Seducing the Playboy (A Hot Nights Series Book) (Entangled Brazen)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

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Fort Collins, CO 80525

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Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit

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Edited by Liz Pelletier

Cover design by Heather Howland

ISBN 978-1-62266-326-2

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition May 2014

Chapter One

“Fresh meat in the kitchen.”

“Put it away.” Roman didn’t look up from the pile of invoices in front of him. He had to find a way

to shave food costs. This was another test, and he was going to ace it. How hard could it be to turn a

profit in a tiny restaurant on Venice Beach?

His sous-chef, Max, dropped into the chair by the door. “That’s not the kind of meat I’m talking

about. Blond. Buttoned-up. Magnificent rack. Hair in the tightest braid I’ve ever seen. She said she

has an interview. I checked with Linda and heard she was some sort of pastry whisperer. I don’t care

if she can whisper or not, but I’d like to wrap that braid around my fist and—”

“You go any further, I’ll need brain bleach.”

Max chuckled. “Rock-paper-scissors?”

Roman flipped the file shut and jammed it in the top drawer. “Hell no. If she’s that hot and she can

bake, she’s mine. You got the last intern.” They both knew he was kidding. He only had one hard-and-

fast rule in the kitchen—don’t sleep where you eat.

“Not an intern. Culinary Academy graduate. Work experience in France and Italy, and she wants to

talk to you.”

“We can’t afford to hire anybody. Think she’ll work for free?”

“Why are you sweating every penny, Roman? Your food cost is low, considering what’s on the

menu. You can’t fly your fish in from Hawaii, your beef from Japan, and your chicken from a tiny,

family-owned ranch in Iowa and expect to run on a shoestring budget.”

“Then we need more vegetarian items.”

Max snorted. “More heirloom, organic, vegetarian items? You know our produce costs more than

the fish.”

“Shit.”

“Garbage in garbage out,” Max taunted. “You get what you pay for—”

“Can your clichés before I make you eat them,” Roman growled. “Pastry whisperer, huh?” Maybe

if he hired her, they could make money on the desserts.

His mother never should have bought this overpriced shack, but somehow she expected him to

make it as profitable as their other restaurants. Unfortunately, it took customers to make that happen

and, in spite of his exquisite menu, they were barely filling the house each night. He refused to fail,

not when she was ready to retire. He’d watched her work her ass off, until her back was bowed, her

hands gnarled, and her face lined with the stress of constantly being in charge. He needed to get off

this beach and start managing Gallagher Holdings.

Roman led the way out of the office. When they reached the kitchen, he saw his interviewee

standing with her back toward them. She was petite, probably coming up to his shoulder, and as tidy

as Max had described. Not a hair escaped the braid wrapped into a knot on the back of her head. Her

coat was bright white and unstained. Even her chef pants looked like they had been ironed.

As she turned, eyes the color of burnt caramel met his and a shock zinged through him. His body

reacted, tensing, stiffening. Instantly, he was transported back to the first time he’d looked into her

eyes. Just as fast, he shut down the buzz of arousal. She might not be sixteen anymore, but it didn’t

matter. She was Cole Cooper’s little sister, off-limits as long as he’d known the warm family that had

opened their home to him so many times during culinary school. For a second, he was paralyzed by

the memory of her playing basketball with them in a too-short school uniform skirt. Back then, it had

been murder to ignore his raging hormones in the presence of her blooming beauty and knockout body.

“Roman? Aren’t you going to say hello?” Her voice was amused. She took a half step closer and

tilted her head to look up at him.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, kiddo, you surprised me.” He braced himself and pulled her into a

short, friendly hug. Her touch was like fire on his skin. He took two steps back to avoid further

contact. “How have you been? How’s Cole? Are your parents well?”

She nodded, eyes narrowing. “Everyone is great. They miss you. You haven’t been back to

Lambertville in years.”

He cleared his throat again. “A lot to keep me busy here.”

A golden glint shimmered in her eyes. “So I’ve heard. You’ve been working your way down the

West Coast like a culinary Casanova.”

Was she talking about the restaurants he’d opened? Or something else? His romantic reputation was

greatly exaggerated. Mostly. Okay, not at all, but how did she know?

A very fake cough alerted him to the fact Max still stood behind him. Reluctantly, he said, “Jenna,

this is my sous-chef, Max Benderson.”

He’d seen that smoldering look on Max’s face—right before he made his move.

“Knock it off,” Roman warned. “This is my buddy’s little sister, Jenna Cooper.”

Max’s smile went from hot to warm. “Oh, hey! Nice to meet you.”

Jenna laughed. “Little sister, huh? I may be little, but I’m legal. Nice to meet you, Max.”

She held out her hand, but when Max moved to take it, Roman stepped between them. “Not in this

kitchen. In my kitchen, anyone who doesn’t treat you like a little sister is fired. There is no way I’m

going to explain to your big lug of a brother that someone took advantage of you on my watch.”

“So don’t tell him. Problem solved.”

She gave Max a sly wink, and jealousy spiked through him. “Can we get back on topic? What are

you doing here? Cole didn’t tell me you went to culinary school. You followed in the family

footsteps, huh?”

Actually, Roman deliberately stayed off the subject of his best friend’s sister when they talked.

Cole had made it clear he didn’t want Roman anywhere near her, and there’d be hell to pay if he

knew about Roman’s impure thoughts. Cole knew he didn’t do relationships. He did fun. He did sex,

lots of it, but short-term only. Jenna, with her small-town values and parents who had been married

for thirty-plus years, deserved someone who could give her that.

“I’d like to work here in exchange for—”

“Not possible.”

She grabbed his arm. “Why not?”

About a zillion reasons. “No job here.” Not when the sight of her made him want to break his own

rule. He shrugged out of her grasp.

She frowned at him. “Even if you don’t hire me, you need a new pastry chef. Your desserts suck.”

“How do you know?”

“I came in for dinner last night.”

“And you didn’t let me know you were here?”

She snorted. “I was spying. Your gelato is icy. Your pie crust is rubbery and salty. And don’t get

me started on your chocolate sauce. It came out of a can, didn’t it?”

He heard a noise from Max that sounded like a cough but he knew damn well was a laugh. “I’ve

been making the desserts,” he said tightly.

Her nostrils flared, as if she were trying not to laugh, too. Then a giggle escaped, hitting his nerves

like a playful slap. Her eyes filled with mock pity. “Oh, Roman, how could you do that to innocent

desserts? They never did anything to you.”

Max slung an arm around him. “I’ve been trying to tell him, but he’s pretty stubborn.”

The two of them were bonding over his lack of pastry skills? Unacceptable. “I’m standing right

here,” he reminded them, shaking off Max’s arm.

Jenna reached up to pat his cheek. “Yes, dear. We know. And we want what is best for you. In your

heart, you know you should stick to the savory side of the kitchen. Give me a chance, Roman. You

won’t regret it. I did the culinary program at the Academy, but I love to bake. Give me a couple of

hours, and I’ll knock your socks off.”

She’d always knocked his socks off. That was the problem.

He took a deep breath to say no, but her fingers slid down his arm into his hand and he forgot how

to speak. She squeezed, and he stopped breathing, immobilized by a flash fantasy of how her fingers

would feel wrapped around another part of his anatomy.

“Let me bake for you, Roman. What have you got to lose?”

…

Jenna’s heart pounded. A bead of cold sweat ran down her arm, so she pressed her elbow into her

side, hoping her jacket would absorb the moisture. She’d forgotten how being near Roman made it

difficult to behave normally, but there was no way she’d let her nerves betray her. She needed his

help. Badly.

“Good God, man! Don’t stop her.” The sous-chef shot her a wink.

She grinned back. “Can I take that as a yes? Come on, Ro…you owe me this much for not telling

Dad about the time you and Cole drank half his favorite bourbon and refilled the bottle with water.”

A small smile tilted Roman’s full lips. “I forgot about that. Did he ever figure it out?”

“Not yet,” she threatened, wondering if Roman remembered what had happened after the bourbon.

She certainly treasured the memory of their almost-kiss.

Roman held up his hands. “Fine. You win. You can test cook.” He looked at his watch. “You’ve got

four hours. Don’t expect me to take it easy on you because we’re friends.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did.” She held his gaze. “But I hope you’re hungry, Chef. I don’t make

idle promises. You’re in for a treat.”

Roman stared back at her for long enough to make her fear he was going to change his mind, then

spun on his heel and walked out of the kitchen. Max gave her a thumbs-up and another grin before he

followed.

As soon as they were gone, she surveyed the tiny space, assuming they wouldn’t be gone long—

there was nowhere else to work. She whipped through the shelves and dish room looking for baking

pans. Then she rifled through drawers and cabinets for spatulas and whisks. Swiftly, she blazed

through dry storage, the reach-ins, and the walk-in, gathering butter, eggs, and heavy cream as she

went. When she found flour, sugar, good chocolate, and an entire case of parchment paper, she knew

she was in business. It was late August, so that meant there was plenty of great produce, too, although

there was probably always good produce in California.

When she returned to the line with an armload of ingredients, Roman was peeling shrimp at the

sink. “Okay if I use this stuff?” she asked.

He gave her a curt nod and turned back to the sink.

Overwhelmed by curiosity, she had to ask, “Aren’t you a little overqualified for peeling shrimp?”

“Prep cook is a surfer. I took pity on him. Epic waves on the Venice Breakwater today, or so he

said.”

Jenna nodded and pulled a notebook and pen out of her toolbox, glad she’d packed her favorite

pastry utensils and brought them with her. She hadn’t spotted a single palette knife in the kitchen, and

she doubted she could find a matched set of measuring spoons to save her life. Her thoughts spun,

arranging ingredients into different combinations. She wanted to make at least three desserts, but they

had to be things that could be served warm or at least room temperature. She couldn’t make ice cream

unless she served it soft, but she could make crème anglaise. Whole layer cakes weren’t possible—

no time to cool. But she could bake super-thin layers of cake…or cupcakes.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. Roman might be slumming in Venice Beach at the moment, but

the man was an LA legend. He’d eaten the best desserts the city had to offer, probably off the bodies

of his naked celebrity girlfriends. And he still thought of her as Cole’s little sister. There was no way

she was going to bake him a goddamn cupcake.

I can’t do this.

The uncertainty she’d banished the moment her plane touched down in Los Angeles the week before

crashed over her in a suffocating wave. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about how much it would

suck if she crashed and burned. The thought of Roman just patting her on the head and sending her

home made her feel like passing out.

I’m going to fail.

She dropped her pen on the cutting board and walked out of the kitchen. She could feel Roman’s

eyes on her back, but she kept going. When her shoes hit sand, her panic doubled and she skidded to a

stop. If she ran away, she’d have no chance at all.

She kicked off her clogs and dug her bare toes into the sand, refusing to take another step away

from the Beach House. She only had four hours to pull this off—she didn’t have time to freak out.

Jesus, this was exactly what her parents expected of her.

You’re only twenty-two. Let us handle this. Selling the restaurant isn’t the end of the world.

But it was, and they all knew it. The bank had given her parents only four months to catch up on

payments. Selling the restaurant would kill her father. Her parents would never ask her brother to

give up the new life he’d built. They were proud of him for becoming a corporate chef, and glad he’d

escaped the grind of working nights, weekends, and holidays. They didn’t even want Cole to know

Cooper’s was in the red, so it was up to her to find a way to keep it.

She had trained so hard for this—going to the Culinary Academy, studying in Italy and France with

chefs who ran her ragged, graduating near the top of her male-dominated class—she refused to give

up.

Cole would kill her if she asked Roman for money, but knowledge was power, too. Roman had a

Midas touch with failing restaurants, and she knew he’d help her family. She was counting on it. But

helping her draw up a plan would cost him time he might not have, at a price she couldn’t afford, so

she wanted to offer him something in return, especially after she’d seen the unimpressive Beach

House dessert menu online. Creating a new pastry menu for him was the perfect solution. It would

give her time to pick his brain about ways to revitalize Cooper’s failing business while improving the

Beach House desserts—but clearly Roman still thought of her as a kid, just as her family did. It was

past time to prove she’d grown up and could pull her weight in the kitchen. She’d make pastries so

incredible, Roman would beg for her help, and then she’d ask for his. With his expert advice, she

knew she could preserve the Cooper legacy and carry on the family tradition. Not only that, she’d

finally earn her family’s respect.

“Jenna? Are you all right?”

A shiver shot up her spine at the sound of Roman’s voice. She turned, heart pounding. “Just taking

inspiration from the ocean,” she lied, drinking in the light of the sun on his face. His eyelashes were

golden at the root and dark at the tips, giving them a sexy glint. She wanted to run her finger over the

reddish stubble on his cheeks. To trace the outline of his sensual lips. To sink her hands into his sun-

streaked hair and tug him down for the kiss she’d been dreaming about forever.

“I understand completely,” he said.

She blinked hard, stifling a sigh. Too bad he was talking about the ocean.

“Coming?” she asked, picking her way back toward the Beach House. When she reached the

Boardwalk, she brushed off her feet and jammed them back in her clogs. She heard Roman stomping

behind her.

They entered the kitchen, and she washed her hands before returning to the ingredients on her

cutting board. Butter, flour, sugar, and eggs—simple things. But if she combined them in exactly the

right way, he’d have no choice but to accept her help—and hopefully offer his in return.

A slow smile spread across her face as she decided to make cupcakes after all. Adult versions of

kid desserts were all the rage these days, especially in restaurants like this one. Her desserts were

going to be decadent and sensual. Salted caramel. Oatmeal cream. Hot chocolate heaven. She would

jog his memory, and then she would blow his mind.

Her smile turned into a full-blown, wicked grin, picturing doing the same for the rest of him, and

she laughed softly as she began to crack eggs. Roman Gallagher wasn’t going to know what hit him.

…

Roman took a seat in the dining room and eyed the desserts on the table in front of him, wondering

what the hell she’d been thinking. He had to admit he was disappointed. She’d promised great

desserts, but these pastries looked ordinary, pedestrian…boring. A cupcake, hot chocolate, a plate of

cookies, and a piece of cake? The cake looked fancy enough to suit his customers, but the rest was

pure snooze. So what if his mouth was watering? Just because he had a thing for warm chocolate chip

cookies didn’t mean they belonged on his menu.

He turned to Jenna. “Looks great, kiddo…but not Beach House material.”

She crossed her arms and smiled. “Wrong.”

Studying her offerings again, he wondered if she understood he was trying to attract celebrities,

millionaires, and gourmets. His target customers would not be satisfied with something a PTA mom

would whip up for a bake sale. He swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. His fingers twitched,

and it took a conscious effort to keep from grabbing a cookie. He crossed his arms and sat back in his

chair, deciding to humor her. “How do you figure?”

“I sat here in the dining room last night feeling uncomfortable, but not for the reason you probably

think. I couldn’t resist a quick trip out to the beach when I got here, and when I sat down at my table, I

was a mess.” She giggled and he saw a flash of the mischievous teenager submerged beneath her

professional veneer. “I thought your manager was going to have a cow, but she just gritted her teeth

and led me to a table with an amazing view of the ocean. Sitting there, I was jealous of the people I

could see on the beach, but I doubt a single one of them was jealous of me. No one wandering on the

beach would be allowed in here wearing jeans or a bathing suit.” She raised an eyebrow, mocking

him. “Taste one. I dare you.”

He forced his hand to move slowly as he picked up a cookie. He took a bite, and it was so good,

his eyes slid shut. When he opened them, she was smirking. She picked up a cupcake and turned to

face him. His heart skipped a beat, and he waited, wondering what she would do.

She raised it to his lips.

He opened his mouth and took a bite, holding her gaze. Cinnamon teased his memory as his teeth

penetrated the cake, firm and filling. Smooth marshmallow cream surprised his tongue. Oats reminded

him of mornings in the Cooper kitchen. He took another bite. After he swallowed, he said. “You made

an oatmeal cream cupcake.”

“Little Debbie ain’t got nothin’ on me.” Her eyes glowed. “What do most customers say when a

server mentions dessert?”

He thought for a moment and then snorted. “Check, please.”

“Exactly. What if your server suggested dessert to go and a walk on the beach? What if one of the

desserts was this?” She pressed the hot chocolate into his hand. “Let’s call it the Beach Warmer. It’s

windy out there.”

“What about their fancy shoes?” he asked, playing devil’s advocate but already seeing the

possibilities.

“They can leave them at the door. Or you can give them some cheap flip-flops with their check.

Nobody comes to the beach to get dressed up and eat fancy food, but you’d make a killing if you sold

gourmet burgers and exclusive craft beers.”

Something clicked into place inside his mind, and he knew she was right, so right. For the last week

he’d been thinking about making the place more casual. This was the perfect way. Amazing what a

fresh pair of eyes could bring to the table. His mouth fell open, and she pressed her advantage,

popping a bite of cake between his lips. His lips closed over the fork. When the flavor of caramel hit

his tongue, he was gone, so gone. “Your mother’s Kentucky Jam Cake?” His voice was rough.

“With salted caramel icing.”

The layers were thin and moist, flavored with clove and nutmeg. It brought to mind Christmases

spent at the Cooper house, evoking a sense of belonging, of holidays, and home. It made him want

things he couldn’t have. “Not going to work.”

She leaned forward to take a bite of cake, and the deliberate familiarity of sharing a fork made him

hard as steel. He froze in place, caught between the desire to take her in his arms and the need to get

the hell away before he pinned her to the table.

She chewed slowly, swallowed. “I expect you to tell me why.”

Her thigh brushed his as she shifted her chair a few inches away from the table, breaking his trance

and making it possible for him to remember his excuse. “Your desserts are good, but I already told

you they aren’t right for the menu.”

“And I told you your menu is a disaster.”

He scoffed. “Fresh out of culinary school and you think you know everything. I know my

customers.”

“Roman Gallagher, you are full of crap. I’m right and you know it. I can see it in your eyes. I bet

you’ve already rewritten half of your menu while we were sitting here. You’re probably planning to

knock out a wall, so you can offer a beachfront walk-up window for truffled garlic fries in a

parchment cone with designer ketchup and Kobe beef sliders. Or maybe this.” She handed him the last

dessert on the table. “I didn’t have time for ice cream to set, but I think milk shakes would sell like

crazy. This one is blackberry and pistachio swirl…with chocolate ganache chips.”

He gritted his teeth. She was right about everything, including the wall. He was going to need to

refinish the back deck and buy tables for outside seating, too, but no matter what great ideas she came

up with, he couldn’t afford to have her around. “I can’t hire you, Jenna. Not if I knock the wall out.

Renovations are expensive.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Roman, you’re loaded. Do you expect me to believe the pile of shit

you are shoveling?”

“When did you get such a filthy mouth, Goldilocks?” He knew the childhood nickname would

annoy her.

“In kitchens—duh. I can curse in three languages. And don’t call me Goldilocks.”

“Too hot. Too cold. Too salty. Not enough spice,” he teased. “I’m not surprised you hate my menu.

Are you as picky as you used to be?”

She looked away for a minute before she said, “It’s not my fault I have good taste, and stop trying to

change the subject. You need me.”

“No, sweetheart, I don’t. Even I can make cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies, but I appreciate

the consult. I think you’re right about the menu, and you saved me some time and money, both of

which I need, regardless of what you might think.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to steal my ideas? I’m not sure whether to be furious or

flattered.” Instead of the anger he expected, her voice was thoughtful. “Go right ahead. I love it when

cooks try to bake. By the way, I made enough desserts to get you through the night.” She glanced

toward the open kitchen, where he saw Max glaring at him from the doorway, probably assuming

Roman was trying to escape final prep details.

The front door opened, and they watched the first well-dressed customers of the night mince their

way into the dining room. Now that she’d pointed it out, the contrast between the casual setting and

the dressed-to-the-nines diners was ridiculous.

She snickered. “I told you so.”

“Shut up.”

“Shut up isn’t nice,” she sing-songed in a dead-on impersonation of her mother.

His heart lurched. It was really good to see her. Maybe he couldn’t hire her, but… “There’s a party

on the beach tonight, if you want to come back around eleven. We could catch up on old times.” The

words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Yes. We’ll talk then.” Her smile took his breath away. “It’s a date.”

What the hell did I just do? I can’t be around her.

She stood, and he smelled sugar and cinnamon when she leaned down to press a swift kiss on his

cheek. “Enjoy the shake.” She meant the ice cream, but he watched the confident sway of her hips as

she headed back into the kitchen. His memory filled in the shape of her perfect ass beneath the boxy

chef coat. The low-rise jeans she used to wear had killed him, and the one time he’d seen her in a

bathing suit had made it impossible for him to get in the water with her. Stop thinking about Cole’s

little sister. But his mind disobeyed, remembering the feel of her body when he hugged her. Firm, but

soft, too…stop.

This was just the sort of thing that would get him in trouble. He needed to fix the Beach House and

get the hell back to Hollywood and Gallagher Holdings where he belonged. Impatience tightened his

nerves, and he blamed it on inactivity. After all, he’d been banished here for a month now, and he’d

kept a low profile. No big parties and no famous women to land him in the gossip columns. Actually,

that part had been a relief. He didn’t miss the endless chatter and constant photo ops, but he did miss

the sex. He stared at the milk shake on the table, knowing he was putting off the inevitable. He had to

taste it. It was going to be fantastic, and he was going to have an erection all night.

He picked up the spoon, resigned to his fate, and dug in.

A groan ripped from his throat as the tart, sweet blackberry melded with the nutty pistachios. Of

course it had to be pistachios, his favorite. He took another bite, uncovering a chocolate chip the size

of a quarter. He dug to reach it, moaning softly under his breath at the sheer goodness coating his

tongue. It was an incredible combination, inspiring and invigorating. The blackberry was lively. The

pistachio was mysterious. The purple and green looked killer together and the chocolate added just

the note of satisfying richness to make it a perfect dessert, his perfect dessert. She’d made this for

him. Brat. He might be able to whip up some cookies but Jenna knew damn well he didn’t have time

to fool with making homemade ice cream. That’s probably why she’d made it, so she could lord it

over him and try to force him to hire her out of sheer gluttony. He’d kill to have one of these milk

shakes waiting for him at the end of every shift.

“Enjoying yourself?” Max’s mocking voice brought him out of his reverie. “I could use some help

in the kitchen tonight.”

Roman didn’t look up. “Bugger off. I’m busy.”

“I see that.” Max snagged a cookie and took a bite. “Mmm.”

Roman tugged the plate away from him. “Mine.”

“Uh-huh. I gathered that from your territorial behavior toward our newest employee. You all but

peed on her leg. Really, bro, I get it. I’ll wait until you’re done with her, but you can at least share her

cookies.”

Roman shot to his feet, milk shake in hand.

Max grinned, neatly snagging the plate of cookies from the table. “God, you’re so easy,” he said

over his shoulder as he headed back toward the kitchen.

Feeling a little foolish, Roman followed. On the way, he caught the gaze of a server and jerked his

head toward the table covered with Jenna’s desserts. “We have new desserts tonight. Make sure

everybody tastes them and if you have any questions, ask them in the next fifteen minutes.” From the

looks of the rapidly filling dining room, they might actually be busy tonight.

…

Jenna stalked out the back door of the Beach House and headed for the water. She dropped her

toolbox on the sand and ripped her chef coat open. The cloth buttons easily gave way, and she

shrugged out of it, dumping it on top of her box as she bent to roll up her checked pants. She stepped

out of her clogs and walked toward the ocean.

Bastard.

She’d nailed those desserts. Why had he said no?

She strode back to her toolbox, opened it, and extracted a purloined, parchment-wrapped cupcake.

She held it up to her nose. Cinnamon, oats, butter, and the too-sweet scent of marshmallow took

nostalgia to a whole new level. She’d been eating an oatmeal cream pie for an afternoon snack when

Cole had brought Roman home the first time. They’d slammed through the door, and her mouth had

been full. She’d swallowed too quickly, embarrassed to be caught snarfing junk food by the golden

god suddenly appearing in her kitchen. Her face had blazed and she’d been sure her freshly erupted

chin zit was a swelling beacon of uncoolness. It hadn’t mattered since he’d barely noticed her. They’d

shot out the back door, taking the box of treats with them. She heard the bounce of a basketball in the

garage, then fading up the street toward the park.

She took a bite of the cupcake, relishing the sweet sting of hopeless love. She’d been blindsided

that day and many days thereafter when he’d come home with Cole. She took another bite, evaluating

the cake, the streusel, the filling, wondering if it wasn’t quite as good as she had first thought. She

found it satisfying in every way—which brought her back to square one. Why hadn’t he offered her a

job when her desserts were way better than the crap he was serving on the menu?

She refused to believe it was because of money. He had plenty. More likely he saw her as nothing

more than Cole’s little sister instead of an accomplished chef.

Jenna sighed. Maybe professionalism had been the wrong approach altogether. Given his

reputation, she should have waltzed in the door wearing nothing but high heels and a smile. Maybe

that would have convinced him.

She slid her cell phone out of her pocket and sent a short text to Lila and Betsy, her culinary school

soul sisters. Crashed and burned.

The rapid ping of responses made her smile through her tears. She wasn’t as alone as she felt.

Lila’s response was typically supportive. Not possible. Betsy, as usual, wanted more information.

What happened?

He doesn’t want my desserts. Nothing else to bargain with. Suggestions?

Fresh out. She wasn’t surprised. Lila had her hands full creating a menu for a soon-to-open New

York restaurant while torturing the jackass chef as much as possible.

Did you tell him about Cooper’s? Which is what Betsy had been suggesting all along.

He turned me down before I got the chance.

You have to tell him. And then make him an offer he can’t refuse. Naked? Betsy’s response suited

her hometown of New Orleans and was curiously in sync with the thought that had just crossed her

mind…

This ain’t over yet. I’ll keep you posted.

She tucked her phone into her pocket and lifted her face to the breeze, filling every corner of her

lungs with the scent of salt, and wet, living things. The sun was heading for the horizon and the beach

had a warm glow. Her spirits lifted as the last rays of the day warmed her face, chest, and arms. In a

minute, the breeze would overwhelm the sun, and she’d have to put her jacket back on, but for now,

she would revel in the freedom of being far from home and facing the infinity of the ocean. She might

be a long way from Lambertville and the banks of the Delaware River, but with her feet rooted in the

sand and the endless waves of the Pacific rolling up to kiss her ankles, she felt anything was possible.

She’d been shaken by his refusal, but she wasn’t giving up.

Naked, huh? Her heart fluttered and she bit her lip. She had another opportunity to convince Roman

to hire her at the beach party tonight. If she could just get him alone, she could give it another shot…

and make damn sure he never thought of her as Cole’s little sister again.

Chapter Two

“You coming to the party?” Max had a six-pack in his hand.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Alone in the kitchen, Roman mentally kicked himself for the

umpteenth time that night. Inviting Jenna to the party had been idiotic. If he was going to see her again,

it should be in broad daylight, surrounded by people who knew he didn’t seduce his employees.

She isn’t my employee.

But she’s still Cole’s little sister, the better half of him protested.

He groaned aloud. Was he really standing here arguing with himself?

Grabbing a bottle of wine and two plastic cups, he followed Max out the door, trying not to

remember the touch of Jenna’s hand, her lips on his cheek, or the way her desserts had made his

mouth water and his body crave satisfaction. The beach spread out before him like a slippery slope.

“Tell me again why you didn’t hire that pastry chef?” Max asked when Roman caught up with him

outside.

“Don’t start.”

“Dude, we blew through every single one of her desserts. I made as many Beach Warmers to go as

I made entrées. She’s a genius.”

“Anybody can make hot chocolate and cookies. I’ll show you tomor—” He saw Jenna walking

toward them and sucked in a stunned breath.

Beside him, Max chuckled. “I understand why you didn’t hire her now, and I commend you, even if

I don’t share your scruples about sleeping around at work. The only thing that could possibly be better

than eating her desserts is eating—”

Roman shot an elbow into his side, making Max laugh harder as he headed down the beach.

The crowd was strung out in loose groups across the Boardwalk, but the sound of guitars, laughter,

and the rush of waves faded into the background as Jenna moved toward him.

She was wearing jeans and some sort of black, lacy corset that showcased her magnificent breasts

underneath a half-zipped jacket. The contrast between her bundled up body and her exposed cleavage

was obscene—and electrifying. Every man she passed continued to stare.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he demanded.

“Clothes.”

“That’s not a shirt. It’s a walking invitation to steal second base.”

“Oh, please. Not everyone thinks of me as a kid sister.” She rolled her eyes. “Where’s your sense

of fun?”

His jaw dropped. Every cell of his body wanted to show her how much fun he could be. He closed

his eyes, drawing long, slow, deep breaths until he felt he could speak without saying something he

would regret.

“Max looks like he’s having fun.” Her laugh was soft and far too close for comfort.

He opened his eyes to see Max with three women in bikinis racing for the water. She unzipped her

jacket and shrugged out of it. “Looks like a good idea to me. I wore my suit, just in case.”

She sauntered across the Boardwalk, heading for the water.

He stared after her.

Half of him wanted to find a blanket and cover her from head to foot. The other half of him, the half

that was holding a bottle of wine, wanted to be under that blanket with her. She’s all grown up. As if

reading his mind, she glanced over her shoulder in unmistakable invitation before she stepped out of

her shoes and slowly pushed her jeans over her hips and down to her ankles. His gaze slipped over

the sexy ties of her corset, down to her perfect ass, barely covered by a black bikini bottom. Her hair

caught the moonlight, glowing as she waded into the water.

“Fuck it.” He was going in. It would be just his luck she’d get caught in the undertow and drown.

Her brother would kill him.

Jogging to the beach, he set the wine down in the sand next to her clothes. Swiftly, he stripped

down to his boardshorts, leaving his belongings in a heap next to hers. The water was cold, but he

barely felt it. Max and the women giggled a little farther out. Jenna was in up to her thighs, shrieking

with laughter every time a wave hit.

“Not too far out,” he warned. “It’s all fun and games until somebody drowns.”

“Spoilsport.” She bent down and splashed him with icy water.

“Undertow.” He thrashed toward her.

She moved into deeper water, and he gave chase. When he reached her side, he swept her feet out

from under her with his leg and caught her in his arms. He lifted her above the water. “Give me one

good reason not to dunk you,” he threatened.

She clung to his shoulders. “I’ll tell my mother.”

“Liar.” He allowed her feet to slide back into the water, but he didn’t let her go.

She wouldn’t tell her mother, just as he hadn’t contacted Cole when she arrived. The push and pull

had been going on inside him all night, and he should have texted her brother by now. Instead he was

half-naked on the beach, holding her in his arms. Guilt flared, but it wasn’t strong enough to

overpower the hot pleasure of touching her. He smoothed his hands down her back, fitting her cold

body into the curve of his.

No. I can’t do this.

Then she pressed closer, sliding her hands up his chest to caress his shoulders, and he forgot why

he wasn’t supposed to touch her. He clasped her waist, keeping them balanced against the breaking

waves. The subtle shift of her hips told him she was aware of his erection, insistent despite the cold

water. All grown up… Stark desire tightened his grip as he fought the urge to haul her into the air and

wrap her legs around his waist. The need to kiss her was dizzying, almost blinding. He bent his head,

seeing flashes of blue and red, a pop of white.

A whisper before their lips touched, she gasped. “Roman, police!”

The panic in her voice broke through his haze of lust.

“Shit.” Getting caught swimming after hours on the beach probably wasn’t a good idea when he

was trying to prove he was responsible enough to run the company. He grabbed her hand and pulled

her through the water, moving parallel to the shore. If they could get far enough down the beach, they

could slip away from the drama. She pulled him back the other way.

“Our clothes,” she reminded him. “Keys. Phone. Wallet.”

“Right.” He pointed down the beach. “My house is that way. Keep moving. I’ll grab our stuff.”

As he moved toward the sand, he saw a bonfire a short ways up the beach and cursed. No wonder

the cops had arrived. There were only a couple of beaches in Los Angeles that permitted fires, and

Venice was not one of them. The cops might have ignored the illegal party, but not a fire. He bent to

snatch their clothes and the wine out of the sand. He slipped back toward the ocean.

Jenna was fast and had almost reached the cut through to his house by the time he caught up with

her. He handed over her jeans and shoes and struggled into his own. “This way.” They crossed the

Boardwalk, and then Speedway, and scurried up the blocks to his house. He opened the privacy gate

and motioned her through. When they reached the porch, he set her jacket and the wine on a chair so

he could locate his keys. “Come on, let’s get you warm.”

She paused at the door. “I’m covered in sand.”

He shrugged. “Welcome to the beach. I’ll clean it up later.”

Still, she bent to brush at her jeans. He should do the same, but instead he watched her. The lust that

had gripped him in the water returned full force as her breasts nearly popped out of her top. She took

off her shoes and whisked sand from her feet, making him grit his teeth and clench his fists. Her gaze

darted to his legs.

“Here, let me.” Before he could step away, she crouched in front of him, brushing sand from his

pants. He was half-hard already and the sight of her in perfect blow job position did him in. Any

second she was going to glance up and…

A sultry smile tilted her lips as her hands slid slowly up his thighs. With shock, he realized she was

teasing him deliberately. He reached down to grasp her shoulders and then hauled her to her feet. “In

you go, Goldilocks.” He unlocked the door and opened it.

She didn’t budge. “Enough with the fairy tales, unless you want to play Big Bad Wolf.”

Her words were bold, but a shiver shook her shoulders. She was gritting her teeth, probably to

keep them from chattering. He took a step closer to her, crowding her in the doorway. Attraction

crackled between them, so intense he shuddered, too. The desire to take her into the house, strip her

down, and warm her up with something other than a hot shower and a stiff drink was almost

irresistible, but this was Jenna. She deserved better than that. “Get in the house. You’re freezing.”

She didn’t move. “I beg to differ. I’m actually feeling pretty hot.”

She was hot all right, but her lips were turning blue. Her thin smile faltered, and he glimpsed

something in her dark eyes that looked like doubt. Why was she pressing on when she was clearly

uncomfortable? A chill skated down his already cold spine. Was she standing on his porch in fetish

wear because he had refused to hire her? Had she guessed he was attracted to her and was trying to

use it to her advantage? Did she think he was that easy?

She should know better than to play games with a guy like him, and he was tempted to teach her a

lesson.

He let the door slam shut. Her eyes widened as he flattened her against the side of the house and

grabbed a fistful of her damp curls. He drew her head back, baring her throat. Her breasts pressed

against his chest and her hips cradled his thigh. He stared down at her mouth, watched her tongue

flick out to wet her lips, and wanted to lick them himself. If she were anyone else, they’d have been

naked by now. He’d be kissing her, tasting her, burying himself inside her, but Jenna wasn’t a

meaningless one-night stand. A hot wave of frustration arced through him.

He brought his free hand up to lightly clasp her throat. “To little girls like you, I am the Big Bad

Wolf,” he growled. “Tempt me, and I’ll eat you.”

She swallowed, hard, against his hand, but her eyes flashed. “Promises, promises.”

His body tightened. She had to know she was playing with fire. What was her agenda? She grasped

his arms and rose up on her toes, lifting one bent leg to brush his hip, bringing their hips into perfect

contact. He released her hair and grabbed her thigh, crushing her body to his. “You are playing a

dangerous game.”

She shook her head. “Not a game,” she whispered.

He didn’t believe her. Her soft body fit tightly against his hard-on, their jeans providing little

barrier. His cock throbbed in the cradle of her thighs, and she rocked against him, making him even

harder. She had him pegged—he was that easy. But he had her pegged, too. She was up to something,

and he wasn’t above playing dirty to get her to tell him what it was.

…

Jenna’s heart pounded. This was better than any of her fantasies, even though she was freezing her ass

off. Hypothermia seemed a small price to pay for being half-naked and wrapped around Roman.

She’d been so desperate to kiss him on the beach, she’d almost ignored the cops but now she was

glad she hadn’t. Being alone with him at his house was a dream come true.

He reached down to grip her other thigh and lifted her into the air. She clutched his shoulders for

balance and wrapped her legs around his waist as he flung open the front door and carried her into the

house. He released her legs and she slid slowly to the floor. She couldn’t prevent a reflexive shiver

as the warmer temperature of his house began to thaw her chill.

“Still not cold?” He raised one eyebrow, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

She shook her head. “Definitely not.” Why wasn’t he kissing her yet? He couldn’t possibly move

this slowly with women all the time, considering his wild reputation.

She pressed closer, reassured when she felt his erection, hard against her belly. Linking her fingers

behind his neck, she tugged him down until they were so close any movement, even speaking, would

bring their lips together. Then she kissed him.

He took control, and triumph soared through her, a sunburst of heat that weakened her knees. His

mouth was hard, and his hands moved roughly over her, lighting fires. There was no awkward

bumping of noses or teeth, no tentative exploration that gave her too much time to wonder if she was

doing it right. His lips took hers, tongue thrusting in an aggressive rhythm that echoed the instinctive

movement of her pelvis against his thigh. He cupped her buttocks, moving her back and forth on his

leg in blatant encouragement. She held him tighter, whimpering when his fingers found the hook-and-

eye closures on the side of the corset she’d purchased at the Hustler store in Hollywood after dinner.

She held still, expecting him to fumble. When he skillfully popped open the long line of hooks, she

couldn’t stifle a gasp. Of course he would know how to unfasten lingerie. She pushed away thoughts

of how much experience it would take to learn how to strip a woman this fast and focused on the fact

she was with him tonight.

Unease stole through her, and she shivered. Now that the moment had arrived, she was nervous.

Damn it, this never happens in my fantasies. She held her breath as he popped the last hook,

suppressing an urge to grab the edges of the corset and hold it together. Roman lifted his head. His

eyes were hot and his jaw was tight. God, she hoped he couldn’t tell she was nervous. She wanted

this, no matter what her stupid nerves were saying. Resolutely, she grasped the front of her corset and

tugged it away from her body.

His gaze dipped to her breasts. A low groan rippled through his body as he crushed her to his chest.

She felt him throb against her belly, and a sharp jolt of answering arousal surged through her. He bent

to take her mouth again, caressing her breast with one hand and tangling the other in her hair. She

went mindless, every half-formed reservation vanishing in a puff of hot smoke as his thumb brushed

back and forth over the tip of her breast, the delicious friction shooting heat to her belly and between

her thighs. He released her hair and cupped her ass, lifting her against the wall. He balanced her

midair, thrusting one leg between hers. The slight movement of his hips kept time with the teasing

thrusts of his tongue, making her burn.

She gripped his shoulders. “Roman, please…”

He froze and then stepped back, growling. Her feet hit the floor, and he caught her around the waist,

steadying her. “Come on.”

She followed him to a red leather couch. He tugged her down to sit beside him, but made no move

to continue what they had started. In spite of their closeness, she felt distance growing between them

with every second that passed. Gathering her courage, she slid into his lap and straddled his hips,

meeting his cool blue stare. “Where were we?” She arched her back, angling her breasts toward his

mouth. Her nipples tightened, prickling at the soft caress of his breath.

“Discussing what brought you to California.” His voice was strained.

She blinked. “Are you sure? I thought we were fooling around.” To illustrate her point, she rocked

her hips against his erection. Her bathing suit slipped wetly beneath her jeans, and she moaned softly.

She bent to kiss him.

His hands gripped her thighs, stopping her descent. “Why are you here, Jenna?”

Arousal was making it difficult to keep track of the conversation. The proof of his desire was heady

and empowering. It was hard to focus on anything but the ache building inside her.

She pressed forward, but he leaned back, squeezing her legs. “Answer the question.”

Her first thought was to tell him Cooper’s needed help, but his earlier rebuff still stung. She wanted

him to see her as an equal. “I want to work for you.”

Actually, she wanted more than that right now. She held her breath as his hand slid up her leg to the

sensitive spot where her leg met her hip.

“Is that why you came to the beach tonight? To convince me to hire you?”

Not entirely. His thumb brushed across the front of her jeans in a light caress that made her unable

to speak. It wasn’t enough. She needed more. She pressed into him, rubbing against his hard length.

Abruptly, he released her.

Her eyes popped open and she found him glaring up at her, hands balled into fists at his sides. “Just

how far are you willing to go for a job?” His voice was cold, chilling her.

Shock paralyzed her for an endless second. Then she scrambled out of his lap. She’d been

shameless with lust, begging for his touch, while he objectively analyzed her motivation and pumped

her for info? He’d been toying with her? The heat of her arousal turned to fury, and she sat up straight

on the couch to let him have it, but her bouncing breasts made her cheeks flame. “I would never use

sex to get a job, you bastard.” She crossed her arms, hiding her nipples with her palms, and glared at

him.

He shrugged. “You’re right—I am a bastard. But I gave you every opportunity to stop me. Now why

don’t you tell me why you are really in California? You don’t need to work for me—your family

owns a restaurant.” He tossed her a quilt from the back of the couch, and she mentally impaled him

with a dozen dull paring knives while she wrapped it around her body. If he thought she was going to

have a heart-to-heart chat with him after what he’d just done, he was dead wrong. She stood to leave,

but he caught the end of the blanket and tugged, sending her sprawling back onto the couch. “You’re

not going anywhere yet. Start talking, Goldilocks.”

She huddled under the blanket, trying to figure out her best course of action. Oh, God. What have I

done? To her horror, hot tears overflowed her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She ducked her head,

but Roman caught her chin, forcing her gaze to his. Her tears fell faster when she saw his expression,

and her memory flashed to the one time he and Cole had let her shoot hoops with them. They’d teased

her mercilessly, keeping the ball from her until she’d been desperate to show them she could steal it

and send it flying toward the hoop for a three-point shot. Instead, she’d tripped and skinned her knee

and Roman had looked at her just like this, with regret and apology. How dare he make her feel even

more humiliated? She wasn’t a child anymore.

She jerked her chin out of his grip.

He raised an eyebrow. “Should I call Cole and ask him what you’re doing in Venice Beach?”

Anxiety and dread shot through her. Cole thought she was in Burbank. “Please don’t tell Cole.”

“Why?”

She sighed, deciding the truth was her only option. “Mom and Dad are on the verge of losing

Cooper’s. They don’t want him to know how bad it’s gotten. He’d insist on coming to help, and his

wife is pregnant. Cole and Angela can’t spare any money, and they can’t afford to lose his cushy nine-

to-five job with health benefits, either.”

From the look on Roman’s face, she knew she’d really put her foot in it now. “I’m not asking for

money,” she quickly assured him. “My family thinks I’m out here because I won a paid internship at

Whole Wheat. But you’re so good at turning around struggling restaurants, I thought I could use your

advice to save Cooper’s. It’s been running in the red for over a year, and Mom and Dad want to sell.

It’s going to kill them to lose the restaurant, and I thought…I hoped…”

“Money? You think I’m worried you want a loan? I’d do anything to help your family.” His gaze

narrowed. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I don’t want a loan. I want to learn how to save Cooper’s. I knew you were busy with the

Beach House, and when I saw your dessert menu I thought we could help each other out for a while. I

know you still think of me as a kid, but I can hold my own in the kitchen, Ro.” But she’d let her idiotic

hormones distract her from her purpose. “I was trying to make you see I’d grown up.”

The scorn on his face made her flinch. “By taking off your clothes? Your logic defies description.”

She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket tighter around her body, wishing she could disappear.

No doubt Roman would tell Cole, who would tell her parents. No one would be surprised by her

impulsive behavior. Typical Jenna move , she could hear Cole saying. She’d wanted to prove she

could be part of a solution, but instead she had created yet another problem…as usual. She’d also

managed to make herself look cheap to the man who haunted her dreams.

Roman stood, and then stalked out of the room. She heard the front door slam. For a second, she

wanted to chase after him and admit her crush, just so she didn’t seem like a complete floozy, but she

couldn’t bear to see pity in his eyes again. He didn’t want her. He likely would have gotten hard for

any naked woman throwing herself into his lap. What had he said? I gave you every opportunity to

stop me. Oh God, that meant he’d known her plan the entire time, probably since the minute she

arrived on the beach tonight wearing that stupid corset.

Roman returned with her jacket. “Get dressed. I’m taking you home.”

He left, presumably to find a shirt. She struggled into her jacket, zipped it up to her chin, and then

folded the quilt. She stuffed the corset under her arm and slipped into her shoes, tempted to slip out

the front door alone and try to find a taxi, but Roman appeared in the hall before she could escape.

He was silent as he led her around the side of the house to a sleek Mercedes convertible. She met

his gaze as he opened the door, expecting to see anger. What she saw made her feel so much worse—

hurt.

Guilt tightened her throat, making it difficult to speak. “I’m sorry, Roman.” She slid into the car and

buckled her seat belt.

“I wish you had just said you needed help.” He slammed the door.

She watched him walk around the front of the car. His profile was stern, jaw tight and lips firm.

She remembered his masterful kiss, and heat flashed through her. Pathetic. He’d rejected her, and she

still wanted him. Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the longing that rolled through her in a poignant

wave of not gonna happen. She turned to look out the window as he slid in beside her.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, starting the car.

She told him and he pulled out into the road, heading toward Mar Vista where she had rented a

room from a single mother with an adorable seven-year-old daughter. The silence grew until she

wanted to open the door and dive out of the car. Finally, they reached the house, and she tugged on the

door handle. Finding it locked, she glanced over at him.

“Come to the Beach House tomorrow at noon, and we’ll figure something out. Some of my happiest

holiday memories happened at Cooper’s, and your family means a lot to me. I’ll do what I can.”

Jenna forced herself to give him a brief smile, even though her heart ached. “For the record, I wish

I had just asked for help, too. Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.” The locks released with a dismissive

thunk, so she got out of the car, closing the door behind her.

Because she wanted to run, she walked slowly up the path and let herself into the house. A shower

would wash away the sand, but the humiliation was going to stick with her. Still, if she had a shot at

saving the restaurant, it was more than she deserved after the stunt she had pulled tonight. It was time

to forget her crush and behave like an adult, which is what she should have done in the first place.

Facing Roman was going to be hell tomorrow, but she would do it—for Cooper’s.

Chapter Three

Roman dropped a pound of butter into the bowl and turned the mixer on. It stuck to the paddle and

spun around in a solid lump while the sugar stayed on the bottom, barely mixing. He frowned, head

pounding in time with the whirling paddle, and stared down into the bowl. Cursing, he turned off the

motor and grabbed a spatula, ramming it into the butter and breaking it into several pieces. He turned

the mixer back on, and the ingredients began to spin together.

See? Baking isn’t so hard.

Unlike controlling himself last night when Jenna told him why she’d come to California. Just the

thought of how he’d teased the information out of her made him feel sick and angry again. He was

easy, but he wasn’t an asshole. Or maybe he was, because the memory of her on his lap kept flashing

back to him, and every time it did, blood shot south in a hard rush. Dammit, why hadn’t she just told

him she needed help?

His cell phone chimed in his pocket. When he checked the display and saw a text from Cole, guilt

made him suck air through his teeth in a sharp hiss. Hey, pal—Jenna’s in LA. Pretty sure she used to

have a crush on you. If she looks you up, be nice but HANDS OFF!

He turned off the mixer and braced his hand on the top of the machine, shoulders sagging. Too late.

A crush? Shit. He took a resolute breath, wincing as his head throbbed. He’d drunk most of that bottle

of wine by himself after dropping Jenna off last night and woken up on the couch with a pounding

headache and a crick in his neck. Well-deserved pain, he thought as he typed in a complete lie. No

problem.

He glanced at the clock. Almost noon—she’d be here any minute.

But first he had to get these cookies in the oven. He added the eggs, and the mixture curdled right

before his eyes.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, turning the speed to high.

He heard a throat clear. “I think you skipped a step.”

He spun around, then regretted it as pain made him grunt.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jenna asked.

“Nothing.” Nothing more ibuprofen can’t fix.

He turned back to his cookie dough and added flour, relieved when the mixture smoothed out. He

took the bowl off the mixer and grabbed a small ice cream scoop, taking extra care to portion the

cookies evenly since she was watching his every move. When he finally glanced up, her lips were

pressed together and her nose was wrinkled, as if she had a juicy secret and had been sworn to

silence. “What? You want to say something?”

She lifted her chin. “Nope.” Warm fire lit her eyes, and the spark it kindled inside him increased

his irritation.

“Good.” He scraped the last bit of dough from the bottom of the bowl and dropped it onto the

cookie sheet. The stuff at the bottom wasn’t quite as smooth as the dough at the top, but it would all

even out during baking.

“How did my desserts sell last night?” she asked as he slid the tray into the oven.

He gave her a narrow glare. “Would I be baking if we didn’t need desserts? We sold everything, a

fact I would have been happy to share with you last night if you hadn’t—”

She held up her hand. “Please don’t make this any harder than it already is, even if I deserve it.”

Her voice quavered a little but her gaze was steady. “I can explain.”

He’d been trying not to stare at her, just stealing a couple of quick glances because he couldn’t

seem to stop himself, but now he really looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and had dark

circles under them. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, looking like a harsh word might

send her sprinting out of the kitchen. For a minute, he was tempted to let her have it. If she left, he

wouldn’t have to fight the bizarre need to comfort her.

She took a deep breath. As she let it out, she closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened

them, her gaze was raw and vulnerable. “I want to be the one to save Cooper’s. If I just told you what

was going on, you’d pat me on the head and call Cole or my parents and figure it out with them. I’m

sick of everyone thinking I’m too young and inexperienced to help just because I tend to make

spontaneous decisions.” Color bloomed in her cheeks.

He stifled a chuckle. “I don’t know why anyone would think that.”

“I can save Cooper’s. I know it.”

Her truculent expression tugged at his heart. Yesterday she’d teased him about his cooking, familiar

ground for them because she’d always insulted his efforts in her family’s kitchen. Last night, she’d

thrown him a curve ball by stripping on the beach, then knocked him out with her passionate response

on his couch, but he knew how to handle sexual situations. He didn’t know how to counter honesty

and vulnerability, and he couldn’t stay mad at her, either. He knew what it felt like to have something

to prove.

She sighed. “I admit I mucked it up. I should have thought it through and been honest with you. I

wanted your help, but I didn’t want you to just give it to me…I wanted to earn it.” She looked

chagrined as the double entendre hit home. “I don’t mean that like it sounds, considering what

happened last night.” She glanced toward the oven, and her lips curved. “But you really do need a

pastry chef. Let me at least train someone for a few weeks in exchange for your advice.”

His gaze followed hers. “Is that your subtle way of telling me I should check on my cookies?”

“Check all you want. It’s not going to help.” Her grin widened.

He bent to open the oven and saw she was right. He didn’t have cookies anymore. He had a flat tray

of contiguous batter that looked runny in some spots and crunchy in others. “Son of a bitch.”

She giggled. “I recommend you finish baking it and then make chocolate chip cookie ice cream. Or

streusel. You might be able to use it as the crust for a cheesecake, but I don’t think you’re going to be

able to sell it as cookies, not even bar cookies.”

He heard footsteps on the other side of the line but didn’t get the oven door shut fast enough.

“Nice work, Chef.” Max whistled, sliding his knife roll onto the counter. “You making pancakes in

the oven again?”

“Shut up,” Roman growled. “Where’s T-Bird?”

“Right here, dude.” His prep cook stepped onto the line. “Something smells awesome. Can we eat

it?”

“Roman made cookies.” Max grimaced. “I doubt it.”

“Bogus.”

Roman opened his mouth to retort, but his phone rang, the shrill summons sending a bolt of agony

through his tender skull. He looked at the display and sighed. Of course.

He punched a button. “Hang on, Mom.” To Jenna, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

“What’s up?” he asked, walking down the hall to the office.

“You are, Roman. All over the Internet. There’s a picture of you on the beach cavorting with a

blonde. Right next to a police report.” His mother’s voice was whip sharp.

“Wait…what?” He sat down at the desk and reached for the keyboard, tapping a quick Google

search. He winced to see himself in profile with an obvious erection holding Jenna above the water.

Clearly someone had snapped a shot of them before the police arrived. Thank God the photo only

showed the back of Jenna’s head since it pretty much displayed the rest of her.

“You know I’m trying to get a backer for Oasis, Roman. It’s my last project, and it means

everything to me, but no one is going to believe I can create a retreat for celebrities who want to stay

out of the limelight when my son is paparazzi catnip. Our name has become synonymous with

publicity, in large part because of your social life. I thought sending you out of town would cool your

jets a little, but goddamn it, Roman, that picture is everywhere. What’s next? The LA Times? What is

it going to take to get you on board with the direction this company is taking? I can’t hand you the

reins when you clearly need both hands to keep your pants on.”

Her voice softened, but only a little. “I spent an entire week prepping a twenty-course meal to

impress Jefferson Morgan, a man who has more money than God. Every plate was exquisite. The

dinner went off without a hitch last night. When a courier arrived this morning, I assumed it was an

offer to back Oasis. Or at the very least, a thank-you note.”

From the catch in her voice, he had to assume it was neither. “What was it?”

“Flowers. With that awful picture of you folded up in a nice little rectangle in the florist’s

envelope. And an invitation to dinner.”

He sucked in a harsh breath. “That bastard.”

“To say the least. Honestly, I don’t know whether he wants to kill the deal or is hoping my morals

are as flexible as my son’s.” She sighed. “Could you please try to behave yourself? You’re making

my retirement more difficult than I was anticipating.”

What did she mean by that? He’d been working his ass off right beside her since he was five, trying

to take some weight off her shoulders. He’d accomplished every task she’d put before him and met

every goal she’d ever set. Behave? She might guard her privacy and avoid the press like the plague,

but she’d often said his notoriety brought customers into the restaurant. Men wanted to be him, and

women wanted to see him. Hell, free publicity for Gallagher Holdings was the reason he partied so

hard in the first place.

“I have more news,” she continued before he could protest. “Alex Banks is running the event at the

Castle in Las Vegas. When she came on board, she made changes, and we weren’t told. You’re doing

the dessert course.”

“Are you kidding me? You know I can’t bake worth a crap. The menu has been set for six months

and the dinner is next week. I’m doing the appetizer.” He and Alex had a history, one she wasn’t

willing to let go. He bet she’d deliberately stuck him with dessert, remembering it was his weakest

skill in the kitchen.

“Not anymore. Wires must have gotten crossed somewhere. The dessert course is the only one left,

and Jefferson Morgan will be there. Come up with something spectacular.” Her tone of voice told him

arguing wasn’t going to change a damn thing. He was doing dessert. Deal with it.

He took a deep breath. “Fine. Dessert. It will be spectacular,” he promised, not wanting his mother

to think he couldn’t handle it even though he’d rather give her the damned money himself than make

dessert for two hundred people. But she was dead set on finding an outside investor for Oasis. God

forbid she make anything easy. He turned his head and felt something snap. Tingling pain shot from

the center of his shoulder blade to the base of his skull. “Gotta go, Mom.” Because my head is going

to explode.

“One last thing—how’s it going at the Beach House?” Naturally, she’d want to know if he had

trimmed the food costs and if they had any customers yet.

He fought to keep resentment out of his voice. “I’ve got a plan for a new menu that will make us the

biggest thing on the beach. It’s all under control. Anything else?”

“I guess that’s it.”

“Great.” He hung up before she could change her mind or tell him to behave again.

Maybe Jenna could help plan the Vegas dessert before she goes home. The thought came out of

nowhere, and he gave it a full thirty seconds of thought before he rejected it. Nope. No can do. What

had he been thinking last night? He’d been thinking he wanted to touch her breasts. He’d been thinking

he wanted to slide his fingers into her panties. He’d been thinking he wanted to spread her legs, and

he still couldn’t believe he’d found the strength to stop. Even if he did need a pastry chef more than he

needed his next breath, Jenna Cooper was not an option. She was too much temptation.

And he wasn’t good enough for her. She was the type who needed romance and flowers. He was

more the one-night stand, forget to call type. It wouldn’t work.

Unless…

He hired her, thereby making her off-limits. Roman’s father had owned the first restaurant where

his mother had worked, and he’d fired her when she told him she was pregnant. She’d gotten her

revenge—buying his restaurant when it was in foreclosure five years later—but the lesson had been

instilled in Roman from birth. Don’t sleep where you eat. Roman didn’t have many rules, but that one

was set in stone. Since everyone knew his policy, he’d have a half dozen watchdogs at the Beach

House.

And if that didn’t stop him, the thought of Cole kicking his ass across the Pacific would.

He’d be an idiot not to hire her, especially since he’d already promised to help her with Cooper’s.

Her desserts were the real deal, and she was fast. She hadn’t made the few individual items he’d

been expecting for the tasting yesterday. She’d made dozens, enough for the entire night, and she’d

done it in a three-foot-by-two-foot space in an unfamiliar kitchen and stayed out of the way as they

prepped for service. She also seemed to have marketing sense. She’d gotten her finger on the pulse of

Venice Beach in record time—or at least, he hoped she had, since he was taking her advice about the

menu. But could she create a spectacular dessert for Vegas? The high rollers would expect culinary

entertainment, and cookies and cupcakes weren’t going to cut it. Cookies.

He got to his feet, rubbing the side of his neck to ease the tight muscles, and headed for the line. He

slowed as he caught sight of the misshapen blob cooling in the window and Jenna laughing. She was

stirring a pot on the stove, and the guys moved around her with ease, as if she were already part of the

kitchen. If he hired her, he wouldn’t have to bake any more cookies. He could eat her cookies—his

brain stalled at that image—every day. He could keep a low profile and focus on reworking the menu

so the Beach House would turn a profit.

By the time his mother clinched the Oasis deal, the Beach House would be in the black, the Vegas

event would be over, and Jenna would have all the information she needed to reinvent Cooper’s—

plus a good-sized interest-free loan he would insist she accept on her parents’ behalf.

It was a perfect solution—everyone would win.

As long as he could resist his desire to gobble her up.

Jenna turned her head, and their eyes caught. Her caramel-colored gaze filled him with heat. The

sounds of the kitchen faded into the background as they stared at each other. She was as neatly put

together as she had been yesterday, but he knew what lay beneath that pristine chef coat now. The

memory of her sweet lips and her body fitting perfectly into the curve of his made him imagine being

inside her, moving with her, driving her toward release. He grew hard, every muscle tense and aching

to finish what they had started last night.

A timer went off, breaking into his fantasy, and he remembered Cole’s text. Had Jenna really had a

crush on him? If so, it put a new spin on what had happened last night, but not on what was going to

happen in the future. He was certainly capable of keeping his pants on and his hands off his

employees.

He gave her a curt nod as he stepped onto the line. “You’re hired.”

…

Jenna’s heart pounded as she dragged the spoon back and forth across the bottom of the saucepot. The

steamy look from Roman had turned her knees to jelly, and the two words he’d just spoken had done

the same thing to her brain. Luckily, she didn’t have to think to cook.

“Hot, coming through,” she warned, giving the vanilla bean crème anglaise a final stir and

wrapping a towel around the handle of the pot. She picked it up and poured the sauce through a

strainer into a bain-marie. Then she tucked it into the waiting ice bath and gave Roman a tentative

smile. “I was hoping you’d say that, so I got a jump on the desserts for tonight. Your cookies have an

unusual texture, but they’ll be delicious in ice cream. Want some when it’s done?”

He scowled at her. “No, thanks.” He stalked over to the salad station to stare at a menu taped on the

wall. T-Bird stepped to the side to make room for him, head bobbing in time to the music pouring out

of his earbuds as he peeled potatoes.

Jenna was thrilled he’d changed his mind, but what had killed his mood so suddenly? Max caught

her eye and winked, then shot Roman a sly look. “Nice picture on the beach last night, you two.”

“What picture?” she asked.

“You didn’t see it? You’re even on TMZ.” Max pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the

screen. Jenna glanced down and gasped. The shot was small and grainy, but it was clearly her—big

hair, big boobs, and teeny bikini bottom—on Hollywood’s most popular gossip site.

“Fabulous,” she said faintly.

Roman glowered at them. “At least your face isn’t visible, and they didn’t print your name.”

“You’ve seen this?”

“Just now when my mother read me the riot act.”

That explained the mood swing. “It’s hardly the first time your picture has been splashed across the

Internet, party boy. I would have thought you’d be grinning ear to ear. Isn’t publicity a good thing? All

press is good press?”

“Not when she’s trying to convince a conservative billionaire to back her last big project. I’ve

been stashed at the beach until she convinces him my lurid reputation won’t jeopardize his

investment. Apparently, that picture has caused her a significant setback.” He sighed. “There’s no

help for it now, but she also informed me there’s been a change in plans for the charity dinner we’re

doing in Las Vegas next week. I have a chance to redeem myself.”

Max had returned his phone to his pocket and begun chopping onions. Now he looked up, raising

his eyebrows in a silent question.

“We’re doing the dessert.” Roman said the last word like it was a curse.

Max burst out laughing. “No wonder you hired Jenna. Otherwise, we’d be screwed.”

Roman flipped him the bird. Then he ripped the menu off the wall and stalked off the line.

Jenna stared after him.

“Be careful what you wish for, huh?” Max went back to chopping onions. “That charity event is

going to be an ass-kicker. At ten thousand bucks a table, they’re going to expect a stripper to pop out

of a cake…or at the very least a happy ending. Are you sorry you signed on now?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Last night she’d convinced herself she could focus on Cooper’s and forget about

her crush on Roman, but that was proving impossible today. Every time she looked at him, her pulse

jumped. In her fantasies, Roman was amazing, but her imagination had not done his make-out skills

justice. Even though she kept reminding herself of how the evening had ended, memories of his kisses

and the way his hands had set her on fire kept running through her mind. It wasn’t fair she’d spent ten

minutes kissing him and a dozen hours trying to forget the experience.

Clearly, he was still furious with her, and the look that had turned her to jelly a few minutes ago

probably hadn’t been the good kind of steamy at all. She carried her dirty dishes into the dish room,

wishing Lila and Betsy hadn’t been too busy for their usual Sunday conference call this morning. She

could have used some bolstering.

Gathering a stack of clean bowls and more butter, she returned to the line. Max was so right. Be

careful what you wish for. She had what she wanted—he’d hired her. But every moment working for

Roman was going to be torture if she couldn’t tease him, touch him, and laugh with him.

Max shot her a sideways look. “Speaking of happy endings, I saw you two sneaking down the

beach last night. I guess Roman got over his big brother complex pretty fast.”

“Not even close.” She felt her cheeks heat, even though she was used to small talk in kitchens

centering on food and sex. Did she have Hot for Roman emblazoned on her forehead?

Max patted his pocket. “Maybe I need to take another look at that picture. There was something

very…telling about his profile.”

She glanced up and saw mischief in his eyes, but also kindness. Max had been her champion when

she’d first arrived in the kitchen. Maybe he could help her put it in perspective. “I gave it my best

shot,” she admitted. “He said no.”

Max scoffed. “Roman doesn’t say no.”

“Marvelous.” She concentrated on cutting butter into half-inch cubes. “I must be really special.”

“No kidding.” His voice was thoughtful.

“You heard him yesterday—he thinks of me as Cole’s little sister.”

Max swept the onions into a six-pan and walked over to stand beside her. He put an arm around her

shoulders and squeezed. “See? This is brotherly.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pointed

at the picture. “Trust me, that’s not brotherly. He likes you.”

She scowled up at him. “You’re not helping me come to terms with rejection.”

He gave her another squeeze. “You don’t strike me as a quitter.”

The deliberate sound of a throat clearing drew her gaze to the other side of the line. “If you two are

finished hugging, I need to see Jenna in the office to fill out paperwork.” Roman’s voice was clipped

and his gaze was cold.

“Sure.” She tried to shrug out from beneath Max’s arm, but he held her clamped to his side until

Roman turned on his heel and headed down the hall, spine straight as an arrow.

“Thanks a lot,” she said.

“Just making my point. Did you see the look on his face? Totally jealous—not brotherly.” He gave

her braid a playful tug before he returned to his station.

“Why are you so interested in Roman’s love life anyway? You looked like you had plenty to keep

you busy in the ocean last night.”

Max’s gray eyes lost their gleam. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he

shrugged. “If Roman can find someone special, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us.” He blinked and

the mischief was back. “Or maybe I just want to see the West Coast playboy go down for the count so

I can take his place.”

She didn’t believe him for a minute.

Jenna left the line and walked down the hall, feeling like a fog was lifting. She’d spent most of the

night tossing and turning, doubting herself and feeling like an idiot for even thinking he would want

her. She had too much at stake to risk screwing up again, but…

What if Max was right? What if Roman wanted her and was just being stubborn? Her footsteps

slowed and she leaned against the wall as her thoughts drifted to her favorite memory.

It had snowed the second Christmas Roman spent with her family, and for once the guys didn’t shut

her out of the fun. They bundled up and stomped out to the hill behind the house and spent one of the

best hours of her life taking turns sliding down the hill on an old yellow sled.

Eventually, they started going down in pairs. When Roman climbed on the sled behind her, she

didn’t feel the cold at all. His legs straddled hers, and his arms were wrapped tightly around her

waist. As they scooted forward, inching the sled toward the hill, she was in heaven. The ride down

the hill wasn’t half as exciting as being held by Roman, especially when they hit a bump in the ice

near the bottom of the hill, and they went flying through the air. She landed under him, laughing. He

had a snowflake caught in his eyelashes, and she reached up with her glove to touch it. He must have

thought she was going to rub snow in his face, because he pinned her arms above her head, and

crushed her into the snow. As soon as his weight came down on her, she froze, staring up at him.

It had just begun to get dark, but his eyes were bright, hot. His breath smelled faintly of purloined

bourbon. Her pulse hammered. She looked at his lips, waiting, hoping. Did he know how badly she

wanted him to kiss her? His breath warmed her lips, and she closed her eyes in anticipation.

Then Cole, already at the bottom of the hill, had pelted Roman with a snowball, and Roman had

rolled away from her as if trying to escape flames, not snow. He’d fired a rapid flurry of snowballs

back at Cole, and the fight was on, the moment lost.

She’d always wondered what might have happened if Cole hadn’t thrown that snowball. Was there

any chance she could find out now? Even if Roman had only been trying to force a confession out of

her last night, the chemistry between them was too potent to be entirely one-sided. Why couldn’t they

just have sex? She’d had a crush on him for what felt like forever, and it would be her chance to get

him out of her system once and for all. Obviously he wasn’t going to settle down. That was too much

to hope for from a player like him, but there was no reason they couldn’t explore the attraction

between them before she went back home.

She thought of how he’d felt throbbing against her last night, and heat filled her breasts, belly, and

hips. He’d been teasing her, but he’d wanted her, too. She wasn’t giving up until he admitted it.

She pushed away from the wall, sailed through the office door, and locked it behind her. Roman

looked up from his seat at the desk, startled. “Paperwork doesn’t require a locked door.”

“Enough bullshit, Roman.” She closed the distance between them and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Her heart pounded so hard, she wondered if he could feel it through her palm, but she wasn’t going to

chicken out now. She’d been honest with him last night, and he had agreed to help her. She’d been

honest with him today, and he had agreed to hire her. Third time’s a charm?

She smiled and dropped into his lap.

Chapter Four

Roman instinctively caught her. Then he forced his hands back to his sides. “There’s a perfectly good

chair by the door.”

“I’m trying to make a point.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and her soft breasts

pressed against his chest.

He shifted, hoping she couldn’t feel the effect she had on him. The desire to grab her hips and grind

against her was overwhelming. “Are you going to make me dump you off my lap?” he bluffed.

“Are you going to pretend you aren’t enjoying this?” she shot back.

The first blush of his life heated his cheeks. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Merely an involuntary

reaction to a beautiful woman.”

“Careful, Roman. That sounded like a compliment.” She shifted position again, using his shoulders

for balance. He flinched as the muscles spasmed, sending a bolt of pain up his neck.

“What’s wrong with you? And don’t tell me nothing this time,” she said.

“I fell asleep on the couch last night. My neck is killing me.” Maybe now she’d take pity on him and

get off his lap. He repressed the flash of disappointment he felt when she slid out of his lap and stood

behind his chair.

“Poor baby. I’ve heard getting old sucks.”

“Brat.”

She laid her hand on the back of his neck and squeezed, making him gasp. Her grip tightened.

“Which side hurts?”

“The left,” he said reluctantly.

She pressed her thumb into his left shoulder and he sagged in relief. As she dug deep into the knots

that braided his muscles, the agony was exquisite. He knew he should stop her, but it felt so good, he

couldn’t bring himself to do it, especially when her hands heated up, further easing his pain.

“Thanks,” he murmured, when he could take a deep breath and feel only a slight twinge of

discomfort.

“You’re welcome.” She slid her hands down his chest and rested her chin lightly on his shoulder.

He inhaled, savoring her sweet scent. He knew he should say something to create distance between

them, but it was such a comfortable silence he hated to break it. Her embrace made no demands on

him. He was warm and content, feelings he usually didn’t associate with a woman. But Jenna had

always been special—which made it even more disturbing she’d tried to play him. He tensed,

remembering how tantalizing she’d looked last night. Desire surged through him again, and he leaned

forward, breaking her grip. The back rub ploy was the oldest trick in the book. What was she

softening him up for now?

On cue she slid back into his lap. “I have a confession to make.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Here it comes. If he had any sense at all, he’d leave now, but he

felt paralyzed by the heat of her body and the press of her soft curves.

“Probably not.” She snuggled closer, tucking her face beneath his chin. Her breath feathered his

neck as she chuckled, giving him goose bumps and making him even more aware of all the places

their bodies touched.

He put his arms around her, intending to push her away but pulled her tighter against him. She

stopped laughing. Her head tilted back, and her gaze met his, full of everything he was trying to hide

—arousal, affection, and recklessness. She reached up to stroke his cheek, and he held his breath.

“If I’m honest with you, do you promise to be honest with me?” she asked.

He nodded, lying.

“I don’t believe you.” She swung her legs around to straddle him in the chair. “But I know how to

tell if you’re lying.” He sucked air into his lungs, feeling dizzy as the blood trying to make its way to

his brain rushed to his cock. A small smile flirted with the corners of her mouth as he pulsed against

her, the thin material of his cotton chef pants hiding nothing. “You don’t think of me as a little sister,

Roman. Admit it.”

He shook his head, but his hands tightened on her waist. She was right. He couldn’t be in the same

room with her without wanting her, and when she touched him, the desire to get them both naked

trumped everything else.

Her hands tangled in his hair, and she leaned forward to put her mouth near his ear. Her breath

tickled his ear as she whispered, “I’ve always had a huge crush on you. I’ve been waiting for years

for you to come back to New Jersey so I could see you, but you never did.” Her hips rocked against

his, driving the words home.

So it was true. She had a crush on him. He groaned and grasped her waist, stopping the motion of

her hips. “Don’t do this.”

“I knew you’d say that.” She smiled into his eyes. “Stop insulting my intelligence by pretending

you’re not attracted to me.”

The heat of their skin scented the air with arousal. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Their bodies

were as close as they could get while clothed, and every beat of his heart betrayed him, bringing them

closer together. No, he couldn’t deny he wanted her. “It isn’t that simple. If you get off my lap so I can

think straight, I’ll tell you why.”

Instead, she kissed him.

Her lips brushed his in a sweet invitation. Her tongue teased the curve of his upper lip, a sensual

caress he longed to deepen. Her eyes were open and holding so much desire, he had to close his, but

that made it worse. In the dark, his lust was overpowering, a dark undertow that swept him out to sea.

“You are not my kind of girl,” he mumbled against her lips as he thrust his hands under her shirt.

“Clearly.” Her breathless chuckle mocked him. She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on

the floor. Underneath, she was wearing a sheer red bra.

He groaned. “I’m having a hard time holding on to my good-girl image of you when you keep

showing up in hot lingerie.”

She nipped his lip. “Good girl? When did you get that impression? Six years ago? We’re in the

same profession, Ro, and it’s not exactly conducive to chastity. It’s impossible to have a real

relationship when you work every night, but who doesn’t like sex?” She unbuttoned his chef coat and

pushed it off his shoulders.

“It’s not impossible to have a relationship.” Not for someone like her, at least. “Your brother got

married two years ago, and your parents have been married over thirty years,” he countered, keeping

his arms bent so she couldn’t get his jacket off.

Her hands stroked his chest. “Cole sold out. He’s not cooking anymore. He’s in management. And

my mother worked her ass off to keep our family together. You never heard the fights they had when

Dad missed dinner. He felt like he should be at Cooper’s every minute, but Mom insisted the sous-

chef could run the line for an hour while Dad spent time with his kids. She said that was the

advantage of also owning the business.”

“So why don’t you want to follow in their footsteps? Don’t you want a family?” He leaned back in

the chair, looking up at her. He’d always imagined she’d grow up and be just like her mother,

wrangling a work-obsessed husband and a couple of mischievous kids, insisting they show up at the

dinner table or else. The thought made him smile.

“Eventually, but I don’t plan on settling down anytime soon and certainly not with a working chef.

I’ll need somebody who will do what my mother did, cook dinner and hold the fort. No offense, but if

you’re worried I want you to come back to New Jersey and live happily ever after with me, you can

relax. I know how you operate. Short-term only. No-strings sex. Quick and dirty. I totally get it.” She

pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “But we’re friends, right?”

He nodded, unable to resist putting his hands on her hips again. She shifted against him, and he

sucked in a hard breath.

“Let’s be friends with benefits while I’m here. I’ll make great desserts and use your hot body to get

over my crush; you teach me how to save Cooper’s. When it’s time to go home, we part friends. No

harm, no foul, just great memories.”

Why did she sound so sensible? The odd sinking sensation in his chest felt like disappointment, but

that was silly. She was right. He was a short-term kind of guy. It wasn’t fair to get involved when he

worked all the time, but that didn’t mean it was okay to get involved with Jenna.

She raised her head. “Next objection?”

That was easy. “Cole.” Her brother would make stock from his bones if he found out about anything

that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

“My sex life is none of his business. Or anybody else’s, before you mention my parents.”

She continued to explore his chest and shoulders, thumbs caressing his nipples through his T-shirt.

His chest tightened, skin tingling. “I owe your family a lot. I don’t want them mad at me.”

“I promise not to tell them.” Her grin was full of irrepressible mischief that spoke to him on his

deepest level. She was preaching to the choir, just not when it came to her. At least, not to the woman

he had believed her to be. “Think of it as doing me a favor. Once I get you out of my system, I’ll be

able to go out and find my dream man with a clear conscience.”

He scrambled to remember his other excellent reasons for saying no and almost groaned with relief

when one came to him. “I don’t have sex with my employees.”

“Don’t hire me, then.” She giggled. “I’ll help with your new menus, train Max to do the simpler

desserts while you’re looking for someone long term, and work on the Vegas event. You give me a

plan for Cooper’s, and I’ll be out of your hair in a couple of weeks.” He would be gone, too. Once

the Beach House menu was set and the profits were firmly in the black, he’d turn it over to Max. So

why did the thought of her leaving so soon bother him?

“After all, we’re just old friends hanging out together. Nobody is going to pay attention,” she

coaxed, nibbling on his neck. “We’ll spend most of our time working. It will look perfectly normal.

No one will notice.”

She made it sound so simple. It would be easy to give her what she wanted, especially since he

wanted it, too. He’d never felt anything as strong as the crushing need hammering at his balls right

now. He wanted to believe her more than he wanted to breathe, to eat, or even to take over Gallagher

Holdings. But this is Jenna. Despite her bold words and actions, he just couldn’t think of her in terms

of no-strings sex. Hadn’t she just admitted to having a crush on him? Crushes weren’t made of quick

and dirty; they were made of romance and fantasies. What would she do if he called her bluff?

He knew what she would do if he kept saying no—she’d never quit. She was too used to getting her

own way, and there was no doubt in his mind they’d find themselves in this exact situation as soon as

she regrouped. How long would he be able to resist? Whether he liked it or not, things had changed

between them. But as much as his body was screaming for relief, jumping straight into bed with her

felt wrong. Jenna wasn’t a random hookup.

Her lips brushed his ear and coasted over his cheek. By the time she reached his mouth, he had an

idea. She wanted to play games? Fine, but they were going to play by his rules. Maybe he couldn’t

ignore the chemistry between them, but he could damn well take charge of it. Until he was certain she

wanted more than a few kisses to satisfy her teenage fantasies, he wasn’t going to do anything except

give her a good long time to think about her choices.

Playing games was his forte. He’d hold her hand and kiss her senseless, but that was it. He wasn’t

going to jeopardize his relationship with her or her family because she’d gotten it into her head she

wanted to sleep with him. After they spent some time together, she’d come to her senses and realize

he was nothing like the fantasy guy she’d built him up to be.

He lifted her out of his lap and stood, pressing her against the door. With one hand, he caught her

hair and tugged, pulling her head back. When her astonished gaze snapped to his, he bent to capture

her lips, and her mouth opened in surprise. He plunged inside, taking possession of her in the way he

had been dying to, honestly, no-holds-barred, proving he wanted her as much as she wanted him. It

was ridiculous to pretend otherwise when he was hard as a rock.

He raised his head. “Let me get this straight. You want to have sex with me to get me out of your

system? So you can go off and marry some guy to be your househusband without regrets, right?”

Her head fell back. “Stop torturing me, Roman.”

“I accept.” He stepped back, grinning. “But I have one condition.”

…

Anything was the first thing that popped into her head. That kiss had been every hot Hollywood clinch

rolled into one mind-melting, thigh-shaking, panty-soaking miracle. And the smile on his face was

fantasy-worthy, the stuff of wicked and wild dreams. Her heart pounded as he took her hand and

caressed her fingers, bringing them up to his lips. His tongue tickled a sensitive spot in between her

knuckles and a flash of heat shot through her. “What’s the catch?”

“We go at my pace.”

Unease stole through her. “You’ll have to forgive my confusion. I thought you were a player, but I

keep striking out. What is your pace?”

“You asked me to be honest with you…so here goes.” His eyes darkened to cobalt. “I want you.

Everything about you makes me crazy, your curls, your curves, your delicious desserts, even your

inability to take no for an answer works for me on every level. You are impossible to resist, and I’m

not going to pretend like I want to anymore. But I’m not convinced sex is what you want from me.”

She looked at his sun-streaked mop of golden hair. His sensuous lips and his fierce blue eyes. She

took in the breadth of his shoulders and chest. His lean hips, strong thighs. “I’m pretty sure it is,” she

said slowly.

“You have a crush on me.”

He made it a statement, not a question, but she nodded her head anyway. “Which is why I’m pretty

sure—”

“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips and it burned. “Crushes are made of fantasy and romance, not

getting naked and going at it.”

She wanted to be offended by his summation of her emotional immaturity, but there was

understanding and tenderness in his eyes, and this time it didn’t irritate her. “I’m not sixteen anymore,

Ro. I want more.”

“You’ll get it. The full Roman Gallagher, playboy-of-the-West-Coast experience, I promise.” She

cocked her head to the side at the self-deprecation in his tone, unable to read his expression.

He traced one finger down her cheek. “I know what you want, and as long as you let me call the

shots, I’ll give it to you.” His hot gaze made a promise. Heat flickered between them, and her breath

caught in her throat. She licked her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he leaned forward.

A pounding on the door made them both jump.

“How long does it take to sign on the dotted line?” Max called.

Roman ignored him. “Do we have a deal?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He smiled, and this time it wasn’t a fantasy. It was real, filling her with disbelief and glee.

He let go of her hand. “Let’s keep it quiet, though. Gallaghers don’t fool around with their

employees, and I’d prefer no one know I’m making an exception.”

Max pounded again.

“Hang on,” Roman called, gathering papers from the desk. “Fill these out and get them back to me

when you have time. You’re going to be working your butt off, so I’m definitely paying you.”

She took the tax forms and hugged them to her chest, not sure what to say. Thanks didn’t seem quite

appropriate. “Uh…okay. Great.”

“Jenna Cooper at a loss for words. This is one for the record books. I’m going to enjoy this even

more than I thought.”

She blinked, shaking off the odd trance that had come over her the minute he’d taken control. She

could let him call the shots without being a doormat. “Can you give me a ballpark figure for this slow

seduction, just so I can make sure my legs are shaved?”

He flashed a blinding grin. “There’s my girl. I thought I’d lost you.”

“No chance, pal. I’m in this to win it…or something like that. Are you going to answer my

question?”

He shrugged. “Work before play. We’ve got a menu to rewrite, a Vegas dessert to plan, and

Cooper’s to sort out.” He reached behind her and grabbed her braid. She felt a steady pull and her

head fell back, baring her throat. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

The desire in his eyes was stark and heady. He bent his head, and she felt the wetness of his tongue

then his sharp teeth against her neck. “Patience isn’t my strong suit, but I’ll give it my best shot.” Her

voice was strained.

Max rattled the doorknob.

“Coming,” Roman called, staring down at her. He let go of her braid and winked. “Eventually.”

He unlocked the door and opened it for her. She struggled to keep her expression blank as she

walked past Max, feeling his gaze burn into her back as he followed her back to the line.

“Seriously?” Max grumbled. “Nothing—not a word? That’s all I get for my pep talk?”

She concentrated on dropping butter and brown sugar into the mixer bowl, remembering Roman’s

second condition, but she couldn’t stop an enormous grin from spreading across her face.

Max chuckled. “I told you so.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” She turned on the mixer to drown out the sound of his

laughter.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur. She made ice cream, cupcakes, cookies, and hot chocolate.

She served jam cakes warm from the oven, and pitched in to help Max and T-Bird when they got an

unexpected rush of walk-ins. Roman stayed in the office and worked on the menu, popping up to the

line every so often to bounce ideas off them. Once, he even went into the dining room to talk to the

waiters and the diners. He’d definitely taken her downscaling idea and run with it. It sounded like the

menu was getting a complete overhaul.

At the end of service, she helped the guys close down the line, then went back to the office to say

good night to Roman.

“How have you been getting around town?” he asked.

“Bus or taxi. I’m thinking about renting a car, though.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“Thanks.” The dynamic between them had changed. Instead of uncertainty, anticipation kept her on

edge. She wanted to touch him, but she didn’t want to break her promise. Things between them would

progress on his pace, whatever that was, and hopefully she wouldn’t die of frustration. Or kill him.

He was silent as he led her out the side door of the now empty restaurant, and he didn’t say a word

as they walked down the street to his house. Just when she thought she might explode from the strain

of following his lead, he took her hand. Her tension eased. His hands were rough and strong, palms

broad, fingers callused. Her shoulder bumped his arm as they walked, and she could tell he was

shortening his stride so she could keep pace with him.

When they reached his car, he let go of her hand to open the door. She hoped he would take it again

when they were seated, and he did. Her entire body tingled as he played with her fingers, threading

their hands together then unfolding them in a constant, lazy exploration that made her think of bodies

rolling together and coming apart, winding and unwinding, until she could barely sit still. She

wondered if he knew what he was doing to her. Glancing to the side, she decided he did. There was a

decidedly smug tilt to his lips that made her want to best him at his own game.

He wanted to play hand-holding games? She could do that.

She shifted sideways so she could take his free hand in both of hers. She clasped their palms

together and trailed her fingers over the back of his hand. She teased and tickled, satisfaction flowing

through her at the liberty of touching him, as she wanted to. When she had learned the texture of every

part of his hand and wrist, she explored the spaces in between his fingers, thumb rubbing the hollow

of his palm, echoing the rhythm beating inside her. She pressed her fingers to his wrist, feeling his

pulse.

He pulled to a stop in front of her house and slipped his hand from hers, breaking their connection.

Instantly, she felt uncertain, disappointed her hand-holding skills hadn’t driven him to pull her into a

clinch the moment he stopped the car. The locks released, and her thoughts flashed back to last night,

when he’d all but booted her to the curb. His slight smile was gone, and he stared straight ahead.

She hated not knowing what to do, so she opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.”

She climbed out of the car, surprised when he joined her on the path up to the front door.

She got her keys out of her pocket. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

The porch light illuminated his grin. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Nope.” She gave him an equally bright smile. Ball’s in your court, buddy. She was not going to

founder right out of the gate. She was on her best behavior, and even if she felt like she might fly into

a million pieces if he didn’t touch her, she was going to keep it together.

“Can’t forget a good-night kiss.” A serious expression settled over his face as he stepped closer.

She swallowed, feeling time slow, stop, and then turn back. She felt longing well up in her center, an

unbearable ache that took her back to their moment in the snow. Her breath caught. Her heart felt like

it was expanding in her chest, and she wanted to stay here forever, breathing in time with him, feeling

the heat of his skin, living in anticipation. Then every part of her rejoiced as their lips met, and she

felt the same certainty she experienced when facing the ocean—anything was possible.

He stepped back.

She shook her head, feeling dazed. He chuckled, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear. “’Night,

Goldilocks.”

“Good night,” she echoed, watching him walk down the path to his car.

Snapping out of it, she turned to unlock the door. She heard him start the car, but he didn’t pull

away from the curb until she opened it. She sighed then giggled. Oh, man. Her heart was racing, her

cheeks were hot, and she felt giddy. If it got better than this, the Roman Gallagher experience was

going to ruin her, but she couldn’t care less. So worth it.

She walked down the hall to her room, imagining her feet floating six inches from the ground,

which was possibly what he intended, and she couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for

tomorrow.

Chapter Five

Jenna caught a bus to Venice Beach early the next morning, figuring she could explore the area until

the Beach House opened. She wanted to get into the kitchen as early as possible to prep the dessert

menu before the guys came in and took over the ovens. There was no way anyone would be working

at six in the morning, but she had her laptop and there were a half dozen coffee shops in the area.

Most of the funky little shops that lined the street were closed, so she had to content herself with

window-shopping. She paused outside an art gallery, admiring the bright red door and the roses

trellised along the walkway. Further down, she saw tiny succulents sprouting in window boxes, and

she spent a good ten minutes peering through the window of a batik shop.

Closer to the Boardwalk, the shops turned touristy, and she quickened her pace toward the Beach

House. She was shocked to see the lights on. The side door was open, so she went inside.

Roman was pacing in the hall while placing an order on his cell phone. He nodded but didn’t say

hello. Disappointment flashed through her. It was silly to expect him to pick up where they had left off

last night, especially when they were at work, but a girl could dream. Time to wake up. Work before

play…damn it. She set her toolbox on the counter, prepared to show Roman he wasn’t the only one

with a work ethic, but the excitement that had kept her awake last night disappeared, leaving her

feeling deflated. Her abrupt dip in mood forced her to acknowledge she hadn’t come in early to bake,

she’d just wanted to see Roman again as soon as possible.

He ended his call and placed another, continuing to ignore her, so she busied herself getting her

tools ready. She was going to need some coffee. She grabbed a pot, filled the basket, and hit the brew

button. She yawned, so focused on the slowly filling pot it took her a second to realize her phone was

buzzing in her pocket.

She fished it out and checked the display, surprised Lila was calling so early. Would Lila ask about

Roman? She hoped not. Usually Jenna shared all details with her friend, but she was reluctant to

explain Saturday night or anything about the deal she and Roman had struck in the office yesterday.

“Hey, Lila. What’s up?”

“Can we wait for Betsy so I only have to say this once?” Lila’s voice was tense.

“Sure.”

After a beep, Betsy came on the line, and Lila sighed. “I slept with Jack.”

“Here we go again.” Jenna poured a cup of coffee before it was done brewing. She was relieved

she wasn’t in the hot seat today. “Spill it.”

“And talk fast, I’ve got customers,” Betsy added.

Caffeine cleared her mind of cobwebs as Lila copped to spending the weekend naked with a man

who had repeatedly tried to ruin her career, and Jenna remembered why getting involved with another

chef was a bad idea. She watched Roman pace, barking orders into his cell phone.

“Was it worth it?” Betsy asked.

Before Lila could respond, Jenna answered for her. “Are you kidding me? It could never be worth

it. He’s a chef, which makes him a bad risk, but even worse, he’s a Calabrese. That means you’ve got

a guy who works all the time, stays out late, and drinks too much, crossed with a guy who has more

money than sense, buys whatever he wants, and isn’t used to being denied. It’s a recipe for disaster,

sister.”

Crap. How is what I’m doing with Roman any different? Her heart sank into the pit of her

stomach, and sweat bloomed on her skin. Roman’s voice boomed down the hall, increasing her

agitation. “I’ve got to go.”

“Who’s that, Jenna?” Betsy asked. “Are you indulging in a little disaster yourself?”

“It’s complicated. Good luck, Lila. Stay strong.” She hung up, feeling like a hypocrite. Maybe she

needed a reality check, too.

She leaned against the counter, remembering her disappointment this morning. She’d wanted Roman

to greet her with kisses when she came into the kitchen, but that wasn’t part of their bargain. She

gulped her coffee, no longer needing the caffeine but wanting a familiar comfort as her heart fluttered

with panic. They weren’t dating. They were friends who made out, and she needed to keep her head

on straight. Viewing him through the rose-colored glasses of her crush would ruin everything.

She’d entered this agreement with her eyes wide open, and she wasn’t going to blow it. A few

weeks of no-strings fun. Then she had to get back to Lambertville to fulfill her life long goal of

running Cooper’s. A fling with Roman, then back to her real life.

She would uphold her part of the bargain, and Roman would keep his promises as well. She pulled

out a sheet of paper and began making two lists: one of tasks to accomplish today and another of

Vegas dessert ideas. If he was going to keep it professional at work then she could do the same.

Full steam ahead. Purely physical. Eyes on the prize.

Everything would be fine.

…

“We’re dead in the water, Chef.” The Beach House manager rarely traipsed back to the office on her

clunky heels, preferring to drag him into the dining room where she could show him off. “Sparse

reservations on the books this week. We’ve had more walk-ins than usual lately, but just as many

people walk out when they get a look at our menu.”

“I’ve got a plan, Linda.” He hit print and looked up from the computer screen. “We’re going to

close for three days while we do some redecorating. We’ll reopen on Thursday for lunch and dinner

with a new menu, no dress code, and a huge beach party this weekend. How’s that sound?”

“Three days?” Her double chin and dyed-black feathered hair made her look like a pelican, and

standing with her mouth gaping increased the resemblance.

He held up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“As if you were ever a Boy Scout.”

“Just for that, you’re in charge of the interior decorator. I’ve worked with him before, so I don’t

expect any problems. Tell all the workers meals are on the house. We need guinea pigs for the new

menu. And don’t forget to cancel reservations today through Wednesday and offer comps for when we

reopen.”

“Dare I ask what we’ll be serving?”

He handed her a sheet of paper, fresh from the printer. “Burgers and beer, baby. Venice Beach

style.”

He watched her read, dark eyes pausing occasionally, and wondered what had caught her interest.

The Muscle Beach Burger? The Teeny Bikini Sliders? Rasta Pasta? Boardwalk Bomber? All served

with sea-salted Pacific fries, of course.

She gave him a big smile and pulled his head down for a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. Paper

crinkled next to his ear, and he narrowly avoided a paper cut.

“You’re a genius.” She thrust the menu into his hand and headed back to the dining room before he

could tell her it wasn’t his idea.

He followed her as far as the line, then stopped to smile at Jenna, who was making cookies. “Sorry

for not saying hello earlier. I wrote a new menu last night, and I had to source a few ingredients.”

“At six in the morning?”

“It was nine in New York, and I want everything delivered by Wednesday. Why were you in so

early?”

“I wanted the ovens all to myself.” She turned her back to wash her hands at the sink.

“Makes sense. In fact, you can work in the mornings all the time if you’d like to have the ovens to

yourself. I’m usually here by eight.”

“Do you stay through dinner service, too?”

“Not unless it’s the weekend or we’re really busy. I usually cut out after the first turn.”

She nodded. “Of course. It would be difficult to keep up with your demanding social commitments

if you worked all night.”

Her hair was in two braids today, and he tugged one in response to her snarky tone. For a second he

wanted to confess his party boy image was calculated for publicity, but she already thought he was

shallow enough. “A man of my social stature has responsibilities. Work hard, play harder. It’s a

curse.”

She nodded and began scooping cookies onto the tray.

He watched her for a moment, noticing her cookie dough looked nothing like his and feeling a little

put out that she was so focused on work, even though that was ridiculous. He edged closer,

surreptitiously trying to catch a whiff of her sweet scent, following the same instinct that had made

him follow her to her porch last night and kiss her. Since when did the Pippi Longstocking look give

him a hard-on?

“Ro?”

He stopped, feeling as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I’m on my best behavior, but you’ve been ignoring me all morning. I assumed it was because

we’re at work, but now you’ve got ‘up to no good’ written all over your face, and we both know I’m

weak. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind and want to sneak back to the office for a quickie?”

She looked so hopeful, he laughed. “Quickies aren’t really my style…but I’d love to hear what you

think of the new menu.” He handed it to her. “As for ignoring you, I get tunnel vision when I start a

new project. Forgive me?”

“I suppose.” Her long-suffering sigh made him laugh.

She turned her attention to the menu, and he tried not to be nervous.

She smirked as she handed it back to him a few minutes later. “Stubborn but not stupid.”

“Thanks,” he said wryly. “Do you have any suggestions? Additions or subtractions? Did I miss

anything?”

She frowned, and his heart plummeted. “Well, you could probably drop a Venice Beach souvenir

on the table with the check, but other than that…”

He mock glared as she continued “…it sounds fantastic. The descriptions are clever and funny. The

food sounds amazing. I could totally go for that burger with the barbecued bacon, heirloom tomato

jam, and Cabot cheddar right now. I’m starving.”

It was his favorite item on the menu, straight-up Americana. Suddenly, he wanted to show off a

little…and maybe get her out of the kitchen. “Your wish is my command. Two Muscle Beach Burgers,

coming right up. Should we get those on skates?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“I’m hungry, too. We can eat on the beach and have a picnic.”

“I thought you had to work.”

He caught her arm as she moved past him. “I changed my mind. C’mon Goldilocks, play hooky for

an hour. We’re closed until Thursday anyway.”

“Says who? I spent all morning making desserts.”

“Says me. I’m the boss, remember? You have to do what I say, and I say we’re having a picnic on

the beach.”

He didn’t realize he was leaning forward until she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “For a guy

who claims sexual harassment isn’t his style, you’re pretty good at it.”

“Are you going to complain?”

“Only if you stop.” She brushed against him, deliberately he assumed, as she headed for the cooler.

“I’ll freeze the desserts. Let me know when our burgers are ready to roll.

…

“Food coma.” Jenna swallowed the last bite of her burger and collapsed backward onto the blanket.

They’d hiked far enough down the beach to get away from the crowd and staked their claim on a

secluded spot behind an outcropping of rocks. It felt like they had the ocean to themselves. Roman had

packed a feast into a bus tub, burgers, fries, root beer, and thick shakes made from her freshly churned

ice cream. She was stuffed, and the light ocean breeze would make a perfect blanket for a nap.

Perhaps she had been a bit too harsh in her condemnation of chefs to Lila earlier. The meals were a

definite perk.

She closed her eyes and stretched out. Next to her, she could hear Roman packing the trash into the

tub. Then he settled beside her. His fingers brushed hers, starting a chain reaction of tingles that began

in her center and moved outward. It was crazy that such a simple touch could affect her so

dramatically, but Roman had always done it for her. She opened her eyes and glanced to the side. His

blue eyes were pale in the sun, ringed by a darker blue. His lashes glinted, and she got a wild urge to

nibble them.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. “You have the strangest expression on your face.”

“You don’t want to know.”

He turned to face her. “Tell me.” When she shook her head, he caught her other hand and pulled her

onto her side, so that they were lying face-to-face, separated only by inches. The urge got stronger.

She smiled. “How about I show you instead? It’s G-rated but kind of weird.”

At his nod, she leaned forward. “Close your eyes.” She brushed her lips over his eyelashes then

gently nibbled them. Instant gratification was a beautiful thing. It was heaven to be able to satisfy her

whim. She stroked his cheek, pressing a kiss to the rough surface, hoping he’d let her satisfy her other

urges soon. No time like the present. He looked so peaceful lying there with his eyes shut, she

couldn’t resist.

She rolled on top of him.

His eyes blinked open. “You just lost your G-rating.”

“There aren’t any kids on the beach.” Only a few sun worshippers and a couple of surfers nearly

out of sight. “I think a logical progression from a good-night kiss would be a hot and heavy make-out

session.”

She bent to nibble on his upper lip, teasing him with quick touches of her tongue. His lips were

familiar and new at the same time, and she explored them, opening his mouth with hers. He groaned,

and the sound resonated deep within her. She had him exactly where she wanted him, and it was bliss.

Abruptly, he flipped her, his hips pressing her heavily into the sand as his tongue invaded her

mouth. He thrust against her, and she parted her legs and bent her knees, arching up to meet him. His

back was bowed, connecting them at mouth and groin, and she wrapped her arms around him, trying

to connect them everywhere else. Her body heated up so fast, she thought she’d melt into the sand as

their mouths and bodies moved together in an urgent dance.

She held him tighter, feeling like she might come apart just from this, but he slid to the side,

breaking her hold. She missed his weight on top of her, but she wasn’t picky. She moved to straddle

him, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip. “Keep it PG or I’m going to forget my good

intentions.”

“Your completely unnecessary, highly annoying, absolutely ridiculous good intentions? God

forbid.” She tried not to pant as she rolled onto her back, away from him.

“You’re so cute when you don’t get what you want. Hasn’t anyone ever told you no before? Or

does everyone do what you want because you’re so beautiful and determined?” He propped his head

up on one arm and gazed down at her. She wanted to stay mad but it was impossible when he leaned

down to kiss her again. This kiss was as different from the sudden take-no-prisoners onslaught that

had just occurred as red pepper flakes were from sugar. It was slow and sweet. He left no corner of

her mouth unexplored and by the time he was done, they were breathing in sync, moving together, and

she was fairly certain their hearts were beating in the same steady rhythm.

“Isn’t this fun?” His whisper was a deep growl as he plundered the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“In a torturous, frustrating retro kind of way? All action above the neck…dry humping allowed as

long as we pretend it isn’t happening. Kind of like high school.” He stroked his hand down her leg,

easing it away from his hip.

“I hated high school.” She arched her neck, inviting him to make good on his damn rules, and he

complied. As he kissed her neck, she had to admit none of her boyfriends in high school, or college

even, had been able to make her respond like this with a simple kiss. Roman knew what he was

doing. His lips and tongue were soft and wet, leaving cool trails on her skin. Every so often he would

nip her throat, and she would gasp, going liquid, melting again, and pressing closer to him.

His hard body and roving hands gave every sign he was as desperate for her as she was for him.

Yet he kept himself in check, only going so far, and his slow exploration was exhilarating. It was one

thing to indulge in a one-night stand, easily blamed on the heat of the moment. This deliberate

intensity was something else entirely. Don’t go there.

He pressed a soft, close-mouthed kiss against her lips and sighed, stretching out on his back and

pulling her to rest beside him with her head pillowed on his shoulder. “The beach is nearly empty, but

let’s not get carried away.”

“Let me guess,” she asked, lazily running her hand up his chest. “Now we pretend to nap when

really neither one of us is sleeping because we’re so insanely horny?”

He laughed. “I thought we could talk about Cooper’s.”

Apprehension zinged through her. The Beach House, Vegas, and sexual frustration had pushed

Cooper’s from her mind. She didn’t have a single good idea. What if the guru of West Coast

restaurant-flipping told her it was a lost cause…or worse, patronized her? She raised her head to

look down at him. “I haven’t been hit by a lightning bolt of inspiration yet, and I hate to waste your

time when you have so much to do today,” she hedged.

“Brainstorming makes lightning bolts, and there’s no time like the present. I’m in a holding pattern

until Max gets in. I want to talk to him about the menu, the best way to break it down, purveyors, prep

list, and all that jazz, but for the next hour, I’m all yours. Tell me everything.”

She said nothing.

As the silence grew, his body tensed. “Unless there are no problems at Cooper’s. Please tell me

this isn’t an elaborate charade to get me into bed.”

“God, no. How could you think that?” She scrambled into a sitting position, putting space between

them.

He sat up, facing her, and shrugged. “You showed up on the beach and took off your clothes. You

won’t let me call Cole to confirm. You ambushed me in my office…” His voice was flat. “If you

turned half of that determination toward fixing Cooper’s, I bet you’d be in the black in a month.”

She glared at him, speechless. If it were that easy, she wouldn’t be here at all.

Or would she?

“No,” she said, ignoring the uncomfortable path her thoughts had taken. “I need your help.” She’d

rather have him laugh at her ideas than think she’d been dishonest with him again, so she forced

herself to start talking. Haltingly, she explained the slow decline in business over the past two years

and how much things had changed while she was at culinary school. Her parents were older now, less

willing to adapt to the times and their customers were even more so. Every menu update she’d

suggested had bombed. While newer restaurants flourished around them, Cooper’s profits went down

every month, and her parents wanted to sell, or at least her mother did.

“You’re sure you want to work at Cooper’s? Maybe your parents are right.”

She growled in frustration. “If I hear that one more time, I’m going to go ballistic. I had to go to

culinary school before they’d even let me in the kitchen, and now they want to sell before I can figure

out how to make things work. There’s nothing I can do about being the baby of the family, but I’m sick

of being treated like I can’t help.”

“Wait…why wouldn’t they let you in the kitchen?”

She gave him a look. “Because cooking is a miserable occupation for anyone who wants to have a

life?”

He laughed. “I can’t argue with that logic. Only an idiot would want to work as much as we do. I

guess we’re both idiots.” He stood and held out his hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her to her

feet. “In fact, I’m a glutton for punishment because as soon as my mother closes this resort deal, I’ll

take over Gallagher Holdings, and she’ll relax for once in her life.”

“Opening a resort doesn’t sound relaxing to me.”

“It would if you knew her.” His expression was tight. “I don’t think she’ll ever stop working, not

completely, but it would be nice for her to settle down and let me take care of the restaurants. My

father”—he stressed the word, making it clear he didn’t consider the man such—“abandoned her as

soon as she told him she was pregnant. We didn’t have anybody else, and she worked like hell to take

care of me. I want to return the favor.” His eyes blazed with emotion.

She bent to pick up the blanket, shaking sand from it. “She’s lucky to have you.”

He snorted. “Not when I show up half-naked all over the Internet when I’m supposed to be keeping

a low profile and making her look good to a prospective investor.”

“Not your fault. I stripped first.”

He chuckled and continued, “Start brainstorming for Cooper’s the way you did for the Beach

House. Strengths. Weaknesses. Wild ideas. Find your niche and dig deeper.”

She draped the blanket over her arm and followed him up the beach. “Easy for you to say.”

He laughed. “We’ll talk more about Cooper’s soon. Meanwhile, got any ideas for Vegas?”

“Max suggested strippers popping out of giant cupcakes and a happy ending for every table.”

Roman frowned. “He’s pretty much on target, although our diners are shelling out a whole lot more

than a handful of dollar bills. We’ll be working in an unfamiliar kitchen and the chef running the event

hates me, but we need to come up with a Vegas-style grand finale worth the price of admission. We

need a showstopper.” He dodged a pair of spandex-clad in-line skaters zooming down the

Boardwalk. “And no pressure, but my mother will be there with the billionaire she’s trying to

impress.”

She felt faint and pretended to collapse. “I think I’ve got sunstroke.”

He half-carried, half-shoved her toward the Beach House. “Suck it up, and start figuring out how

we’re going to put on a show. Think of it as a free vacation in Sin City. We won’t be there for long,

but we can still have fun.”

“Promise?” She shot a sly glance over her shoulder.

His eyes met hers with heat and anticipation, making her shiver. “Create a Vegas-worthy dessert,

and I’ll show you the time of your life.”

Chapter Six

Everything that could be done before the doors opened for lunch the next day had been done, but

Roman couldn’t bring himself to go home. The menus were printed, supplies ordered, lunch cooks

hired and trained, recipes perfected. The stations were prepped to the gills and they had backups in

the walk-in. Actually, they were ahead of schedule. The back deck had been refinished, a sleek and

smooth expanse waiting for customers to dance to music from the newly installed sound system. They

had added an outdoor bar and opened the doors between the deck and dining room. The Beach House

was a party waiting to happen.

After doing one more tour through the empty dining room, Roman walked behind the line, feeling

energy shoot up and down his spine. The past few days had been a nonstop adrenaline rush. He could

count the hours of sleep he had gotten on both hands, yet he wasn’t tired. He’d sent Max and T-Bird

home to rest up, but he had stayed, thinking he should come up with some specials.

He reached for the lid of the grill station to look for inspiration, but before he could lift it, Jenna

said. “Hold it right there, Chef.”

He looked up to see her standing at the entrance to the line with her purse slung over her shoulder.

She’d worked just as hard as he had for the past three days. The freezer was full of freshly churned

ice cream, cookie dough, and cupcakes waiting to be filled. How she’d managed to get all that done

in the middle of the controlled chaos happening on the line was a mystery to him. She’d moved among

them like a swift shadow, silent and unobtrusive, yet he’d always been aware of her presence. Even

in his busiest moments, he’d known exactly where she was in the kitchen because his pulse rate

increased at the sound of her voice, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up when she passed

behind him. When he got a whiff of chocolate chip cookies, he got hard. If she accidentally brushed

against him, he’d half-turn toward her, concentration shot, until he remembered what he was doing

and got back down to it.

She’d kept her word, behaving with complete decorum on the line, although her slight smirk told

him she was aware of her effect on him. Max, thankfully, was too busy hauling ass to razz him, and T-

Bird kept his ears plugged into his iPod, his eyes on his cutting board, and his mouth shut. Since he

and Jenna were the last two out every night, no one saw him drive her home…or kiss her on her front

porch, which he couldn’t resist despite his best intentions. So far he was the only one being driven

crazy by his plan to take it slow and teach her a lesson.

“Step away from the grill station,” she commanded.

“I think we need a few specials for our opening lunch.”

“Everything is special on a new menu.” She turned off the lights, took his hand, and dragged him

away from the line. “Stick a fork in it, Ro. We’re done here. Enough is enough. Is everything locked

up front?”

He nodded.

She pulled him out the side door into the afternoon sunlight. “Lock it.”

Bemused, he complied.

She led him down the street to his house and stopped next to his car. “Now drop me off at home and

go get cleaned up. I promised my landlady and her daughter I’d cook for them tonight. We’re having a

dinner party.”

He opened the door for her. “Not really my scene.”

“Don’t be an ass.” She slid into the car. “You’re bringing wine.”

He shut the door and walked around the car to get in beside her. A dinner party? She wanted to

cook for him? Her offer kindled a long-dormant spark inside him. He hadn’t sat down for a non-

restaurant dinner since the last time he’d visited her family.

Her sigh was long and loud. “I’m sure you’d rather go out drinking and dancing, but photographers

catch you doing the darndest things, remember? Probably wouldn’t be good to get caught partying the

night before your grand opening. Too much like counting chickens before they hatch.”

He’d been planning on working or sleeping if he could manage to power down, but she didn’t have

to know that. “Red or white?”

She grinned. “White or a light red. I’m grilling chicken and fish.”

He couldn’t remember anyone looking at him with so much delight over something as simple as

agreeing to come to dinner. Usually his women only smiled like that if there were shiny metals or

stones involved. He reached over to take her hand. “Thank you for everything you’ve done this

week.” She hadn’t just baked desserts. She’d helped out wherever needed, putting in as many hours as

the rest of them, seemingly tireless and completely invested.

Her hand nestled in his. “It was fun. I’m amazed by how much you all got done in three days, and it

gave me some insight into what needs to happen at Cooper’s.”

“I saw you taking notes.”

Her eyes turned molten. “Yep, it’s not every day you get to see Roman Gallagher in action.”

He grinned and leaned across the console, planning to press a quick kiss to her lips, but desire,

swift and all-consuming, exploded the second his lips touched hers. He unbuckled his seat belt and

hers, pulling her to meet him in the middle, fusing their mouths and devouring as much of her as he

could reach until they ran out of breath.

He smoothed a wayward strand of hair away from her face, enjoying her dazed expression. Her

pupils were wide, her lips slightly parted. She was waiting for him to kiss her again, and the

anticipation bouncing back and forth between them was electric. He intentionally hadn’t taken things

further between them this week, assuming she’d change her mind once she saw him in work mode for

several days in a row. Nothing killed a fantasy crush like a good dose of reality, and he’d worked her

like a dog. He’d half-expected to walk her up to her porch one night, lean in to kiss her, and catch a

right hook to the jaw, but his plan had backfired. Apparently, she liked workaholics. So did he. He’d

had no idea how exciting it would be to spend time with a woman who shared his passion for the

restaurant business.

It was a hell of an aphrodisiac, but he had to get control.

She gasped, and he felt her soften, surrendering to his touch, and he fell into her, sharing her breath,

exploring the connection between them. Her chef coat was open. She wore a white tank top, with a

pink bra underneath. He couldn’t resist tracing the edge of the lace peeking above her neckline. Her

sharp inhale lifted her breasts against his fingers, rousing primitive instincts. Pure and simple, he

wanted her to make that noise again, so he slipped his hand under her shirt to cup her breast through

her bra.

Her head fell back against the seat, encouraging him to press forward. He squeezed the soft weight

of her. Dozens of images flashed through his mind, memories from the night on the beach mixed with

things he would be doing to her right now, if they weren’t in a tiny car and covered in layers of

restrictive clothing.

Control. Where was his control?

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer to him, holding nothing back. She

murmured his name in a choked whisper and then gave him a smile so sweet it made his heart clench.

He pulled back, curbing his lust. None of the women he hooked up with were any more serious

about dating than he was. But Jenna was different. She might claim to want something free and easy

with him, but she didn’t have the protective emotional shell that his lovers wore as casually as they

sported their glossy lipstick. She could get hurt.

This was Jenna. Cole’s little sister, and from a family he adored. A family who would hate him if

he hurt her. The Coopers’ house was the one place where he’d always felt at home. No matter how

insanely horny he was at the moment, he didn’t want to lose that connection. Not too much longer, and

she’d be gone. He could hold back until then.

The reminder didn’t offer quite the relief he wanted, though.

Deliberately, he forced his tense muscles to unlock. He sat back. “Gotta say I regret buying a car

with no backseat.”

A disgruntled sigh rumbled from her lungs. “Not half as much as I do.”

Tension built inside him as he put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking lot. Her hand

slid into his, and his pulse revved with the engine as he pulled into the street, making him acutely

aware his control was slipping…and they weren’t going to be at work tonight.

…

Two hours later, Roman sat on a tall stool at the breakfast bar, watching Jenna move around the

kitchen. She was wearing ripped jeans and a purple T-shirt that hugged her curves. Music and

laughter filled the kitchen. Jenna had given everyone a job to do. He was cleaning green beans and

advising her landlady’s seven-year-old daughter on the best way to wash lettuce for their salad.

Devon had it under control but it was fun to offer bogus advice.

He caught her eye and winked. “Make sure you take the lid off the lettuce spinner while it’s

moving. You get better centrifugal force that way.”

Devon grinned and made a move toward the spinner.

Jenna slammed her hand down on the lid and held it in place. “Not helpful.”

“Spirit crusher.” He grinned at the little girl, who held out her fist for a bump. “We’ll do something

fun with the green beans, I promise.”

Jenna tugged the bowl of greens beans away from him and pointed at her cutting board. “Bell

pepper confetti, please. Is that fun enough for you?”

He sighed and patted her on the shoulder. “It’s a start.”

The pat on the shoulder was just an excuse to touch her. Her hair was still damp from her shower

and up in a loose twist. Golden ringlets fell around her face, making him want to tug on them. Every

time she passed, he got a whiff of shampoo and had to fight the urge to bury his face in her hair and

press his lips against her neck. He restrained his instincts and abandoned himself to the good mood

dominating their little party. Jenna’s landlady, Barb, was hilarious, a Porsche saleswoman who had

great sales stories and even better failed-sales stories.

After dinner, her boyfriend showed up to take Barb and Devon out for ice cream. “Why don’t you

two enjoy the hot tub while we’re gone?” Barb suggested.

A zing of alarm shot through him. “I didn’t bring a suit.” The thought of being in a hot tub with

Jenna made his pulse pound with anticipation.

“Don’t let that stop you.” Barb shot him a saucy wink.

Roman jerked in surprise and looked at the seven-year-old Devon, who rolled her eyes. “Check the

closet. There’s piles of them.” The cheerful trio headed out the door.

Without a chaperone, Roman knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself. He stared at

Jenna. She grinned and thrust a pile of swim trunks into his arms. Visions of everything that could be

done in a hot tub under cover of water and darkness swam through his mind.

Make an excuse and leave. Now.

Damn. He couldn’t do it.

He found the bathroom and slid into a pair of trunks, shaking his head. Jenna had probably planned

to get him in the hot tub all along. His suspicions were confirmed when he met her in the hall and saw

what she was wearing. “That’s not a bathing suit. That’s walking indecent exposure. There is no way

you can swim in that thing.” Three triangles of bright green material were strategically held together

by—good God, was the entire thing made of yarn? Would it unravel in the water?

“Nope. I wouldn’t even try. The woman who sold it to me said it looked fantastic lying next to the

pool. I don’t think she meant on a body, either.”

Stunned by that image, he followed her toward the sound of churning bubbles, unable to take his

eyes off the sweet lower curve of her bare ass. Mercifully, she got into the water immediately, tilting

her head back and closing her eyes. He paused, ready to hand her a towel from the pile next to the tub

if her suit came apart.

“Are you going to get in or are you just going to stand there?”

Her teasing words galvanized him, and he stepped down into the hot tub, hissing at the heat of the

water.

“I know, right? It’s the perfect temperature to melt away the stress. I had no idea I was so tense.”

She peered at him out of one eye, making him chuckle.

“Is that a request for a back rub?”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “Well, you do owe me one, but

I’d never be so forward.”

Roman shook his head and grinned, already feeling loose from the heat. He sensed his inhibitions

slipping away. Eventually, he was going to have to conquer the urge to rip her suit off, crawl inside

her body, and turn them both inside out, but for now he could handle the temptation. He beckoned to

her and she scooted toward him.

He settled her floating body one step below his. The hot tub was large enough to fit four, so they

had plenty of room, and whoever had designed it must have had a dirty mind because the various

levels were perfect for the first three sexual positions that popped into his head. He smoothed his

hands over her shoulders, unable to prevent a small sound of enjoyment at the feel of her strong

muscles and delicate bones. She sighed as his hands drifted slowly down her arms. “You’re good at

this.”

In response, he dug his thumb into a tight spot just beneath her shoulder blade. Her moan traveled

straight to his cock. “Do that again,” she begged.

As if he could resist.

The water made her skin slick, smooth, and hot. The suit, what little there was of it, gave him

complete access to her shoulders, and he explored her back, finding all her trigger points and sore

spots and working on them with gentle but determined pressure until she sighed, her body drifting

limp and lax in front of him. If she had been laid out on a bed, he would have given the same treatment

to her lower back. He knew from experience how much strain just standing all day could cause.

However, given how much of her ass was exposed by the skimpy suit, it was probably best he kept

his hands above her waist. His hands moved slower and slower, more caress than massage.

“I’m floating, right?” She sounded drowsy. “I feel like I’m floating up to the sky.”

He clasped his arms around her waist. “I’ll hold you down.”

Her head fell against his shoulder. He shifted so that she was sitting on his lap instead of resting

between his thighs. Her hand came to rest on his chest. Her eyes opened and she gazed at him with so

much warmth, he bent his head to kiss her. Gently at first, but when she welcomed him, he dove deep,

opening her lips with his.

She tasted like wine, and cinnamon from the cookies she had made for dessert, a heady

combination. Thought became instinct and he sought ways to bring them closer together. He focused

on their connection and everything he could learn from the movement of her mouth on his. She was so

responsive, so perfect. He grew hotter, harder, and needier. She was meant to be his. His hips rocked

forward, meeting hers, and he realized she’d shifted to straddle him in the water.

“Whoa,” he groaned against her lips. “Slow down.”

“Dry humping is allowed, remember?” Her lips roved over his. Every flash of her tongue set him

on fire.

“This isn’t dry humping. This is barely clothed almost-fucking in a backyard hot tub, and we are

very wet.” He hoped his raw language would shock her enough to loosen her hold on him because he

was about to lose it. No such hope. She wiggled closer, fitting his hard cock into the notch of her

thighs, leaving him in no doubt of exactly how well they would fit together.

“I know I’m wet,” she whispered into his mouth.

He groaned, imagining what it would be like to slide inside her body right now. Her breasts

pressed against his chest, and she held on to his shoulders. It would be so easy to make a few

adjustments to their suits and give her what they both wanted. The temptation was brutal, paralyzing,

and mind-bending. He felt himself weaken, already shifting, his hands moving toward her waist

before a thought struck him like a hammer.

No condom.

The thought didn’t kill his erection, but it did return a measure of his sanity.

“You promised to go at my pace,” he panted, desperately trying to convince himself his pace didn’t

include traipsing wet into the house to fish a condom out of his wallet. “It’s late. Barb and Devon will

be home soon. Um…”

“You’re not Cinderella, and Barb and Devon will make plenty of noise if they come home, trust me.

I’m starting to think you’re stringing me along for cheap labor and a dessert for Las Vegas.”

“And you’re using me for cheap sex and a quick fix for Cooper’s.”

Hurt flashed in her eyes. “That was the deal. I’m holding up my end of the bargain.”

Busted. He’d made a promise, and she thought he was going to keep it. His heart pounded, forcing

more blood into his still-hard cock nestled between her thighs. It had been almost a week, and she

hadn’t changed her mind. He wasn’t going to get out of this gracefully without doing something. If he

were honest with himself, he didn’t want to get out of it at all. There would be consequences, but he

was tired of denying them both. He lifted her up in the water and twisted her to the side, laying her

body across his lap. He glanced around the fenced-in backyard, checking for nosy neighbors.

“We don’t have a condom, but I have an idea you might like.” He caught her gaze as his hand

caressed her shoulder, slid over her breast, cupped the slight swell of her belly, then inched beneath

the triangle of knitted fabric that covered her crotch.

She made a strangled noise as he slipped his middle finger into her folds. The breath rushed out of

her lungs. He moved his fingers, exploring, discovering she was silky smooth. He was dying to see

the thin line of pubic hair he could feel against his palm, but his imagination would have to do. She

arched her hips toward his hand, beginning to float, so he held her beneath the surface, sliding one

finger inside her, finding she was hotter than the water around them.

He watched her eyes glaze and her mouth fall softly open. She licked her lips, and he leaned

forward to lick them, too. Their tongues tangled, and he moved his fingers inside her in the same

rhythm. She kept time with soft moans in the back of her throat. What sounds would she make with

more of him inside her, pushing her harder, faster? He pulled back, watching her eyes as he

discovered the secrets of her body.

He curled his finger to rub the pebbled band of flesh just inside her opening, feeling her swell

beneath his hand. Her hips pumped, responsive to his touch. “Have you ever imagined us doing

something like this?”

“Too many times to count.” Her hoarse whisper made him harder. He thrust against her, feeling her

body clench around his fingers. She cried out as his fingers coasted over her clit, and he concentrated

on the bundle of nerves, circling then flicking, seeking a rhythm to drive her wild. She tensed, arms

tight bands around his shoulders, thighs hard against his as she strained, reaching for her peak. He

moved his fingers faster, harder, and she broke with a soft cry.

Her abandoned response urged him on. He wanted to give her this—to please her.

He thrust two fingers inside her to keep her going, riding the path to her G-spot while his thumb

coasted over her clit, wanting to do the same thing with his cock. She thrashed back and forth in the

water as she cried out again, and he had a split second of fear that her frenzied response would drive

him over the edge with her. He tried to think of something other than Jenna and couldn’t. Her cheeks

were pink, and her hair had fallen out of its twist. Every time she took a breath, her body pulsed

around his fingers.

Suddenly, she sat up, closing her thighs, trapping his hand. “Turnabout’s fair play. Your turn.” She

reached between them.

He grabbed her hand and held it. Don’t do this. The voice inside him was insistent, and he

groaned. Jenna shifted closer, and he knew he was either going to have to let her continue or explain

why he wanted her to stop. He was saved by the sound of crunching gravel and loud voices on the

other side of the fence. Barb and Devon had returned in the nick of time.

“Rain check.” His voice was thick.

“I can’t in good conscience leave you in this condition.”

His body agreed, throbbing against her. “This isn’t about me. I may be a hedonist, but I can control

myself with enough incentive.”

“And your incentive is…”

“Making it good for you. Fulfilling your fantasies. Anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac. Plus, this

is the best kind of torture. Good, clean, dirty fun.” Would she believe him?

She didn’t look convinced. “You want to fulfill my fantasy? Meet me in my room in ten minutes.”

He lifted her off his lap and set her down on the bench beside him just as he heard the front door

slam and the sound of a car leaving the driveway. “I told you the other night. My timetable or no

deal.”

Her brow furrowed, and he could tell she was trying to think of another angle.

He raised an eyebrow, amused and a little desperate. “I haven’t seen you pout since yesterday, so

you’re due for a temper tantrum. C’mon, let’s see that lower lip. Give it to me.” He hoped teasing

would dispel the tension between them, but her eyes darkened and her chin came up, signaling

trouble.

“I would love to give you my lower lip, both of my lips in fact.” She paused to give him a searing

look. “Anywhere you want them.”

“I want them.” I do, God help me. He took a deep breath, and squeezed her hand. “I want you, but I

need to do this my way. I want you to remember me with fondness when you go back to New Jersey.

And sometime in the future, I’d like to have dinner with your family again without you hating my guts.

Maybe I’m being selfish, but I’d like to stay friends.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “I’m pretty sure friends can give friends blow jobs these days,

but whatever.” She was teasing him, yet they both knew she meant it.

“No doubt, and if you feel that way tomorrow, maybe I’ll say yes. But I don’t want you feeling

obligated to offer quid pro quo just because I stole third base in a hot tub.”

Her steady gaze rocked him to the core. “There was no stealing. I gave it to you.”

“I know.” And I don’t feel nearly as guilty as I thought I would. He brought her hand to his mouth

for a kiss.

“We are going to become lovers, aren’t we, Roman?”

He understood her confusion. They were consenting adults, boundaries clear, risks minimized, and

there was enough heat between them to boil the water in the hot tub. He was worried about what Cole

would say if he found out, but his worries weren’t going to win out against his lust the next time he

found himself half-naked with Jenna—and there would be a next time.

He nodded slowly, coming to a decision. “Las Vegas.” As he said the words, he knew it had been

his plan all along. A decadent night of pleasure in Sin City, and then they’d go their separate ways. It

was what was best. After all, he’d only booked one room.

Her grin was as bright as the lights on the Vegas Strip.

He swallowed hard. “For the next few days, we’re going to be too busy for anything but work

anyway…at least I hope so.” Another kind of anxiety flashed through him. They’d only be busy if the

Beach House opening was a success. He’d reassured Jenna, but there was no guarantee.

“It’s going to be awesome, Ro. Have some faith.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek, and he felt

humbled and grateful. Hadn’t she come to Venice Beach to seek his help? He closed his arms around

her, pulling her close, holding on to the moment. She was biased, dismissive of the challenges they

faced, but God, her unwavering support felt good.

Down, boy. You can’t keep her.

As if to underscore his thoughts, Jenna slid out of his arms. She stood, steam rising from her skin as

she stepped carefully out of the tub. “Speaking of work, I think we should do individual

croquembouches for the Vegas event. What do you think?”

He made a face, remembering the soggy pile of cream puffs stuck together with caramelized sugar

he and Alex had made in culinary school. “No way. Nightmare.”

“No so fast. Keep an open mind,” she said as he followed her out of the tub.

He grabbed a towel, quickly running it over his body before he wrapped it around his waist. She

wanted to do a classical French dessert for a crowd of rowdy celebrities? He pictured Alex laughing

him out of the kitchen. His mother hovering over the plates making panicked suggestions. The guests

sneering. There was no way he was putting his name on a dessert that had disaster written all over it.

His career would be over. Seriously, why not just go the whole nine yards and make the stupid puff

pastry swans he had never been able to master?

“I know what you’re thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“But I think swans would be overkill.” She giggled and reached over to nudge his mouth shut with

the tip of a finger.

“How did you know what I was thinking?” he demanded.

“We went to the same culinary school, silly—I took a guess. Now hear me out. I bake the cream

puffs and make the mousses at the Beach House. We pack them up and take them to Vegas. I e-mailed

the chef and he said I can use part of the kitchen—”

“Wait,” Roman broke in. “Hang on a sec.”

“No—you listen to me. I fill the puffs on the day of the event so they won’t get soggy. We use

ganache to hold them together—sugar would be too complicated and no one wants to eat it anyway—

but we make spun sugar for a garnish and put bright sauces on the plate, maybe use some gold foil or

gold dust for accent. It will look like a million bucks, perfect for Vegas.”

“So you say. Your name isn’t going on that menu—mine is.” Until she’d cut him off, he’d fully

intended to correct her misapprehension and tell her Alex was a woman, but now he was glad he

hadn’t. The last thing he needed was those two ganging up on him. No doubt Alex remembered

exactly how flat his cream puffs had been when they were in school. She’d be all for the idea. “I’ve

got a lot riding on this, and I haven’t seen the new event menu yet. What if it’s sushi? Or Pacific Rim?

Not classical at all?”

“Then we use Asian or Latin flavors in the mousses. The croquembouche is a classic for a reason.

It has universal appeal, but it’s also adaptable. I guarantee the diners won’t be able to resist popping

at least one cream puff into their mouths…especially if we make chocolate pâte à choux. A cute little

individual chocolate croquembouche would look awesome on a white plate, especially with the spun

sugar.”

Her enthusiasm was persuasive, but…cream puffs? “I was thinking something modern, like

chocolate bombes.”

“Of course you were.” She snorted. “How many molds do you have? Even if you have twenty I’d

have to make at least a dozen separate batches and wait for them to set. Or you’d have to buy more

molds. Then there’s transportation. If we make them here, we’d have to keep them frozen during the

trip, then ganache them in Vegas. Talk about a nightmare.” She shuddered and headed for the house.

He followed. “You’ve given this some thought.”

“Constantly. I don’t want to let you down, Roman. Trust me, I’m right about this. Croquembouches

are the way to go. Practical, delicious, and I promise to make them stunning. The plate-up will be a

breeze, too. Are you seeing my genius yet?”

He wouldn’t call it genius, but he didn’t have a better idea. “Do you have recipes for all these

things? You don’t have much time to experiment.”

“I’m all set. Just get me that menu, so I can figure out the fillings.”

“I was expecting it two days ago. I’ll make sure we get it tomorrow.” He swatted her ass as she

reached the door.

Heat flared in her eyes. “I’m going to change your mind about cream puffs.”

“I hope so.” He held the door for her and followed her into the house. Upstairs, he could hear Barb

calling to Devon that it was past her bedtime.

“Leave the suit in the bathroom. I’ll take care of it.” Jenna left him at the door and walked down the

hall.

When he came out of the bathroom, she was sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of wine. She had

changed into another soft-looking T-shirt and a pair of loose pants. She set her wine aside and walked

him to the door.

“Thanks for coming.” She held out her arms.

He stepped forward, bracing himself. He wasn’t used to wanting but not having, and every time he

got to the edge with her, it was harder to pull back, especially when she was so ready to move

forward. As always, she fit him perfectly, but this time she didn’t push for more. Their bodies settled

Chapter Seven

Lunch was slow but steady. Jenna watched Roman pacing in front of the line, making sure each plate

was perfect. T-Bird had distributed menu fliers to his surfer friends and they’d spread the word up

and down the beach. She’d been hoping a mob would hit the front door as soon as it opened, but

steady was good enough for her.

As dinner was getting underway, she approached Roman. “Do you have the menu for Vegas yet?”

His eyes met hers, and her cheeks flamed. She’d returned his distracted nod this morning when

they’d both been consumed by last-minute details. Now that things had slowed down, she was afraid

every X-rated dream she’d had about him last night was playing in high-def across her forehead. Her

mind had replayed their scene in the hot tub in an endless loop of anticipation, ecstasy, and

frustration. She’d awakened on the edge of orgasm, and her body had been pretty steady in that zone

ever since. Maybe she could blame her flushed cheeks on sunburn.

He dug in his pocket. “I’ve got it right here. Sorry. It’s been a hectic day.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath, filling her lungs with as much air as she could cram into her

overheated body. She exhaled slowly. Breathing was good. She’d just keep breathing and somehow

she would get through it, red-faced perhaps, but if she kept breathing, she wouldn’t pass out from lust.

That underwater orgasm had been incredible. She wanted more. She wanted him…and he was

completely focused on the Beach House.

He edged close and leaned to whisper, “And I couldn’t sleep last night in spite of the very cold

shower I took as soon as I got home.”

Relief rushed through her. It wasn’t only her. Thank God.

She arched an eyebrow. “Cold shower? Why cold? I’ve been taking hot ones. Very hot, if you know

what I mean.”

The look on his face was priceless as her meaning sank in. “That’s cheating.”

She shook her head. “No way. That’s just common sense. I think of you, if it makes you feel any

better.” She batted her eyelashes. “Still want to wait until Vegas?”

He snorted. “Take a gander at this menu and see if you need an answer to that question.”

She looked at the e-mail printout he thrust into her hand and gasped, breathless again. Breathing

didn’t matter now. No amount of oxygen was going to help her create flavors to match an exquisite

menu full of classic dishes accented by truly inspired ethnic sauces and accompaniments. She felt

dizzy.

“I know, right? Total overkill. Alex is such a show-off.”

“I think the menu looks incredible.” She studied it again, gaze drifting to the e-mail signature at the

bottom. Shock tightened her grip, crumpling the paper. “Alexandra Banks? Alex is a woman? Why

didn’t you tell me?”

His gaze skated away from hers. “I didn’t want you two ganging up on me about the cream puffs.

She knows I can’t bake for shit. We were partners in culinary school.”

“I just bet you were.” The words shot out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Ancient history.”

So they had been lovers. No wonder he didn’t want them comparing notes, not that Jenna had many

notes. Was Alex the reason Roman kept putting her off? Was he hoping to hook up with the Castle

chef instead of her in Vegas?

She thrust the paper into his hand. “Nice. Keeping your options open, huh?”

“I was going to tell you last night, but you interrupted me. If I’d wanted to keep it a secret, I

wouldn’t have shown you the e-mail.” His gaze was cool. “Do you still think your croquembouches

can top that menu?”

Her cheeks heated. She’d forgotten all about the menu. Work—we have work to do. She leaned

over to read the menu again. It really was impressive. “Damn, think the food will taste as amazing as

it sounds?”

He scowled. “Anybody can make truffles and foie gras taste good. Did you see the wines paired

with each course? At least they’ll all be drunk by dessert and won’t notice what we put in front of

them.”

His words made her temper flare. “You don’t think I can do this, do you? Create a dessert to

impress your friend Alex, your mother, and her billionaire?” She may have been worrying about that

herself, but he wasn’t allowed to doubt her.

“Alex is not my friend anymore.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She lifted her chin and waited.

His eyes were a beautiful stormy blue, but she refused to let it distract her. Finally, he growled, “Of

course you can. But Alex is going to do everything she can to showboat, and I’m afraid we’re getting

set up to fail, no matter what you make.”

“Wrong. Everybody loves cream puffs,” she argued. “Classic comfort food.”

“Like burgers and fries? Guess who talked me into that?” Roman glanced pointedly at the nearly

empty ticket spike.

She glared back at him. “Is that why you’re so pissy? Give the buzz a chance to build. The dining

room will be full before you know it. Meanwhile, don’t take your bad mood out on me. I’m the good

guy.” She pointed to her toque. “See? White hat.”

He cursed softly. “Sorry.”

She shrugged, not ready to let him off the hook for that low blow. He hadn’t exactly put up a fight

about changing the menu, so he couldn’t blame it all on her. She was doing the best she could, which

was a damn sight better than he could do, at least when it came to dessert. His comment about the

Beach House menu had stung, and his continued doubts about the Vegas dessert hit harder now that

she knew Alex had been his lover.

He sighed. “You’re right. I’m taking my bad mood out on you because our first lunch was slow.”

“Does that mean this is a bad time to remind you someone needs to learn to make the desserts?” she

asked, wanting to punish him. He might not miss her, but he’d miss her damn pastries. “I’m heading

back home after Vegas.”

Max looked up from the grill, a Cheshire-cat grin on his face. “I love to bake. Teach me.”

“Pick me, Chef. I can bake my ass off.” T-Bird raised his gloved hand from the salad he was

tossing.

Roman shook his head. “I’ll hire a pastry chef. You two jokers have enough to do.”

She crossed her arms. “And that’s the other problem. I need oven space and room to work, both

hard to come by now that we’re open for lunch and dinner. I have a thousand cream puffs to bake.”

“Shit.” He frowned. “After service?”

“I guess so.” He could at least show a little gratitude for her dedication. Abruptly, she’d had

enough. “I’m going home for a nap. I didn’t sleep well either.” Bastard.

“You need a ride?”

Oh, the irony. She glanced at her watch and shook her head. “The bus comes in fifteen minutes. I’m

good. See you later.” And when she did, she’d make the best cream puffs he’d ever tasted and force

him to eat his doubts, one by one.

…

Dinner service was a little busier, but it didn’t improve his mood. The tight look on Jenna’s face

when she’d left the restaurant haunted him, and he knew he owed her another apology. He should have

set her straight about Alex the minute it came up, and it wasn’t fair to blame her for a slow lunch at

the Beach House. After all, it had been slower before she got here. He planned on making it up to her

by helping her bake the cream puffs. He’d spent the rest of his day getting ahead on work so he’d have

time to catch up on sleep tomorrow.

Thank God Max had stepped up and taken over the ordering. Not only was Max completely capable

of handling the new menu, he was catching Roman’s errors. Roman was grateful for the help, but if

his buddy gave him that knowing grin and made one more crack about actually sleeping while he was

in bed, Roman might drag him outside and drown him in the ocean.

Naturally, Max assumed he was having sex all night, not tossing and turning because hot dreams

were giving him a monstrous erection every hour. His decision not to sleep with Jenna until Las

Vegas might actually kill him before they got there…and yet he knew he was doing the right thing.

It was harder and harder to think of her as Cole’s little sister when she was giving orders in his

kitchen. Clearly, she’d grown into her bossy streak. His cooks cheerfully made room for her on the

line, although Roman had a suspicion she bribed them for oven space. Every time he kissed her,

touched her—hell, every time he looked at her—he felt a little less guilty about the things he wanted

to do to her.

He looked up from the computer screen as Max entered the office, unsurprised to see he was

munching on a cookie.

“You’re eating the profits…and about a zillion calories,” Roman pointed out.

Max leaned over his shoulder, dropping crumbs. “I saved you a hundred bucks on that order this

morning. Plus, I never gain weight. I work it off the same way you do.” He held his fist out for a

bump.

Roman ignored it. “I’m not working anything off right now.”

Max burst out laughing, showering Roman with wet crumbs. When Max could talk he said, “Good

one. You don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you? Give me a break. I haven’t seen you on the

beach or in the clubs. You’re banging her.”

Roman kept his voice casual as he brushed crumbs off his jacket, even though he wanted to snarl.

“Nope. Not banging her. She’s…um…I don’t know. Shit. She’s different.” The fact that he couldn’t

explain this to Max, the closest thing he had to a partner in crime, was worrisome. “She had a crush

on me when she was a kid. I was stalling because I thought she might change her mind. Jesus, I can’t

just bang her, as you so elegantly put it. I want to stay friends when it’s over.”

Max frowned. “What do you mean when it’s over? Already planning the breakup? I thought you

guys were dating, like, for real.”

Roman shook his head. “You heard her, she’s leaving after Vegas. And getting involved isn’t my

style, you know that.”

“All the more reason to bang her while you can. She’s dying for it.”

Roman glared at him. “I’m trying to be the good guy for once, is that so hard to understand?”

Max dropped the cookie he was munching onto the desk and stared at Roman as if he were the

stupidest man on the planet. “Are you nuts? You just said she has a crush on you. If you give her the

hearts-and-flowers routine, she’s going to fall in love with you.” He shook his head in disgust. “Nail

her to the wall. Shag her rotten. But don’t you dare make that nice girl fall in love with you then send

her home to Mommy and Daddy with her heart broken into a million pieces.”

Roman stared at him, appalled. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah, duh. It’s a dick move, man. Now I’m sorry I encouraged her.”

“Why do you care so much?” he shot back. “She’s nothing to you.”

Anger distorted his usually easygoing friend’s features, and for a split second Roman braced for

impact. Then Max shook his head and sighed. “Because she’s gorgeous, talented, sexy, smart…should

I go on?”

Roman shook his head. Jenna was all of those things, but hearing it from Max was disturbing. “You

don’t…you aren’t attracted to her, are you?”

Max gave him a look. “Hell no. You kidding me? She’s fucking hot, but she deserves better than

either of us. You’re screwing with her head by pretending to be something you’re not. You and Prince

Charming apparently ride on opposite ends of the kingdom, so don’t encourage her fantasies of white

horses and happily ever after if you don’t intend to follow through.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do now? I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Max picked up his cookie and shot him another impatient look. “Just be yourself, I guess. Take her

to bed and kick her out in the morning. No harm, no foul, no false expectations. Keep it simple. But

someday I hope you realize the universe put a perfect plate in front of you, and you sent it back to the

goddamn kitchen.” There was pity in his gaze, and it stung. “The line is all set for the night. I’m out of

here.”

Max shut the door behind him, leaving Roman in a cold sweat. His stomach twisted, and the sinking

feeling he’d had on the way home last night returned. Was he leading Jenna on? There hadn’t been any

other way to play it. Jumping into bed with her had felt wrong, but what if she fell in love with him?

Short-term only…quick and dirty. Her words rushed back to him, and he felt foolish. She had

clearly defined their relationship, casting him in the role of playmate. Just because he’d dragged it out

didn’t mean she wanted anything more from him. She was going back to Lambertville soon. And that

was a good thing, right? Exactly what he wanted.

Max was wrong. He didn’t have anything to worry about except the beach party this weekend,

Vegas, and convincing his mother to retire.

He glanced at the clock and stood. Jenna would arrive soon, and he wanted to be waiting for her.

His cell phone rang as he walked out the front door. The new menu had gone live on the website this

morning, and his mom had texted immediately. Burgers and beer? That’s what you call an

improvement? He had ignored her texts and calls for the rest of the day, but sooner or later, he was

going to have to hear her out. It might as well be now. “Hey, Ma.”

“About time. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You’re just going to have to trust me.” There was every possibility he would fail, but he was

committed.

“How can I trust you? Every time I turn around you’re doing something crazy.” Her voice was

incredulous.

“Have I ever let you down before?” He kept his tone even. The answer was no, and they both knew

it. “A dozen restaurants in half that many years. I know what I’m doing. It’s not a fine dining crowd,

Mom. Chill out. I’ve got it under control.”

“Chill out? Did you just tell me to chill out?” Her voice rose. “I’ve got a multimillion dollar deal

on the table, and our latest project is a beach-side burger joint. I look like an idiot.”

He couldn’t imagine his smart-as-hell mother ever looking like an idiot. A bitch, maybe, but not an

idiot. Probably shouldn’t tell her that, though. He counted to ten until the urge to end the call

dissipated. “We’d look dumber if we continued to push fine-dining in a flip-flops location. How did

it go at dinner the other night? Did he try to put the moves on you?” Shame burned in his gut. It was

his fault she’d been put in that position.

She sighed. “No, not at all. He was lovely. We didn’t talk business, though. I can’t figure out how

to get him on board.”

The uncertainty in her voice surprised him. The formidable Stella Gallagher always had a plan.

“We’ll get him in Vegas.”

“Speaking of Vegas, what’s for dessert?”

A taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant and Jenna got out. “Individual croquembouches,” he said

firmly. “And I have to go. It’s time to start baking.”

“Croquembouches? Are you kidding me? Wait—you’re baking? I assumed you’d get help.” She

sounded shocked and more than a little doubtful. He couldn’t blame her.

“I did, and like I said, it’s all under control. It’s going to be fine, I promise.”

He hung up as Jenna stopped in front of him.

“You didn’t have to wait out front for me,” she said, instead of hello.

“It’s late, and you’re a girl.” His teasing didn’t even garner a smile.

“Sexist.”

“Yup.”

She shrugged. “Thanks, I guess.”

He followed her into the restaurant, hating the distance that had grown between them since his

stupidity this afternoon. When they reached the line, she pulled a sheaf of papers out of her purse.

“These are the recipes for the Beach House desserts. I’m running out of time to train whomever you

hire, and I wanted you to have hard copies, just in case.”

“I thought you were going home to nap.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Her gaze was shuttered, with none of the warmth he had come to expect from her.

The words broke free with a sigh. “Sometimes I’m an asshole.”

He took the papers out of her hand, noticing they even had the Beach House logo printed on them.

Yup, he was an asshole. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I used to date Alex, and I didn’t mean to imply

your dessert wouldn’t be good. It isn’t about you. It’s about me…and the fact nothing I do is right

these days. I just got off the phone, and my mother’s pissed about the changes I made to the menu. I

can’t win with her. I’m not sure why I keep trying, but I can’t stop now. Eventually, she has to retire,

right?”

She stood, staring at him, head cocked to the side. “The woman is starting another business. It

doesn’t sound like she’s planning to retire to me.”

“She swears it’s her last project.”

“I don’t care what she says. Actions speak louder than words. People who want to retire finish

projects, they don’t start them.”

Insistent throbbing erupted between his eyes. He’d never be able to stop working so hard, never

please his mother enough so she turned over the reins to him. He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“Could we focus on making a kick-ass Vegas dessert, so I can get her off my back?”

“It’s so weird to discover you’re a momma’s boy. Big, bad, Roman Gallagher, playboy of the West

Coast is a momma’s boy.” She shook her head. “Weird.”

His mouth fell open, and his teeth knocked together when he shut it. “Shut up. That’s not cool.”

“Just calling it like I see it. She should be proud of you. This place is going to take off, Ro. I know

it. You are going to be up to your ears in happy customers before you know it.”

Her faith humbled him again. He’d acted like an ass, and she was still cheering him on. Not only

that, she’d spent her afternoon and evening working on recipes for the Beach House, another gesture

of goodwill—and a reminder that they had limited time to spend together.

He tucked the recipes into a safe spot on the shelf and resolved to return the favor as soon as

possible. He would write down every step he had taken this week, catalog every change he had made

to the Beach House menu, dining room, and exterior, and why he had made it. He had enough

experience flipping restaurants to write a damn manual. After everything she was doing for him, she

should have more than some hastily scrawled notes when she went back to New Jersey.

“Have you figured out your niche yet?” he asked, feeling guilty when she shook her head. She’d

probably been too busy working for him to think about Cooper’s.

She frowned. “It’s harder when you’re close to the project. It was easy to walk in the Beach House

and see the flaws, but I grew up at Cooper’s. It’s like home to me. As much as I want to keep it going,

I don’t want to change a thing.”

He put his arm around her. “You’ll figure it out. I believe in you.”

“Do you?” She lifted an eyebrow. “It didn’t feel that way this afternoon.”

His heart squeezed. “That’s because I’m a selfish jerk. Can we start over? Please? I am fully on

board with the croquembouche plan, and I’ll do anything I can to help, even learn how to bake.”

Slowly she nodded. A smile tilted the corners of her mouth, and relief swept through him. He held

out his arms. “Friends?”

As she stepped into his embrace, his body’s response was immediate and predictable.

She met his heated gaze, and the wicked gleam in her eyes dared him to do something about it. He

couldn’t resist. He bent his head and fell into her comforting heat. The distance between them was

gone, and he found himself right back on the edge again, as wild for her now as he had been last night.

He guessed from the way she was riding his thigh she felt the same way.

“Fuck,” he breathed into her mouth. “This is nuts.” His conscience was barely protesting, and after

what had happened in the hot tub last night, he knew she wasn’t going to change her mind. That was

Chapter Eight

By Saturday, Jenna was losing her ever-lovin’ mind. Roman met her in the kitchen every night after

service, and they baked until morning. Being near him was agony—and ecstasy. Every time she caught

a whiff of heat rising from his skin, she wanted to tackle him to the kitchen floor, but she refused to

give him any reason to think they couldn’t pull this off when he already had so many doubts. There

was too much at stake, and they had too much work to do. So much work she’d made a list and broken

it down into days just to have a prayer of getting it all done. When the cream puffs hit the plates in

Vegas, it was go time. Until then, Roman was right. They needed to haul ass in the kitchen and keep

their minds on the job.

She pored over her lists, ignoring the scent of sugar on his skin, the most potent aphrodisiac she had

ever encountered. She made more lists, making sure they had every ingredient they would need to

create the desserts, coolers and icepacks to transport them, and tools to serve them. She’d gotten over

her jealousy of Alex, but she’d be damned if she’d ask the other woman for equipment or ingredients.

Each time she crossed an item off that night’s list, her anticipation grew, knowing Roman would

drive her home and kiss her on the front porch: deep, soft kisses that began slow, blasted her to the

stars, then brought her back down to earth in time to stagger into the house before Barb and Devon got

up.

It was her favorite part of each day.

Neither one of them tried to take it any further. An accord had grown between them. They were

working toward the same goals—great food at the Beach House, a seamless dessert for Vegas, and an

ending to their standoff. But she was still going bonkers.

As she sat on the bus on the way to the Beach House, she relived how his hands had felt in her hair

last night, the way he had cupped her cheek, caressed her lip with his thumb, and then followed the

motion with his tongue. A warm wave of desire weakened her muscles, and she sagged in her seat,

staring out the window at familiar scenery. Shit. She jumped to her feet and careened down the aisle,

barely making it off the bus before the doors closed. Her body throbbed with every step, a constant

pulse of arousal at the thought of seeing him again.

She went in the side door.

Roman had hired two lunch cooks. Max and T-Bird had worked doubles to train them, and all

hands were on deck for the beach party tonight. The four of them worked side by side on the line, and

it took her a second to figure out what was wrong with the scene. Everyone was silent.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Max looked up. “Have you seen the paper?”

“I haven’t done anything but crawl out of bed and shower today. Haven’t even had any coffee.”

“You’re going to want some before you read this.” He handed her a folded newspaper. “We got

reviewed. Roman is ballistic. You may want to disappear until he cools down.”

“Oh shit. What does it say?” She opened the paper, searching for the food section. How bad could

it be? The food was awesome, not fancy but perfect in its own way. She’d stand behind her desserts,

and Roman’s menu was inspired—comfort food with California flair.

Playboy Restaurateur and Pastry Chef Make Love on the Beach.

The headline was bad, but the pictures were worse. How on earth had someone snapped a shot of

their beach picnic? And a picture of her getting into his car? And holding hands as they entered the

Beach House at night? Roman must be furious. The pictures of the food couldn’t compete with the

beach make-out shot. If the LA Times was running this, she could only imagine what was on the

Internet. No doubt someone would connect the dots and figure out it was her in the other picture,

mostly naked in Roman’s arms that first night on the beach.

She read the article, hoping to find something to quell her horror.

Drinks as refreshing as the beach breeze…soul-satisfying burgers…homey sweets that hit the

spot. She took her first full breath since opening the newspaper. She combed the words for criticism

but found none. Was it possible this was a good thing? The timing was perfect. With the beach party

tonight, a great review might bring people in droves.

“And here I thought you two had been baking all night.” Max smirked as he took the paper out of

her hand. “I should have known better.”

“We’ve been baking our asses off. Check the freezer,” she shot back. “We’re in great shape for

Vegas.”

Max chuckled. “I know, kiddo. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Roman’s pissed, but he’ll get over

it. He likes anything that increases the bottom line, and he’s dying to get out of Venice Beach and back

to Hollywood. Just ignore it. No one is going to believe he’s a one-man woman anyway.” He smiled

when he spoke, but his eyes were dark and watchful.

She bristled at the subtle warning. Did he think she didn’t know the score? “Work hard, play

harder, right?”

Max nodded slowly.

Roman’s voice echoed down the hall. Then a door slammed. His voice continued, softer now, but

still irate. She assumed he was talking to his mother, who was no doubt furious, too.

“Let me know when I can get some oven space,” she said, heading for the office.

Before she reached the hall, her phone rang, and she dug it out of the deep pocket of her chef pants.

She blanched when she saw Cole’s name on the display, tempted to let it go to voice mail, but he

never called unless it was important. She veered out the side door and headed for the beach. “Hey,

Cole.”

“What the fuck are you doing making out on the beach with Roman Gallagher?”

Oh shit. “Fine, thanks, how are you?” She pumped sarcasm into her tone. “Everything okay with

Angela and the baby? Mom and Dad okay? Have you talked to them lately?”

“You bet I have. They got an offer for Cooper’s, and they are planning to sell. Please tell me you

didn’t know the family business was about to go belly up when you took off for California to screw

my best friend.”

“Cole, it isn’t like that. I have a plan.”

“Of course, you always do.” His voice was cold and frightening. When Cole got mad, he yelled.

His calm fury terrified her. “You better start talking, sis.”

“I came out here to pick Roman’s brain—”

“Using your tongue?”

She ignored the gibe. “I wanted to learn how he turns failing restaurants into overnight successes,

so I could do it with Cooper’s.”

“Using what, Jenna? There’s no money.”

“Are you going to listen or are you going to keep taking potshots? I promise I’ll explain everything

if you shut up for a second.”

“By all means, but you better make it good, or I’m going to come out there, kill Roman, and drag

you back to Lambertville by your too-big britches.”

She snapped. “Get off your high horse, Cole. It’s easy for you to make judgments. You got out of the

restaurant business and built yourself a stable little life with your stable little wife. Mom and Dad are

ecstatic. They’re so damn proud of you. They made me promise not to tell you what was going on at

Cooper’s because they don’t want you to come home to help. Instead, they want to sell, so I’ll get out

of the restaurant business, too.” Anger flared hot in her chest, and hurt made her voice tight. She

forced words through the tears. “But I love Cooper’s. Running that restaurant is all I’ve ever wanted

to do, but no one will give me a chance. If I hear ‘too young to understand’ or ‘it’s a rough business’

one more time, I swear I’m going to explode. I know it’s a rough business. For crying out loud, I grew

up in it. I went to culinary school. I’ve worked other places. I know it’s tough. But I want to do it. I

want to run a restaurant, no, not just any restaurant. I want to run Cooper’s. And I want my family to

give me a chance. Is that so much to ask?”

“Can I talk now?” he asked dryly.

She took a breath. “No.”

If she was getting things off her chest, she was going to unload everything. “My relationship with

Roman is none of your business. I’ve had a crush on him since you two walked into the kitchen and

stole my oatmeal cream pies. I’m a grown-up. He’s a grown-up. End of story. If you interfere, I’ll

make you regret it.”

“He’s a player—”

“I’m counting on that. It would be a shame if he couldn’t deliver the goods after all the time I’ve

spent fantasizing about him. I plan to enjoy every inch of his wide range of sexual experience before I

come home to Lambertville with a plan for saving Cooper’s.”

Cole groaned.

“Butt out or I’ll start spewing dirty details.”

“Roman will break your heart,” Cole threatened grimly.

“He’s an amazing kisser,” she shot back. “When he touches me, I swear it feels like every muscle

in my body—”

“Stop. You win. Just stop. I don’t want to hear any more.”

“And he isn’t going to break my heart. Quit underestimating me. I can fool around without falling in

love, and I can come up with a plan for saving Cooper’s without screwing it up.”

“You better. The offer is on the table, and Dad said they’re taking a week to think about it.”

“A week? The bank gave them four months.”

“It’s a good offer. You better have a hell of a plan.”

“I do.” I will. The Beach House review was good and changing the menu and the theme had been

her idea. She could do this. She was just going to have to do it faster than she had planned. She heard

Cole take a breath, so she cut him off before he could start asking questions. “Don’t talk to Roman

about this.”

“No promises.”

“And don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

Cole grunted. “You’ve got one week, sis. Get your ass back to Lambertville and lend a hand.

Unless there is no plan, and you used Cooper’s as an excuse to go after Roman?”

“How dare you—” But the shot hit home, and that was as far as she could get before shame closed

her throat.

“Typical.” He hung up.

She walked to the Boardwalk and sat on a bench, seething with anger. The beach breeze roared in

her ears, punctuated by the loud beat of her heart. After a few minutes, she cooled off enough to be

able to think again. Maybe Cole was right. Maybe she had come out here hoping to hook up with

Roman. But she’d learned a lot this week, and by the time she went home, she would have a plan.

She’d convince her parents not to sell Cooper’s, but first she was going to finish what she started

with Roman—at the Beach House and in Las Vegas.

She had one more week to come up with a plan. It would have to be enough.

She stood and began making her way back to the Beach House, wondering how Roman had fared

with his mother. No doubt she was livid about the kissing picture in the review making Gallagher

Holdings look bad, but there wasn’t anything they could do now. Or was there? Could they spin the

review in a positive direction?

An idea took shape in her head, and she paused, chuckling quietly while she sent Cole a text. Don’t

believe everything you read on the Internet. You promised me a week, and I’m holding you to it.

She dropped the phone back into her pocket and skipped through the sand, needing an outlet for her

excitement. It was a crazy idea, but if it worked, it would mean even better press for the Beach

House, and it might just cement a victory for Roman’s mother’s business deal.

She just needed to convince Roman to play along.

…

“What the hell are you doing?” His mother’s voice was sharp.

Roman clamped his teeth shut on a curse as she continued. “It’s bad enough you’ve hung our shingle

on a burger shack, but you know better than to get involved with an employee.”

He’d known this call was coming the minute he’d opened the newspaper, but he still flinched.

“She’s Cole Cooper’s little sister, Mom. She’s visiting for a couple of weeks, and we’ve been

discreet. I have no idea how those pictures were taken. Maybe I have a stalker.” Even as he made the

excuses, resentment built inside him. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Illegal parties and making out on the beach are not discreet.” Of course she’d made the

connection. “If I taught you nothing, I taught you not to sleep where you eat. Respect the people who

work for you. How could you do this?”

He kicked the office door shut. “Did you read the review?”

“Of course I did, but I’m not impressed. If you can’t make a good hamburger, you’re not my son.”

Anger crackled inside him, a fierce blaze fueled by years of meeting her challenges only to be

given one more failing restaurant to rescue, one more business plan to write, one more hoop to jump

through. He’d had enough. “And if I kiss my pastry chef, I’m not your son, either, right? What’s next?

If the billionaire doesn’t eat my dessert and sign on the dotted line in Vegas, you’re not going to let

me run Gallagher Holdings? I’m beginning to think you don’t want to retire.”

“Not when you’re behaving like a lunatic. Honestly, Roman, you need a goddamn keeper.”

“If I were behaving like a lunatic, the review would have been bad. The Beach House may be a

burger shack, but it’s the best one on the beach. Why don’t you come down and check it out before

you decide I’ve lost my mind?”

“I can’t…I’m in Napa looking at properties with Jeff.”

“Jeff?”

“Jefferson. Morgan. The financier?”

“So it’s Jeff now? And traveling with him?” His mother’s silence spoke volumes and everything

clicked into place. Anger blazed through him. “How dare you call me to task when you’ve been

cozying up to Jeff for weeks? Pot. Kettle. Let me guess—my reprehensible behavior is forcing you to

take drastic measures. Don’t use me as an excuse to screw your backer.”

“Watch your mouth.” Again, she cracked the whip, but he wasn’t going to step in line this time.

“Gotta go. I know a few out-of-context pictures are worth more than the eighty hours I’ve put in this

week, but I still have to work tonight. Hopefully, I won’t be too busy to make the dessert for you and

your rich boyfriend to enjoy in Las Vegas.” He ended the call and tossed his phone on the desk.

Anger burned out and exhaustion settled over him as every double he’d worked this week caught up

with him. Spending his nights baking had probably been a mistake, but that had been the best part.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair. It was never going to be enough. Jenna was right. He

could work the rest of his life, and his mother would never quit. He felt an ocean of emptiness open

inside him, spanning his entire life.

A soft knock sounded on the door. “Come in.” He didn’t have the energy to raise his voice, but the

door opened, and Jenna slipped into the office. She shut the door behind her.

“You okay?” she asked.

His phone began to ring again. He silenced it without checking the display. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look like your dog died.”

“I’ve never had a dog,” he said tiredly. “I move around too much. I work all the time. Always

wanted one, though.”

“Can I get you a drink? A sandwich? Some coffee? A shotgun, so we can go after the Times

reporter?”

A small noise, not quite a sigh or a laugh, escaped his throat. “You saw it?”

She nodded. “You mad?”

He thought about that for a minute. “Not for any reason that makes sense.”

Don’t sleep where you eat. The rule had become an inviolate credo in every one of their

restaurants. There was enough drama in the kitchen without throwing sex into the mix, but he couldn’t

help but wonder if he’d missed out. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone if he had someone special who

shared his interests, instead of a past filled with meaningless celebrity conquests who were good for

Gallagher Holdings’ image but did nothing for his heart. He’d never have known the difference if

Jenna hadn’t come along.

Jenna wasn’t really an employee, so technically he hadn’t exactly broken the rule. She was more of

a friend who happened to be working at the Beach House right now. She’d become part of the gang,

and her limitless energy inspired him. He couldn’t have pulled the place together so fast without her.

“I think what I need is a hug.” He tugged her into his lap. She settled against him, pressing her lips

against his throat. He wrapped his arms around her, gathering her close, instantly comforted. “Your

brother is going to kill me if he sees those pictures,” he mused.

She giggled. “He already has.”

It took a second for the meaning to sink in, and then he jerked upright, almost knocking her out of his

lap. “What?”

“While you were in the office yelling at your mom, I was on the beach yelling at Cole.”

He grabbed his phone. He’d assumed that last call was his mother, but sure enough, it had been

Cole. There was a text, too. You break her heart, I break your face.

He held up the phone, and she laughed. “Relax. I’m not offering you my heart. You’re safe from big

brother, but it’s time to take the gloves off. My parents got an offer for Cooper’s, and I have a week to

convince them my plan is a better option.”

He blinked. “Do you have a plan yet?” Lord knew he’d barely thought about Cooper’s with the

furor at the Beach House. Now he felt doubly guilty. He was supposed to be helping her.

She shook her head. “Not yet, but I will. First we have to spin the Beach House review into

publicity gold and blow everybody’s mind in Vegas.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“By getting married.”

Shock blasted though his guilt. “Have you lost your mind?”

She shook her head. “If we announce our fake engagement at the beach party tonight, it will create

even better buzz. Think about it. It’s a perfect cover. Anyone who is following your…indiscretions

will be silenced.”

“You are off your rocker. No one will believe it.”

“Then we’ll make them believe it,” she insisted. “We’re halfway there already, according to the

newspaper, holding hands, kissing on the beach. Is it so bizarre to think wild and crazy Roman

Gallagher might finally settle down with a nice girl from Lambertville, New Jersey?” She batted her

eyes, the picture of innocence. “We’ll get more press, but it will be the good kind, chockfull of family

values. I bet it will help your mom seal the deal with the billionaire, too.”

Maybe she already has. “My mother is on her own.”

Her brow furrowed. “Since when?”

“Since five minutes ago when she declared I need a fucking keeper.”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “That brings to mind all sorts of interesting mental pictures involving

you and a very short leash. Are you good at taking orders? We could work that into our imaginary

prenuptial agreement.”

“I’m a chef. Filling orders is my life.” He sighed. “Is there something you want? Just add it to the

list.”

“You know what I want.” Her smile challenged him.

He shook his head. “You don’t have to pretend to marry me to get that. Why do you want to do

this?”

“Because what you want is important to me, too, and you want your mother to bag the billionaire. If

this doesn’t help clean up your image, nothing will.” She pulled him down for a long kiss. Her lips

were sweet, soothing the rough edges of bitter disappointment inside him. There was no way to avoid

speculation about his relationship with Jenna now, and it would be worse in Vegas since they were

traveling together. Her idea was nutty, but it just might do the trick.

“What the hell,” he said, breaking their kiss. “Jenna Cooper, will you marry me?” As the words left

his mouth, his heart skipped a beat.

She blinked, looking surprised, and then she chuckled. “That was easy. Why yes, I will. Nothing

would make me happier than being your fake fiancée.” She didn’t have to stress the word for him to

know she didn’t consider him true marriage material. She’d made that abundantly clear, and now

Roman knew why it hurt. Max was barking up the wrong tree if he thought Jenna was the one who was

going to get her heart broken. So was Roman. Jenna’s words came back to him. Is it so bizarre to

think wild and crazy Roman Gallagher might finally settle down with a nice girl from

Lambertville, New Jersey?

I should be so lucky.

The thought came out of nowhere and made him frown. They were having fun, pure and simple.

Anything more was impossible. So why did the idea make him feel so damn good?

He cleared his throat. “What should we tell your family? I don’t want Cole coming out here to

break my face.”

“The truth, of course—I’m pretending to be your fiancée to help you clean up your image. What are

you going to tell your mother?”

“Not a goddamn thing.” It was always work first with her, and it was time to stop expecting

anything else.

Jenna squeezed his hand. “Let’s spin the hell out of this crazy story. We’ll strike while the iron is

hot. When I go back home, you can return to your philandering ways, claiming a broken heart. I bet

you’ll get awesome sympathy press.”

He covered his wince with a smile, but it must not have been very convincing because she patted

his cheek. “Poor, poor, Roman. Is it that hard to give up your bachelorhood, even fictitiously?”

He shook his head. Not even close, but he’d be damned if he’d tell her what was really going

through his mind. She didn’t want forever with him, and that was a good thing. He wasn’t the right guy

for her. She deserved her happy little househusband.

“Excellent.” She stood and pulled him to his feet. “How’s your credit limit?”

“No money problems. Why?”

Her smile was filled with glee as she held up her left hand. “Because you’re going to have to put a

ring on it before the party tonight. You are now my adoring fiancé, and I expect to see some doting,

starting now. The jewelry store staff won’t be fooled by anything less than twenty-four carat true love

and devotion. Show me your puppy dog eyes.”

That wasn’t going to be a problem. He gazed into her warm brown eyes and smiled grimly. She

frowned. “You’re going to have to do better than that. Think wedding, not funeral.”

“I can do that.” But could she? Would she be willing to consider having more than a fake

relationship with him?

How could he convince her to give them a chance?

Wait. Why was he contemplating it? She’d never give up her dream of revitalizing Cooper’s, and

he was tied to Gallagher Holdings. He worked all the time which is why long relationships weren’t

his thing. Never had been. Couldn’t be.

But Jenna…was different. He reached out to smooth the tiny lines from between her eyes. He traced

his index finger down the tip of her nose then brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. She

drifted closer to him, settling her arms around his waist, and lifting her mouth for a kiss. His lips

moved over hers, perfecting their connection as he pondered how to proceed. According to Max, he’d

accidentally gotten off to a great start by pretending to be a gentleman. Hope stirred inside him. What

should come next? Flowers? Chocolate?

He lifted his head. “Maybe we should continue this at the jewelry store.”

A gold gleam flashed in her eyes. “We’d get arrested.”

He laughed and opened the door. Despite what he’d said on the phone, there was nothing left to do

for the party tonight, and Max had the line under control.

Jenna followed him out of the office. “It’s better if we go together, right? That way no one will

think you’re cheap when we pick out something economical.”

He glanced back at her, but she didn’t seem aware of the humor. He was going to buy her a

diamond ring. Economical didn’t figure into the picture. Luckily, he could afford it, and he was going

to play his role to the hilt.

…

“Jesus Christ.” She couldn’t stop staring at it.

The ring was beyond beautiful, a three-carat, emerald-cut, blue diamond solitaire that reminded her

of the ocean and Roman’s eyes. She had expected to hit one of the jewelry stores at the mall, but he’d

taken her to a small boutique on Abbot Kinney Boulevard. There hadn’t been any price tags in the

store, and she hadn’t asked. Did it matter? He’d be returning it in a few weeks, and he’d smiled when

he signed the credit card slip, joking about adding baguettes to the setting when they had children.

She’d played along, but the idea had taken root somewhere deep and now she was hiding in the

office, sweating and swearing because she couldn’t get the idea of a future with Roman out of her

head.

She snatched her phone out of her pocket and texted Betsy. OMG. I think I’m in love with Roman.

She didn’t text Lila. Last night, Chef Jackson Calabrese shattered Lila’s heart right after their joint

restaurant project had opened to rave reviews. As much as Jenna needed another reality check about

the pitfalls of falling in love with a playboy chef, she didn’t want to be cruel.

She sat, staring at her phone, hoping Betsy would reply fast. Her wish was answered. Of course

you are. Until you go home next week. Relax and enjoy it.

Betsy also included links to several recent images of Roman getting cozy with gorgeous celebrities.

Thank God for Betsy and her cool head. Jenna’s heart settled into a more reasonable rhythm. Right.

Thanks.

Roman was never going to give her the life she desired. She wanted what her parents had created

with Cooper’s, a restaurant life with family at heart. The fact that Roman had worked every holiday

since the last one he’d spent with her family spoke volumes. He loved transforming restaurants and he

was good at it. He specialized in short-term relationships, and she had firsthand experience that he

was good at that, too. Roman worked hard, partied harder, and had no intention of doing anything

else. He was the epitome of a successful working chef with the glamour of a celebrity. For God’s

sake, he didn’t have enough time to form a long-term relationship with a dog. She would enjoy the

next few days and then she would go back to Lambertville with great memories and a solid plan for

her future—a future that did not include him.

She made it as far as the door before she caught sight of the sparkling ring on her finger, and her

insides turned to Jell-O again. When her phone buzzed in her pocket, she snatched it, hoping for more

much-needed detachment from Betsy. Instead, it was Lila. You guys! Jackson proposed! I didn’t run

away this time and you were right. Thank you! XOXOXO!

Jenna leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes, happy for her friend yet needing a

moment to frame her reply. Finally, she straightened up and went with Congratulations, sweetie!

“Oh shit,” she whispered, sagging against the door again.

She gazed at the diamond on her finger, feeling her throat close up. Was a happy ending for her and

Roman possible, too? She tapped out a message to Betsy, wondering if she could change a simple

personality characteristic and find instant, lifelong happiness.

Just out of curiosity…if Lila’s a bolter, what am I?

She waited, fearing she already knew the answer.

Someone who doesn’t know when to quit…but in the best way possible. A maker of beautiful

disasters. A visionary. You can do this. Just stick to the plan.

But the plan had snowballed since she arrived in California. In a little over a week she had created

a new dessert menu for the Beach House, a fancy dessert for Las Vegas, and gotten herself engaged…

at least in the eyes of the world. If she didn’t slow down, she was going to roll right over her damn

plan. She needed to remember her priority—Cooper’s.

She called up the photos Betsy had sent her and paged through them again. He had a different

woman on his arm in every one of them. She was just this week’s woman.

Damn right I am. Her nerves buzzed with anticipation and her body heated. She would stick to the

plan, all right, especially everything they planned to do in Las Vegas.

…

Roman took Jenna’s hand and led her across the deck. The place was so packed they had to wind

their way through the bodies, dodging elbows and drinks. The kitchen was slammed with orders.

Every seat was taken, and people spilled out onto the beach.

He nodded to the deejay and stepped up to the microphone, tapping it to make sure it was on. “I

want to thank all of you for coming and making our first beach party a roaring success. The new spirit

of the Beach House was a joint effort, and I’m honored to announce that I’ve not only found an

amazing partner in the kitchen, but also in my life.” A bright light at the back of the crowd caught his

eye, and he realized a camera crew had arrived. He pulled Jenna in front of him and wrapped his

arms around her. “This is Jenna Cooper, pastry chef extraordinaire and the woman responsible for

inspiring the new menu and stealing my heart. Thank God she agreed to marry me because I’d be lost

without her.” Jenna turned to look up at him, eyes shining with happiness. His breath caught, and the

crowd cheered when he kissed her.

He lifted his head to say, “Chocolate chip cookies and Pacific fries are on the house.” Then he

swept Jenna off her feet and carried her through the crowd, amidst catcalls and backslapping, into the

kitchen where Max and the gang were holding the doors open. The cookies and fries had been her

idea. Free food served the double purpose of attracting a crowd and giving them something to soak up

the alcohol. So far she’d been right. The drinks were flowing, but the crowd was mellow and cheery,

making themselves at home.

Jenna was in motion as soon as her feet touched the tile. “I’ll get the cookies.” She disappeared

toward dry storage where they had stashed the platters.

T-Bird and the other two cooks headed back to the line. Max stayed behind. Things were still

strained between them, and the scowl on Max’s face indicated they were about to get worse.

“Marriage? What the hell, Roman, are you kidding me?”

Roman nodded. “I’m afraid so, but don’t tell anyone. The ring was her idea, and the engagement is

fake, just a ploy to get good press for Gallagher Holdings. But you were one hundred percent right—

Jenna is the woman of my dreams. I think I could fall in love with her, man. Unfortunately, she has her

heart set on a quickie with a workaholic playboy. Then she’s going to leave my ass in the dust.”

Max’s lips twitched and the tense set of his shoulders softened. “There is a certain poetic justice in

that.”

Roman nodded mournfully as they watched Jenna enlist waiters to carry trays of cookies into the

dining room.

He felt Max looking at him. “Did you guys do it yet?”

Roman kept his eyes on Jenna and said nothing.

“Unbelievable.” Max snickered. “It must be love. When are you leaving for Vegas?”

“Monday morning.”

“Plenty of time. Don’t worry about the Beach House. I’ve got it covered.” Max clapped him on the

shoulder. “But I wouldn’t count on sex to make her fall in love with you. I’d hire a limo, make

fantastic dinner reservations, and book the Honeymoon Suite, too. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to

consult Elvis while you’re there. He got the babes in truckloads.”

Roman could hardly breathe. The thought of having sex with Jenna didn’t fill him with anxiety or

guilt. Instead, anticipation made him jubilant. What had changed? His intentions. He didn’t want to

stall her until she changed her mind. Instead, he wanted to be a man worthy of the crush she’d always

had on him. Somehow. He banished his doubts. He’d never failed to achieve a goal he’d set his mind

to. By God, he’d be more than a fleeting memory to her.

“You know you’re a prick, right?” But Roman was already moving toward the office with his

phone in his hand.

“Good luck, tiger,” Max called after him. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses.”

He would have made a rude gesture, but he really did owe the guy for the wake-up call and the

excellent suggestions for Vegas.

“Thanks, man.” He glanced over his shoulder and laughed when Max flipped him the bird.

Chapter Nine

After making sure all of the cookies had been strategically deployed, Jenna slipped into the bar. “I

need a drink.”

The bartender, a burly surfer with dark curls, lifted an eyebrow. “Name your poison.”

She pointed at a pitcher of red liquid on the counter. “What’s that?”

“Hibiscus margarita. Stronger than it sounds.”

“Perfect.” She accepted a glass from him and took a slug. It was tart, sweet, and soothing. Resolve

notwithstanding, that little scene out on the deck had felt too real, and she needed to blur the edges a

little. She downed the rest of the drink. Then she set the glass in a rack under the bar, and ducked into

the kitchen, already feeling more relaxed.

“You guys need help?” she asked Max.

“All set.” He winked. “Why don’t you go celebrate?”

She opened her mouth to set him straight, but a hard arm slid around her waist. Roman pressed a

kiss to the side of her neck, burning every coherent thought from her head. Maybe the drink hadn’t

been such a good idea.

“Cookies done?” He nibbled her ear.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Then grab your purse. Let’s get out of here.”

He took her hand and led her to the office where she collected her belongings. They were out the

side door before she came to her senses. “Don’t you want to stay and celebrate? The beach party is a

huge success. This is your moment of glory.”

“Our moment of glory,” he corrected. “And there is no one I want to spend it with but you.” His car

was parked outside from their earlier shopping trip, and he helped her into it and shut the door.

She indulged in a deep sigh as she watched him. God, he was good. Smooth and suave. He knew

just what to say. Of course, he’d had plenty of practice, she reminded herself.

He slid into the car beside her. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” She hadn’t eaten since this afternoon, and it was after ten. “Want to come into the

house, and I’ll make you a sandwich?” she asked, before she noticed they weren’t headed for Mar

Vista. “Wait…where are we going?”

“Las Vegas.”

“What? I haven’t packed, and our supplies are stashed all over the Beach House coolers and

freezers. I thought we didn’t have to leave until Monday?” The pleasant buzz of tequila disappeared

as she began mentally going over her lists, not in the least reassured when he grinned and pulled into

his driveway.

“We don’t, but everything is ready to go, right? All we have to do is pack it up?”

“Yes, but I don’t understand—”

He turned off the engine and got out of the car. She opened her door, not giving him time to meet

her. “Roman, what’s going on?”

He took her arm, guided her toward the house, and opened the door with a flourish. “Welcome to

Las Vegas.”

She stepped inside. A bottle of champagne was chilling on the counter. The table was set for two.

The scent of warm bread and seafood filled the air. She could see candles lit on the back porch. Her

heart beat faster, and a smile broke out across her face. “What’s all this?”

“Our work is done. It’s time to play.”

She jumped as a tall man with dark hair materialized from the kitchen. “Anything else, Chef?”

“All set, James. Thanks for helping out on short notice. Everything looks great.”

She drifted toward the kitchen to see what was cooking as Roman walked James to the door. Her

mouth watered at the sight of a pan of white lasagna cooling on top of the stove.

“Nothing beats room service.”

She turned to see Roman standing in the doorway. Her appetite vanished. Vegas. Time to play. That

meant…

She caught her breath as he walked toward her. There was no mistaking the hunger in his gaze.

Tension sizzled in her chest, and the air filling her lungs felt thick and tropical. He stopped beside her

and opened the oven, then grabbed a towel and removed a tray of bread. He turned off the oven.

“Okay if we eat in a little while?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” He dipped his head and fused their mouths.

At the touch of his lips, she knew she’d been fooling herself. It was impossible not to hope for

more than she was going to get from him, but she wasn’t going to forego the ride because it didn’t last

forever.

“Yes, please,” she whispered.

He took her hand and guided her into the bedroom, where there were more candles. Rose petals

were strewn over the bed. She was grinning like a fool, but she didn’t care. He pointed at the pillow,

and she reached for the box of truffles, setting it onto the bedside table. “Brilliant of you to realize

one truffle is never enough.”

“I apply that logic to chocolate and orgasms.”

“Hallelujah,” she whispered as he ripped open her chef coat and shoved it to the floor. Her shirt

was over her head before she could take another breath. He popped the hooks on her bra, divesting

her of it, before he shoved her onto the bed and removed her shoes and socks. She lifted her hips as

he yanked her pants and underwear over her hips.

“Cute panties.”

And thank God she’d shaved her legs…and everything else.

“Fantastic,” he moaned, heaving her farther up the bed. He threw off his clothes even faster than

he’d stripped hers and settled on top of her a heartbeat later, skin to skin.

“I’ve been thinking of this.” His words were strained. “For days.”

She wrapped her arms around his broad back, shivering in pleasure as his hardness pressed against

her thigh. “I’ve got you beat…try years.”

Her breath left her lungs in a pant as he moved down her body. He smoothed his hand over her hip

and bent his head to her breasts. He caught one nipple between his teeth and tugged. Her hips arched

off the bed and he caught her, sliding a finger inside.

His grunt was a soft puff of air against her breast. “You’re ready for me.”

The thought of him thrusting inside her made her tremble. She clenched around his fingers,

desperately wishing to reverse their positions and crawl on top of him, but she wanted him to possess

her. Her craving was sharp, violent, and all-consuming. She couldn’t speak. Tears prickled her eyes.

She needed him to lose control and take her with him, but if she had to ask, she was going to fall

apart.

She threaded her fingers through his sun-streaked hair. He glanced up, met her gaze, and stilled.

Her breast popped free from his mouth, and his fingers stopped moving inside her. Her heartbeat

connected them, a steady pulse she could hear and feel in her throat, wrists, and groin. He sat up on

the bed and opened a drawer in the bedside table.

“No more waiting.” He rolled a condom over his cock and tossed the wrapper to the floor. He

grabbed her hips, moving her into the center of the bed, and settled himself between her legs, pushing

her thighs wide with his. She pulled her knees up, cradling him with her hips and moaned as he

moved back and forth, rubbing the length of his cock along her opening. Each dragging glide against

her clit took her higher. She arched her back just as he reached her entrance, and with one smooth,

hard thrust, he entered her.

She lost her breath as her world exploded. Every muscle in her body tensed. Bright colors flashed

on the inside of her eyelids. She clutched him, pulling him closer, wrapping her arms around his

shoulders, her legs around his waist. She heard him shout. Then his mouth covered hers in a bruising

kiss while his hips hammered into her in short, hard strokes, and the initial ecstasy she had felt when

he entered her turned into something larger, stronger. She felt herself stretching to accommodate him.

Every movement stroked something deep inside her, and she rose on an intense wave of pleasure. She

anchored herself to him and rode the wave, letting it take her where it would. He shuddered, thrusting

deep and holding her there, groaning. She felt his hand in her hair, pulling her head back.

“Open your eyes.” His voice was harsh, barely recognizable.

Her lids felt heavy, but she did as he asked. His gaze was bright, avid as he devoured her

expression. She hovered at the crest, startled, until he began to thrust again. There was violent

satisfaction in his gaze as he watched her, and it was as much his hungry regard as his relentless hips

that pushed her over the edge.

“Roman,” she whispered, coming apart.

She watched him shatter, too. His back bowed, every muscle on his body standing out in high relief

as he strained, pouring himself into her as she pulsed around him, small tremors that made him jerk

and gasp in response.

Finally, he stopped shaking and collapsed on top of her, holding most of his weight on his arms. He

eased to the side, and they both made a small sound as he slipped from her body.

“Don’t go anywhere.” The look he gave her as he slid out of bed guaranteed she wouldn’t be

moving a muscle, especially when the view was so fine. She watched him shuck the condom on the

way to the bathroom, heard water running briefly, then he was back, crawling into bed with her and

gathering her against him, hands still wet.

She giggled. “I wasn’t going anywhere. You could have dried your hands.”

“Damn straight you aren’t going anywhere.” He pillowed his head on her breasts, sighing deeply.

A curious tenderness stole over her as she held him. He’d finally surrendered, and not only in body.

The restlessness present in his every waking moment was gone, too. Roman was always focused on

the next horizon, his tension so much a part of him she hadn’t consciously recognized it until he

relaxed.

The Beach House renovations were done. When they returned from Vegas, Roman would move on

to another project, and she would go home. Her arms tightened around him. Between now and then,

she still needed to come up with a brilliant plan for Cooper’s. A flash caught her eye. The ring

glowed, a bright sparkle tinged with blue, a glaring reminder that she only had a week.

“You know the best thing about working nights for the past few days?” His hand came up to cup her

breast.

She had a feeling she knew where this was going, and she was only too happy to go there with him

while there was still time.

He rolled on top of her. “I’m not tired at all.”

…

Roman twisted the bottle. The cork released with a soft hiss. He primed their glasses, then filled them

to the rim and carried them out to the back deck where Jenna was curled up on a wicker double-

chaise lounge. They had taken a shower, and she was wearing his robe, something he intended to

remedy as soon as possible. He would have been happy to ignore his hunger and stay in bed with her

indefinitely, but her growling stomach was another matter. He wanted to satisfy her in every way so

she’d see how good it could be if she stayed with him. It was difficult to control the urge to bring up

the subject, but right now she’d probably laugh and blame his enthusiasm on the great sex.

And it had been amazing. Incredible. Un-fucking-believable. He’d never felt so connected to

another person in his entire life, but great sex wasn’t all they had going for them. It’s a damn good

place to start, though. That’s why he was going to take it slow…and naked. When they got to Vegas,

he’d show her what kind of a life he could offer her. Hopefully their dessert would be a smashing

success, and she’d see how well they worked together, too. Then he would make his pitch.

His conscience flared, reminding him he hadn’t responded to Cole’s text, but he wanted to report

good news when he did. He wasn’t going to break her heart, but he also didn’t want to discuss what

he was doing, either. He set the champagne glasses down next to her with a smile and doubled back

into the kitchen. Quickly, he tossed the salad James had left in the fridge, and divided the seafood

lasagna into squares. He heaped two plates with food, grabbed silverware and napkins, and carried it

all back outside. He handed her a plate and settled next to her, pushing thoughts of Cole out of his

mind.

“This is the life,” she said, digging in. Her eyes widened, and she moaned. “God, I hope James is

coming back to cook breakfast. This is fantastic.”

“James will be working. I had him bring all this over from Gallagher’s in Burbank. He added a few

nice touches of his own, though.” There had been a brand-new bottle of unfamiliar lube in the drawer

next to his condoms, as well as a few other things he hadn’t taken the time to examine. Apparently

James thought a romantic evening required batteries.

“I hope you tipped him well.”

Worth every penny. “There’s also a fruit tart in the fridge. I know you like the classics.”

They ate in silence until she set her empty plate on the coffee table. “I can’t eat another bite.” He

gave up, too, putting his plate beside hers and stretching out next to her.

He tugged at the fastening of her robe.

“Hey, we’re outside.” She retied the knot.

“And completely fenced in, on a beautiful night, surrounded by candlelight.” He slid one hand into

her robe to cup her full breast, not in the least deterred. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple,

enjoying the way it hardened. He pinched lightly, and she gasped.

He continued his assault, alternating gentle caresses with firm pinches until he knew exactly how

she liked to be touched. God knew everything she did was fantastic for him. Everything about her was

perfect. He couldn’t get enough of her. He slipped his hand between her legs, keeping her covered by

the robe, groaning when he discovered she wasn’t wearing panties.

She was silken to his touch, warm and welcoming. He took his time, learning her body again, and

feeling himself stir. Women were infinitely superior to men when it came to the recovery period. He

planned to exploit hers until she begged him to stop. Her hips bucked impatiently, and he chuckled,

slowing the glide of his fingers through her folds. “Patience, Goldilocks. All in good time.”

“I’d be having a better time if you—”

“My timetable,” he reminded, silencing her with a kiss.

Her eyes narrowed to glowing slits, then she smiled sweetly. She opened her mouth and yawned,

then rolled over, dislodging his hand. She curled up with her back to him and began to fake snore.

“Brat.” He smacked her ass, so tempting beneath his thin robe. She squealed, so he did it again. “I

notice you’re not complaining. I like a woman with a kinky streak.”

He sat up and grabbed her thighs, hauling her over his lap. Her torso was supported on the lounger,

and her legs dangled over the side.

“I swear nobody’s looking.” He yanked her robe up, exposing her ass. His blows had left a slight

pink spot, and he traced it with his finger, feeling her shudder. “Not such a good girl, after all.”

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder, a sultry smile on her face and a challenge in her

eyes. “That’s your hang-up, not mine.”

He braced his forearm on her lower back and gave her ass a teasing pat. “Most people wouldn’t

mouth off in your position.”

She snored again.

“You asked for it.” He began to rain light blows on her lush ass, grinning when her thighs parted.

She shifted, no doubt to make sure he knew she was aware of his erection. He swatted her harder,

pleased when she yelped. “Too hard, too soft—there’s a Three Bears joke in here somewhere.”

He slipped his fingers between her thighs, finding her soaking wet. “Ah…just right.”

Her giggle turned into a low moan and she held perfectly still, although he doubted she’d learned

her lesson. At least, he hoped she hadn’t. However, the time for teasing was gone. He circled her clit.

Her thighs tensed. He flicked his middle finger back and forth, gathered moisture from her opening.

She whimpered and arched her back, giving him better access. He focused on her clit, rolling it

between two fingers and using his thumb as a backboard.

She broke with a soft scream, pumping her hips, and he slid his thumb inside her, applying pressure

to her G-spot as she rode his hand. When her only movement was the occasional spasm, he gently

rolled her onto the lounger. She offered no resistance, landing on her back, splayed out, with the robe

askew, exposing more of her body than it covered.

“Definitely just right,” she gasped with breathless laughter.

He bent to lift her in his arms. “There are some things I won’t do on the porch.”

“After that performance, I’m not sure I believe you.”

He carried her into his bedroom and laid her on the bed. She wriggled out of his robe while he

opened the drawer to get a condom. One by one he pulled items out of the drawer.

Jenna’s eyes shot wide. “What on earth?”

“James is a funny guy,” he said dryly, tossing a cock ring onto the bedside table. His staying power

was fine, thank you very much.

She giggled and sat up, casting a glance over the toys. “Some of those things have possibilities, but

I’ve got what I want right here.” Her hand closed over him.

She guided him to stand in front of her. Her hand moved up and down in a lazy caress, thumb

gliding across the head of his cock. She bent her head and took him in her mouth. He groaned as a

shudder shook him from the soles of his feet to his scalp, every synapse firing at once when he felt the

warmth of her mouth, the firm pressure of her lips, and the teasing strokes of her tongue. He gathered

her hair in his hand, holding it on top of her head so he could watch her work him, suddenly

appreciating the advantage of a cock ring. He was going to blow, the sensation and the view a

powerful combination that shot straight to his balls, currently cupped in her palm.

He saw red, then white as his climax barreled toward him. He reached down to squeeze the base of

his cock, hard. “If you keep doing that, we won’t need a condom.”

She looked torn, so he made the decision, donning a rubber and flopping onto his back on the bed.

She climbed on top of him.

“Are you a breast man?” she asked, sliding down with taunting slowness before she rose up onto

her knees again. He gasped as he slipped out of her body.

“Or an ass man?” She reversed her position and took him into her body again, this time facing his

knees.

“I’m a yes man,” he groaned. Especially since there was a mirror over the dresser at the end of the

bed and he could see everything.

“This is where one of those battery-operated devices would come in handy, but I’ll make do.” She

licked her fingers and pressed them between her legs. Fire raced up his spine. There was no way in

hell he was going to be able to wait for her.

“Next time,” he promised, grasping her hips as he lost control.

Chapter Ten

By Monday morning, they’d worked their way through every item in the drawer but one, and he was

saving it for the drive.

“Limo’s here,” he called to her through the bathroom door.

She opened it, steam billowing out. “What? I thought we were driving.”

“We’re traveling by car, but mine doesn’t have a backseat or enough trunk space. I hired a limo.

Huge backseat.” He leered at her.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Damn straight. Wear these, okay?”

“Vibrating panties? You shouldn’t have.”

“First stop is your place so you can pack. Then we’ll swing by the Beach House.” He’d checked in

with Max several times yesterday, and business had increased exponentially. “We’ll be in Las Vegas

by dinnertime, and I have reservations at a cute little French bistro where we can watch the Bellagio

fountain. Do you like to gamble?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never had enough money to be willing to risk any.”

“We’ll have to see if you like risking mine. I also have tickets for Cirque du Soleil, the sexy one.

And our room has a stripper pole, in case you get inspired by the performers.”

“Wait—what?”

He grinned. “The last one was a joke.” But it did have a hot tub, a balcony, a fully stocked kitchen

and a king-size bed. He’d taken Max’s advice and pulled out all the stops. Giving one hundred

percent had been beaten into him from an early age. He’d show her how much he cared and give her

the trip of a lifetime. Then he’d find the right time to talk to her about making it permanent.

“I’ll be right out.”

He finished cleaning up the kitchen and carried his stuff out to the car, feeling energized. Taking a

day off had been a great idea. They’d spent every moment together, and he couldn’t wait to get

everything settled into the kitchen in Vegas so they could continue having fun. She came out of the

house wearing her chef pants and one of his T-shirts. “I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed your shirt.”

“Not a bit.” He helped her into the car. “But you look better naked.”

After a quick stop at her house so she could pack a bag, they hit the Beach House. Once again, he

was amazed by her organizational skills. She moved through the kitchen with a list, tucking items into

a bus tub. Once that was stowed in the limo, she pulled out another list and began handing the cooks

boxes of frozen chocolate cream puffs to carry out to the car. Then she packed the mousses in coolers,

and pulled out another list for caramel ingredients. “I think you forgot towels, gloves, and the kitchen

sink,” he teased.

“Towels and gloves are packed.” She raised an eyebrow. “You can’t talk your friend Alex into

letting us use a sink? What did you do to her?”

His mouth fell open, and he shut it with a snap. “Nothing.”

“I bet.” She left him standing at the limo, filled with dread. Of all the women in his past, Alex

probably had the worst opinion of him. Introducing her to Jenna wasn’t going to help his cause at all,

but there was no way to get out of it.

After a last trip through the kitchen, Jenna declared them ready and they headed for the interstate.

She yawned. They’d stayed up most of Saturday night, slept much of Sunday away, and repeated the

process. It was no wonder she was tired. Luckily, they had plenty of room, a four-hour ride, and he

had an excellent wake-up call planned for her.

He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Naptime.”

…

When Jenna awoke, her body was on fire. She was sticky with perspiration, and her hair covered her

face, neck, and shoulders in a suffocating cape. She moved to brush it out of her eyes and realized the

heat wasn’t only external. She was aroused, hovering on the edge of orgasm. She kept her eyes shut

and rubbed her thighs together, feeling as if the hum of the road was driving her. It wouldn’t take

much to send her over the edge. What on earth had she been dreaming?

Roman. Of course…always Roman.

Bits and flashes came back to her. In the shower…on the porch…touching her, even in sleep…

always hungry for her, every waking moment. She gazed at him, whispering…I love you…

Her eyes flashed open and Roman was staring down at her, blue eyes intense, just like her dream.

She cried out, waves of pleasure breaking over her, sweeping from her groin to her belly and breasts,

arms and legs, lapping at her toes. She writhed, helpless in the grip of climax, and he held her,

keeping her from falling off the limo seat, until she stopped shaking.

She panted, body humming, and Roman chuckled. She heard a click, and the hum abruptly stopped.

Her body sagged with relief. She had forgotten about the vibrating panties. He must have turned them

on while she was sleeping, and the subtle stimulus had invaded her dreams. On its own, the vibrator

might not have been powerful enough to do the job, but combined with her imagination, spectacular—

and a little terrifying during that last bit. However, she had better things to think about while her

cheek was pillowed on his erection.

She stretched, rubbing against him.

“Have fun?” he asked. “You slept the whole way.”

“I did? We’re here?” Sure enough, tall buildings surrounded them. Flashing billboards reached to

the sky, and people streamed everywhere. They moved through traffic at a snail’s pace. She checked

to make sure the divider was up, blocking the driver’s view, and then slid into his lap, straddling him.

“No time for that, I’m afraid.” The limo darkened as they pulled under the awning of a hotel.

“That hardly seems fair.”

“It shouldn’t take long to get our stuff settled into the kitchen, and I reserved a very special room.”

“Let me guess…another well-stocked bedside table?”

He smirked. “Something like that.”

A polite knock sounded on the door. Jenna slid out of Roman’s lap just as the door opened and the

sound of honking horns filled the car. Roman slid across the seat and got out of the limo, obviously

eager to get started.

She would have enjoyed another ten minutes alone with him, but she was ready to get this over with

as well. Her mousses had turned out even better than she had hoped, and she couldn’t wait to send the

finished desserts into the dining room. Since the menu was made up of classic French foods with

whimsical touches from other cultures, she had continued the theme.

Each of four cream puffs would be filled with a different mousse, caramel infused with green tea,

white chocolate imbued with saffron, frangipane paired with vanilla bean, and her favorite, a

chocolate, raspberry, and Brazilian coffee mash-up that was out of this world. She and Roman had

spent hours perfecting the plate presentation and figuring out how to make spun sugar without

covering the entire kitchen with sticky spiderwebs. Hence the newspaper she had gathered at the last

minute and shoved in with their supplies. Sometimes the only way to get a job done properly was to

make a huge mess and clean it up afterward.

She got out of the limo to find Roman had commandeered a luggage cart and was loading their

supplies onto it. She was awed by the hustle and bustle surrounding them, but he seemed perfectly at

ease and focused. “Kitchen first.”

She followed him as he guided the luggage cart into the hotel. Lights flashed and a solid wall of

noise hit them as soon as they stepped into the casino. “Holy shit.”

“No kidding. We’re in Vegas, baby.” His grin got wider. “Overstimulation is the name of the

game.”

He seemed to know exactly where to go, and her unease grew as he led her through the frenetic

casino to an unmarked door. He gestured for her to open it while he maneuvered the cart into a long

corridor. The door shut behind them, blocking out the noise, and she sighed in relief.

The peace and quiet only lasted until they reached the kitchen, but at least this was a familiar kind

of chaos. White-coated chefs called back and forth to one another as they chopped, stirred, and

plated. There were several separate operations going on at the same time, and she wondered where

they would fit into the mix.

“Incoming,” Roman said under his breath, a second before a chef broke free from the busiest

section of the kitchen and walked toward them.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite blast from the past.” The droll voice raised Jenna’s hackles even

before she noticed the perfect makeup, sleek brown hair pulled back in a French twist, and perfectly

tailored, white chef coat emblazoned with Alexandra Banks, Executive Chef of the Castle, sharp

counterpoints to Jenna’s zero makeup, limo-induced bedhead, and soaking wet panties. “I heard your

good news. I suppose congratulations are in order, but I’ll just wait and send a sympathy card

instead.”

“Damn, Alex. Give it a rest,” Roman said sourly as she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“Never.” She winked then gave Jenna a broad smile. “You poor thing. Not too late to change your

mind.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Alex,” Jenna said sweetly. She pointedly ignored the remark and linked

her arm through Roman’s, staking her claim.

The other woman laughed. “Let me show you where to store your things. What are you making

again?” Alex asked, casting a glance over the boxes, as if they contained poison apples instead of

innocuous puffs.

“Individual chocolate croquembouches.”

Her expression was easy to read. She wasn’t impressed.

Jenna felt Roman stiffen beside her, and tension throbbed up the back of her neck. A cream puff,

even a chocolate one, was unimpressive at first glance, but it was her favorite kind of dessert—

ordinary on the outside, full of awesome on the inside. She’d wipe that supercilious smile off Alex’s

face tomorrow night.

It took another fifteen minutes to get settled in the kitchen, and Jenna was grateful for her lists

because Alex’s scrutiny grew sharper every moment. When the puffs were safely in the freezer, the

mousses refrigerated, and their other supplies stowed on an empty rack with a lock, Jenna and Roman

retreated.

She remained silent, fuming, following him as he rolled the luggage cart out of the kitchen, through

the corridor, across the casino, and up to the front desk. Of course Alex was gorgeous. Jenna had

anticipated that. But she hadn’t expected Roman to be so chummy with a woman he claimed to

dislike. They’d chatted the whole time Jenna was putting away their supplies.

Jenna gazed at the insanity surrounding them, feeling utterly lost. She never would have guessed

she’d be intimidated by the loud casino and huge kitchen, and she didn’t like it.

“Roman Gallagher.” He gave the clerk a big smile and her eyes brightened. Jenna sighed and shook

her head in disgust while the clerk typed information into the keyboard. Roman Gallagher, playboy

of the West Coast, strikes again.

“Oh, yes, we have you right here. The Honeymoon Suite. Congratulations.” This time she included

Jenna in her welcome. “I’m sure you’ll want to avail yourself of all the amenities included with the

room. Please let your personal concierge know when you would like to schedule your couples’

massage.” Personal concierge? Did this person have a room in their suite? Was a threesome one of

the amenities? It was Sin City, after all. A giggle bubbled up in Jenna’s throat, chasing away her

annoyance. Maybe Las Vegas wouldn’t be all bad.

“Thank you very much.” Roman took her hand and signed the credit card slip one-handed. Then he

accepted the key cards and shouldered their bags. “Right this way, darling.”

Before they made it to the elevator, Jenna heard a squeal. A second later she was knocked off

balance as a woman barreled into Roman. He wrapped an arm around Jenna’s waist to keep her from

stumbling, but he also kissed the woman on the lips with more than simple courtesy. Jenna shrank

away from both of them.

“Lexi, this is Jenna, my fiancée.” His proud grin would have thrilled her if their engagement had

been real. Instead, it made her feel even more out of place. “Jenna, meet Lexi Larson, the host of our

event tomorrow night and America’s most talented actress.”

Jenna tried not to stare. A cascade of gorgeous blue-black hair, violet eyes, gorgeous skin, tiny

waist, big boobs…weren’t television stars supposed to look normal in real life?

“You big flirt.” The other woman kissed him on the cheek, leaving a smear of red lipstick, before

she turned her famous smile on Jenna. “Welcome to Vegas, Jenna. I don’t know how you got him to

propose, but congratulations, honey.”

Jenna nodded. “Um…thanks.”

“See you two tomorrow.” A crowd of admirer’s had gathered behind Lexi, who graciously

accepted a pen, blew them a kiss, and began to sign autographs. Gorgeous and nice. Undoubtedly

filthy rich as well and completely in her element, sporting a full-length sequined cocktail gown in Las

Vegas’s newest and most luxurious casino. Jenna felt dizzy as Roman tugged her toward the elevator.

She was going to have to get a grip on the jealousy consuming her or this trip would be a nightmare.

Work hard, play harder. She’d known what she was getting into but…was there any way to keep him

in the room the whole time? And where was she going to get the drink she so desperately wanted?

The Honeymoon Suite had better have a mini-bar.

“Roman!” a female voice called.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jenna muttered, pausing.

Roman glanced over his shoulder. The elevator in front of them opened, and he pulled her inside

the empty car, stabbing buttons with his finger. Jenna saw a fifty-something blonde with striking blue

eyes glaring at them as the doors slid shut.

Jenna arched an eyebrow, trying to appear blasé. “Friendly neighborhood cougar?”

“Worse.” Roman’s smile was bleak. “My mother.”

…

Roman dipped the key card into the slot on the door, allowing Jenna to precede him into the room.

While she’d slept in the limo, he’d started to fill a spiral-bound notebook with everything he knew

about re-creating a restaurant. It was hardly a step-by-step instruction manual, but it would give her a

place to start with Cooper’s. He’d become so involved, he’d almost forgotten to turn on the vibrating

panties. Luckily, she’d gotten off just in time, and he’d wanted to hustle her up to their room and get

naked since the minute they arrived. If he’d known they’d have to run the ex-girlfriend gauntlet and

narrowly avoid a confrontation with his mother, he’d have asked the limo driver to drive around the

block a few times to save his sanity.

He dropped their bags in a corner, resigned to answering her questions. In fact, he was surprised

she hadn’t interrogated him in the elevator and assumed he was in for it now. He turned to find she’d

disappeared.

“Wow.”

He followed the sound of her voice and found her in the bedroom, staring at the enormous, four-

poster bed. It was draped with swathes of sheer fabric and piled with dozens of satiny throw pillows,

a fantasy bed fit for the queen of the Castle.

“Where would you like me to start?” he asked.

She darted out of the room. “I don’t know. Let me see the bathroom first.”

He trailed after her, deciding to start at the beginning. “Alex and I dated in culinary school. It ended

at graduation.”

“Okay.” She took off her shoes, shirt, and wriggled out of her jeans. “It’s like a cave in here. I love

it. Definitely the bathroom first.”

He blinked.

She turned on the lights, flipping switches until the room was lit with soft light from strategically

placed electric candelabras. He stared as she stripped out of her underwear and bra and stepped into

the rock-lined sunken hot tub in the center of the room.

“Oh, wait. Did I see champagne out there?” She grabbed a towel, dried her feet, and padded into

the suite, naked. She returned with a sweating bottle and two glasses. “Will you do the honors?”

He nodded, accepting the bottle from her. If she didn’t care about his ex-girlfriends, he wasn’t sure

why he felt the need to explain, but the words tumbled forth anyway. “Lexi and I have had a couple of

things over the years…nothing serious.”

“Great.” Was she laughing at him? “I imagine we’re going to run into a few more of your

playmates over the course of the next few days, so I think we should stick to the room as much as

possible.”

“Jealous?” he asked, finally grinning back.

“More like selfish.” Her voice was breezy as she stepped back into the hot tub. “They can have you

back next week.”

His smile slid off his face and his heart sank as she closed her eyes and stretched out on the

underwater bench with her head pillowed on a towel. Slowly, he began to take off his clothes. “We

have dinner reservations at Paris, and the show is at New York, New York.”

She opened her eyes. “That sounds lovely, but I’d prefer room service and a private performance,

if you know what I mean. You owe me sex in a hot tub, remember?” Her eyes gleamed gold in the soft

light, and her smile dared him to finish what they had started in the limo. She arched her back and her

breasts floated temptingly above the surface.

Roman rescued a condom from the pocket of his pants before he dropped them to the floor. He

stepped into the water, and Jenna drifted over, wrapping her warm arms and legs around him. As he

embraced her, his frustration dissolved. He responded to her in the usual fashion—instant erection

and a sense of everything right in the world. She moaned and wriggled closer, pressing against him in

obvious enjoyment. He wanted to wine and dine her, dazzle her with the sights in Vegas until she was

so impressed, she wanted him to show her the rest of the world, forever, but she seemed to only want

one thing from him.

What the hell was he going to do about that?

Her hand closed over him, chasing away thoughts and replacing them with urgent need. He’d figure

it out later. Easing her out of his lap, he scanned the hot tub for a convenient spot. He found an

arrangement of smooth faux-rock at the perfect level, half in, half out of the water. He lifted her onto

the ledge, placing a towel behind her head, then reached for the champagne, popped the top, and

poured a glass, accidentally-on-purpose spilling icy foam across the tops of her breasts. Her nipples,

soft from the heat, pebbled, and she gasped.

He pressed the glass into her hand and watched her take a sip before he bent his head to lick wine

from her breasts. He concentrated on her sensitive nipples, teasing her with his tongue for long

moments while she moaned and clutched his hair. Slipping his fingers under the water, he found her

clit, swollen and slick.

If she wanted a private show, he’d give her the performance of a lifetime.

…

The wine went straight to her head. Or maybe it was just Roman, making her dizzy and needy, driving

her mad with desire as he made her come with his fingers then with his mouth, each orgasm

punctuated with a glass of champagne. She spluttered and gasped, surprised to find herself entirely

out of the water, safe in his arms by the side of the hot tub. Or had she drowned and gone to heaven?

She took another gulp of champagne and moaned as he rolled her onto her back and thrust his fingers

inside her.

Ecstasy crashed through her, and she shuddered, whispering his name. Her voice was barely

audible, but she hoped he would understand she wanted him inside her, a part of her.

“That’s it,” he growled, moving his fingers faster. “Come for me again.”

She lifted her hips, willing to go wherever he took her, but wishing he would come with her. He

withdrew his fingers, and the sound of foil ripping filled her with anticipation. He moved into place

above her, and she lifted her legs, holding her knees in her hands, and opening to him completely.

Her gaze caught his, hot and powerful, as he entered her, and the need in his eyes was as great as

the howling beast he’d awakened in her. Her head spun. The power of his thrusts shook her, and the

slap of their bodies echoed in the room. She screamed as her climax hit, a maelstrom of pleasure that

lifted her up and out of her body as he poured himself into her. The room swirled around her, and she

surrendered to whirling blackness.

When she came back to earth, she was lying on top of Roman, and they were in bed.

She lifted her head. “What the hell?”

His chuckle was a deep, satisfied rumble. “I’m going to take full credit for knocking you out.”

“I’ve got the spins,” she admitted, resting her forehead against his chest.

“I wish I could take credit for that, but it’s probably the champagne. You want some water? Or

food?”

She shook her head, clutching him as the room tilted. Slowly, carefully, she slid to the side. Maybe

if she got herself completely level on the bed, the room would slow down, maybe even stop if she

was lucky. Suddenly all of this struck her as hilarious, and she giggled. “That was quite a show. I can

see why everyone raves about Las Vegas. Did I drink all the champagne?”

“A little more than half. I think you need something to eat.”

“Room service.” Another giggle erupted. “I love room service.”

“A sandwich from the lobby would be faster.”

He started to slide out of bed and she clutched his arm. “Don’t go.”

He settled beside her again, and her panic receded. If he left, he might run into more women from

his past and never make it back to the room, and the thought of surrendering him next week made her

feel lonely enough. She’d pretended not to care, but who could compete with high-powered chefs and

big-boobed television stars? And she was fairly certain his mother was going to snap a leash on his

neck the next time they ran into her, and she’d never see him again.

He stroked her arms and caressed her breasts, pulling the covers up over both of them and settling

them deeper into the pillows. Her head whirled again. It felt right to be beside him in bed, settling

down for the night. It felt real—as real as the ring on her finger. “This is Vegas, right?”

He chuckled. “The earth moved, but we’re still here.”

“So I can do anything I want? And deny it tomorrow?”

She felt him nod. “I think that’s why they made this place.”

“The perfect place for fantasies.” She might as well live the dream while she could. Just once. She

raised her head and lifted herself up onto one arm, blinking until she only saw one of him. She

memorized every plane of his face as she ran her fingertip over his cheekbone, nose, and chin, and

then leaned to tickle her lips with his dark-tipped lashes. Finally, she kissed him, a mere brush of

Chapter Eleven

Jenna woke dreaming of croquembouches shrinking on the plates, getting smaller and smaller until

they resembled tiny piles of rabbit turds with spun sugar halos. Then she was shrinking, too, swirling

down the drain in the tile floor of the Beach House kitchen.

Her head throbbed. What time was it? The last thing she remembered was being in bed, still damp

from the hot tub, desperately wishing their honeymoon was real…

Her memory returned in a dizzying rush. Her stomach tilted, and it felt like her heart stopped for a

long moment while she came to terms with her massive idiocy.

Goddamn champagne. She lay sweating, Roman’s arm heavy across her breasts, while he snored,

deeply asleep. Holding her breath, she inched out of his embrace and slid out of bed. It was ten

o’clock, prime time for her, considering her new schedule, and she’d rather face Alex than Roman.

She might as well work while she freaked out about what the hell she was going to say to him when

he woke up. Thank God she’d passed out before he could respond. Maybe they could both pretend

nothing had happened.

The room spun again, and she grabbed the back of a chair for balance. She might be able to fool

Roman, but she couldn’t fool herself any longer. She’d fallen in love with him, and her drunken

confession was going to make it awfully hard to pretend she only wanted sex. How the hell was she

going to fix this?

She dressed in her whites and made her way down to the busy kitchen. Alex was nowhere in sight,

thank God, so she approached the most officious-looking person. “Hi, I’m doing the dessert for the

Lexi Larson event tomorrow night. Is it all right if I use an oven and some space? I’ll stay out of the

way.”

“Sure. No problem.” He directed her to a corner spot with a stainless steel table, a sink, an oven, a

stove, a baker’s rack, and a garbage can.

She located the equipment room and grabbed a stack of sheet pans, then got to work refreshing

cream puffs in a low oven. Once they were cool, she began filling them. She was about halfway

through the first bucket of white chocolate saffron mousse when a hubbub caught her attention as

Stella Gallagher swept into the kitchen.

Adrenaline surged through Jenna. She tightened her grip on the pastry bag, and mousse oozed out of

the overfilled puff. She set the bag on the table and swiped her finger over the hole, wiping the excess

on a clean towel. Was there any chance Ms. Gallagher wouldn’t recognize her?

She moved to the other side of the table, putting her back to the commotion. The thought of meeting

Stella Gallagher without Roman made her heart race and her armpits prickle. Shit, shit, shit. The hair

on the back of her neck stood, and Jenna held her breath, frozen in place, feeling her approach.

“I assume you’re the reason my son isn’t returning my calls?”

Jenna turned to face her, feeling as though every scrape of Roman’s stubble and too hard nip on her

neck was glowing under a fluorescent light, but unwilling to be cowed. “I imagine it goes a little

deeper than me.”

“May I ask what are you doing with Roman?”

The glimpse she had caught of Ms. Gallagher outside the elevator had been intimidating—a

beautiful woman commanding attention. Now that she was closer, Jenna saw worry in her piercing

blue gaze. Roman was her only son, and they had built Gallagher Holdings together. She respected the

woman’s no-bullshit approach, and decided to tell her the truth. “Loving him…for one more week.

Then I’m going home to New Jersey to help my parents rebuild our family restaurant. You can relax—

we’re not really engaged.”

“That ring looks pretty real to me.”

“I’m sure he kept the receipt,” Jenna said dryly, picking up her abandoned pastry bag and beginning

to fill cream puffs again. Roman’s mother wore a sequined black sheath and high heels, but Jenna

sensed it wouldn’t take much to get her to don an apron and get to work. Like her son, she vibrated

with restless energy.

Testing her theory, Jenna asked, “Would you like to help?”

Slowly, Ms. Gallagher nodded. “I think I would.”

Jenna smiled and handed her a pair of gloves and the pastry bag. Ms. Gallagher filled a puff, then

held it up for inspection. Jenna nodded, loaded another bag with mousse, and snipped the tip. They

worked in silence for several minutes before Ms. Gallagher said, “Are you really in love with my

son?”

Jenna nodded. “Don’t quote me. I’ll deny it. We’re just friends…enjoying a few added benefits

until I go back home.”

“I think you’d better start at the beginning, young lady.”

Jenna flashed her a wry grin. “All right, but I’m going to skip all the good parts.”

She began talking, and by the time they’d reached the bottom of the second mousse bucket and filled

the third full sheet pan with puffs, her headache was gone, and Roman’s mother knew everything.

“So did it work?” Jenna asked. “The Beach House is headed into the black and Roman looks like

Mr. Family Values. Did you get the funding for your resort?”

“Not yet.” Ms. Gallagher sighed. “I’ve spent my whole life making sure I was never powerless

again, making sure my son never had to suffer because of my mistake, but I don’t know what to do.

Jeff…” She sighed again. “Jeff wants to marry me.”

Jenna forgot to stop squeezing and ended up with mousse all over her hand. “Holy shit.”

“To say the least.”

“Do you like him? Do you love him? Um…congratulations?”

Ms. Gallagher worked faster, filling puffs with speed and efficiency. “I have no idea. I don’t know

how to do this. I’ve been a little busy for the last thirty years.”

“You haven’t dated?” Thirty years without sex? Was that possible?

Ms. Gallagher looked up. Their eyes met, and Jenna knew what she was going to say before her

lips moved. “I dated chefs who work as much as I do.”

Jenna sucked in a sharp breath then slowly released it. “Right.” Plenty of sex, no commitment.

She popped a cream puff into her mouth while she thought about that. She chewed and swallowed.

“Naturally, you’d want to punish yourself for getting knocked up. At least you’re as hard on yourself

as you are on Roman. That’s good. Consistency is hugely important in this business.”

Ms. Gallagher reared back like Jenna had slapped her and dropped the pastry bag on the table. “I’m

not punishing myself. My career is important to me. Roman and work are all I’ve ever needed. And

I’m not hard on him—not usually.”

“Um…he’s not speaking to you. He’s given up on making you happy, which I think is actually a

good thing for him. Because if you don’t know what will make you happy, he’s probably not going to

get it right, either.”

Ms. Gallagher scowled, making Jenna chuckle. “If I had a dollar for every time Roman has looked

at me like that, I’d be able to back your resort project.”

The other woman stared at her for a long moment. Then her blue eyes widened and her shoulders

slumped. “I’m such a fool. I’ve been obsessed with getting funding for Oasis, jumping through hoop

after hoop while Jeff harped on Roman the entire time. I think he’s been using my son to manipulate

me, and I played right into his hands by demanding Roman keep a low profile, which is next to

impossible for him, then criticizing the Beach House menu because Jeff didn’t like it. Ridiculous.

Who doesn’t like beer and cheeseburgers? It was also Jeff’s idea to buy a table at the Larson banquet

when he heard Roman was doing a course. How much do you want to bet Jeff has already decided he

hates the dessert?”

“As far as pick-up techniques go, it’s unique, but Jefferson Morgan didn’t become a billionaire by

being stupid. Is it working?”

Ms. Gallagher stripped her gloves into the trash. “It was working. You’ll have to forgive me for

deserting you. Jeff’s in the poker room, and his luck has just run out. Would you mind keeping this

between us until I talk to Roman myself?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t her rift to mend. However, as much as she hated that Roman had become

collateral damage while Jefferson Morgan courted Roman’s mom, she sensed Ms. Gallagher wasn’t a

woman who was easily manipulated. According to Roman, his mother had spent her whole life

working, and it was time for her to relax. She wondered if Morgan had come to the same conclusion.

“If I had to make a guess, I’d say Roman got his stubborn streak from you. It took a hell of a lot of

effort to get his attention. I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s probably hard to get your attention

when you’re working, too. Perhaps Jeff did what he had to do. Maybe you should give him a chance.”

She shrugged. “Or maybe he’s a jerk and doesn’t deserve another minute of your time. Only you know

the answer to that, but who says you can’t fall in love?”

Ms. Gallagher’s eyes narrowed. “Who indeed? But by your own logic, who says you can’t stay in

love?” Her voice was doubtful and her gaze lingered on Jenna’s sparkling ring.

“You know Roman.” Jenna’s throat felt tight.

“Yes, yes I do.” Ms. Gallagher nodded, looking thoughtful. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

As Roman’s mother left the kitchen, a bead of cold sweat rolled down Jenna’s arm. Her heart was

a dull thud in her chest, and her head buzzed. Now I’ve done it.

Ms. Gallagher had unwittingly echoed the thought that had been in the back of Jenna’s mind all

week. She didn’t just want the added benefits. She wanted Roman. The snowball she had envisioned

rolling right over her plan was her plan, a snowball’s chance in hell that had turned into the most

amazing ten days in her life, landed her with a pretend ring on her finger, and culminated in an honest-

to-God profession of love she wanted to blame on champagne, but couldn’t. I don’t want to leave

him.

As she acknowledged that truth, another one hit her.

Selfish. She was so selfish. Staying with Roman meant deserting her family…or asking Roman to

desert his. They couldn’t simultaneously exist on both coasts, and each endeavor was a full-time job.

Roman’s mother was counting on him, and it meant the world to him to take the burden of Gallagher

Holdings off her shoulders. Even if he wanted to continue their relationship, which was a big if, she

couldn’t ask him to give up his responsibilities.

And as for her responsibilities…

It was time to admit she’d used Cooper’s as an excuse to pursue Roman, and the ring on her left

hand was a conspicuous reminder of exactly how far she’d go to get what she wanted. Had she

suggested their fake engagement to get good press for Gallagher Holdings? Or had she just wanted

Roman to put a ring on her finger, so she could find some way to make it stick?

Sadness welled up inside her so hard she had to brace her hands on the table to keep from sinking

to her knees. Dizzy, she looked for somewhere to sit and ended up resting her butt on the shelf under

the table. She curled over her knees, knowing she couldn’t pretend anymore. No wonder her parents

didn’t trust her to carry Cooper’s into the next generation. No wonder Cole had accused her of not

having a plan. Left to her own devices, she didn’t fix things. She made them worse, and true to form,

she’d created a big, fat mess.

A sob built in her throat. In her mind’s eye she saw Roman smiling across the dinner table at a

blond child with his blue eyes. She pictured Roman and her working side by side in the kitchen,

surrounded by their family. She added her parents, Cole, Angela, and a baby. Everyone was smiling

and celebrating. She savored the image…and then she let it go.

That life could never be hers. The desire to go home overwhelmed her.

Come home to Cooper’s.

The idea dropped into her head like a tiny seed, then exploded, growing roots and branches. Home.

Family. Community. She couldn’t have a family with Roman, but that was the perfect niche for

Cooper’s. She knew exactly how she would create an environment that would be far more conducive

to raising kids than a normal restaurant would allow.

Roman had been right about her that day in the Beach House office. When she imagined her future,

it held kids and a man who would put family over work, and Roman wasn’t that guy. He’d always

own a piece of her heart—first love was like that—but it wasn’t fair to ask him to change his life and

give up his responsibilities for her. Likewise, she would never forgive herself if she didn’t follow

through with her plan for Cooper’s, and now she knew exactly what to do.

As she got to her feet and picked up the pastry bag to finish the job, she wondered how long the

idea for Cooper’s had been hovering at the edge of her subconscious, waiting for her to wake up.

Guilt flashed through her. She’d been too busy falling in love with Roman to pay attention.

No, that wasn’t quite fair. She’d learned a lot from Roman during the Beach House renovation, but

there was no magic secret for reinventing Cooper’s. There was nothing Roman could tell her that

would convince her family to have faith in her. She would have to earn it.

It was time to go home.

…

Roman drifted, enjoying the most heavenly sense of rightness he had ever felt. She loved him. Her

words rang in his heart, loud and clear, resonating like a bass drum, announcing the end of something.

Or the beginning. So what if she was drunk? Now he had something to build on. He reached for her…

and got an armful of pillow.

He opened his eyes and discovered he was alone in the bed, alone in the room, alone in the suite.

Damn, she’d flown the coop. He thought it would take her longer to sleep it off. He grabbed his phone

and sent her a text, then heard a ping from the other room that told him she hadn’t taken her phone

with her.

He’d check the kitchen first.

He slid into clothes and then grabbed his wallet, phone, and key card, tucking everything into his

pockets as he waited for the elevator. The casino was packed, but no one stopped him as he made a

beeline for the kitchen. He saw her working in a corner and relief soared through him that she hadn’t

flown farther than the kitchen.

He closed the distance between them. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“A lot of puffs to fill.” She kept her eyes on her work.

He took the bag out of her hand, and she grabbed a second one lying on the table and picked up

another puff. “Double-fisted? That’s impressive. Or did you know I’d be joining you?”

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable, making him chuckle.

“If I help you fill the rest of the puffs, can we go back to bed?” He couldn’t wait to tell her he loved

her, too, but he didn’t want to do it in the middle of the kitchen. “I’m not sure we can top what we did

before, but anything can happen in Vegas.”

Her eyes darkened, and she lifted her chin. “Let’s go back to the room. These puffs are extras.”

She wrapped and stored the puffs at warp speed. He worked just as quickly, washing her tools and

getting rid of the empty mousse containers. The faster he got her back into bed, the faster the last

vestige of the panic he’d felt when he woke up without her would disappear. He grabbed her toolbox

with one hand and pulled her out the kitchen door with the other. They popped out of the corridor and

into the busy casino. Lights flashed. Cigarette smoke and noise surrounded them.

A cheer broke out as someone hit the jackpot. He squeezed her hand, feeling like he’d hit the

jackpot, too. There was only one thing that could make this better, and wasn’t it convenient that she

already had a ring on her finger? He couldn’t wait another minute to tell her how he felt about her.

“Hang on—I’m feeling lucky.” He stopped in front of a roulette table and dug in his pocket, then

handed a fat stack of bills to the croupier. “On black. All of it.”

He turned to Jenna. “And if I win. You marry me—for real—tonight. I don’t want it to be a

fantasy.”

…

Oh my God.

Jenna felt faint as the wheel spun. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged, and her heart beat as

erratically as the bouncing ball.

Yes. No. Yes. No. Slowing, slower…stopped.

On black.

Roman whooped and spun her in a circle. “Even money, baby. What do you say?”

Her heart ached. He was wrong. It could only be a fantasy. A really good one, but if she allowed

herself to continue pretending what they had was real, it would ruin both of their lives.

“Roman…I can’t marry you.”

His face fell, excitement extinguished. “I know I’m not the kind of guy you imagined yourself ending

up with, but we’re dynamite together. Give me a chance. We saved the Beach House, and there are a

lot of other restaurants out there waiting for us to figure out the perfect solutions for them, too. We’ll

do Cooper’s first, but that’s just one small business in a big, wide world. I know it sounds crazy, and

there are a lot of things we need to figure out, but the main thing is we could do it together. I love you,

Jenna, and I want a lifetime with you.”

“I can’t do this, Roman.” But oh God, it was tempting.

“Why not? What’s the problem? We’re magic together. In fact, I think we’re pretty goddamn

perfect.” He pulled her closer, as if he intended to prove it, but she put her hands on his chest, holding

him off.

“I think you’re perfect, Ro. I always have, and the sixteen-year-old girl trapped inside me wants to

kill me for saying no to a life with you. It’s kind of like saying no to Brad Pitt or Channing Tatum, but

I just can’t do it.” She broke away and headed for the elevator, hoping to make it back to the room

before she had to explain any further. She didn’t want to have this discussion in the middle of the

casino or worse, in an elevator, but Roman looked determined as he followed her, stuffing chips into

his pocket.

As the elevator opened, she stepped to the back and several people got in after her, forcing Roman

to stay near the front. She would have seventeen floors to think, if she was lucky.

The doors opened, and everyone but Roman got off on the third floor.

So much for luck.

“Tell me why,” he demanded.

It wasn’t going to be pretty, but he deserved the truth. “Because I love you, but I’ve been miserable

since we got here, and this is your world. Bright lights. Beautiful people. Huge kitchens. I like small

towns and small kitchens, like the one at the Beach House.”

“Then we’ll go back there. We’ll stay there.”

“You can’t. When your mother retires, you are going to be in charge of over a dozen restaurants up

and down the West Coast. I bet some of them are even bigger than the one here at the Castle.”

He flushed, and she knew she was right. “I don’t want to build a life with a man who is going to be

working even more than I am. You hit the nail on the head when you asked me if I want what my

parents have. The answer is yes, and I can’t have it with you unless you give up everything you’ve

ever wanted and come back to Lambertville with me…and stay there.”

He looked like she’d just clocked him with a baseball bat.

“Exactly,” she said. “I’d never ask you to do that. You wouldn’t be the man you are if you were

willing to do that, and you’re a good man. I called you a momma’s boy, but that wasn’t fair. You

aren’t under her thumb. You stand by her side, and when she retires, you’ll take the lead. She’s

counting on you.”

He froze, an arrested expression in his eyes, and she cupped his cheek, feathering her thumb over

his lips. “I came to California to figure out how to fix Cooper’s, but the restaurant and my family have

been the furthest things from my mind. All I’ve thought about is you. Nobody thinks I can reinvent

Cooper’s because I have a habit of losing my way. I dig myself deeper and deeper into trouble—”

“What are you talking about?” he broke in. “You have amazing ideas, your desserts are awesome,

and you never run out of energy and enthusiasm.”

Her heart warmed, but she’d learned her passion wasn’t always a positive thing. “Yeah, well, I

came out here to pick your brain and ended up begging you to have sex with me, talking you into

changing your menu, and practically forcing you to take a risk on the croquembouches. When I commit

myself to something, I give it every bit of my heart and soul—for example, pretending to be engaged

in order to get some publicity. If you’d asked me to marry you an hour ago, we’d be standing in front

of Elvis right now, and I never would have come up with a plan to save Cooper’s. But I did. I finally

came to my senses, and I know what I need to do.”

The elevator doors opened, and they got off on their floor. Roman said nothing as they walked to

the room. He slipped his key card into the lock and held the door open. “Tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m going to make Cooper’s a home away from home for everyone who

comes to dinner. We’ll be open on holidays, and my family will eat there with the customers. We’ll

have a playroom for kids alongside the dining room, so parents can eat without having to make their

kids behave. Service will be family style. Comfort food. Fun veggie dishes even picky kids will like.

It will be the kind of place where people will come to relax, knowing they’ll be greeted with a smile,

even when they are holding a screaming baby or scolding a pouting ’tween. I think we’ll make our

motto Come Home to Cooper’s.”

Roman caught her hand. “Let’s do it together, Jenna. Let me help you. My mother isn’t retiring yet,

and I don’t have another project lined up after the Beach House.”

She shook her head. “I need to do this alone. My parents think I can’t do it, and I want to prove

them wrong. I don’t want your money or influence to be the deciding factor. I want them to have faith

in me.” Every minute she spent with him eroded her resolve. She glanced around the room and

realized there was nothing to pack except a few clothes on the bathroom floor.

“So that’s it? You’re bailing on me? What about the dinner tomorrow night?”

“You don’t need me anymore. You know as much about the dessert as I do and way more about

how to plate it for two hundred. The only sticky part will be the sugar, but I packed newspapers.” She

felt something ease inside her as she realized the pressure was off in one respect. “I know your mom

is going to love it.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

But she knew better, and she was glad Roman and his mother would be on speaking terms by

tomorrow night. She pressed her lists into his hand. “Don’t forget the gold dust.”

She leaned up to kiss his cheek, breathing in his spicy scent one last time.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, and she thought she would choke on the tears

crowding her throat. She slipped the ring off her finger, and held it out when she pulled away from

him.

He shook his head. “I don’t want that back. I never intended to return it. Keep it. It’s yours, and take

this, too.”

He slid a notebook out of his suitcase and thrust it into her hands. “I wrote down everything I know

about re-creating a restaurant. I hope it helps, and if you run into any snags or have any questions,

please call. I think your idea for Cooper’s is fantastic, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind you’ll make

it a huge success. I’d tell you good luck, but you won’t need it.” His blue eyes shone with—oh God—

love, and she had no idea how she was going to force herself to open the door.

He did it for her.

Numbly, she zipped her suitcase and rolled it out the door. Her grip was so tight on the ring, it bit

into her hand, and the spiral binding of the notebook pinched the underside of her arm. I should be

glad he’s making it easy for me. Going home is the right thing to do. But it felt like she was leaving

everything that mattered behind her.

“I’ll call the limo service and tell them to look for you out front,” he said.

“Thanks, Roman.” She trained her eyes on the elevator and put one foot in front of the other. Don’t

look back. If she could make it into the limo, she could cry for four solid hours with no one the wiser.

“Jenna?”

She paused and glanced over her shoulder. His smile made a tear slip down her cheek, but his

words broke her heart.

“Take care, Goldilocks. I have faith in you.”

Chapter Twelve

Roman put the last strands of spun sugar on the two hundredth croquembouche and stepped back from

the tray.

“Go,” he told the waiter.

Alex gave him a mocking smile and clapped her hands. “Kudos to you. They love the dessert out

there. I had serious doubts about your ability to pull off such a complicated dessert after your talented

little fiancée took off, but you proved me wrong.”

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Immensely.”

It was years too late, but he had something that would wipe the grin off her face—an apology.

“Alex, I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you when we broke up. I should have handled it better.”

She arched a brow. “You mean you should have given a shit?”

Roman sighed. “I did give a shit, but I cared more about work. I’m sorry I hurt you.” He hadn’t

made her any promises, but his eagerness to get to work after graduation had made him callous, to say

the least, and Alex had deserved more from him.

Chefs and waiters hustled around them, cleaning up, clearing plates, and eating leftover cream

puffs. Alex popped one into her mouth and chewed, slowly shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see

the day Roman Gallagher got his heart broken, and I’m a little pissed I’m not enjoying it as much as I

expected.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?”

“It means I’ll think about it, and only because I know your mother.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Or at least it didn’t back then.” She put her hand

on his arm and squeezed, surprising him with a smile as sweet as the ones she’d given him when they

were dating. “Roman, work is work. A job is just a job. There’s a lot more to life than making money.

Money is nice, don’t get me wrong, but you’ve got a lot of it. Just because your mother is driven every

waking minute of her day doesn’t mean you have to follow in her footsteps.”

He felt his jaw drop, and he blinked hard, staring at her, feeling like she’d just grabbed hold of his

life and given it a hard spin. He shut his mouth, not knowing what to say.

Alex let go of his shoulder and chuckled. “There may be hope for you yet.” She patted his cheek

then headed for the dining room, still laughing softly as she called over her shoulder, “You’re

forgiven.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, his mother sailed into the kitchen, hand in hand with a

man Roman assumed was Jefferson Morgan.

She’s counting on you.

Jenna had been talking about his mother, but all he could think about was Jenna’s limitless faith in

his abilities. She cheered him on, helped him succeed, and bolstered his confidence, but she also

called bullshit when he was being stubborn, stupid, or just plain wrong. It felt like his world had

ended when she walked out the hotel room door. Jenna couldn’t count on him because he was too

busy working for his mother, who showed no sign that she was ever going to quit.

His mother stopped in front of him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I didn’t want to be found.” He’d only left the room to assemble the desserts today.

She gestured to the man beside her. “I’d like you to meet Jefferson Morgan.”

Morgan held out his hand. “Call me Jeff.”

Roman shook his hand. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I’m not sure it is.”

Morgan’s nod was placid. “I get that a lot. You’ll get used to me.”

Roman had to give him credit for having balls. Morgan kept hold of his mother’s hand as if staking

a claim. Even more telling, his mother let him.

“Be polite, Roman. We came back here to tell you dessert was spectacular.”

He frowned. “Glad you liked it. Is that all?” Surely his mother had more to say to him than that. Her

last message had been along the lines of shape up or ship out.

“We’re getting married,” she blurted out.

He stared at her, certain he’d misheard. When her cheeks turned pink, he knew it was true. “Over

my dead body.”

His mother let go of Morgan and put her hands on Roman’s shoulders. “I know I’ve been rough on

you lately, and I don’t have any excuse except my world was turning upside down, and I didn’t know

how to set it straight. I’ve never been in love before, and it made me a little nuts. I’m sorry I took it

out on you. I don’t know if it makes it better or worse that it’s partly Jeff’s fault.”

Morgan met his angry gaze head-on. “I’m sorry about all the press, son. Your mother only has one

weak spot, and it’s you. I knew I could gain leverage with her by keeping tabs on you, and I had to

keep her on the hook long enough for her to want more from me than money for Oasis. I wanted her to

need me, too.”

“What do you mean by keeping tabs on me? Did you have me followed?”

Morgan nodded. “And I used my media contacts to make sure you hit the news. No offense, but you

aren’t that newsworthy, even though I’ve heard the Beach House burgers are incredible. I apologize

for meddling with your life, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do when the right woman walks

into his life. Maybe you know something about that?”

Roman ignored him and turned back to his mother. “So what do you really think about the Beach

House menu?”

She squeezed his arms. “I love it. Venice Beach loves it. It’s perfect.”

Roman shrugged out of her grip, feeling betrayed. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to say it was

enough. I’ve added a dozen restaurants to Gallagher Holdings, and it seems like you come up with

one reason after another to keep from retiring. When you criticized my lifestyle, then my menu, then

the croquembouche idea, I felt like there was something wrong with me, but this isn’t about me, is it?”

“You’ve always been the one perfect thing in my life.”

“It’s never going to be enough, is it?” he asked.

Slowly, she shook her head.

Relief then sadness crowded his heart as he realized he didn’t want his mother to retire so she

could relax. He wanted her to retire so he could. It’s now…or never. “I don’t want to run Gallagher

Holdings.” The words ripped from his soul and left him gasping.

His mother hugged him tight. “Good—because you’re right. I don’t want to retire. I like working.”

They held each other until his chest shook with a chuckle. She was laughing, too, huge, gulping

giggles that set him off again every time he managed to catch a breath.

Finally, Roman sobered. “Oh, man. Jenna. I totally fucked that up.”

He could see it so clearly, now that he wasn’t tied to the necessity of his future. Jenna was home to

him. She made home wherever she was, with her parents in Lambertville, cooking dinner for her

landlady and her daughter, and serving homemade chocolate chip cookies at a beach party. If she had

stayed to serve dessert tonight, she’d probably be in the dining room right now, making friends in a

room full of famous strangers. She made everyone feel at home, but it went deeper than that with him

because he and his mother had moved around so much when he was growing up, he’d never truly had

one.

A sudden thought struck him. “Is Morgan the reason you were so dead set on getting an investor for

Oasis? Did you want to get to know him better?”

His mother laughed again. “I’m afraid so.”

Roman turned to Morgan and sized the guy up again. Shaggy head of dull brown hair, short, glasses,

slight paunch, but his eyes gleamed with intelligence and just a little bit of malice. Of course, Morgan

had gotten his girl.

He nailed Morgan with a look. “You might have more money than God and every reporter in Los

Angeles in your back pocket, but if you hurt my mother, I’ll kick your ass from one end of California

to the other. And quit stalking me. I don’t care for your methods of persuasion, but I’ll put up with you

as long as my mother is happy.” That was it—the thing that had been bothering him since they walked

in the room together, holding hands. His mother was happy and relaxed. And he was jealous because

this little number cruncher had accomplished what Roman had been trying to achieve his whole life.

Morgan reclaimed her hand, tugging her away from Roman. “I respect that, I truly do. Actually, I

should probably thank you for taking such good care of her up to this point, but I’ll take it from here.

She’ll be fine, I promise.”

Roman felt like he’d been put in his place, but instead of feeling resentful, he was joyous. Morgan

might not look like much but he exuded strength and confidence. His mother was happy, and Roman

was free. He held out his hand, and Morgan shook it.

“Are you even going to open Oasis?” Roman asked.

His mother nodded. “Of course, although there’s no rush. I think I wanted an oasis for myself, and

now I’ve got it.” She gave Morgan a sickening grin.

He decided to leave them to it. “I’m going back to Venice Beach.”

“Not New Jersey?” His mom looked surprised, and a little disappointed. “I really liked Jenna.”

Roman shook his head. “Wait—when did you meet her?”

“Last night in the kitchen. She made a few pointed observations that led to me giving Jeff a chance.

I’d hoped to accomplish the same for her. I’m sorry to hear she’s gone. Can you go after her?”

“Not just yet.” She was heading back to Cooper’s with guns blazing, and he wasn’t going to steal

her thunder. He had goose bumps when she told him her plans for the family restaurant. She was dead

right, on target, and he had no doubt she was going to nail her niche. He had to let her do it on her

own. He thought he’d been living up to her teenage crush on him, but he’d been wrong. He had been

indulging in his own fantasy of loving someone and having a home, a future family, and a steady

source of comfort and security. No wonder he’d wanted to take it slow—he’d been in heaven. Living

that fantasy with her had changed his life, and after she achieved her goal at Cooper’s, he planned to

change hers, too.

Provided she convinced her parents not to sell this week, the bank had given the Cooper’s four

months to make up the payments. Jenna had spent almost two weeks with him. That meant he had three

and a half months to wait. Fourteen damn weeks of alternately biting his nails and sitting on his hands.

She would make Cooper’s a success…but what was he going to do?

An idea occurred to him as he walked them out of the kitchen. “Jeff, I don’t suppose you have any

media contacts in New Jersey, do you?”

Jeff’s eyes gleamed. “I have contacts all over the world. You just tell me what, when, and where,

and I’ll make it happen.”

Roman grinned back at him. “I’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, keep the week of Christmas open. It’s

lovely in New Jersey at that time of year.”

Chapter Thirteen

HRISTM AS

“Jesus, sis, what’s your problem?”

Jenna scowled, blinking back tears as she sliced an eggnog cheesecake. “Nothing. We ran out of

cheesecake. I need to cut these or the servers will butcher them. Mind your own business.” She glared

at Cole until he left the kitchen.

The new Cooper’s had reopened last month on Thanksgiving, and it was everything she’d

envisioned and more, packed to the exposed wood beams every night with happy customers. She’d

covered the tables with patterned tablecloths that didn’t show stains and the napkins were plentiful

and absorbent. There was a selection of arts and crafts materials at every table and a fully staffed

recreation room for parents who were comfortable sending their restless children off to play before

dinner. Side stations were stocked with a wide range of condiments and extra silverware so no one

ever had to wait for ketchup or get stressed out over a dropped fork.

She’d trained her staff to smile while they cleaned up spills and paid them above minimum serving

wage, so they wouldn’t rush lingering customers out the door in order to turn tables. The Lambertville

Beacon had done a human interest story on the “family to table” movement that had been picked up by

several national magazines. Apparently a lot of people with busy lives were looking to strengthen

family ties over restaurant dinner tables. Her parents were jubilant. Even Cole was impressed, but

Jenna felt nothing but misery.

Cooper’s was amazing, but every time she looked out into the dining room and saw happy families

relaxing, celebrating, and enjoying each other’s company, her stomach hollowed out and she ended up

just like this—mourning a future that wasn’t going to happen. The Cooper legacy was secure, thanks

to her, but she didn’t want it without the man who had inspired her vision.

Roman hadn’t called. What did she expect? So what if he’d proposed? He’d been carried away by

their bizarre situation and some really good sex. The minute she’d said no, he’d come to his senses

and all but booted her out the door. He’d even given her a how-to manual and a ring she discovered,

after an appraisal, would cover the cost of steep renovations.

Slipping her hand into her pocket, she touched the stone. She hadn’t been able to sell it. Nope,

instead she carried it around in her pocket, feeling like Gollum with her Precious, but unable to stop

herself.

She followed news of him as closely as ever. From his infrequent appearances in gossip columns,

she gathered he was continuing to keep a low profile for his mother, who still hadn’t retired. There

was no news of Oasis. No pictures of Roman with big-boobed celebrities or at outlandish beach

parties, but somehow that made it worse because he hadn’t leaked the news of their broken

engagement, either. She gleaned from Google that Roman was making the desserts at the Beach

House, a fact too strange to be fiction.

Her phone vibrated as if to chastise her, and she pulled it out of her pocket. “Merry Christmas!”

Lila and Betsy said in stereo.

“Right back at you, ladies. I’m stuffed to the gills and about to eat a big piece of very festive

eggnog cheesecake with a cinnamon-oat crust,” Jenna said, forcing cheer into her voice. “What’s

going on in your worlds?”

“Oyster stuffing coming out my ears, and I’m having dessert, too,” Betsy offered.

“The second seating at Inferno is about to start any minute, but I wanted to check in. Any word from

the West Coast?” Lila’s voice was hopeful.

Jenna had come clean to her friends about what had happened in California—or rather, they had

dragged it out of her word by word. “Not a peep. Just my usual Internet stalking.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“I’ll live. Give Jack my love.” She was happy everything was working out for her friend in spite of

her own broken heart.

“I will. Bye, girls.” The background noise of Inferno disappeared, leaving Betsy on the line. The

sound of a trolley bell broke the silence.

“Where are you?” Jenna asked.

“Drowning my sorrows in caffeine and powdered sugar at Café Du Monde. I had no idea opening a

café would be this challenging.”

“Stick to the plan. I know you can do it.”

Betsy sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure if sticking to the plan is possible anymore.”

“Now you tell me.” Jenna’s laugh was humorless. Too late for her. “You gonna be all right?”

“Always…one way or another. And so will you. Keep the faith, and I’ll talk to you this weekend.”

“Bye.” She ended the call and tucked the phone in her pocket.

Faith, huh? How appropriate on Christmas. Tears welled in her eyes, but she ignored them. Tears

didn’t help anything. On normal days she handled it better, but it was Christmas, it was snowing, and

all she could think of was kissing the snowflakes off his goddamn eyelashes.

She picked up the knife and continued to cut the cheesecake. The scent of bourbon rose from the

spiked whipped cream on top, and the knife slipped, breaking the piece in half. “Damn it.”

Cole had returned to the kitchen for the pot of coffee and took the knife out of her hand. “That’s it.

I’ve had it. What’s wrong?”

She gritted her teeth. “Nothing. Everything is fine. Sunbeams and rosebuds.” She moved to reclaim

the knife, but he slid it out of reach.

“Bullshit. You’re crying over cheesecake.”

“I am not,” she said as another tear slipped down her cheek.

“No shit. So tell me why you’re such a mess.”

When Cole got that obstinate look on his face, she usually gave in because she knew he wasn’t

going to give up. Today she didn’t care. “You don’t want to know.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.” He advanced. “I’m bigger than you are. I could always hold you

down and tickle you until you crack.”

She scowled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” He took a step toward her, and she shuddered, helplessly flashing back to childhood

when he had tormented her in any way he could think of that didn’t leave a mark.

“Last chance to start talking.” He stepped closer.

She rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t really do it but also sensing he wasn’t going to let it go

this time. Fine—he’d be sorry. By unspoken agreement, neither one of them had mentioned Roman

since she got home, and she had a feeling Cole hadn’t heard from him, either. Knowing she’d

damaged their friendship made her feel even worse. “I fell in love with Roman, damn it. Happy

now?”

“Only if you can give me a good reason why you left him in Los Angeles.”

“C’mon, Cole, seriously.” She crossed her arms. “He’s taking over Gallagher Holdings. I want to

work at Cooper’s. It was just a friendly hookup. End of story.”

“Cole?” His wife poked her head into the kitchen. Angela’s brow furrowed when she saw them.

“What’s taking so long? It’s time for dessert. I’m eating for two here, you know.” She patted her

burgeoning belly then disappeared back into the dining room.

“I need to finish cutting the cheesecake before Angela starves to death.” She turned her back and

picked up the knife, figuring she might as well give a full confession now. Otherwise, Cole was going

to end up hating Roman forever, and she didn’t want that. Plus, she wanted credit for pulling out of

her nosedive and coming back to Lambertville without needing a lawyer to help her file for divorce.

She told him everything. Then she put her tools in the sink, slid the last cheesecake into the reach-

in, and turned to face him.

Scorn was etched on his face. “Typical Jenna move.”

Fury overtook her so completely angry tears filled her eyes and her throat closed. She fought to

master her emotions. “No, not typical, for once I didn’t make things worse. Mom and Dad were going

to sell Cooper’s, and I wanted to prove I could make it a success, which I did, thank you very much,

and I expect some goddamn appreciation. Marrying Roman would have been a huge mistake.” She

spoke through gritted teeth. “Love isn’t everything.”

“Wrong,” her father spoke from the wait station. She hadn’t noticed the door to the dining room

open. How long had her parents and Angela been listening? “Love is everything.”

Her parents walked to join her, and Cole went to put his arm around his wife. “Without love, life is

nothing but work and sleep.” Her father reached forward to tug an escaped curl, then tucked it behind

Jenna’s ear. “That was some story,” he said, confirming her suspicions about how much they had

overheard.

“You sure do have a gift for creating disasters, sis.” Cole chuckled, and if she’d still had the knife

in her hand, she might have launched it at him.

“What is wrong with you people? Why am I the only one who can’t see I did something good

here?” She gestured around the kitchen, then toward the dining room, finally using both hands to

encompass the restaurant. “I did not get hitched in Vegas and desert my family!”

Her mother took her hand. “No, but you came home a sad shadow of yourself and have been

haunting us ever since.”

She felt herself shrinking. “So I can’t do anything right, is that what you are saying? My impulsive

decision to not ruin my life was wrong? I thought you wanted me to grow up. I thought you might

appreciate me stepping up to the plate and helping you keep Cooper’s from folding. I guess I’m still

too young, too impulsive, and too me to be of use around here.”

Her mother clasped her in a tight hug. “Oh honey, is that what you thought? Not even close. We’ve

always known you were capable of achieving anything you set your mind to. We’re so proud of you,

but when you own a restaurant, you’re married to the job. We wanted more for you, just as we wanted

more for your brother.”

“No nights, no weekends, and no holidays when you go corporate, sis,” Cole broke in.

“Chicken fingers and number ten cans of chili,” she retorted.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” her mother said mildly. “Your father wanted to own a

restaurant, and I wanted a family. We made it work because we love each other, but you can’t blame

us for wanting you to choose an easier path.”

“I want Cooper’s.” Jenna lifted her chin. “I always have.”

“It’s all yours, baby. You earned it.” Her dad wrapped his arms around both of them. “As for all

that too young, too impulsive stuff, you got that from me. Your mother has been keeping me in line for

thirty-three years,” he said proudly. “Maybe you can find a guy like her.”

“That’s the plan.”

With Angela in the lead, they all headed into the dining room, and Jenna only felt a twinge of

sadness as she took her place at the table, forking up a big bite of the cheesecake the server set in

front of her. The scent of bourbon smacked her again. Would she always think of Roman on

Christmas? Probably.

A commotion at the hostess desk drew her gaze and she gasped.

…

“Gallagher, party of three,” Roman called over his shoulder as he strode across the dining room. He

left his mother and Jeff in the foyer and took off across the dining room toward Jenna. Every part of

him cried out for her. It had been murder to stay away, but he’d kept tabs on her progress through

Jeff’s media contacts in New Jersey. Now that Cooper’s was every bit the success he’d known it

would be, he was starving for her.

Cole stepped in front of him before he reached the table. “Not so fast, buddy. What are your

intentions? You better talk fast and give me an airtight reason why I shouldn’t clean your clock for

messing with my little sister. I haven’t heard from you in months, and she’s been moping around like

crazy.”

Roman could barely shift gears. It wasn’t possible that he could have come so far and changed so

much and Cole would still think he wasn’t good enough for Jenna. “Strictly honorable. I love her,

man. I want to marry her. I know I’m not exactly a poster boy for long-term relationships, and you

have every reason to want somebody better for her—”

Cole cut him off with an impatient gesture. “Are you kidding me? We’ve been friends for almost a

decade. Why would I think you’re not good enough for her? Is that why you haven’t been calling me

back? Now I am going to hit you.” Roman kept his hands at his sides, so glad to have Cole’s approval

he’d let him have a free shot. He’d been afraid once he got Cole on the phone, he wouldn’t be able to

control himself, offering money for renovations, advice for the grand opening, hell, maybe even his

right kidney. He had hated letting his friend believe the worst, but he hadn’t wanted to interfere with

Jenna’s plans.

“Cole, sit down.” His friend flinched but didn’t take his seat. Roman was impressed. Nobody

disobeyed Mrs. Cooper when she used that tone.

Roman ducked his head to the side and grimaced. “Hi, Mrs. Cooper. Hi, Mr. Cooper. Sorry for

barging in.”

“Hello, Roman. You know you’re always welcome,” Mrs. Cooper smiled, and they sat back in

their chairs as if they were at a Broadway show.

Roman glanced around the full dining room. The place looked incredible. A fire blazed in the

hearth on the far wall. There were candles in the windows, and the biggest Christmas tree he’d ever

seen right next to the door. His stomach churned, and his heart ached with the desire to be a part of

this. It felt like home…if home were filled with a hundred strangers waiting to hear what you planned

to say next.

Jenna stood and shouldered her brother out of the way. “Neanderthal.”

Roman had a feeling he and Cole would be revisiting this later, but at least the guy got out of his

way. He took Jenna’s hands, pulling her into close contact with his body. Every part of him rejoiced.

She smiled up at him, and hope beat inside him in a quickening rhythm that echoed his pounding heart.

“I quit my job. Gallagher Holdings has a new chief operating officer and my mother isn’t going to

retire until…well, probably ever. I’ve been baking cookies at the Beach House, driving Max crazy,

and waiting for you to get Cooper’s up and running so I could come home…if you’ll have me.”

“And you waited so long—why? Just to torture me?”

“Because you wanted to make Cooper’s a success by yourself. I knew you could do it, and I wanted

you to know it, too.”

Her smile widened, and her eyes shined. “I did do it, didn’t I?” She squeezed his hands tightly.

“But my heart wasn’t in it. It’s been on ice ever since I left you in Las Vegas.”

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, taking deep, gulping breaths of her

sweet scent. Joy washed over him. “I’m sorry you were unhappy, but I’m so glad you missed me. I

love you, Jenna. God, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. I always have, ever since we went sledding six years ago and you didn’t kiss me.”

He crushed his lips to hers, and tasted cinnamon, oats, and heat. For long moments he luxuriated in

her scent, taste, and touch, and then he grinned. “You’re stuck with me now. Do you know how hard it

was not to butt in? I almost had to stake myself to the beach to keep from calling the bank and putting

in a good word…or opening a credit line for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t call the bank, did you? I got a loan to cover the renovations. It was

almost too easy—”

“Nope. They knew a good idea when they heard it.”

She snuggled closer. “I think that makes me love you even more, but I also want to kill you. I can’t

believe you waited so long.”

He kissed her again, almost getting lost in the pleasure of being near her. Then he remembered there

was more he needed to say. He pulled back. “I grew up in kitchens, one after the other, as my mother

made a name for herself. When I looked into my future with Gallagher Holdings, that’s all I saw,

more kitchens. I didn’t have anything other than money to share with a woman, so I never got involved

in a serious relationship, I never thought about having kids because I didn’t want them to grow up like

I did, lonely and working from the minute they could do something useful. My life was empty, and I

filled it with work and partied hard so I could make connections and fill it with more work. Then you

walked into my kitchen, reminding me of happy times spent around the table with your family, and

everything changed.” He gestured around the room, festooned with holly garland, lit from the inside,

and shining with love. “I want this. I want you. Please let me show you I can be the man you need.”

A tear spilled down her cheek. “Never in a million years did I think you would give up Hollywood

for Lambertville.”

“Give me a chance. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Laughter and heat shimmered in her eyes. “I remember saying something similar to you a while ago.

Does this mean you’re looking for a job, Chef?”

“You bet I am.” He struggled to recall what she had said to him that afternoon in the Beach House

kitchen, grinning when it came to him. “Give me a few decades, I promise I’ll knock your socks off.”

He bent to whisper for her ears only. “And your pants, your shirt, and whatever scandalous lingerie

you happen to be wearing.”

She cocked her head to the side and batted her eyelashes, eyes glinting with golden light. “I don’t

know…there’s nothing wrong with our desserts. Our pie crust is delicious, and our sauces don’t come

out of a can. How far are you willing to go to get this job?” A few chuckles broke out around the

room.

“All the way and then some,” he said firmly. “I’ll work beside you in the kitchen. I’ll sit down with

you for dinner every night. I’ll walk the dog, and I’ll put the kids to bed if we are lucky enough to

have any. Your happiness will be my full-time job.”

“Say yes, or I will,” a woman called from the next table.

Jenna grinned. “Sorry, but I think I’ll keep him.” She pulled something out of her pocket, and when

he saw the blue glint of a diamond, gratitude filled his heart. He took it out of her hand, glancing

quickly at her parents who nodded their blessing.

His throat tightened, and he had to swallow before he could speak. “Jenna Cooper, will you marry

me?”

“Yes, I will.” She held out her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger. She lifted her chin, and

her eyes darkened to his favorite color, caramel just on the edge of burnt. “But don’t expect me to take

it easy on you just because I love you.”

“Darling, I’d be disappointed if you did.” He kissed her, and then pulled out her chair at the table.

His mother and Jeff joined the family, and while introductions were made, Roman took his seat

beside Jenna, and knew he was finally home.

Acknowledgments

I owe my love of food and cooking to my wonderful parents. My mom is a great cook, and would you

believe she gave me free run of her kitchen from an early age, even though disaster often (always)

ensued? In fact, Mom had a standing date with the plumber every time I threw a dinner party for my

friends. Apparently, you can’t put just any old thing down the garbage disposal. Every so often, I

relearn that lesson, much to my husband’s chagrin. (Sorry about the potato peels from the latkes a few

years ago, honey! I promise I’ll only do that a couple more times in our lives.) My dad is a hell of a

cook, too—especially on a campfire. From him I learned never to make scrambled eggs in a cast iron

skillet and to start everything with bacon. Rules to live by.

My love of romance novels was born long before I met my husband, but I have him to thank for

turning my fantasies of everlasting love into my everyday reality. And for making me endless cups of

coffee. And dinner. And…other vital stuff. I’m glad our kids are going to grow up thinking it’s normal

to make out in the kitchen.

There are few things I love more than getting lost in a good book, and I don’t know what I’d do

without my book boyfriends and best friends! My everlasting gratitude to all the authors who have

created worlds for me to enjoy over the years, and many thanks to Entangled Publishing for helping

me bring my own stories to life, especially Liz Pelletier for taking me under her rockin’ editorial

wing, Lewis Pollak and Alethea Spiridon Hopson for the trope-tacular revisions, and Heather

Howland for the smokin’ Hot Nights covers. Big love to my copy editors, formatters, and

proofreaders (because sometimes commas are harder than math). Squeezes to my publicists and all

the other people who make my books look delicious. A lifetime supply of sea-salted caramels to my

intrepid agent, Nalini Akolekar, who saves me. A margarita for Jessica Topper, wine for Natasha

Moore, and a nondairy hot mocha for Alison Stone, who deserve many drinks for sharing the writing

life with me. L’chaim! A henna tattoo for Erin Kelly-Park, who made me get one on Venice Beach

when we were celebrating our fortieth birthdays, and a sun salutation to Melissa Cook who picks me

up for yoga even when I tell her I should be working. A never ending supply of ripped abs and hot

tattoos for Kimberly Kincaid, Robin Covington, and Avery Flynn for keeping me inspired every

Friday with their FB Man Wars. Everyone wins!

And thank you for reading Jenna and Roman’s story. Without you, sweet reader, this writing

journey would be so lonely. Thanks for keeping me company!

About the Author

Amanda Usen

knows two things for certain: chocolate cheesecake is good for breakfast, and a hot

chef can steal your heart. Her husband stole hers the first day of class at the Culinary Institute of

America. She married him after graduation in a lovely French Quarter restaurant in New Orleans, and

they spent a few years enjoying the food and the fun in the Big Easy. Now they live in Western New

York with their three children, one hamster, two guinea pigs, a tortoise, and a new-to-them beagle.

Amanda spends her days teaching pastry arts classes and her nights writing romance. If she isn’t

baking or writing, she can usually be found chasing the kids around the yard with her very own hot

chef husband.

Want chimichurri, chocolate cake or Chicken Alighieri? Visit Amanda at

www.amandausen.com

where you can find recipes for many of the yummy dishes in her books. She can also be found on

Facebook

and

Twitter

if you want to chat about romance, writing, or recipes.

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