Conversation and laughter flowed until the candles were low, coffee was drunk, and one of the most pleasant evenings Jack had spent in a long while wound down.
It wasn’t only the food and the conversation that had made the evening exceptional. There was an energy flowing between him and the sexy chef across from him that kept things interesting. He’d catch her eye and see speculation. When he spoke, she listened intently. He found himself doing the same, though, in truth, he learned everything about her he needed to from her food.
Bold, sensuous, creative. He wanted very much to know her better.
Tonight, if her teasing and increasingly bold glances were any indication, he would.
Chapter Five
Meg and Arthur left soon after coffee, promising to stay in touch from the States. Rachel could see that George and Maxine were dying to go up to bed, too. Probably they were being polite and waiting for her and Jack to go up, but she wasn’t quite ready to say good night to the man with whom she’d been secretly-or maybe not so secretly-flirting all evening.
Finally she said, “I think I’ll check on the kitchen. Make sure Mrs. Brimacombe left everything in good order.”
“I’m sure she will have,” said George.
“I like to make a final check of my kitchen. Occupational hazard,” she said. As she rose she said, as though it was an afterthought, “Jack, would you like to come with me? I can show you that local cheese you were so interested in.” Okay, it wasn’t the smoothest line she’d ever thought up, but it worked.
He was on his feet before she finished speaking. “I’d love to. I’ll say good night, then, George, Maxine. Thanks for a great evening.”
“Pleasure. See you tomorrow.”
“Probably not. I’ll head out early to miss the traffic.”
“Right. Give us a ring, then, if there’s anything more on the wedding.”
“Will do.”
Max said good night, but her attention was on Rachel, who sent her sister a tiny wink and hoped she’d mind her own business. Amazingly, for once she did, and suddenly Rachel found herself outside with Jack. Alone. The quickest way to the kitchen was obviously through the house, but they both knew it wasn’t local cheese they were interested in.
The evening was cool, fall slowly fading.
The full moon looked like an ancient gold coin; the sky was haphazardly dotted with stars where the clouds hadn’t obscured them. The air carried the scent of the river, trees, and grass. Their footsteps crunched on the pea gravel.
She tipped her head back and breathed in. “I love it here,” she admitted.
“It’s so quiet after London.”
“And L.A.,” she agreed.
“Do you miss it?”
“ L.A. or the restaurant?”
“Both, I suppose.” From the conversation this evening, he’d learned the sad history of her not-so-brilliant career.
She thought about his question. Tried to answer honestly. “Yes. And no. I miss the work. I loved what I was doing, but I didn’t like the people running the place. So I guess my feelings were mixed. I miss some things about L.A. Being near the ocean is great. I don’t know, there’s an energy there that’s kind of nuts but invigorating, you know?”
“Sure.”
“I really needed to get away, though. I was in a bad place.” She caught herself and laughed. “And if that isn’t a California expression, I don’t know what is.”
She could see his lips curve in the moonlight. She was aware of him in every pore of her body. Felt him looking at her when her gaze slipped away, tingled when his arm brushed hers. “What does it mean exactly?”
“Me being in a bad place?” She sighed. “You really want to know?”
“Of course. I’m…curious about you.”
The notion warmed her blood. Nobody was curious about her these days but her mother and Max. And really, the term she’d use for them would be nosy. Interfering. Bossy! Curious was a balm to a bludgeoned ego.
“My restaurant closing kind of kicked the teeth down my throat. I guess I’d forgotten it wasn’t really mine. I worked so hard, it was like I was obsessed, and when things got bad I worked harder. I’m so tired.”
“There was more to it than that, though, wasn’t there.” His words were soft, encouraging her to blurt more than she’d intended.
“Are you really this perceptive or has my beloved sister been spilling my secrets?”
“Your sister warned me away from you. It’s the only clue she gave me that there’s some mystery. I got my biggest clue from the way you acted with me in the kitchen. You seemed violently antimarriage, which naturally made me curious as to why.”
“I’m sorry about that, by the way. If you hadn’t startled me, and I hadn’t thought you were the cat-”
“No, really. Perfectly understandable mistake,” he said in that smooth, well-bred way that for some reason made her want to laugh.
“I got divorced,” she finally admitted. “It came through a couple of months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was a rat. It’s only that having two such spectacular failures so close together kind of screwed me up. You know?”
“Of course. So now, due to disappointments both personal and professional, you’ve pledged yourself to a life of celibacy, from which all men are excluded and you will only use your considerable cooking talents as a chef for private parties.”
She laughed, delighted with him.
“No,” she said, turning to him. “I’m not giving up on the idea of another restaurant, and I am certainly not giving up on sex.” What the hell? If there was ever a moment to take the initiative, it was this one. What did she care what he thought of her? This wasn’t about courtship or love or any of those old-fashioned notions she’d once believed in. This was about admitting that the blood flowing through her veins was hot, and that she was still a young woman with needs.
The man beside her, drawing her in with the intimate message in his eyes, was reminding her urgently of how much she was a woman with needs.
“I have not taken a vow of celibacy,” she promised him.
“Really?” He sounded as interested as she could have hoped. He moved closer until they were almost touching.
“Really,” she said, and taking his face in her hands, she leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
She brushed his lips softly with her own. She meant it to be a not-so-subtle message saying, I’m available if you’re interested. But the second their mouths met, something happened. Shocks, sparks, shooting stars. All that stuff she no longer believed in showered around her, in her.
He made a surprised sound and pulled her forward, hard enough that she was snapped against him, body to body. He took over the kiss.
Whoo-wee, did he ever. She felt almost lifted off her feet by the impact. His mouth was warm, firm, sexy, and delicious.
Standing there in the golden glow of a harvest moon, in the shadow of a castle, wearing her borrowed finery of velvet and gold and lace, she felt as much a fairy tale princess as any woman ever had.
Why not be swept off her feet? For a few days or weeks, even a few hours? What was the harm? What could it hurt?
So she let herself go, melting against him, the way the beetroot aioli had melted over her medley of autumn vegetables. Opening her mouth to him, to taste his flavor and texture.
Her heart stuttered, her blood pounded. She’d forgotten she could feel so alive.
“I want you,” he mumbled against her skin. “God, I want you.”
“I know. I want you, too,” she admitted, wondering if she’d ever in her life felt this urgent, this desperate. His hands ran up and down her back, over her hips. His mouth plundered and feasted.
She clutched his shoulders, then ran her hands through his short hair. His scalp was hot and she knew he was as feverish for this as she was. When his hand cupped her breast, she leaned into his warmth and touch. Wanting more.