Hot to the Touch

“I promise.” He ended the call; Darcy hung up and stretched luxuriously, lifting her hair off the back of her neck and letting it spill down. Could she be any more of a cliché? Probably not. She loved that he called to ask about her day, seemed to care about what was going on with her as well as to report in on what was going on with him. Loved hearing his voice, loved that he liked her enough to be able to think about her once in a while.

The phone rang again; she reached languorously for the receiver. “Gladiolas, Chef Darcy.”

“Darce-y.”

“Raoul.” Speak of the devil. She rolled her eyes, miraculously not more than mildly annoyed to hear from him. Was this in fact what it felt like to be human? “How the hell are you?”

“Now that I’m talking to you? Wonderful.”

“Uh-huh.” Darcy leaned back in her chair, making a gagging motion. From Troy to Mr. Snake Oil Salesman. But it said a lot that even his creepy charm hadn’t been able to obliterate her bliss. At least not yet. “What can I do for you, Raoul? We’re busy today.”

“I knew that. Just wanted to let you know that I’m a friend of your groom.”

“My what?” Darcy started. He knew Troy?

“The rehearsal dinner tonight at Gladiolas. I know the groom.”

“Oh. Right. Gotcha.” Her face flamed. Not Troy. Jeez, where was her mind going?

“I wanted to warn you so you wouldn’t freak out when I showed up. I know I’m not your favorite person these days.”

“Nope.” She bit her lip. That was actually fairly decent of him to warn her. Maybe Troy was right and she’d been overreacting. Hurting herself more than she hurt him by being so angry and bitter. Maybe Troy was exactly the emotional balance she’d been thinking she needed for a while. “I appreciate the advance notice. Truth is we’ll be so busy I probably would barely have seen you.”

“Yeah, I know all about that. Everything in ship shape?”

She made a face at the receiver. No, Raoul, they were all experienced professionals, but it hadn’t occurred to them to make any preparations.

“We have a good crew, you know that. We’re ready.”

“What’s for dinner?”

Everything open and warm inside Darcy slammed shut and froze. None of his damn business what her menus were.

She closed her eyes. Come on, Darcy. He was coming that night for dinner, he’d find out anyway. “Pea-zucchini soup with thyme, chicken with bacon, leeks and rosemary and hazelnut chocolate chunk cake for dessert.”

“Oh, yeah, you have the touch. I’m looking forward to being at the old place, Darcy. Look forward to seeing everyone.” He took a quick breath as if he were going to speak, then stopped. “I, uh, I’m sorry if I’ve been an ass.”

Darcy snorted, but she was surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “You can’t help it, Raoul. It’s what you are.”

He laughed, and for one second she felt again the camaraderie they’d had—she thought they’d had—as chef and sous chef, before she found out his true colors.

“See you tonight, honey.”

She sighed loudly, mouth twisting into a reluctant grin. “If it can’t be avoided, yeah, I guess I will.”

He hung up, chuckling, and she hung up, face hot, feeling triumphant. Troy had been right. Acting as if she couldn’t care if he lived or died was much less damaging than being actively hostile. She couldn’t do anything about his restaurant—he had every right to open it, so she could either let it eat her up and destroy her peace and sanity or she could accept it and keep enjoying running Gladiolas.

She stretched her arms up again, thinking of Troy’s handsome face, his body taut over hers, the fierce desire registering in his face before he reached his climax and slumped over into tenderness and sweet caresses.

Oh, the way he touched her…

A darkening at her door wiped the dreamy smile off her lips in a big hurry. Amy, holding her ubiquitous cup of coffee in one hand and a paper in the other. Darcy beckoned her in. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Just wanted to confirm that salad is being served after the entrée tonight.”