French Roast (12 page)
Authors: Ava Miles
Tags: #romance, #contemporary, #small town, #New Adult, #foodie romance
“Would you please let me hold you?” he nearly shouted, pushing up off the floor. “Goddammit, Jill. We finally made love, and you’re further away from me than you’ve ever been.”
“I’m not the only one,” she whispered, making him look away. “It was a mistake. You weren’t ready.”
He was in her face before she even blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His hands cupped her cheeks. “Jillie, it was intense and passionate, and the strength of what I feel for you tears me in fucking two.”
Why couldn’t he admit how afraid it made him? Did he think it would make him less of a man like his father used to say?
She tucked her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t smooth down his hair, caress his skin.
“I came over to get you to talk, so talk.”
He stepped away and firmed his shoulders, his posture rigid, drawing back into himself. “Jesus, you’re shivering,” he observed, helping her to the couch. He tucked a green fleece throw around her, tearing her heart a little more with his gentleness.
When she didn’t respond, he dropped his hand and reached for his shirt.
“All right,” he said with resignation. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but we have to talk about this, Jill.”
The blanket took the edge off her chattering teeth, but her body seemed to have sucked in all the winter wind from outside. “Start talking.”
He sat across from her at the coffee table, their knees bumping. He took a long breath and rested his elbows on his thighs. “We worked together and became involved. It went on for six months until…”
She stared at the top of his head when he lowered it. Silence stretched out taut between them.
“The other owner got jealous and fired me. Then his secret recipe box disappeared—or so he said—and he accused me of the theft. He couldn’t prove anything, but it didn’t matter. He’s super powerful in the culinary world, and he trashed me to everyone.” His sigh was long and deep. “People won’t give a potential thief a job. I didn’t want to work anywhere but a Michelin place, so I came home for a while to build up my professional credentials and let the talk die down.”
God, that must have destroyed him after working so hard to achieve his dream.
His hand rested against her knee. “I also missed Dare and felt like there were some things I needed to resolve before I could move on. You topped the list.”
The hurt spread. Hadn’t she suspected this was only a stopover? Brian didn’t believe in forevers, and being a chef here would never be the same as it was in a big city.
“So, you wanted to ‘resolve’ me?”
His breath rushed out like a leaking tire. “I didn’t want to go through life with this rift between us, Jill. You’re a part of all my good childhood memories. Playing in the sandbox. Swimming at the quarry. Hanging out after school. You were my family.”
Instead of responding to that, Jill said, “Why didn’t Simca stand up for you? If she was part-owner, she could have stopped you getting fired.”
He toyed with the hem of the blanket for so long she wasn’t sure he would answer. Finally, he said, “She didn’t want to endanger her…partnership over us.”
“So what’s changed?”
His hand gripped the cloth, his knuckles white. “The partnership dissolved over it. She says she told the police I was with her when the recipes were stolen. It was probably why the charges were dropped.”
There was something more. She could feel it. “What else?”
“There’s nothing else.”
When his eyes flicked away for a second, she was sure he was holding back. “I don’t believe you.”
He clenched her hand, hard. “Look, this is difficult for me. Talking about this after we’ve just made love for the first time. Jesus. It’s like hammering another stake between us. Can’t you understand that?”
Her stomach quivered, but she nodded.
“I don’t know if I was in love with her. We had food in common…and other things. She was older, confident. It’s what I wanted at the time. I didn’t want to be with someone who wanted to get married.”
“Of course you felt that way after your parents divorced the way they did.” Their sudden split had even scared her for a while, but she had her parents’ marriage as a role model, so that fear had eventually faded.
He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands over his face. “Do we have to keep talking about this? I want to talk about what happened between us.”
She firmed her lip to keep from being swayed. “So how much older is she?”
He gave her
the look.
They engaged in a no-blinking contest.
“She’s forty-four,” he hissed. “Satisfied?”
He’d turned twenty-seven last month. “Seventeen years. Aren’t you the child prodigy?”
“Look, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want any other shit standing between us. We had enough to sift through when I came home. I would have understood about…other guys. I don’t have the right to be jealous.”
She pushed off the couch. “Well, good for you, but it wasn’t so easy for me when you left. I was in love with you, and I couldn’t seem to move on. I tried to date other guys. I even found someone to sleep with—someone who I thought would make it good for me. It was horribly uncomfortable and short. Sex wasn’t what I’d expected.”
Still wasn’t after tonight, she realized.
“Afterwards, I wished it had been you with all my heart.”
He flinched.
“He dumped me the next day, saying he didn’t want to get too serious. I hadn’t told him I was a virgin. He freaked out.” The shaking started again. “I went out with other guys after that, but never got serious with anyone. I couldn’t. And I didn’t sleep with anyone else because I didn’t want to be disappointed again. It was always you, and I couldn’t seem to make myself want anyone else.”
He rose slowly and approached her with an outstretched hand, like he was worried she was about to bolt. Poised on the balls of her feet, she thought about running for the door.
“I’m sorry. More than you can know.” He stepped closer, but didn’t touch her.
His voice’s rough sandpaper quality held her in place.
“You need to decide what you want.”
“I know that. Christ.”
She swallowed over the thickness in her throat. “I think we should give each other some space.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know you were hurt when I didn’t say
I love you
back. Jillie, love isn’t clear and straightforward for me. My parents
said
they loved me, but then my own mother left me for someone she barely knew, with a father who despised what I’d become. I don’t know what the fuck love is anymore, but I
do
love you. There’s friendship, laughter, and passion all mixed in with hundreds of happy memories.”
“That was then, this is now.” She brought his hand to her heart. It thumped against her ribs as a vicious pressure manacled her chest. “Let me show you. Love is clear and straightforward. Can’t you feel it when you touch me?”
His face fell when his hand did. “Jill…”
She stepped back. “I hear what you’re saying. I do. I’m not sure it’s enough. Her offer is…she can help you with your career, which I know is everything you’ve ever wanted—and on a bigger stage than Dare.” It was one of the hardest things she’d ever said. “Even if you decide to stay, I’m not sure we should work together. Especially if you think you might want to move on in a few years.”
“Where does that leave us?”
Good question. “I don’t know.”
He reached for her, but she edged away again. His fist punched the air. “We just made love for the first time, and you won’t even soften enough to let me hold you. I’m afraid I’ve already lost you. How do I fight for you, Jill? And why am I sounding like
the
girl all the sudden?”
“You’re not sounding like a girl, Bri. You’re sounding like a
friend.”
She reached for her coat and zipped it up. “I want more than that.”
“Fuck that! I’m more than your friend, and if you’ll stay here with me instead of running away, I’ll take you to bed and banish any doubts you have.”
But would he feel as swept away as she did? Or would he still be holding back, uncertain about her and what she meant to him?
“I don’t think I could handle that.” She walked to the door. “I need to think. You need to think. About us.”
He pushed the door shut after she cracked it open. “And if by some chance you’re pregnant?”
Her insides vibrated like an out-of-tune violin, creating disharmony with every note. “I wouldn’t tie myself to you just because there’s a baby in the picture. I’d never know if you stayed for me—or it.” The words killed something inside her.
“Damn you, Jill.” His hand fell from the door.
The quiet words made her lip quiver. “You have to choose me on your own, Bri.”
Since there was nothing else to say, she left his apartment and raced down the hall.
Chapter 15
T
he windows of Mac Maven’s Denver office sparkled—a rare sight in winter. The brass doors shone like Colombian gold, and even the elevators gleamed. Everywhere Jill turned, her reflection mocked her, from her puffy eyes to her chalk-white face. Getting out of bed this morning hadn’t been easy, but she’d pushed herself through the pain.
She turned her phone off in the elevator and chucked it into her enormous gold leather bag, smoothing down her belted navy cashmere sweater and sand-colored pencil skirt. Her legs still felt like rubber bands, so she locked her knees. Her two-inch tan boots were throwing off her balance, but she hadn’t wanted to wear flats. She hated getting slushy snow inside her shoes.
The elevator doors opened, revealing a plush room with burgundy walls and caramel leather furniture. The arresting woman seated at reception seemed like she belonged at a blackjack table rather than in an office. Her long blond hair hung in happy, snake-shaped curls.
“Ms. Hale, welcome. Mr. Maven’s been expecting you. I just have something for you to sign first.”
Jill took the fancy pen and scanned the confidentiality agreement. It was pretty straight-forward, so she scrawled her name. The woman took the clipboard and led Jill down a glass hallway. When they reached the walnut double doors, the woman knocked softly and gestured Jill inside.
Mac Maven stood as she entered, a smile transforming his GQ-handsome face. His thick, black hair, dark brows, and lashes hinted at mystery. His jade green eyes held wisdom and watchfulness. The dimple in his chin altered his dark presence when his smile reached full tilt. Charm mingled with confidence. She admired the package like she did a sleek sports car—stunning, but not something she’d buy off the lot. She could feel him drawing her in even as he took her hand in a warm clasp.
“Jill Hale. Welcome. It’s good to finally meet you in person.”
Her brow rose as she gazed up at him. She was a tall woman, but he was taller. She appreciated height in a man. He didn’t make her feel like Jillie the Bean Stalk, as the kids used to call her at school.
“Do tell,” she replied smoothly.
His well-defined lips curved. “You’re young, hip, and smart. Serious about business, but not the kind who needs to wear Ann Taylor to prove it. It’s not your market anyway.”
“You’re right.” She took the red leather chair he pointed her toward. Her cursory scan took in his office. Navy walls. Brass lamp fixtures. Gleaming wood. And a mixed bouquet in a crystal vase. His desk was organized, but had plenty of paper on it. There was no doubt he was a working CEO. “Dare isn’t the Ann Taylor type. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or curious about your knowledge of women’s fashion.”
He laughed, sitting across from her and not in his tan leather office chair. “It’s all part of the game. The details people show me—how they dress, what they smell like—well, they’re as critical as their tells.”
She’d seen her share of poker movies. She knew what a tell was. “So you can ‘tell’ lots about me from how I dress?”
He tilted his head to the side. “You’re tall but you wear high heels. My instinct is you’re comfortable with your height. Your face is too open and honest to be the kind who likes to lord it over men. The navy sweater and pencil skirt are conservative. The belt adds a hint of couture, telling me you keep up with trends.”
He pointed to her feet. “Your boots are well worn at the heel. You feel comfortable in them and wear them frequently. You didn’t buy new shoes for our meeting although some might have.” His assessment continued up her body, but not in a creepy way. “Your jewelry is bold and a bit funky, conveying a larger than life personality.”
She fingered Jemma’s amethyst necklace, which she’d worn for luck. Damn he was good.
“You’ve decided to embrace your unique style by leaving your
very
curly red hair as it is and not straightening it. That signals an ease with who you are—not surprising in someone so successful for being so young.”
“You make it sound like more than it is. I own a coffee shop in a small town.” Amidst all this splendor, her accomplishments seemed meager.
He gave a throaty murmur. “And you’re modest. You have one of the most successful places in an increasingly attractive small town nestled in the mountains. You cater to the college crowd, the long-time residents, and the Californians. Your eclectic menu and space appeal to everyone, including families.”
He steepled his hands. “That’s not easy to do. You’ve made it more than a coffee shop, and by keeping your doors open until midnight, you catch the student crowd before they collapse into bed. Few people can make a place that opens at six in the morning and closes at midnight such a success. And all from a college business plan.”
Her palms started to sweat, so she placed them on her legs. This game was becoming too reflective. His skills were top-shelf, and she didn’t like being read so well. “That’s your homework talking. You didn’t get that from studying my outfit.”
“You’re right. But I can also tell you didn’t get much sleep last night. I’d like to think you were excited about this meeting, but there’s an inner somberness that suggests a personal struggle. Whatever that may be, I’m sorry.”
Her stomach twirled like a baton thrown by the marching band. “I think that’s enough. Shall we get on to business?” She’d like to know what was behind all this secrecy for starters.
The silent regard he gave her made her want to squirm. He was like a wizard looking into a crystal ball. She drew in a deep breath, but didn’t look away. “So, now that I’ve signed your papers, what do you want with me?” It had better be worth her while.
His smile beamed again. “You don’t intimidate easily.”
Funny how much bolder she felt in the business world. Brian’s ex intimidated the crap out of her. “No.”
Standing, he tagged his coat off an elegant pineapple coat rack. “Good. Let’s go to lunch, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
The devilish waggle of his eyebrows made her want to salsa as she followed him to the door. “I can’t wait.”
Suddenly the excitement of something new made life seem less bleak.
***
Her brother’s impending arrival gave Peggy a momentary sense of connection to her sane, adult self. Keith was going on his third sick day. She was losing her mind.
And the tickle in her throat was starting to burn like hellfire, making her wonder if brimstone was around the corner.
She missed the antiseptic smell of the office. The mustiness of the old case files she read when she didn’t have anything hot going on. She’d resorted to listening to the police scanner while Keith watched another Disney movie. How many ways could they animate something? Would they ever run out of singing animals? She was convinced she’d never see an R-rated movie again, something with curse words like “fuck” and “damn” and hot sex between two writhing, gorgeous bodies.
Today was not a good day in Mommydom. Perhaps if there had been a Daddy Prince to bring home takeout and give her a break, she’d be in better shape when Tanner arrived. As it was, the seconds were ticking by as slowly as Keith’s toy turtle moved.
She leaped off the couch when the doorbell rang. Her sainted brother was finally here. She could leave the sickroom and slink off on her own, shedding her mommy-nurse skin like the proverbial snake for a few hours. Thank you, God!
Tanner pulled her in for a hug. “You going nuts yet?”
“I could do an ad for Planters. Mixed Mommy Nuts. How about it?”
He ruffled her unbrushed hair. “It’ll probably end up on the cutting room floor. How’s he doing?”
“About the same. This cold’s dug in deep.”
He pulled out a file. “Diversion for the deranged. A buyer’s list of new properties in the last six months. Have fun.” Tanner headed in the direction of the Disney song blaring on the TV,
Kill the Beast.
She caressed the pages like they were a secret treasure map. Work! Something to engage her mind. Oh, the pleasure tickled her tired soul.
“You sound like you’re coming down with it too,” he called over his shoulder.
“No way. I’ll make it eat lead. I can’t get sick.” True, but her throat flamed like a charbroil grill.
She bounced her way to her office like a kid who’d received a new kite, her legs losing their rubbery lethargy.
She unbound the file, and her finger traced its way down the list. The eighth property had a business name, Four Aces Incorporated. It was a conditional sale—odd for residential listings. The house stood at the foot of the mountains with several acres of land and a hefty square footage.
Her police gut quivered like a divining rod. She’d start there. A simple Internet search gave her what she was looking for. Four Aces owned and built high-end boutique hotels. Their additional attraction gave her a jolt. Poker? She scratched her head. That explained the business name. The president and owner was Macalister Maven. A company promoting gambling would definitely opt for a confidentiality agreement.
She switched to her specialized background software, which allowed her to run people at home. His profile appeared. Born in Atlantic City to Carol and Len Maven, who’d divorced five years after he was born. Single. Never married. A younger sister named Abigail. Attended Princeton for three years before dropping out. Joined the professional poker circuit at twenty-one. Won the World Series of Poker tournament at twenty-five and twenty-eight.
The list of other tournament championships was endless and eye-widening.
He’d started Four Aces at twenty-nine, building four boutique poker establishments in the southwest. Each of his small, exclusive hotels showcased an upscale night club and a swanky restaurant run by an acclaimed chef. There was poker—and only poker. No loud, garish slot machines. No craps or blackjack tables.
He didn’t fight the big boys, one article noted. Maven created an exclusive venue for the poker enthusiasts, a group that was growing in leaps and bounds across the country. She had no idea the interest in poker had swelled like a balloon ready to burst. There was a seriousness here that went beyond the poker nights she’d experienced—the kind people played with red, white, and blue plastic chips for pennies, nickels, dimes, and oh, a quarter if you wanted to get real dangerous. Peggy chuckled at the thought.
Maven was as much the allure as the venues. He played frequently enough to draw fans and opponents. His estimated worth had her blinking a few times to make sure her vision hadn’t been permanently damaged by too much Disney.
He had a few speeding tickets, clocking in at NASCAR limits. So he liked the fast lane when he wasn’t at the table. She had the VIN numbers for the six cars he owned, a mix of expensive classics and top-of-the-line racers. Great, he loved cards and cars. Could he be any more stereotypical?
She clicked on his properties, marveling at the designs. Not what she’d expected. Classy. No flashing lights or fountains. And surprise, surprise, lots of squeaky clean windows. Weren’t gaming establishments supposed to blot out the light? Stop time?
The room prices were highway robbery. She clicked on the spa service list and sighed. She didn’t understand the whole hot rock massage thing, but right now, her body moaned for some serious pampering. Clearly she was at the end of her rope if she had a flash of digging up rocks in her backyard, boiling them in her spaghetti pan, and asking Tanner if he’d put them on her body. Get a grip, McBride.
Her eyes narrowed at all the styles of poker offered at his hotels. She’d heard of five-card stud and Texas hold ‘em, but Omaha and Razz were new. His places boasted poker packages for different player levels and poker types, mostly stud and Texas hold ‘em. There were a few discreet mentions of Mac Maven playing in his hotel-sponsored tournaments with dates.
Not Macalister, but Mac.
Her famous intuition put the puzzle pieces together. She’d bet her bottom dollar Mac Maven wanted to open something in Dare.
He had a house in each of the four cities where his businesses were located, plus one in Denver, where he kept his office. That was a little too close for comfort. He’d bought land here, conditionally. Did that mean he had an inside track on something new? Or an ace up his hand-tailored sleeve?
Jill, what in the hell have you gotten into?
She crumbled Tanner’s file. She didn’t want gambling in Dare. She was a deputy, so she knew the kind of crap it generated. Drunk and disorderly. Fraud. Violence. Prostitution. People spending their last paychecks gambling, going from poor to poorer. This was
so
not going to happen. She was raising her son here. This was her new home.
A memory surfaced of her dad drinking and playing cards while they struggled with rent and food. Sometimes he’d swing his arm out and catch her in the cheek if she asked if he’d won when he hadn’t.
She shook off the past and clicked on a blue link with Mac’s name on it. A picture popped up. Her mouth went dry as an unexpected punch of attraction socked her in the gut. His coal black hair was cut about an inch longer than his skull, curling over a strong forehead. The dark eyelashes were about as shocking as the stoplight green eyes, which made a woman think
yes, go
as opposed to
no, stop
. The nose seemed like a poetic afterthought between high, rugged cheekbones, and his ruby chiseled lips kept him from looking like bruiser. The strong chin had a dent in the middle, transforming him into a charmer.
Having studied perps for years, she thought she was pretty good at reading people. She saw a lot of things in this man. Power. Control. Confidence. Will. And a smoldering sexuality he appreciated, but wouldn’t exploit.
The deputy and mommy in her slid away from the shore of her consciousness with a tide of new awareness. The woman inside cried out, a faint echo after a lengthy silence.
Well, hello there, handsome.
Her body grew warm as those eyes seemed to stare deep inside her. He would know what to do with a woman. He’d enter forcefully and drive deep. The thought almost made her moan.
The tide came back in. The deputy and mom returned, pushing the woman back out to sea like flotsam. Disgusted, Peggy forced herself to breathe out the jittery desire racing up her spine.
