Too Darn Hot Read Free Page B

up a dessert plate and started slicing a piece of bourbon pecan tart.
    “You got ‘em,” he said.
    He turned his back on Lina and sprinkled brandy over the pear slices and cherries, regulating the flow of liquor with his thumb. A tilt of the pan over the flame, and the contents ignited. After a few moments the flame burned itself out and Eric deftly deposited the fruit on the plate between the puff pastry halves. He placed another piece of pastry on top and then Betsy scooped it up, along with the slice of pecan tart, and hurried out of the kitchen.
    Lina’s shoes clicked on the terra-cotta tiles as she approached him, and reflexively his gaze skimmed down the length of her shapely legs to her feet. Sexy bronze pumps with high heels and pointy, low-cut toes. Eric almost smiled. He’d always been a sucker for toe cleavage.
    He forced his eyes from the distracting sight and began slicing another red pear on a butcher block. “I’m afraid I can’t give you the two-cent tour, Lina. Perhaps another time.”
    He punctuated this statement with a look that was less accommodating: This is my domain. You’re not welcome here.
    Lina seemed to get the message loud and clear. She stopped uncertainly a few feet from him and nervously pushed her hair behind an ear with flawless manicured nails. Her hair was short, thick, and glossy. Stylishly cut. Dark brown, like sable. And probably just as soft.
    “I didn’t come in for a tour. I know you’re, um...busy tonight.”
    Busy. Yeah, you could say that. You could also say overwhelmed, demoralized, and, thanks to you, lady, downright humiliated.
    Tonight’s series of calamities couldn’t have come at a worse time. The Cookhouse was hanging on by a thread as it was. He’d struggled for nearly a year to turn a lifetime of dreams into something solid and tangible, something of which he could be proud.
    He’d promised himself he’d give it till the end of the summer before throwing in the towel. By hook or by crook, he’d scrape by this summer. And then...
    He didn’t want to think about what would happen then.
    The razor-sharp knife in Eric’s proficient hands reduced the pear to a pile of uniform wedges in a matter of seconds. He looked up to find Lina staring at the results.
    She quickly raised her eyes—then averted them. She pushed her hair behind her ear. A pink flush blossomed in her cheeks.
    That was when it hit him. She hadn’t been admiring his expertise, she’d been staring at his hands.
    And whatever she’d been thinking had her beautifully flustered. Interesting.
    He might have a few moments to spare, after all.
    Eric set the knife down and leaned back against the work island. He crossed his arms and calmly regarded his unwelcome visitor. “Okay, you didn’t come for in here for the grand tour. What’s on your mind, Lina?”
    She darted a quick glance at his assistants and cleared her throat. So. She didn’t want an audience. That hadn’t stopped her a few minutes earlier, out in the dining room. That muscle jumped in his jaw again.
    She took a deep breath and closed the distance between them. “Eric, I was unforgivably rude before. I’m sorry.”
    He was mesmerized by the stark sincerity in her eyes. The anger that had felt so good a few short seconds ago came to a skidding halt in the face of Lina’s blushing self-rebuke. He wished he could hold on to his hostility. It made him feel safe.
    He couldn’t say how long the silence stretched between them before faint whispers teased at the edges of his awareness. He turned toward his helpers. In perfect tandem, three heads whipped down and three pairs of hands became very busy.
    Daniel burst through the door with a tray full of dirty dishes, Betsy on his heels.
    “Pecan tart and chocolate wedges,” the waitress announced. “I can handle it.”
    Cookie appeared with a bottle of French cognac. “The Avalons always have to have their postprandial pick-me-up.” She located two snifters.
    Within five