Feel the Heat (Hot In the Kitchen)

chapter Ten


Standing on the threshold of the DeLuca’s brownstone in Andersonville on Chicago’s north side, Jack immediately knew the pain of every randy teenage boy who had dared to take a DeLuca girl on a date. Tony loomed in the hallway doing his best Don Corleone. Hands clenched. Feet planted like sequoias. Mouth a gray slash. Lili fidgeted behind her father, looking like she wanted the hardwood floors to split at their seams and drag her to the earth’s molten core.

“Jack, this is my mother, Francesca,” Cara said. He took the hand of a beautiful, frail woman with elfin features and cropped blond hair. Sucking in a bolstering breath, Jack embarked on the grovel to end all grovels.

“Tony, Francesca, I’m so sorry about what happened last night.” But your daughter got me so riled up I had no choice.

The muscles in Tony’s face scrunched, mirroring the imminently dangerous situation with his fists. Francesca placed a hand on her husband’s arm. No one spoke, so Jack did what he usually did when faced with adversity—tried to talk his way out of it.

“Your daughter’s a lovely woman.” And I want her so much it hurts.

Lili’s eyes widened and she shook her head vehemently.

“My behavior was unforgivable.” But I don’t regret a single moment.

An imperceptible nod from Lili. Better.

“Jack, it is okay,” Francesca said warmly. “You cannot be blamed for the kind of society we live in.” She mashed her lips together in disapproval of the ravenous media and their appetite for the slightest scandal. Jack would have kissed her if he wasn’t so worried about getting decked flat by her husband.

Tony wouldn’t be so easily swayed, but after his wife squeezed his arm once more, the older man clasped Jack’s hand. A reluctant détente, but he’d take it. Jack huffed out a breath and caught Lili’s equally relieved expression.

“Well, thank God,” Cara said cheerily. “I think we could all do with a drink.”

Amen to that.

Dinner was served around a large communal table in the backyard, which was roughly landscaped in a style reminiscent of the gardens of an Italian villa. The aroma of lavender and basil from the herb garden scented the air. Terra-cotta planters, paving stones, and trees strung with twinkling lights all combined to create a little corner of Tuscany in the middle of the city. It was like something out of a fairy tale, complete with a modern-day Cinderella. Lili served and cleared, usually under Tony’s barked instructions en Italiano.

It didn’t take long for Jack to intuit that, while Tony was the consummate host, he wasn’t about to give away any of his kitchen secrets.

“So what’s in store for me tomorrow, Tony?”

Tony swirled his wineglass, watching as the legs of the Brunello Jack had brought dribbled dark rivulets down the sides. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

And I’m the Queen of England. Jack had seen enough of the Italian maestro’s management style on his brief tour of the DeLuca kitchen to know he had his contest menu prepared, right down to how many leaves of basil he would use to garnish the pasta. Even tonight’s simple meal of bruschetta, veal parmigiana, and homemade linguine was perfect. More sabre-rattling. Now the man had the family honor as an extra incentive to nail Jack’s arse to the wall.

For the rest of the meal, Jack underwent a barrage of questions from Tony’s scary sister-in-law, Sylvia, and her towering bouffant. She had seen every one of his shows and grilled him like the head chef at Le Cordon Bleu would an unprepared student.

“In the episode where you killed that squid on the boat, it looked like a different squid in the next shot,” Sylvia said, scarcely able to disguise her disgust at the deceptive practices of the editors.

“It might have been.” He tried to trap Lili’s gaze to see if she was even slightly amused, but she hadn’t looked his way once since his arrival.

“So you cheated,” Sylvia concluded sternly with a wave of her hand. Every time she gesticulated, his gaze rose, poised for something disastrous to happen.

“It’s television. It’s all cheating,” he murmured, but she’d already transferred the Gestapo tactics to her niece.

“Cara, what time Mass do you attend in New York?”

“Nine-thirty, St. Patrick’s Cathedral,” Cara replied without missing a beat. Clever girl. No one but tourists attended St. Pat’s, but Sylvia clearly wasn’t in the loop or had any idea that Cara lived forty blocks uptown.

“Better than your sister. She can’t be bothered,” Sylvia said.

“Too busy with those atheists. Those artists,” Tony snarled, to which Lili inhaled deeply and turned a dull shade of red.

“Tony,” Francesca murmured. “Not now.”

That would normally be a cue to let the uncomfortable moment slide but Jack didn’t like how Tony’s tone sucked the conviviality out of the proceedings.

“Atheist artists?” he asked innocently.

Tony delivered a pained expression. Shocker. “My daughter spends too much of her time with unsuitable people.”

“Good for her.” Jack met Tony’s glare head-on. “Can’t be any worse than restaurant folk. The people who work for me are a bunch of miscreants and reprobates. Probably the same for you, I imagine.”

Tony’s stone-faced expression didn’t budge a millimeter. Francesca smiled at him brightly. Jack caught Lili’s look of surprise and succumbed to a pleasurable dizziness.

Sylvia leaned in close and gave him a flash of crinkly bosom that turned his wash of dizzy to nausea. “Are you Catholic, Jack?” Jesus Christ.

“Sylvia,” Francesca warned.

The Italian Inquisition flapped her hands. “They say most relationships start in the workplace. Where else is Cara going to meet a man?” Her eyes flashed with an oddly lascivious disgust that made him shudder. “Even if he’s a donnaiolo, at least he’s good-looking.”

He had no idea what he’d just been called, but he needed to nip this in the bud. “Cara’s the best producer I’ve ever worked with and we make a great professional team, but that’s as far as it goes.”

Cara winked and gifted him a wide grin. “Thanks, babe, your check’s in the mail.”

“We’re very proud of her,” Tony said with a genuine smile that completely disconcerted Jack, probably because it was the first time he’d seen the older man do it. “Plenty of time for her to settle down.”

There was no missing how Lili’s expression faded to hurt at Tony’s words. Those bright eyes, that sunshine smile, dulled to dishwater in the face of some family dynamic Jack tried hard to grasp. Lili, loyal, hardworking, by all accounts a wonderful daughter was on the outs with her father. Sure there was the video, but Lili couldn’t be blamed for that.

“So, Jack, are you in the market for a wife and children?” Francesca asked, at which he almost choked on a ribbon of linguine.

“Mom!” Lili and Cara exclaimed together, echoing his own horror.

“I’m so sorry,” Lili said, the first words she’d spoken to him all evening. “Ever since my mother beat cancer, she thinks it’s given her license to say whatever the hell she wants.”

“I don’t want to die without getting all the answers,” Francesca said with an astonishing smile that reminded him of Lili. In twenty years, she’d still have that smile. Her kids would have that smile. Their kids…Hold your horses. She has a nice smile. ’Nuff said.

Tony gave his wife a tender kiss on the cheek and muttered something in Italian.

At Jack’s raised eyebrow, Cara repeated it slowly. “Casa senza fimmina ’mpuvirisci. It means ‘how poor is a home without a woman.’”

How poor indeed. Lili’s words about her father’s devotion to her mother came back to him. The man might be a hard nut with his daughter but he clearly loved his wife with a frightening and enviable passion.

Lili spoke again, her voice as smooth as warmed butter, and he imagined that restful tone soothing him after a hard night or a bad day. “If Jack was to get hitched, I can see it now. Riots in the streets. Women the world over tearing their hair out. It would be best if he stays single. The fate of womankind depends on it.”

“She’s right,” he agreed affably. “My public wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Never underestimate your capacity for marriage and parenthood, Jack,” Francesca said sagely. “You may be surprised at how rewarding it is.”

“Of course, Jack’s had plenty of chances to father children,” Cara said, knowing full well her words would cause a widespread halt to the collective chewing. It did. “He gets constant offers from busy career women and New York socialites who want him to be their baby daddy. I’m surprised he hasn’t taken anyone up on it, if only to ensure the genius lives on.”

Jack speared his producer with a murderous glare, though his irritation stemmed more from the fact he couldn’t flat-out deny it. He’d had several offers from women who wanted a child without the inconvenience of finding a husband first. Note to self: tear the blabbermouth Frenchman limb from limb.

“So, Jack, your DNA’s a hot commodity on the New York baby market?” Lili asked.

“Too right. Women would kill to have kids with this bone structure,” he joked, foolishly relieved she was speaking to him again, though the vapid topic could only further harden her opinion of him from sandstone to granite.

“Kill? Would they even have to bother?” Lili shot back. “I hear you’re so virile you could probably impregnate a woman just by looking at her crooked.”

Tilting his head, he slanted her a smile. “Let me know where to send the child support checks in nine months.”

She burst out laughing and the current spread along a fuse, igniting and drawing him in. His laugh blended harmoniously with her opulent, full one and his chest contracted at the beautiful sound. Yeah, this.

Everyone at the table stared as if they’d never heard laughter. Jack knew how inappropriate this conversation was, but where Lili was concerned, self-control was as hard to come by as morels in the fall. She dipped her head to study her barely eaten veal, but not before he noted her lips still lifted in a sensual curve. Pride swelled his chest. He had done that. A fierce pulse thrummed through him, a biological signal telling him that he needed to be alone with her.

Now.

To hell with her family’s gapes and to hell with Tony and his tangible disapproval. He had kissed this woman thoroughly, not started World War Three. And he had every intention of doing it again.

Tony butted in, his tone stentorian. “Liliana, the dessert.”

“Sure, Dad,” Lili answered on a sigh, her bright aura muted once again as she swayed off to the kitchen.

* * *

On her way home from her parents’, Lili cast out thoughts of Satan, aka Jack Kilroy, and tried to focus on the restaurant’s troubles without wiping out on the Vespa. Last week, they’d had some Tuesday night success with two-for-one entrées, but her father hadn’t approved. He hated sales gimmicks, which, in his words, “cheapened the integrity of the food.” Jack’s promise to have butts in seats for six months after the show aired was all well and good, but if her father insisted on running the restaurant like his personal fiefdom, any benefits to being featured on TV would disintegrate into dust.

She longed for the taping to be over. For Jack Kilroy to go back to where he came from so she wouldn’t have to think about the smile that melted her insides. Or the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow that made her fingers itch to shape his granite jaw. Or how he had quietly challenged her father at dinner when the subject of her unsuitable friends came up. She didn’t need anyone to defend her, but she had to admit it had been nice. Really nice.

Damn Cara and her crazy promises. And damn Jack Kilroy for giving her a glimpse of what might be possible. Today he had fed her food and chunks of his life story and had gone out of his way to help her. He had overwhelmed with his charisma and culinary chops. It wasn’t fair of him to instill such hope and want and need.

It wasn’t fair of him to be so dazzling.

After parking the Vespa, she trudged the block home, her precious veal parmigiana leftovers swinging in a plastic bag at her side. Playing catch up on The Bachelor with a limit of one fat-free yogurt was the tantalizing menu for the rest of the night.

“Mow any innocent bystanders down on your way home?”

She looked up, only to be leveled by a brash grin and moss-green eyes. Jack was draped against the wall of her building, all feline grace, looking every inch like he belonged there. Annoyance and attraction battled for space in her head. As usual, attraction won.

“Just a couple. Slow night,” she said, feeling a smile building inside her. She pushed it down but it burbled up like a crude oil spurt.

He unhooked his thumbs from his jean pockets and pushed one of her uncooperative locks away from her face. She resisted the temptation to fold into his hand.

Focus, Lili. It’s just the dazzle.

“We didn’t get a chance to talk properly at dinner,” he said. “You were so busy playing at serving wench.”

She took a mock bow. “You honored us greatly by eating at our table, my lord.”

His laugh was warm, enriching the air around her. Making him laugh pleased her more than it should have. Had Ashley brought a smile to his face? No matter, undoubtedly she had other talents.

“What are your cousins up to these days?” he asked.

She was currently last in the TMZ poll on Jack’s Gallery of Bangable Broads but, with the help of her posse, was closing in fast on the actress Jack had been wearing to film premieres a few months ago.

“Oh, a Facebook page called ‘Jack’s Fat Chick Rules,’ a Twitter war with my butt. You know, the usual.”

This time she laughed with him. It seemed churlish not to be a good sport about it.

“And your dad? Did he give you a hard time about the video? He seems to be”—he paused in the act of measuring his words—“a total hard-ass. Pardon my French.”

“It’s not the dream most guys have for their daughters. Millions watching her get busy with a strange man’s wedding tackle. All class.”

He grimaced. “Right, I can understand that. I’m sorry—”

“But you’re not.” She could hear his lack of remorse slicing clear through the unresolved sexual tension.

“I’m sorry you feel embarrassed and it’s put you in the doghouse with your father. But I’m not sorry it happened.” He waited a couple of beats so she could absorb that declaration, or kneel in gratitude, perhaps. “So what else is going on with your dad?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

He folded his arms like he was in for the interrogation long haul, and his sleeve hems pulled tight against his biceps. He really should cover those things up. “That stuff about atheist artists. Il Duce not a fan of naked women?”

Il Duce wasn’t a fan of Lili. “He has that old country, immigrant mentality. Art’s for recreation, not for real life.” She waved her hand in explanation but really to calm her rising emotions. “He doesn’t understand how something so intangible can be worthwhile. How it can put bread on the table.”

“But producing food television rates highly?”

The derision in his tone made her bristle. He didn’t get to mock. “Cara’s done well. My parents are very proud of her.”

Those green-gold eyes, all knowing and sharp as a cat’s, softened. “I’m sure they’re proud of you, too.”

Her mother was grateful for Lili’s help, but proud? That wasn’t a word she heard often, not in a house where duty was a given and her father’s precise definition of success colored everything. Cara’s glamorous career represented the pinnacle of achievement in her family’s eyes, and all that go-getting and high-flying put Lili’s ambitions in the shade. Not that she could expect someone like Jack Kilroy, with his far-reaching empire, to understand. Her father might not be as successful as Lord Sexpot, but they were cut from the same dough. Arrogant, bossy, and terrifyingly certain.

But right now those certain Kilroy eyes were drilling into her, loaded with compassion. She hated how he made her feel, that potent mix of vulnerable, hopeful, aroused. His chest looked so strong, his shoulders so welcoming and falling away to strong arms that could banish her problems in one fell swoop. Last night, she had wanted a one-way pleasure ride with a modern-era rake. She’d wanted to get so lost she wouldn’t know where she ended and he began. Now she wanted to be held and soothed.

This was not good. Not good at all.

He picked up a shopping bag near his feet, one she recognized by the red thread twist on the handles as being from the doggie-bag stash at the restaurant, and pulled out a Tupperware container.

“I come bearing gifts. Gelato.”

Did he think she was that easy? Through the container, she spied something creamy shot through with what looked like caramel swirls. Okay, so she was that easy.

“Do you keep a freezer in your trunk for occasions such as this?” she asked.

“No, but I usually scope out the freezers of local restaurants so I can have something sweet on hand. For when I need to impress a girl.”

Laughing, she took the bag from him, careful to avoid his skin. “Thanks,” she said, and gave her jauntiest swivel away to her front door.

Quickly, he relieved her of the bag. His fingers lingered over hers. “Not so fast.”

Freeing her most bored sigh, she aimed for nonchalance, though all the heat in her body was focused on that slight touch. She needed to take control of her emotions and she had the perfect solution. Something she had wanted the moment she’d looked up from her flat-on-her-butt position on the DeLuca kitchen floor and locked eyes with six foot two of rock-hard sin.

“Okay, you can come up. On one condition.”

An arrogant smile touched his lips. “What’s that, then?”

“Let me photograph you.”

He hadn’t expected that, which was evidenced by how thoughts chased each other across his face. He looked as though he would have preferred another skillet to the head, and his reticence, if that’s what it was, suddenly made him fascinating. Dangerously so.

He’s a glazed doughnut, a bundle of empty calories, a walking tabloid, she told her weakening resolve. Think of the models and actresses—and photographers!—scattered like human rubble in his wake. She could treat him like any other subject. Cool, clinical, dispassionate.

“This wouldn’t be another ploy to get me naked, now, would it?” he said, his dancing expression settling for aloof.

“Sounds like you’re worried my camera will hone in on your imperfections. Or maybe you just don’t like photographers?”

His face exploded in a smile, changing him so much that once more she felt the heady pull of its tractor beam. Must resist the dazzle.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Do your worst.”