Bachelor's Special (20 page)

She put a pillow between them, but he edged closer. “Got something to prove, huh?” He tossed the pillow to the floor and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her.

“Let’s just say finishing things isn’t something I usually do. An unfortunate incident with my thesis advisor threw a wrench into my art degree. I thought we were dating, but he just needed someone to research his papers. He published them without even mentioning my name, and I was so mad I left the university and enrolled in culinary school. Food is a little bit like art, and I know I can get a job somewhere. At least I’ve finished something, and I won’t be a starving artist.”

Jack nodded. “I hear you. I’ve got something to prove, too. If I win tomorrow, my father will give me a restaurant. The man has done everything but bar the door to keep me out of his kitchens, but all that changes tomorrow.” He shrugged and fell back on the bed. “Maybe.”

Why on earth wouldn’t Jack’s dad want him in his kitchen? She opened her mouth to ask but Jack interrupted her. “So…what are you making for the competition? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” His grin was wicked. “I’ll even go first. I’m making a perfectly rare herb and goat cheese crusted rack of lamb with a zinfandel demi-glace that will be rich enough to make you cry, paired with potatoes Lyonnaise and haricot verts. Nothing fancy. Nothing crazy, but it will be a perfect showcase for classic techniques.” He raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for her response.

She hesitated. Their recipes were a big secret. No one was supposed to know until the judges announced each dish. Was Jack trying to trick her?

She realized she was frowning when Jack smoothed his finger over her brow. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me. No big deal.” He pulled her into his arms again.

Surrounded by his warmth, she felt safe and secure. What was the harm in telling him? Her game plan was set, ingredients requisitioned and waiting for her in the kitchen. She didn’t want anything separating them, not after what they had shared tonight, not when it felt so right to be with him. She snuggled closer. “I’m going to do a play on Duck, Duck, Goose with five-spiced duck leg, seared duck breast, and foie gras dumplings. I’ll drizzle the sauce in a circle and garnish the plate with miniature vegetables. Do you think it would be overkill to put a poached quail egg on top?”

A sharp breath shuddered out of his chest, and his body stiffened. She raised her head. His eyes were dark, his expression hooded. She started to pull away from him, but he held on, giving her a brief hug. “Nope, go for the egg. I think that sounds amazing, and I can’t wait to see you make it happen tomorrow.”

She searched his expression for evidence of insincerity or criticism but could detect no clue to his thoughts. Slowly, she settled beside him again, wishing she had kept her plans to herself. He pulled the covers up around them and closed his eyes. When she turned her back, he spooned her, but not quite as close as he had before. Or maybe she was imagining the distance between them.

Her heart began to race, making sleep impossible. Was Asian-inspired duck overplayed? Did he think her idea was stupid, but hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings? Or worse—did he love the dish and plan to steal her idea and use it himself? That didn’t make sense. Not only would they look like copy cats if they plated the same dish, her mouth had watered when he described his rack of lamb. A straight-up favorite like that would make the judges drool, too.

She’d be stupid to take a risk on a whimsical, played-out duck dish when he was bringing the big guns to the table.
Shit
. She needed to win, but judging by what Jack had told her about his dish, the competition was already over. No wonder he was sleeping like a baby. He had her beat before they even got into the kitchen.

She slipped out of bed, feeling sick when she saw the clock. She had five hours to come up with something better than duck. The school coolers, freezers, and storage rooms were well-stocked, and the competing students had free run of them. If Jack thought seducing her ideas out of her would give him an edge, he was going to get a big surprise. She wasn’t beaten yet. She picked up the clock and set the alarm for him. In a couple hours, she would show him the true meaning of creativity, and she didn’t want him to be late.

Silently, she gathered her clothes, shoes, and purse. She dressed in the hall and waited until she was outside to put her shoes on. As she walked back to campus, her shoes rubbed painful blisters on her heels, but by the time she reached her dorm room, she had a new plan. A better plan.

Jackson Calabrese didn’t stand a chance.