“I was going to ask you that same thing.”
“Oh.” She forced a smile, trying not to remember that the last thing he’d done with that handsome face had been to bury it in her hair, inhaling her as he squeezed her tight, so tight that she thought maybe he never wanted to let her go.
But he had.
And she had. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, adding another smile when he only cocked his head and studied her for a long heartbeat. “Really. In fact, things are great.”
He hunkered down before her to take her hands, his gaze holding hers. “Great, huh?”
Oh, God. Physical affection. If she knew nothing else about him, she knew this much-for Jacob it was the same thing as waving a fifty-foot sign saying that he cared about her.
Her pathetic heart rolled over and exposed its underside and she fought an overwhelming desire to throw herself at him. “I’m fine,” she repeated weakly.
“But-”
“Jacob. Do you really want me to tell you what’s wrong? Really?”
He stared at her, and she could see that running through his head was the moment when she’d blurted out, “I love you,” and he’d gone white as a sheet and said, “Thank you.”
Thank you.
Yeah, that was what every girl dreamed of hearing from her prince after a lifetime of toads.
“Look,” she said, pulling her hands free and standing. “I’ve got to get to work, which is finally going somewhere.”
“You find a chef?”
“I sort of worked around the issue for now.”
He nodded, slipping his hands back into his pockets rather than touch her again.
Good, she thought, even as her body missed the contact with every fiber of its being. She might as well get used to it.
“I thought you were leaving today,” he said.
“But…?”
Was she wrong? Or had an odd flare of hope flickered in his eyes? “But it turns out I have one more day here.”
Nope, definitely a flicker of emotion in those eyes. But the question was, was that flicker just sexual excitement at the thought of having her again? Or more?
“One more night is good,” he said very quietly.
And damn if her body didn’t quiver. “It’s about work,” she said. “The show, it’s going to be a traveling cooking show. Same host, but instead of an L.A. set, we’re going to hit different locales around the states. My boss thought that while I was here, we should be scoping out New York City to stack up a few restaurants.”
“Ah.”
“So I guess I need to run around to nail down some good places.” They both knew he was the man to show her such spots. That Amuse Bouche should be, and was, at the top of her wish list.
Having a show set here, even only once, would be huge. But she had pride, too, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, ask him one more time to disrupt the life he appeared to love.
“I have something I should show you,” he finally said.
“Really?” She was afraid to read anything into that, into the way he was looking at her.
What did he have to show her? Himself?
“I’m due in the kitchen right now,” he said. “But after-”
“Yes?”
“Meet me here?”
He was actually, in his way, asking, not telling. Unable to keep from melting just a little, she simply nodded. She’d meet him tonight.
16
JACOB FINISHED AT the restaurant late and, without taking time for his customary shower and late-night drink with the staff, rushed out into the lobby.
Em stood near the windows, hugging herself, looking out into the night. She wore one of those long flowing flowery skirts he loved on her, and a snug black angora sweater his fingers were already itching to touch. Remove.
As if she felt him coming, she turned slowly, her eyes unerringly meeting his across the filled lobby. And hell if his heart didn’t start to pound.
Crazy. He was here only to give her the information he knew would help her search. When he reached her, she licked her lips as if nervous, and he couldn’t help it, despite knowing he shouldn’t, he leaned in and kissed her.
A little murmur of surprise came from her and for that perfect beat in time, her lips clung to his.
Then she pulled back and smiled at him, more sure of herself now. God, that was something, her sexual confidence. “Ready?”
Her gaze searched his. “I didn’t know exactly what you had in mind or how to dress…”
A flicker of unease worked its way through him. “To walk to my apartment? To get the information I have for you?”
Her eyes never left his. “Information.”
“When I was getting ready to hire on here, I had a stack of offers. I still have all the files at my apartment. You can flip through them for the spots that interest you. For the show.”
“Gotcha.” Face carefully blank, she nodded. “Right.”
She sounded funny, and that dread grew. “Em-”
“No, it’s all good. Thanks,” she added with extreme politeness, and turned away, toward the outside doors.
He pulled her back around, having to work at it because she was stiff as a piece of drywall. Searching her face, now so completely shuttered to his, he shook his head. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing.” She gave him a smile, a surface-only smile that didn’t come close to the warmth and wattage of her real one. “Let’s go get the information then.”
They walked. The night was chilly, and she refused his sweater, preferring instead to walk at his side, keeping her distance, arms crossed over herself. Through Bryant Park, pretty and peaceful at night, she said nothing. Across the street, toward his apartment building, where they were parted by a pack of teenagers on their way toward trouble, still nothing.
He stopped her at his building.
She looked up at the brick-and-glass front, lit with tiny white lights that no one had bothered yet to take down after the holidays. When he looked at the building, he always felt an odd surge, a sort of marvel that he’d found this place to call his, a nice, easy-on-the-eyes, classy yet warm and welcoming home.
Warm and homey had never been a requirement, and yet now that he had it, it was amazing how much he’d grown to like it. “Home sweet home,” he said, and smiled.
She flashed him a quick one, and again it didn’t meet her eyes.
More dread. “Third floor.”
When he held open the front door for her, she went in ahead of him, careful not to brush any part of her against him, and he found himself leaning in to catch the scent of her. Pathetic.
They walked up the three flights of stairs, and at his door, he tried to turn on his legendary charm. “I can make a late-night snack, maybe a-”
“No, thank you.”
He blinked. Had anyone, ever, since he’d begun cooking, turned down his offer of food?
Not once.
