Feel the Heat (Hot In the Kitchen)

chapter Twenty-Four


The message from his sister had said Tony would be cooking at DeLuca’s tonight and that he wanted to talk about the cookbook offer. To say that astonished Jack would be a massive understatement, but then his life over the last month had been a cavalcade of surprises, most of them at the hands of a certain Italian family. And now, just as he had cut his ties to Lili, the man who was adamant he didn’t want to encourage Jack’s connection to his family was holding out his hand.

Hell if he could figure out those crazy DeLucas.

The restaurant was closed on Mondays, so she wouldn’t be here. Still, as he approached the large oak doors, his body primed in anticipation of seeing her like it knew she was nearby. Upstairs watching those trashy reality shows he teased her about. Or over at the studio on the next block, cataloging her secret photo collection. Crossing paths at her house had only made his need burn hotter, and now, almost three weeks without her, he was a junkie jonesing for his fix. A clammy, jittery bundle of nerves.

More likely, he was nervous about Tony. Sure he was.

He stepped inside to find the place was hopping. And filled to capacity. And different.

He tried to put his finger on it.

The tables looked to be in the same configuration, but gone where the crisp white cloths, revealing lacquered tops that took it from staid to hip. The ceiling was still frescoed, but the imaginative drop-bulb lighting over the bar looked like something out of a modern art museum. The walls were still exposed brick, but the art—

The art. The swanlike curvature of a neck, the subtle arc of an inked calf, the graceful taper to a well-turned ankle. Sensuous, quirky, but tasteful enough so as not to scare away the regulars. Something unfurled inside his chest, a tentative curl of warmth and hope that he stamped down before it could race to the photo finish.

He blinked, and a blond, cherubic vision materialized before him. Francesca. Her serenity faltered for just a moment before she made a smiling recovery. Clearly not expecting him.

“Ciao, Jack. It’s good to see you.” She leaned up, he leaned down, and they did the Euro double-kiss exchange.

“New hours, Francesca?”

“No, just a special occasion.” The smile stretched wider now and his heart turned over. Looked like he didn’t even need Lili’s presence to get the yen. “We are showcasing a new menu and, well, you see…” She gestured to the end of the bar where a large flat-screen TV had been placed kitty-corner to give everyone an unobstructed view. Even from a distance of thirty feet, Jack could see images of cookware carouseling across the screen.

His heart swooped to his stomach. Commercials. Cooking Channel commercials.

Ad break over, the volume was unmuted and the graphic he had okayed six months ago came into focus, the lead-in for the premiere episode of Jack of All Trades. Pulse accelerating, he looked around, his brain finally catching up to his vision. This was a viewing party.

“Quiet, everyone. It’s starting up again,” Cara called out, waving the remote control. A hushed awe descended across the room. Jack hadn’t exactly forgotten that it was broadcasting tonight; he’d just preferred to ignore it. Maybe watch it later and wallow a bit. He had assumed Tony’s wounded pride would demand he forget about it, too.

He knew it was a long shot, but what the hey. “I got a message saying Tony wanted to see me.”

Francesca’s brows dipped in a chevron and Jack cursed his meddling sister.

“He is rather busy now but let me get you a glass of Brunello. Would you like to see the new menu?” she asked, as cool as the other side of the pillow.

“Sure,” he mumbled, taking it from her. Then he looked down, surprised at the weight in his hand, or lack thereof. Just a single page on quality cardstock. A few appetizers and salads, the best pastas and entrées. The veal meatballs. The gnocchi with brown butter and sage. Clean, inviting, fresh.

The cutting-edge art. The scaled-to-superb menu. His girl had won.

Damn if that didn’t excite the hell out of him.

At the bottom of the menu, a line proclaimed the chef would prepare any Italian specialty and that patrons only had to ask. Jack couldn’t hide his smile. He supposed that was what’s known as a compromise, the art of which he supposedly knew nothing about.

Francesca had moved off to talk to someone who was clearly related—he still hadn’t met them all—and Jack rested against the hostess podium, trying to blend in. All eyes were riveted to the screen, their attention only interrupted by brief dips to shovel that kick-arse gnocchi into their mouths. Everyone, that is, except a severe-looking blonde in a tight skirt and tighter blouse, who fiddled with a microphone and whispered to the guy with the video camera behind her. Local news crew, from the looks of it. Jack scanned the room and tried to convince himself disappointment felt close to relief when his search for the manager came up empty.

From what he could gather, the thirty-minute episode was at the business end. He didn’t have to watch it to know it had followed the standard play: the setup of cocky arriviste versus traditional by-the-book, something going terribly wrong, in this case, Jack overcooking a risotto to a mushy glue, cut with images of diners lamenting a missing flavor or waxing as lyrical as the editing allowed. The point wasn’t accuracy but to tell a tale in twenty-two minutes. In one shot, Tony was captured in that scowl the DeLucas had a patent on; then Jack was shown at the burner, competently managing several orders at once. Spliced together, it looked like Tony was envious of Jack’s flair, which he was damn sure was not the case.

Aunt Sylvia had the right of it. Television was cheating.

“Hi, Jack.”

Glancing down, he encountered four feet of attitude, topped with one foot of bird’s nest.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said to Gina.

She fidgeted, opened her mouth, closed it, then blew out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about the salt in your dishes.”

“Forget about it.” When she still looked woebegone, he squeezed her shoulder. “It’s all vino under the bridge.”

“It was Marco’s fault, really, and I just wanted to make everything better after”—she delivered a furtive over-the-shoulder glance and mouthed—“the video.”

“The video?” he repeated, feeling sluggish.

“Of the kiss. It was me,” she said in a torrent. “It was supposed to be a joke, but then Angela started sending it to everyone she knew and it just snowballed. And then Uncle Tony was mad, and Lili was upset, so I tried to make it up to her with the Facebook page and the T-shirts. And then I thought if Uncle Tony won the contest, it would cancel out some of the bad publicity.”

Jesus. “Does Lili know?”

Gina shook her head despondently, her eyes big and glossy. “I’m trying to persuade her to give me my job back and if I tell her, she’ll kill me.”

“Probably.” Kissing her on the cheek would require more knee-bend than he was willing to give, so he dropped one on the cotton-candy crown of her head. “It’s all right, munchkin. No hard feelings.”

“Aw, thanks, Jack. You’re a real star and absolutely gorgeous.” A melancholy sigh escaped her lips. “I’m getting married in a while and you would have looked so good in the wedding party. Can’t think why Lili dropped you.”

She flashed a smile, adjusted her breasts, and bounced off, conscience cleansed. Oh, to be that young and clueless.

Back on Jack of All Trades, the drama was ratcheting up and now played to an audience with eyes out on stalks. He’d known that Jules’s dramatic arrival and anything that hinted at the cheating would grace the cutting room floor, but surprise rolled over him at seeing him and Lili taking that moment of comfort right before the second coming of hell broke loose. The hairs on his arm spiked in memory of her soft hand stroking him to calm. His lips twitched in remembrance of how near her mouth had been to his. His whole body ached like it had done that night when he’d realized he needed her more than he needed food or air.

The crowd cheered as Lili and Jack almost kissed on camera, then booed as Cara broke up the party and ordered everyone to get back to work. In good-humored acceptance of her role as stage villain, his producer stood up to take a bow. He cast about again, noting the healthy mix of young and old, including the trendy, professional kind of clientele Lili had said the restaurant needed to supplement the regulars. More DeLucas crowded his vision, laughing, living, and loving. People he wanted to know better. Aunt Sylvia, with her hirsute tower, partially blocked the view of the poor souls sitting behind her. Jules and Tad, whispering like coconspirators. His sister felt his gaze and grinned at him with his mother’s smile, and he remembered that he loved her very much and that it might be bad form to throttle her before the baby was born.

And then he saw her. The euphoric surge of electric that coursed through his body felt like that first time when he stumbled out of a walk-in fridge and found a spread-eagled vision in red, gold, and blue.

She stood off to the side near the corridor that led to the kitchen, separate, presiding. Dressed in a drape of shimmery silver that kissed every curve, she looked like she’d been dipped in something precious. Her hair was piled up high but even from his distant vantage point, he could see a couple of wispy strands had formed an escape committee and were making a break along the elegant curve of her neck.

He moved to a seat at the side of the bar so he could covertly watch her. She lifted her high-heeled foot and rubbed her ankle, a move that hitched her dress up so far he had to close his eyes to harden his mind against the onslaught of golden skin. Didn’t help his body any, which had turned to granite the moment he saw her and stayed that way.

From the TV, the announcement that Tony had won sent a wave of applause and cheers undulating through the room. Shouts of salute and il cuoco, il cuoco filled the air, drowning out the closing interviews and the theme of Jack of All Trades. It took a moment for Tony to make his appearance, and he clearly did so under sufferance as Tad strong-armed him from the kitchen to take a bow.

Jack found Lili again, and his heart reeled at the sight of that upward tilt to her lips and those clever eyes watching the proceedings from beneath her dark veil of eyelashes. Tony was saying something about how pleased he was that people were here to celebrate the new DeLuca’s. Still, Jack could see only her. Vaguely, something registered about Lili’s art and Tony’s pride in his daughter’s accomplishments. She smiled, looking both teary and a whole lot happy. And Jack was truly happy for her.

The claps and roars faded into the painted sky above his head. He closed his eyes again, but she was still there, imprinted on the backs of his eyelids like a tattoo of his personal heaven and hell.

* * *

Content to keep a low profile and let her father enjoy his moment, Lili held back against the arch that separated the two dining rooms and inhaled the nerves away. They had done it. Okay, so they weren’t exactly out of the woods, but there was sunlight streaming through the trees. She was under no illusions that a few cosmetic changes and a couple of arty photos would heal all their ills, but her father had listened to her for the first time in forever. And that felt immensely gratifying. Not quite enough to ease the Jack-shaped ache in her chest, but that would come.

Marco had wanted to invite him, of course. Squeeze every last drop out of the Kilroy-DeLuca connection, but thankfully, the family had vetoed that idea. They’d gotten their pound of flesh from Jack; there was no need to be tacky about it.

Tell that to the local news.

Brief interview with her father complete, Lili found herself in the inquisition circle with Shona Love, Channel 5’s entertainment reporter. Before Lili could take a fortifying breath, the cameraman, wearing a Canadian tuxedo and a mustache that Burt Reynolds might want back, counted a silent three-two-one with his fingers.

Shona’s face transformed into showtime. “We’re here at DeLuca’s Ristorante in Wicker Park, a twenty-two-year veteran of the neighborhood that, tonight, was featured on über-chef Jack Kilroy’s newest hit cooking show, Jack of All Trades. We just heard from Tony DeLuca, chef/owner, who won the cook-off against Jack. Now we’re talking with his daughter, Lili, who manages the restaurant.” She wheezed after the fast-talk introduction. “So, Lili, you must be pleased with the outcome of the contest.”

“Well, it’s a testament to how great my dad is and how his food can rival that of any”—she almost said idiot box chef but caught herself—“any of the greats.”

“Of course, Jack Kilroy is one of the greats,” Shona said with a wink for Lili that would be missed by the camera. Amirite, sister? “It must have been tough for you to keep your composure with your father and your man going hammer and tongs in the kitchen. And some of those shots of you and Jack getting cozy were hot enough to get us all steamed up out here.” She added another provocative wink.

“Is there something wrong with your eye?” Lili asked, amazed at how calm she felt.

Shona’s perfect eyes widened, the epitome of coy. “What we all want to know, Lili, is the skinny on you and Jack.” On skinny, Shona’s sloe-eyed gaze dipped imperceptibly to take in Lili’s formfitting dress, all drapes and dips, and damn, didn’t she look fine in it. In fact, Lili would bet dollars to doughnuts the bony-assed bitch didn’t realize she did it.

“We’re so grateful to Jack and the Cooking Channel for giving us a chance to remind everyone that DeLuca’s in Wicker Park is the go-to place for Italian in Chicago.”

Shona wouldn’t be put off so easily. She smiled, but it was as if she had to consciously rearrange her facial muscles in the appropriate pattern.

“And will Jack be eating Italian anytime soon?”

That just about ejected Lili’s hard-fought-for equanimity. Was this the local news affiliate or Skinimax? She couldn’t be rude, though this woman deserved to be taken out into the alley and introduced to the side of the Dumpster. Struggling for a response, Lili squeezed her eyes shut and held on. She just needed to get through this night…and the next night, and the next. Keep going until the Jack-shaped ache faded to dull, and the dull faded to numb, and the numb faded to nothing.

She was Tony DeLuca’s daughter. She could do this.

Her eyes blew open and she saw him. She blinked to make sure it wasn’t some desperate hallucination she’d conjured, but no, he was still there. Sitting about thirty feet out at the short side of the L-shaped bar. He looked so good, so Jack, that her heart flip-flopped like a dying fish and her hormones rioted in agreement.

“Jack is always welcome at DeLuca’s,” she said, her gaze zeroed in on his. He had seen her—he must have seen her first—and the ache in her chest turned blade-sharp as the drugging effects of the hormonal rave wore off. That it hurt even more now to look at him shouldn’t have surprised her. Beauty like that bruised, but it was his gentle handling of Jules last week that had crushed her soul. Avoiding TV, magazines, the Internet, and her sister for however long it took to get over him was going to be really freaking hard.

Still, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. It may have been her imagination, but every hellish minute of their time apart was as evident on his face as she was sure it was on hers. That’s when another realization assaulted her.

Small-screen Jack might be a god, but real-life Jack, the brand made flesh, was hers, pain and all.

“He has a special place in our family for all he’s done.” She hesitated, then looked into Shona’s face with her cheekbones so sharp they could cut tin cans. At the bar, Jack’s intensity ringed him like a force field, repelling everything in its vicinity, or maybe it was an invisibility field because no one seemed to know he was here. There was something a little ironic about one of the most famous guys in the country, sitting anonymously at a restaurant bar while a media typhoon centered on him barreled through.

“Of course, when I first met him, I didn’t really see the appeal, to be honest.”

Shona did a cartoon double take and looked at her microphone like it might offer an explanation for what she’d just heard. “You didn’t?”

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s gorgeous. Right, Shona?”

“Um, yes, he is.” Shona giggled nervously, both aghast and thrilled at the intimate tone the interview had taken.

Lili leaned forward, her round shoulder brushing the bony one of her new gal pal. “Anyone would be lucky to have him, but you know, there was a time I didn’t even think he was all that.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I thought he was just one of those guys who charms his way through life. Getting by on his looks. Not much going on upstairs. In fact, you’re not going to believe this. He’s not all that great…”

Shona’s upper body moved in, and Lili sensed the whole crowd cant forward by degrees, proxies for the TV-viewing public.

She paused long enough to work it. “…a singer.”

Somewhere behind her, Cara’s singular laugh, that naughty, girly gush, tinkled above the swelling murmurs of the throng.

“Oh.” Shona looked puzzled, like she’d just missed the punch line to a joke. Jack rubbed his mouth just then, and Lili knew he was concealing a smile. A seed of hope took root in her heart.

“Something else you might not believe, but in high school, I was overweight.” Shona’s expression changed to the phony sympathetic one she used when interviewing people about their missing cats. “I was bullied, physically and emotionally, and while I eventually got comfortable with my body, it wasn’t so easy to change the mind-set that stays with being a victim. I guess I’ve always aimed low because I wondered how any gorgeous guy could really be attracted to me. All of me. And even when there were no doubts on that score where Jack was concerned, I found other reasons to doubt him. To find fault with him—and with me.”

Shona looked like she was in media hog heaven, visions of sugarplums and local news Emmys dancing in her head. “And now?” she prompted hopefully, because this was the good stuff. The hearts-and-flowers, give-’em-what-they-paid-for, where’s-my-promotion-to-E! gold dust that the public demanded of its celebrities, even transient ones like Lili. Besides, the segment probably couldn’t go longer than three minutes, and Shona, like the good little reporter she was, needed to get to the bottom line.

Lili’s heart thumped a rabbit’s beat in her chest. Holding her breath, she spoke over Shona’s shoulder to the one person who needed to hear this.

“Jack is the smartest, funniest, most challenging and demanding guy I know. From the moment we met, he supported and pushed me to be better, and then he risked everything to defend me. I didn’t think I had the coglioni to deserve someone as awesome as him. I’m still not sure I do, but I need him to know that he rocks my world and I love him.”

Jack’s broad shoulders lifted on an inhale. Shona’s mouth dropped open. A collective sigh of relief swished through the room.

“Well.” Shona fanned herself with the microphone before realizing it needed to be stationary to pick up the audio properly. “I think after tonight, he’ll definitely know.”

“Not sure I can wait that long, Shona.” Lili sidestepped her and stole her way to the bar, dimly aware of a platoon of indulgent DeLuca smiles flanking her journey. Others, too, but the gauntlet was a blur, like a Vaseline-edged lens with a single point of clarity in the viewfinder.

Jack.

It took forever to get there and he made no effort to meet her halfway. That was okay because she owed him the trip. Behind her, she heard Burt Reynolds shuffling into position at Shona’s blatant urging.

On reaching Jack, he turned in his seat to face her with legs apart, almost in invitation, his gaze viciously hot. Just like the man. Only sheer willpower prevented her from slotting in between those mouthwatering thighs and snaking her arms around his strong body.

“You get all that?” she pushed past a lump the size of a ham hock wedged in her throat.

He paused long enough to irritate. “Well, I’ve never been known for my brains.” His voice rumbled too low to be picked up by Shona’s microphone or the easily scandalized ears of her older relatives. “Are you telling me you love me so I’ll sleep with you?”

She gave a half-shrug. “Thought crossed my mind. Would it work?”

“Maybe. I’m sort of superficial that way.”

She moved as close as she could without touching him. Not yet. Please, soon. “You going to make me beg?”

He shook his head, but with it he gifted her a contrary smile, one of those smiles that lit him from within and coated all her nerve endings. She couldn’t think or speak, but that didn’t matter. All she had to do was rip a leaf from the Book of Jack and take.

She took what belonged to her, moving her mouth softly over his until the hunger overtook them both and their cores imprinted on each other. She fit just right, but then it had always been that way. Her body registered a throaty Jack sound and her ears registered the cheers and if her eyes had been open, she would have been rolling them because it was just so cheesy and gosh-darn-romantic.

“You never had to beg, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips. “I was yours from the start.”

Somewhere deep inside, that knowledge had resided and of course she hadn’t trusted it. It wasn’t every day a commoner receives the favor of royalty. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and she didn’t even have a Jack-made orgasm to blame. At least, not yet.

“I always suspected brain damage,” she rasped while the tears made good on their threat and rolled down her cheeks.

He shaped her jaw, stretching his thumbs to catch her saltwater leak. “Sure, how else could you land a catch like me?”

“Arrogant, conceited, impossible”—Gorgeous, perfect, my—“man.”

His hands fanned her hips, levering her body flush, though it wasn’t really possible to get any closer. Not all that advisable either, judging by how his hardness was making her damp, and she was about to burst into an inferno. She so wanted him to cup her, to squeeze her booty and worship it like he used to in private, but he kept it clean. When it came to lewd groping in public, he’d always been the one with more self-control.

She couldn’t move, and not just because his thighs had scissored her in their muscular grip, but she thought that maybe she could live here for a while. Safe in the cradle of Jack’s body. Great for her work commute, too.

Seemed he had other ideas. He could be so difficult.

“That little performance of yours was enough to get you to first base, but I’m going to need a lot more before I let you slide home.” Slipping off the stool, he enfolded her hand in his warm, male grip. “Let’s go, Lili.”

He led her through the crowd, holding tight while people alternated between slapping him on the back and clasping her arm affectionately. Her mother beamed, Gina’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny, and Cara gave her a dirty wink.

Then they ran into Obstacle Number One. Her father.

Tilting his head, Tony considered her for a heartbeat before kissing her on the forehead. “Mi mancherai tantissimo, Liliana.”

A too-full feeling ruled her chest and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She would miss him, too.

Her father turned to Jack, but before he could say a word, Jack squeezed her hand. “Lili, could you give your father and me a minute alone?”

“Sure,” she murmured, taking a couple of surprised steps back.

Jack leaned into her father and spoke in too low a voice for Lili to hear. And she tried, she really did.

“Nice to see you finally taking my advice,” Tad whispered in her ear. “Though I wonder how Jack would feel if he knew the real reason you made a play for him. That all you wanted was a ride on the chopper. Tsk, tsk.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said nervously as she watched Jack and her father finish up and exchange what looked like bone-crushing handshakes. It must be about the cookbook. Let the fun times begin.

“Any time you want to ride the hog, babe, it’s yours.” Tad kissed her on the temple. “I think you earned it.”

“Oh…” But that thought would have to wait because she was on the road again with her own personal thrill ride, Jack dragging her toward the back office…no, the restroom…oh, the kitchen. A mercifully empty kitchen, now that service was over and the crew was out celebrating with the revelers. Finally alone with him, butterflies collided in her stomach and she felt ten times more nervous than she had in front of the news camera and the entire restaurant of customers.

“What’s going on with my dad?” she asked, stalling.

His smile was a warm secret. “Just very important chef stuff. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.”

“Jack!” Why, that arrogant…At his sly grin, it dawned on her that he was trying to get her riled up to move her into communication mode. Clever, clever.

Her heart zigzagged in her chest and she rubbed her collarbone, seeking calm. “I’m no good at this. I’m Italian and I know I should be better at all this emotional stuff, but we’ve never really been like that in our family. So, I’m sorry if I get it all wrong, but I’ll try not to make any jokes.”

He bestowed on her an encouraging smile. “You’re doing fine.”

She ran her fingers along the nearest scratched up stainless-steel countertop.

“Lili,” he said, not ungently.

She swallowed past the lump of emotion. “I used to be fat and I used to be scared. Then I was no longer fat, but the fear stayed. Yeah, I took edgy photos and attacked would-be burglars dressed as Wonder Woman and made shocking passes at TV idols in bars, but I was determined not to allow any of those dalliances out of my comfort zone change who I truly was. Lili DeLuca, stoic restaurant manager, martyr daughter, all around chicken. I was all those things and I had every intention of staying that way.”

“Ah, sweetheart.”

She shot him her most condemning look. “Don’t interrupt. You wanted this, so you’re going to damn well listen. Besides, you’ll like the next part. It’s all about you.”

He raised his hands. “Please. Continue.”

“Then you came into my life. Well, the coming part took a frustratingly long time because first you had to needle and get under my skin and tell me I had potential and could do anything. That was pretty overwhelming for me. To have someone as amazing as you care about me that much—” She flapped cool air at her face, hating herself for acting like such a girly-girl and loving how the weight she’d carried for so long seemed to lift with every word. “I wasn’t sure it was real. I wasn’t sure you were real because let’s face it, you’re the fantasy. So yes, I panicked because that’s a hell of a lot easier than trusting my heart to what might be a figment of my imagination.”

“But I’m very real.” His voice was heartbreakingly compassionate.

Yes, he was. He was flesh and blood and fantasy, all rolled into the sexiest, most awesome package of male she had ever seen. No wonder she was confused.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust us, but mostly I’m sorry I didn’t trust myself. I’m just getting used to being a superhero, you know.”

He kissed her, slow and sensual and so, so hot. “All right, that wasn’t half bad. There’s hope for you yet. Think we can move to second base now.” Sliding his hands up along her ribs, he thumbed her already-primed nipples. Bones and other important body parts went with the flow and liquefied in pure pleasure.

“Lili, I walked in here tonight expecting nothing, and I got everything I needed. Seeing your art and all the changes, I’m so proud of you. And then to put yourself out there on camera. Woman, you’ve got balls.”

“Yes, but I needed a push, someone who saw me. Really saw me. It’s scary when someone can read you that well, can understand what you need better than you do yourself.” She gulped. “I applied to graduate school.”

His thumbs stopped that lovely plucking at her breasts. Damn, she needed to time these revelations better.

“Atta girl.”

“And I sold a picture.”

His eyes went as wide as charger plates. “Which one?”

“Sadie Number Three.” When his brow furrowed, she translated, “Rock Chick Red. For twelve hundred dollars.” Her hand flew to her mouth, still not quite believing that had happened.

“One of my favorites. Sounds like some perv got a bargain.”

She socked him in the chest. His rock-hard, wonderfully touchable…Focus, girl. She placed her hands flat on that same chest, like she meant business. “I’m still worried about something.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?” He lay molten kisses along her jaw, getting a head start on smoothing away the worry.

“That hot head of yours. I don’t want you going off when someone says something. You can’t. Not with all you could lose.”

“Well, that’s no longer a concern. You’re looking at the guy who will not be the next big thing in daytime TV.”

She knew her features must have shuttered to blank because her brain had ground to a halt and he was looking at her strangely.

“I’m not signing with the network,” he explained. “And I’m not renewing with the Cooking Channel, either.”

This time, when she thumped his chest, sexy muscles were the last things on her mind. Lightning fast, he covered her body with his and caged her with his palms to the refrigerator door. Lord, she had the reflexes of a two-toed sloth.

“Before you call me an idiot, hear me out.”

“Okay,” she muttered mutinously, like she had a choice with all his hard parts clicking like LEGO into her soft parts.

“I want my life back. I want to wake up on lazy Sunday mornings, screw you breathless, then think about which of the farmers’ market ingredients will make the best special at the restaurant that night. I want to cook for people instead of viewer demographics. I want to be the best brother to Jules and the best uncle to her kidlet. I want my own kids to value family and food and know they are loved to an embarrassing degree. And I want them to stay virgins as long as possible, and frankly, that can only happen if we’re sitting down at the dinner table and talking like real families do.” He put a finger to her lips because she must have opened her mouth to interrupt. “I know you’re concerned about keeping all this culinary genius and sex appeal under wraps, but I can still spread the Kilroy gospel with books and Web videos. Or something.” He punctuated his speech with a brazen grin.

“World domination ten minutes at a time?” she asked when really she wanted to say, Kids, Jack? You’re already talking about kids! Unavoidable images of emerald-eyed, dark-headed tykes tugged at her ovaries, though she suspected a lot of teenage angst might be avoided if the girls inherited Jack’s lustrous locks instead of her obdurate mop.

“I’ll still have businesses,” he said. “I’ll have to travel, but not as much. My life will be with you, wherever you want that to be. Here. New York. Anywhere.”

“You’d move here?”

Cue another heart-fracturing smile. “As long as I have a sharp knife, a place to chop, and my woman, I can live anywhere. Turns out Laurent has been filing away the significant coin I pay him in some nefarious plan to usurp my throne, so I’m selling him a half-share of New York and making him executive chef. I could work there but I’m not very good at taking orders.” He brushed away the hair that had fallen over her eyes. “I know you have your heart set on Parsons…”

“The School of the Art Institute is also on my list.”

His eyes sparkled. “Interesting. You might not have heard, but I’m planning to open a restaurant in Chi-Town. And my sister seems to like it here.”

Or rather she liked a particular person here. Rather than let Jack’s boxer briefs get in a twist about the threat her man-slut cousin presented to Jules, she focused on the positives. “She’ll never want for a babysitter.”

“A ready-made army of child minders.” His face lifted in a grin. “That kid’s going to be so lucky.”

A wave of unease rolled over her. “What about Cara? Does she know about the show?”

His brow crinkled. “Not yet. In a couple of days, there’ll be a carefully worded announcement from the network about creative differences, but I still have to talk to her. Don’t worry, she’s the best at what she does and she won’t have a problem finding some other poor sap to order about. Come the zombie apocalypse, I want to be on Team Cara.”

“Jack, are you sure?” She had to ask, though she could tell he was decided. He might be impulsive when provoked to kiss or defend women in bars, but he wasn’t one to take a business decision, or a family one, lightly. And knowing that Jules figured largely in his thinking made her heart expand in love even more.

“I am. So sure. Now, do you think you could be with a once-famous, now-ordinary guy, who in a couple of years might be featured on one of those ‘Where are they now?’ TV shows?”

She rose up on her toes with a little help from his hands, which had now slipped to cup her toast-of-the-town behind. At last. Her lips baited his, and her tongue swiped the seam, teasing and tasting.

“You know I was never interested in your fame.”

“Right, just my body.”

“Hell, yeah.” She nuzzled his nose and kissed him softly. “Jack, I know you’re joking about me wanting you for your big, manly muscles, but I need you to know it really is so much more than that. You and Jules are family now. Welcome home.”

She heard his swallow, felt the tremble of his body. All his gratitude, his need, his love. Blinking, he buried his face in her neck. Underlying all that ambition lay a man more Italian than any guy she knew, who needed a family and heart big enough to embrace him and his. Her family, her heart. That Jack and Jules had found each other here in Chicago and now would be welcomed into the DeLuca clan swelled Lili’s chest with yet another upsurge of love. A few moments passed, the hum of the kitchen appliances providing backing vocals to the thud of their hearts.

“I love you so much,” she said, because she loved how it tasted on her lips and it was true.

Drawing back, he coasted his hands along her arms. “With no show, my huge ego is going to need to hear that a lot. Tell me again.”

“I love you, Jack Kilroy. I love your cocky smile, your pancakes, your terrible singing, and how you never gave up on me.” She tilted her head. “Hey, aren’t you going to say it back?”

“No chance. You can suffer for a while.”

“I think I’ve suffered long enough.” Hooking her foot around his thigh, she dug into that sensitive area she knew so well. She wandered her greedy hand down that wall of muscle to his belt buckle and lower, to a bulge—yes!—with a hard-edged shape. Huh?

“What’s this?”

“Oh, a pocket-sized pity party.” He fished out a robin-egg-blue box—Tiffany blue, but a little squashed—and flipped it open, revealing the biggest diamond she’d ever seen, with a yellowish tint that made it look like a very pricey Jolly Rancher. Her head spun and her heart jumped clear into her throat.

“But, Jack, you came here tonight with no expectations.”

“I’ve had it for a while and until I left Chicago, I suppose I wanted to hold on to something.” His throat worked through his emotion, his eyes shimmering. “I’ve known from minute one this was it for me and I wasn’t ready to let that go. So what do you say?”

“About what?”

“Try to keep up, DeLuca. About being my wife.”

“You’re asking me to marry you?”

“You’re not usually this slow on the uptake,” he said, vaguely exasperated. “I’ll assume that not seeing me for several weeks has dulled your wits. Now, before you answer, you might want to take it out.” When she looked pointedly down, he added wearily, “The ring, you guttersnipe.”

Laughing, she obeyed and examined it from all angles. It felt light and oddly…sticky. “But this isn’t a real diamond.”

“Nope. It’s made of sugar.”

Molecular gastronomy— science and food run amok. “You made me an edible ring.” Oh, this man knew her so well. Ferran Adrià and his elBulli minions couldn’t have done a better job.

“We’ll go shopping for a real one, but I like the idea of getting you off the market sooner rather than later, especially now you’re so famous.”

In a tremble, she put the ring on her wedding finger, feeling like a kid in the candy jewelry store. Another perfect fit. She gave it a tentative lick. “Tastes like chicken.”

“I should hope not or else I’ve really lost my touch.” He flashed that bone-melting smile and her heart pumped harder. “I love you, Liliana Sophia DeLuca. Now marry me and finish what you started when you clocked me with that frying pan.”

“Yes, Jack, I’ll marry you,” she said, trying desperately to sound like saying yes to a proposal of marriage from the hottest man on the planet was part of her usual skill set when really, her heart was in danger of bursting out of her chest.

“Thank Christ.” He kissed her hard, the relief ebbing and flowing between them like a tide. “Maybe Tony will finally forgive me for corrupting you.”

She caught her breath. “Let’s not run before we can walk, Jack.”

“You might be surprised. I asked for his blessing before we came in here. I figured after everything I put him through, I should do it properly.”

“Smooth move, Kilroy.” Wow, he would never stop surprising her. “You were positive I’d say yes, then?”

“Well, you’ve always been a sure thing.” He swept his fingertips along her jaw, against the wild pitter-patter at the base of her throat, and brushed her collarbone with a whispering touch. In his eyes, she saw right into his heart, the one that belonged to her. Completely, utterly.

She ran a lazy finger over the handle of the walk-in fridge and pulled it ajar. “How about we see how long it takes to heat things up in here?”

His expression registered mock shock. “Evil woman. The last time I was in there, it didn’t end so well.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Jack.” And to prove how evil she was, she pretzeled herself around the man she couldn’t get enough of and made him growl. “I’d say it ended very well indeed.”