Falling for Her Rival

TEN


Bring to a boil

Impulsiveness had cost Lara big in the past, so she tended to skate on the edge of the pond, rather than venturing out where the ice might not be thick enough to hold her. Since her hasty marriage and equally hasty divorce, she’d taken things slowly when it came to men. She’d been on a lot of first dates that never led to a second. Mostly that was her choice, and it explained why it had been so long since she’d had sex.

Better to be safe than satisfied and sorry. That was her motto.

But tonight? With Finn?

Everything seemed different and full of promise, even if the rest of her life was in the proverbial crapper.

It was closing in on eleven o’clock when they finished their second round of drinks. The appetizer was long gone by then, polished off handily between the pair of them. Finn paid the tab. He refused her offer to cover the second round of drinks, although he reluctantly agreed to let her leave the tip. Lara was used to paying her own way. Maybe it was foolish, but it made her feel in control. A decision-maker rather than a blind participant.

Outside, the evening was hot and humid. The air was heavy with the mingling scents of exhaust fumes and ripe produce from a fruit market a couple of doors down. She expected Finn to hail a cab. Instead, he took her hand and started walking. A moment later, they passed the building where she’d styled the food for the magazine photo shoot. Had that been only a week ago?

Just beyond it, he stopped and fished a key ring out of his pocket. The nondescript door he unlocked was wedged between two shop windows.

“You live...here?”

“Yeah.” His laughter sounded self-conscious. “I know it doesn’t look like it from the street, but upstairs the former commercial space has been divided up into a handful of decent apartments.”

Once inside, they followed a long hall that led to what appeared to be a freight elevator. Its doors were metal, adorned with graffiti and opened horizontally. After they closed, he used his key again, pushed a button, and when the lift stopped half a dozen floors up, the doors opened to a spacious studio apartment with exposed ductwork, a worn wooden plank floor and redbrick walls. But what caught her attention was the kitchen.


“Oh, my God! I am so jealous,” she said, kicking off her heels and crossing to it. The floor was poured concrete and cold under her bare feet. “Your island is bigger than my entire kitchen, even after I demoed a wall to make room for my six-burner.”

He was grinning. Gone was any self-consciousness. “The amount of space was what sold me on the place.”

“How did you stumble on this?”

“I have a cousin who’s a developer.”

Lara turned and took in the rest of the room. Despite the high ceilings and overall industrial vibe from the architecture, the room was surprisingly inviting. The tall windows helped. During the day, they would allow in a generous amount of light. They were bracketed in gauzy white floor-to-ceiling curtains. Even though the view wasn’t the greatest—no skyline was visible, just the facades of other buildings—it still helped keep the place airy.

“Nice curtains.”

“My sisters’ doing. They claimed the place echoed.”

Family again. The man’s life was full of kin willing to rush in and lend a hand. It was impossible not to envy him for that.

Finn cleared his throat and the sound bounced off the ceiling to boomerang back, causing Lara to laugh.

“Okay, they may have had a point,” he added drily.

“Have you lived here long?”

Other than the kitchen, it was sparsely furnished, so it came as a surprise when he replied, “A couple years. I haven’t gotten around to furnishing it.”

That was an understatement. The room sported a sofa, large-screen television, of course, a packing crate that served as an end table and not much else. She didn’t even see a proper bed, leaving her to assume he either slept on the couch or it pulled out to reveal a mattress.

That might not be odd for a recent college graduate, but Finn was in his mid-thirties.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said.

This time it was the sound of Lara clearing her throat that echoed in the cavernous room. “How long have you been divorced?”

“That obvious?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

She shrugged. “My apartment was pretty sparse for a while after I left Jeffrey. I didn’t mind that he kept the sectional sofa or the bedroom set. But I was pretty pissed when he laid claim to the food processor.”

“Bastard.”

She chuckled at Finn’s dry delivery before admitting, “I smuggled his golf clubs out of our storage locker and held them hostage until he agreed to hand it over.”

“Clever. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Well?”

He glanced around. “It’s been a couple of years since we split. My ex and my lawyer made out like bandits.”

She made an appropriately sympathetic sound before telling Finn, “It’s been nearly six for me.”

Lara had done a lot of growing up since then, and even more soul-searching. While she still couldn’t say she was ready to dive back into a serious commitment, neither did she want to get involved, even on the most casual basis, with someone who was still pining for someone else.

From his overall demeanor, Finn didn’t appear to be in love with his ex, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few more questions, she reasoned. Get the lay of the land, so to speak, before deciding whether or not she wanted to pitch a tent.

“How long were you married?”

“Five years. Sheryl opted for an early-out clause two days after our anniversary. It wasn’t a huge surprise. I knew something was wrong. I’d been after her to go with me to counseling.”

He’d wanted to save his marriage, which was commendable. In Lara’s case, there had been nothing to save. “Do you have any kids?”

“None.” Finn scrubbed a hand over his chin. “Even before things started to head south, we’d agreed to wait to start a family. That wound up being a good thing. The split was ugly enough without a custody dispute.”

No kids meant no permanent ties to his ex. That was another plus in Lara’s book. She never had to see Jeffrey again, and that suited her just fine. Still, she wrinkled her nose and offered a heartfelt “Sorry.”

“I was, too, at the time.” His laughter was rueful, and carried a dash of bitterness when he added, “I got over it pretty quickly when I learned that she was sleeping with my best friend and silent business partner. Former best friend and former business partner now.”

“Ouch.”

“That didn’t bother me as much as the fact that she took my restaurant and laid claim to all of my recipes.”

Lara blinked before her eyes rounded. How was it possible, she wondered, that she hadn’t put two and two together until just then?

“You’re Griffin Westbrook!”

At one time, he’d been the next big thing on New York’s culinary scene with a restaurant in the theater district that was almost as well-known as the Chesterfield. Then he’d lost everything in a very nasty, very public divorce.

She was vague on the particulars, but she recalled some sort of dispute regarding who had come up with the restaurant’s signature dishes.

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “For the record, only my mother, my ex’s lawyer and the media refer to me as Griffin.”

Lara found herself apologizing again. “Sorry. That was rude.”

But Finn shrugged. “My life’s an open book.”

His words shook loose another recollection. “Didn’t the two of you write a cookbook together?”

He nodded. “Actually, I was the creative force behind it.” He coughed for effect and plucked at the front of his shirt when he added, “Which, by the way, went on to be nominated for a James Beard award.”

“I remember. Impressive.”

“What else do you remember?” he asked.

Before she could think better of it, she said, “There was some sort of scan...”

“Scandal,” he finished for her.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind. It’s ancient history.” But the muscle that ticked in his jaw told her otherwise. He might not be mooning over his ex, but he was still smarting from betrayal. “Romantic that I was, I dedicated the book to Sheryl. Her high-priced lawyer twisted my words about owing her ‘everything’ around to imply that she’d been the creative force behind it. And since she’d been the one to make the rounds to publicize the book—media interviews, personal appearances, book signings—while I held down the fort at the restaurant—they used that, too, as ‘proof’ that Sheryl was the actual author.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. It was brutal. My reputation took a huge hit.”

Which explained why he was so desperate to win the competition and restore his name in the court of public opinion. But she decided to lighten the mood.

“It’s pretty rare I meet anyone as infamous in New York culinary circles as I am.”

He laughed, as she’d hoped he would. She liked the sound, not to mention the way Finn looked with his head tipped back and his lips curved up.

“If it makes you feel any better, my ex gave your former restaurant a terrible review in last week’s column,” she told him. “I didn’t read the actual article, but the headline included the word inedible to describe the braised veal.”

“Yeah, I saw that. I’d like to be happy that she’s running Rascal’s into the ground, but...”


His smile ebbed as his words trailed away.

Lara decided to change the subject. She wasn’t really hungry, but, taking a seat on one of the stools at the island, she said, “At Spanky’s you mentioned something about a main course.”

“Right. I did.” Instead of reaching for Lara, however, he turned toward the fridge. “It’s been a while since I went shopping, so what I make depends on what I have in here.”

He opened both stainless-steel doors and stood with his back to her. While he perused the shelves, she perused his physique. Just as she’d told Dana, he was certified prime from the broad shoulders beneath his dress shirt right down to the firm butt that filled out his pants.

“How hungry are you?”

Gaze still on his butt, she murmured without thinking, “Famished.”

He turned and she felt her cheeks heat. A look passed between them. His expression was pure male. She’d seen several versions of it so far. When they’d first met and brushed hands by the cab. When they’d gone for coffee after she was outted as Clifton’s daughter and ousted from the show. While flying a kite in Central Park. And earlier that very evening at Spanky’s, when they’d discussed appetizers as a prelude to main dishes. All of those looks had been potent, but this one...this one could have started an out-of-control brushfire in a downpour.

“I have some fresh pasta and the fixings for a simple Bolognese, but, as you know, to do the sauce right, it takes time. The flavors need to mature.”

“And meld together,” she agreed on a nod.

“How patient are you feeling, Lara?”

Now, there was a question.

“Not very. Patience hasn’t gotten me very far lately.”

“So, I was thinking...” He took a covered bowl out of the fridge and closed the doors. “I have these leftovers from yesterday’s dinner. Thai chicken.”

Was he just teasing her now? She couldn’t be sure.

“It sounds spicy.”

“It is. Very.” His gaze flicked briefly to her mouth. “Interested?”

“Very,” she repeated. She wasn’t talking about the chicken, and the heat glowing in his eyes confirmed that he wasn’t either. Thank heavens! “Can I sample a little?”

“Sure. Want me to warm it up?”

Lara shook her head as she came around the island. “That’s all right.”

He opened the bowl, but that was as far as he got before they reached for each other. Distantly, she was aware of the scents of ginger, cilantro and sriracha sauce. But what filled her senses was Finn. His scent. His touch. His taste.

She couldn’t get enough of him. Nor could she get close enough, even though she was plastered against him from thigh to lips. He was warm, firm, welcoming. A sigh escaped. He answered with a moan.

“I’ve been...thinking about...you and me and...this...for a while.” As he spoke he nipped his way down to her collarbone.

“Since Spanky’s?” she asked, fighting a shiver.

“Before then.”

Lara did tremble now as she admitted, “Me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like since hello.”

He laughed. “Great minds. What else have you been thinking?”

Finn was letting her set the parameters. Even though she’d already made it pretty clear what she wanted, he was leaving her an out, giving her a chance to change her mind. She could pull back and put on the brakes. No harm. No foul. Or she could plow full steam ahead.

Lara didn’t feel reckless when she chose the latter. Rather, she felt right.

“Your shirt. I’ve been wondering what you would look like without it.”

Deep laughter rumbled again. With his body still pressed against hers, she felt his mirth as much as she heard it. The sensation was oddly erotic, but what had the breath backing up in her lungs was his reply.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing. What do you say we both satisfy our curiosity?”

It sounded like a good idea to her. She reached for the top button on her blouse only to have him push her hands away.

“Let me do that.”

“Okay, but only if I get to do the same,” she replied boldly.

Hunger of a different kind gnawed inside her when Finn got to work unfastening her top. Two buttons in, he stopped to pull the hem from the waistband of her skirt. Fingers skimmed briefly over her waist, a featherlight touch that had her moaning and wanting to demand more. His eyes remained on hers, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly when she trembled. With the last button freed from its hole, he parted the fabric and gave a low whistle.

When he would have pushed the fabric down her sleeves, she stopped him. Lara wasn’t overly modest, but some things were best done in private.

“Um, the windows.” She gave a nod in their direction. “I kind of feel on display. Would you mind?”

“Be right back.”

He left her to yank the gauzy material closed. He also flicked off the lamp, leaving only the under-counter lighting on. The effect made the place feel cocoonlike.

“Where were we?” he asked, even though his smile said he knew.

“Right...about...here.” She pushed the fabric apart and over her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms.

He groaned in appreciation, even as Lara grinned.

“And now it’s my turn.”