut on a curse as she continued. “It’s bad enough you’ve hung our shingle on a burger shack, but you know better than to get involved with an employee.”

He’d known this call was coming the minute he’d opened the newspaper, but he still flinched. “She’s Cole Cooper’s little sister, Mom. She’s visiting for a couple of weeks, and we’ve been discreet. I have no idea how those pictures were taken. Maybe I have a stalker.” Even as he made the excuses, resentment built inside him. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Illegal parties and making out on the beach are not discreet.” Of course she’d made the connection. “If I taught you nothing, I taught you not to sleep where you eat. Respect the people who work for you. How could you do this?”

He kicked the office door shut. “Did you read the review?”

“Of course I did, but I’m not impressed. If you can’t make a good hamburger, you’re not my son.”

Anger crackled inside him, a fierce blaze fueled by years of meeting her challenges only to be given one more failing restaurant to rescue, one more business plan to write, one more hoop to jump through. He’d had enough. “And if I kiss my pastry chef, I’m not your son, either, right? What’s next? If the billionaire doesn’t eat my dessert and sign on the dotted line in Vegas, you’re not going to let me run Gallagher Holdings? I’m beginning to think you don’t want to retire.”

“Not when you’re behaving like a lunatic. Honestly, Roman, you need a goddamn keeper.”

“If I were behaving like a lunatic, the review would have been bad. The Beach House may be a burger shack, but it’s the best one on the beach. Why don’t you come down and check it out before you decide I’ve lost my mind?”

“I can’t…I’m in Napa looking at properties with Jeff.”

“Jeff?”

“Jefferson. Morgan. The financier?”

“So it’s Jeff now? And traveling with him?” His mother’s silence spoke volumes and everything clicked into place. Anger blazed through him. “How dare you call me to task when you’ve been cozying up to
Jeff
for weeks? Pot. Kettle. Let me guess—my reprehensible behavior is forcing you to take drastic measures. Don’t use me as an excuse to screw your backer.”

“Watch your mouth.” Again, she cracked the whip, but he wasn’t going to step in line this time.

“Gotta go. I know a few out-of-context pictures are worth more than the eighty hours I’ve put in this week, but I still have to work tonight. Hopefully, I won’t be too busy to make the dessert for you and your rich
boyfriend
to enjoy in Las Vegas.” He ended the call and tossed his phone on the desk.

Anger burned out and exhaustion settled over him as every double he’d worked this week caught up with him. Spending his nights baking had probably been a mistake, but that had been the best part.