Melting Into You (Due South Book 2) (40 page)
Read Melting Into You (Due South Book 2) Online
Authors: Tracey Alvarez
A warm hand gently covered her mouth. “Now would be a good time for you to shut up, sweetheart.”
Her protests fizzled to a soft huff.
“Better.” He gave her a wonky grin and removed his hand, smoothing an errant curl behind her ear, his fi
ngers lingering on her neck.
She wanted to purr and she snuggled closer, until his belt buckle jutted into her stomach. He cupped her jaw, bringing their faces close together, his soft exhale smelling of coffee and sugary sweetness.
Coffee-and-sugar-oh-dear-Lord
—Kezia’s lips rolled in and pinched tightly closed.
His brow creased. “
Kez?”
Sweet Mother, the man thought she was rejecting him again. She clutched his arms harder, surreptitiously breathing
out of the corner of her mouth.
“Morning breath,” she whispered. “Just one moment while I brush my teeth,
amore mio
.”
Ben’s face crumpled and for a second her heart ceased to beat. Then he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his laughter warm gusts against her skin. “Morning breath. God, I love you, Kezia Murphy—morning breath and all.”
Every muscle, every sinew, every nerve ending fizzed and stiffened as if Ben had jabbed a Taser into her side. He pulled away, once again framing her face with his big hands.
“You don’t have morning breath, and even if you did, I couldn’t care less. You’re so damn beautiful, all sleepy-eyed and rumpled. You tear me inside out, b
aby.”
Hope, hot and strong, flooded through her, making her heart pump faster. She moistened her lips. “About what you said…”
“First, tell me
amore mio
doesn’t mean
you arrogant jerk
.”
“No, of course not. It means
my love
.”
“Am I your love?”
Her mouth quivered up into a smile, but she couldn’t make her vocal chords work.
Ben huffed out a sheepish sigh. “Listen, I’ve been up since four practicing this speech, but every time I look at you, I forget what it is I’m supposed to be saying…” He sucked in a deep breath that c
rushed her tighter against him.
“I forget it all, except, I love you,
Kez. I love you wearing that sexy red dress and I love you in your penguin PJs. I love the smell of your skin and the dirty things you whisper in Italian right before I make you come. I love how you put our girls’ happiness before your own, and I’m begging you, sweetheart, give me a chance—give us a chance.”
Kezia had rarely been speechless in her life—an Ita
lian woman with no opinion and nothing to say?
Hush your mouth
. But now, after Ben finally shared his heart, she couldn’t form a single word.
He loved her. Ben loved her—a
nd oh, why was he pulling away?
“Don’t say anything yet,” he said, snatching up the container he’d brought with him.
As if she could. Pure joy had destroyed thirty-one years of language development. Totally blanked it.
Ben shoved the container into her hands. Smooth plastic rubbed against her fingertips as Ben fumbled with the lid. Was he shaking? She snuck a glance at his face—tiny beads of moisture had popped out on his forehead, and the tips of his ears were crimson.
Then there was no time left to analyze his reactions because he pried off the lid, revealing three rows of four cupcakes with wonky iced letters on each.
“I ruined the first two batches practicing my speech, but everything’s better with cupcakes, right?”
In a complete brain-edit-fail, she read out loud, “Marr ymek ezia.”
“Hell,” Ben muttered. “
Knew
I should’ve gone for the bigger container.”
Her morning fuzzed brain cleared, zeroing in on
the glittery, spidery letters.
M-a-r-r-y m-e K-e-z-i-a.
Sweet Mother of God. Ben had baked cupcakes, and Ben wanted to marry her!
***
Kezia stared at him wide-eyed with nostrils flared.
Oh, shit
. She was gonna say no. Ben braced himself for the rejection.
She didn’t love him, she still thought he was a bad bet, she wouldn’t marry him, she—
Kezia tossed the container onto the bed and jumped him, her arms wrapped around his neck, legs around his hips, squeezing. Squeezing so tight he couldn’t breathe. Their mouths came together in a fusion of heat and need.
Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. Ever.
He staggered, and the edge of her bed bumped his legs. He sat, arms full of flannelette-covered-woman, pouring himself into the kiss with heart and soul until his head spun.
“Hey,” he said, when they finally both came up for air.
Flushed and gorgeous, her hair spilling in dark, silky curls over his hands, Kezia panted to catch her breath. The taut silence between them sliced up his gut and strung it out in four directions. Tears shone in her eyes, but hell, that could mean any number of things. She’d kissed the bejesus out of him—a good sign—but she still hadn’t said “yes.”
His natural inclination was to clam up after he’d put his nuts on the line. But if he allowed his natural incl
ination to overrule his desperation to make Kezia his—
permanently his
—then he truly didn’t deserve her.
“I know your parents and Callum let you down. I let you down too.”
Her lower lip quivered once and then stilled.
“I can’t promise I won’t screw up and make you feel like I’ve let you down again, because I’m a guy, and I just don’t come with a guarantee.” He settled her stra
ddled across his lap and ran his hands up and down her back. “I’ll screw up, embarrass you with my gauche male ways, piss you off, and the odds are good some dumbass thing’ll come out of my mouth and make you cry. But I won’t ever bail on you when life is tough. You’ll never have to face anything alone again.” His chest tightened. “Whatever crap life throws at us, we’ll deal with it together. As a family.”
“A family?” Kezia squeaked, and then hiccupped, her hand clamping over her mouth.
“Yeah. I want us to be a family.”
“Me too!” A little voice outside Kezia’s bedroom door piped up.
“Me three!” Came another, higher pitched voice right next to it.
“Girls!” cried Kezia, choking out a sound that was half laughter, half admonishment.
“Can we come in, Mamma?”
“
Pleeeease, Dad.”
Ben looked at Kezia, she looked at him.
“Hang on,” he said. “Your mother hasn’t told me she loves me yet.”
“
Shelovesyoushelovesyou
. Hurry up, Mamma!”
Fat tears spilled over Kezia’s lashes. She slid her hands up his chest and rested them on his shoulders. The warm, welcoming fire of her touch seared away the last of his doubts. She didn’t need to say the words now; love was in the tears sliding down her cheeks, in the way she gently grabbed his ears and tugged his mouth back on hers.
She whispered against his lips, “I love you, Ben Harland. Every morning for the next fifty-something years, when I wake up by your side, I’ll remind you,
amore mio
.”
Keeping their foreheads pressed together, he called out, “C’mon girls, in you come.”
The door banged open, and Jade and Zoe tumbled into the room, a blur of red and yellow pajamas. Zoe flung her arms around Kezia’s shoulders.
Jade bounced onto the bed behind him and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Dad, you need to shave. You’re all bristly.”
“I was too busy baking to shave—and if either of you ever tells anyone I made Kezia cupcakes, I’ll deny it, and sic Sparky on you.”
Zoe giggled. “Mamma—are you and Ben going to get marr
ied?”
“Say-yes-say-yes-say-yes!” Jade chanted.
Ben’s hands tightened on Kezia’s hips.
“
Si
. Yes,” Kezia said with her trademark Mona-Lisa smile. “We’ll be a real family then.”
“We’re a real family
already
.” Zoe grabbed Jade’s hands. “A family is people who love each other, remember?”
“You’re absolutely right,
bella
,” Kezia said. “Now which one of the people I love wants the first breakfast cupcake?”
Zoe and Jade lunged for the container, filling the air with squeals and laughter. Ben took advantage of his girls’ sweet-tooth distraction and kissed Kezia again.
Ben had everything in the world he needed right here in his arms, sweeter than frosting, more addictive than chocolate or his morning shot of caffeine.
The cupcakes could wait.
###
Ingredients for Ragu sauce:
1 onion (small one or a scallop)
1 carrot
1 bottle of tomato sauce
500 grams of minced beef
Salt
Chop the onion and carrot, and stir-fry with olive oil. Add the meat, a little white wine and let it simmer. Once the wine has evaporated, add the sauce and let it cook for approximately one hour (until it gets a little less liquidly).
To make
Besciamella (the white sauce):
Half a liter of milk
A knob of butter
1 spoon of flour
Pour everything into a pan, bring it to boil or until it thickens.
Now to make the lasagna.
Boil the pasta first, so it doesn't have to cook for a
ges afterwards.
In a casserole dish spread some Ragu sauce on the bottom, lay the sheets of pasta, then cover with more Ragu, then the
Besciamella, slices or bits of cheese (mozzarella if you have it or any sort of stringy cheese), sprinkle some grated Parmesan cheese, and repeat layers for 2 or 3 more times (according to the depth of the dish).
The last layer should be with Ragu,
Besciamella and cheese. Put a few knobs of butter here and there before you put it into the oven for approximately 30 minutes at 200° C. When the surface starts bubbling and it gets crispy, then it's ready.
Buon
appetito!!
Tracey Alvarez lives in the Coolest Little Capital in the World (a.k.a Wellington, New Zealand) where she’s yet to be buried under her to-be-read book pile by Wellington’s infamous wind—her Kindle’s a lifesaver! Married to a wonderfully supportive IT guy, she has two teens who would love to be surgically linked to their electronic devices.
Fuelled by copious amounts of coffee, she’s the author of contemporary romantic fiction set predominantly in New Zealand. Small-towns, close communities, and families are a big part of the heart-warming stories she writes. Oh, and hot, down-to-earth heroes—Kiwi men, in other words.
When she’s not writing, thinking about writing, or procrastinating about writing, Tracey can be found reading sexy books of all romance genres, nibbling on smuggled chocolate bars, or bribing her kids to take over the housework.
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E-mail Tracey at
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Acknowledgements
I’m always terrified I’m going to miss someone off this list of acknowledgements, so I’m tempted to do a blanket thank you to everyone. Instead, I’ll try to narrow it down to some groups of people, starting with my family. Thanks for all the meals cooked and housework done while I’m writing, the times Miss 13 and Master 17 have come into my lair to ask me something and I’ve stared at you blankly – I love you guys! Thanks to my wonderful critique partners, who put up with my freak-outs—you gorgeous ladies know who you are! Thanks to my virtual (but just as real!) supportive writer friends on FB and Twitter, most specifically the Ink Ladies and the BOCHOK babes. Thanks to my editor who patiently put up with all my dangling participles. And lastly, a big virtual hug to my Italian friend who helped bring Kezia’s dialogue to life (any screw ups in the beautiful Italian language are my own). Plus my generous friend kindly provided me with Kezia’s recipe for a mean lasagna! Pity I can’t cook – hah! That’s what my darling husband is for...
The Due South series focuses on family, community, and of course, each book contains a scorching hot romance.
Other books in the series:
Coming soon…
Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3)
Take one sassy Harland girl…
Shaye Harland, sous chef de-awesome, desperately wants the role of Due South’s head chef. Though a little out of her depth, she can totally cope with the extra d
emands if she can resist her future brother-in-law when he muscles in on her kitchen. The Hollywood wannabe is nothing but a troublesome distraction and he fries her sex-ometer to a crisp. But as far as romance? Forget it. Love, when she finds Mr. Perfect, will be as sweet as her to-die-for cookies.
Add a bad-boy from LA…
Del Westlake swore he’d never again set foot on the island he calls the “ass end of New Zealand.” With his reputation as a sous chef in one of LA’s hottest restaurants trashed, and his estranged father’s restaurant needing a head chef, Del wants nothing more than to go in, get the job done, and get out. Except his feisty second-in-command carves herself a spot in his heart and completely incinerates his plans.
Watch the sparks fly as they burn it up in the kitchen…
Winning a spot on a TV reality show is just what Del needs to jumpstart his career in LA. Nothing can get in the way of him winning—not even the woman whose trust he’d destroy if she discovers his secrets. But with a film crew capturing the explosive kitchen chemistry between them, will his bad-boy ways rear up and ruin his shot at becoming Shaye’s Mr. Perfect?
Excerpt of
Ready To Burn
Chapter One
So. His life had come to this.
Del Westlake, sous chef of
Cosset
, one of the up-and-coming hottest restaurants in LA, applying for a job flipping mouse-shaped pancakes at the Happiest Place on Earth.
Make that the “
ex
” sous chef of
Cosset
.
His mom always warned that the bigger the ego, the bigger the crash to rock bottom. And he’d hit rock bo
ttom. No job, a messed-up reputation, rent overdue on his Venice Beach duplex, and about to grovel for a position as line cook from a man who’d probably grill him to charred ashes.
Del snorted, his knee bouncing uncontrollably as he slouched on the leather armchair outside the entrance to the character dining restaurant. He checked his watch.
Fifteen minutes until his interview—an interview he’d only gotten because one of
Cosset’s
servers, Larry, was a drinking buddy of this Hotel’s restaurant manager. When a month had gone by and no other reputable restaurant in LA would touch Del, Larry called in a favor.
Shrill giggles stabbed his ears from across the foyer where a giant costumed dog hammed it up with two kindergarten-aged twin girls. Del winced, but at least it wasn’t from the mother of all hangovers. At least this morning the pounding head and sweaty palms were o
nly due to the depressing thought of how righteously he’d screwed up.
The phone in his dress pants pocket vibrated. He fished it out and glanced at the screen. Mom, speak of the devil.
Could he ignore her? Nah, she’d keep trying until she reached him. Better to suck it up and deal with her now.
He jabbed
talk
. “You’re up early, Mom—too much nasty fresh air down there?”
“Hello to you too, son. I assume you’re still on your morning break?”
Del’s knee jiggled again. He’d be on his morning break if he still had a
job
. Admitting his current unemployment to Claire Gatlin would be the equivalent of waving an upside down crucifix at the Spanish Inquisition. And his mother had enough to stew over without knowing her youngest son’s career was in the toilet.
“Yeah. We’re pretty slammed, so—”
“I won’t keep you long and I’ll get straight to the point. It’s your father.”
Del’s
stomach plummeted like a freight elevator with its cables freshly cut. Mom had flown halfway around the world to New Zealand to look after her ex-husband when she’d found out his kidneys had packed up.
Was the old bastard dead?
Del surged to his feet and strode to a potted fern, tucking the phone closer to his ear. “What about him?”
“He’s getting worse.”
“Oh.”
What the hell else could he say? Glad that the SOB who’d forced Del to go to LA with his mother,
still stubbornly clung to life?
“
Shaye’s struggling with the workload now that Bill can barely put in any hours.”
Shaye’s
name sent a ripple through his mind. Three years his junior, she’d been part of the gang of kids he hung out with in his hometown of Oban. But more than just part of the gang, Shaye and her older siblings had accepted him and his brother, West, as part of their family when his own had broken down.
He stared at his shoes. Shaye had only been eleven when he’d left. A studious kid with stars in her eyes and a killer bowling arm when they’d played cricket on the island’s many beaches. She’d be nearly twenty-five now. Twenty-five was too inexperienced to run Due South’s restaurant solo.
Not his problem. He had more pressing matters to worry about. “You’ve advertised for a head chef though?”
A sharp inhale from seven thousand miles away.
“Ahh. Nobody wants to work at the ass end of New Zealand.”
“Delmar!”
“Sorry. I’m sure lots of people are dying to work in such a wild and beautiful jewel of the Pacific, yadda-yadda-yadda.” Del rolled his eyes and glanced over at the twins who clung to the orange dog so fiercely it was a wonder the poor sucker beneath the fake fur could breathe. “Mom, why are you calling?”
“Always so impatient, son. Can’t you hold a conve
rsation without rushing?”
Not when he had a scummy, beneath-him job to try and get. “Now’s not a good time.”
“It never is.” She huffed out a sigh. “I want to ask you a favor. You-know-I’ve- never-asked-anything-of-you-before.”
Oh, shit. The Mom-Guilt favor. Nothing good ever came from those words.
“Bill refuses to let a stranger into his kitchen. Your brother posted an ad for a head chef but Bill pulled it days later. I heard him mutter your name, saying “Del should be here, it’s his bloody legacy.”
The proverbial penny dropped, tumbling past his own jumbled worries about how the hell he’d get his career back on track. The proverbial penny nailed him
between the eyes and knocked him on his proverbial ass. “Are you asking
me
to take over as Due South’s head chef?”
“Well…yes. Yes I am. Just until you can train Shaye up to speed or we can find a replacement. Ryan’s a wonderful manager, I’m sure you’ll both figure out what’s best for Due South.”
Ryan, who only answered to “West,” had taken over the running of Oban’s one and only hotel/pub/restaurant four years ago. West coped working alongside their father without cracking the old bastard over the head with a skillet. Del, however, would rather sauté his own nuts before stepping through Due South’s door again. He hadn’t been back to Stewart Island since he left thirteen years ago and as far as he knew, hell hadn’t frozen over yet.
“Mom, I—”
“I know you’ve always wanted to be head chef of your own restaurant.”
He tipped his head back and it
thunked
on the wall behind him. “Yeah. But in LA, not down there in the bowels of the earth.”
“Head chef is head chef. Your father’s right—Due South is your legacy.”
“Bollocks. He’s lying. Bill would rather gnaw off his own arm than let me touch his precious legacy.”
Del angled his face toward the hotel windows. His reflection, dressed in a white shirt with dried-mud brown hair and a couple of shaving nicks on his jawline
glared back. Never gonna win a modeling contract, but on a good day he was passable enough to get a pretty girl’s number with minimal effort. Not today. Today he felt like three-day-old leftovers that some first year culinary student tried to pass off as cuisine.
“That’s no longer the case, Del. He needs you.” Oceans of emotions surged through his mom’s voice, but he didn’t care to dip his toe in those waters.
