With compliments from Sous-Chef Hill the note read, and she looked at him. “You sent this to me?”

“It’s the makings for s’mores. You’ll love them.”

She had to laugh. “Do you ever doubt yourself?”

He frowned, thinking. “Sure.”

“When?”

“Well…” He strode closer, tracing a finger along her hairline. “Now, for instance. Because somehow I know you aren’t going to invite me onto that mattress with you.”

“No.” Her voice was far weaker than she would have liked. “No,” she repeated. “I’m not. Jacob…” God, this was harder now that she’d touched him, kissed him. Now that she knew him. So much harder. “I’ve told you I’m a TV producer.”

“Yes.”

“What you don’t know is that I have one month to get my show off the ground or I’m fired.”

“Some reality show, right?”

“Yes.” She’d never wanted to say anything less than what she had to say now. “A cooking show.”

A little furrow appeared between his eyes as he digested her words. “As in a chef in front of a camera whipping up cookies kind of cooking show?”

“I was thinking something a little more interesting than that.” Nerves fluttered in her belly. She’d wanted to recruit him, but now she just wanted him.

“Like what exactly?” His voice had cooled, the drawl thickened. He was irritated, with good reason.

“Well…”

“Should I guess, Em?” His eyes grew icy, too. “You heard about Amuse Bouche, and the success we’ve had.”

“Actually, I heard about you.”

“And you thought I’d, what? Drop everything and coming running to Hollywood to smile for a camera on some cable show? Did you really?”

“It’s a prime-time show, on a major network.” She offered him a weak smile, which faded when he just looked at her. “I’m doing this all wrong,” she said quickly. “I meant to woo you, to make it sound really appealing and interesting, which it should be. It’s TV, Jacob. A show of your own. Your input would be welcome, of course, and-”

“My input would be welcome,” he repeated slowly, then shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go to Hollywood and cook in front of a camera like…like a caged animal.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Jesus,” he breathed, backing up a step, shaking his head. “You’re serious. You’re completely serious.”

“Jacob-”

“Wow.” He prided himself on his street smarts, on his worldliness, on the fact that he was sharp enough never to be taken. But this sweet, beautiful woman had walked right through his defenses with one kiss.

He was saved from having to admit that by a knock on the room door.

“Em?” came a female voice. “Open up.”

Em jumped, then whipped around and stared at herself in the mirror. “Oh, boy.” She stroked a hand down her sweater and shot Jacob an indecipherable look. “That’s Liza, my assistant, and also close friend.” She looked good and flustered, and distractedly shoved at her bangs.

Jacob felt his body stir just looking at her, and had to back up another step. No. She’d pissed him off, so no more thinking about her that way.

“I know this is crazy,” she whispered, putting her hands on his chest. “But please, give me a chance to explain everything to you.”

No need. That first kiss in the elevator had been his own doing, an amusing coincidence he could see now, fate playing a joke on the both of them. But she’d had plenty of opportunities between then and now to explain her business here. That he, in fact, was her business here.

But she hadn’t.

The thing was, he didn’t blame her. He knew desperation, and he recognized it well, so the thing to do here, the only thing to do here, was cut his losses and get over it, and over her.

Liza knocked again, louder now. “Emmaline!”

“Give me a minute,” Em called to the door.

“Why?” Liza demanded. “Are you having wild monkey sex in there with the hot stud-muffin chef?”

Jacob choked back a laugh.

Unbelievably, Em glared at him, as if this was his fault, and scrubbed a hand down her face.

“Em, come on, I’m standing out here in my slut outfit,” Liza said urgently through the door. “I tried it on and I want you to see if it’s good enough to drive Eric out of his mind with crazed jealousy. I’m going to drag him to Exhibit A tonight, the basement bar where there’s nude dancing. People supposedly do it in the booths, can you believe it? Now I need you to take a look at me and make sure I’m not too over the top, so open up.”

“Oh, my God-” Looking as if she’d hit the boiling point, Em broke off, moved to the door and hauled it open.

Liza stood there in a canary-yellow micromini, cut nearly up to her crotch. A matching crop top, do-me lipstick and go-go boots designed to stop brain cells in their tracks completed the look.

“Oh, my God,” Em repeated, looking her friend and assistant up and down. “Did you look in the mirror after you put that horror on?”

Liza opened her mouth, but then at the sight of Em looking the way she did-as if she’d just had that “wild monkey sex” Liza had mentioned-she shut her mouth again. “I don’t think the subject here should be my outfit,” Liza finally said.

“It’s not what you think,” Em said.

“Really?” Liza moved into the room, nodded to Jacob and then looked back at Em. “Because what I’m thinking is that you just got thoroughly laid. So does this mean you’re in?” she asked Jacob.

“In?”

“Are you going to do the show and save Em’s ass, cute as it may be?”

Jacob looked at Em.

Em sighed. “We were in the early talks.”

“Yes, well, talks are officially over.” Jacob moved toward the door, where he made the mistake of brushing past Em. He stopped.

She tipped her head up and stared at him with regret and embarrassment, and lingering arousal. Lifting a finger, he stroked it over her jaw-God, he loved her skin. “’Bye, Em.”

“Jacob-”

Nope. Never look back. A mantra he was particularly fond of. With a shake of his head, he walked out of her room, shutting the door behind him.

“Tell me everything,” he heard Liza say.

“You’d better sit down,” Em replied, which threw Jacob off his stride just a little.

She’d gotten to him. No doubt, she’d gotten to him.

7

To: Sous-Chef Jacob Hill

From: Concierge

Maddie from Patrick’s just delivered a pot of coffee here for you, on request of the guest in room 1212. Odd, since as you know, we have our own excellent blend right here at Hush. Call when you come in. We’ll deliver it to you.

JACOB STOOD IN THE LOBBY, in front of the concierge desk, holding the memo that had been taped to his locker.

“I’d have brought the coffee to you,” Deidre said. One of four Hush concierges, Deidre was his personal favorite. Not only could she get any answer anyone ever needed, but with her bright pink hair, multiple piercings and pixie face, she looked damn good while doing it.

The two of them had dated once.

Correction. They’d slept together once.

At the time, Deidre had felt the same way as Jacob, more than one night constituted something far too close to a relationship, and they’d happily gone their separate ways.

Since then, Deidre had gone on to other things-meaning other men. But now she was looking at him again, with that once-familiar heat. “Busy tonight?” she asked, handing over Maddie’s large thermos.

“I thought you were dating some purple-haired guy.” There was another note taped to the thermos.

Deidre lifted a shoulder. “I’ve moved on.”

He cut her a glance. “He got too serious, huh?”

“Damn men.” She sighed. “They always do.”

“Maybe you’re just irresistible.”

She grinned. “Don’t you know it. So tonight…? There’s a new band playing at Erotique. Want to meet me there for a few drinks?”

He was about to reply but he’d just scanned the note-from Em-and it sidetracked him.

Jacob,

I know, I know. Coffee as a forgiveness bribe-tacky. But please believe me, I never meant to keep my reason for being in NY a secret. It’s just that you’re quite different from anyone I’ve ever met, and, well, potent. Please let me make it up to you. However you’d like. There, I bet that got your attention. Come see me anytime, anywhere. I’ll be at Hush all day. Enjoy Maddie’s incomparable coffee, Jacob. Best, Em.

“Yoo-hoo, earth to Chef.” Deidre waved a hand in his face. “Come in, Chef.”

“Yeah.” Jacob crumpled up the note. Deidre lifted her small black trash can so he could toss the note in. But he held on to the paper, which, if he wasn’t mistaken, actually smelled like Em.

When he looked back at Deidre, her smile slowly faded. “Wow.”

“What?”

“That look on your face.” She stared at him in disbelief. “Who’s the gift sender?”

“It’s just coffee.”

“Yeah, but that’s not just a smile on your face.”

He did his best to swipe off the grin.

She slowly shook her head. “The remnants are still there.”

He snatched up the thermos, shot her a long look and began to walk away.

“You can run,” she called after him. “But you can’t hide, not from me. I have a responsibility to the rest of the staff to spread the correct gossip about you. Talk to me! Chef!”

He lifted a hand and kept going.

“Damn it,” he heard her mutter, and any other time he might have laughed, but he didn’t feel like laughing.

He felt like…Hell, he had no idea what he felt like. Unused to the feeling, he walked through the lobby, past Erotique, thinking a drink would be a great thing-if it hadn’t been so early.

He entered Amuse Bouche. Pru met him just outside the kitchen door, also unusually quiet and subdued as she balanced her briefcase and a box loaded with four bottles of different wines. “You’re early, too,” she said.