Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One Page 15

  “They’re coming for the tasting at one o’clock—you don’t have hours.”

  She waved away his objection. “I’ll have plenty of time. How many are we expecting?”

  “Five, I think.”

  “Good, I planned to braise it tomorrow anyway.”

  “You were planning to work tomorrow, beyond preparing the food for the tasting?”

  She shrugged. “I was avoiding you, remember? And you haven’t been following me into the kitchen. Besides, what else am I going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Go out with Patrice and Rocki. I know they’ve wanted to get together with you.”

  “Only to grill me about you.”

  “Oh, so you’ve not only been avoiding me—you’ve been avoiding them too?”

  “As if I could. Rocki has no qualms about coming into my kitchen. She stands by the fire extinguisher and stares at me until I talk to her.” She looked up from the book she was writing in. “I’d rather keep this thing between us on the down low. I’m still not comfortable working together and, well, doing whatever we’re doing.”

  “Dating.”

  She seemed to roll it around in her mind for a minute as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to date him. “Are we dating other people or is this an exclusive thing?”

  The thought of her dating someone else had his temper flashing like a short fuse on a pipe bomb. He looked at his hands and realized he’d bent his fork. He did his best to straighten it, then placed it carefully on the napkin, and rubbed his palms on his thighs. He watched her. “Do you want to date other people?”

  “Do you?”

  “I asked first.” He held his breath.

  “Logan, we’re not in middle school.”

  “Fine. You want an answer?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded when he leaned in.

  “I don’t want to date anyone else.” He rose from his seat, pulled her right out of hers, and tossed her over his shoulder and headed back to bed. He laid her down, quickly stripped her bare, and then climbed on top of her. He held her chin and stared into her eyes. “I don’t want you dating anyone but me. I want to be the only man who knows what you are or aren’t wearing under your clothes. I want to be the only man who sees you naked, the only man you sleep with, and I want to do all of the above often. Do you have a problem with that?” The last came out on a gravelly growl.

  She swallowed hard. “No. No problem. I just wanted to know the rules.”

  “Good.” Need clawed at him. Man, he thought he’d needed her before, but it was nothing compared with this.

  “Logan…”

  He grunted like a caveman.

  “Don’t think you can pick me up and toss me on the bed and get your way every time we have a discussion.” She yanked on the button of his jeans and his zipper slid down.

  “I’m only concerned about this time.”

  She pushed his pants down to his thighs. “This time it’s working for you.”

  “Thank God.”

  She laughed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He grabbed a condom and rolled it on with shaking hands.

  “Aren’t you going to take off your pants?”

  “No.” He flipped her onto her hands and knees. He didn’t want to tempt fate again and look into her eyes. No, this time he was playing it safe. He raised her hips to his and kissed her shoulder. He had one hand on her breasts, the other between her legs. She was hot and wet and ready. He drove into her in one smooth thrust, and that feeling nearly took his breath away. He was royally screwed.

  * * *

  Logan hadn’t had to sneak into the apartment since he was sixteen. He took the back stairs—the ones farthest from Pop’s room. He even avoided the squeaky top step. As soon as he opened the door, he heard his father’s low laugh. “Foiled again, huh, Logan? When are you boys gonna learn you can’t get one over on me?”

  He switched on the light. “I don’t know why I even bothered. I’m a grown man. I can come and go as I please.”

  “I assume you’ve been coming with Skye?”

  “That’s enough, Pop. My relationship with Skye is none of your business.”

  “Yes, it is.” Pop dragged himself out of his Barcalounger and stretched. “She’s my chef.”

  He dropped his keys on the counter. “I never said I wouldn’t see her.”

  “No, but you said you’d slow the hell down. If this is slow, I can’t imagine what fast is.”

  “Did you tuck in Nicki like I told you to?”

  “Son, I’ve been tucking in Nicki for months. I don’t need instructions from you.”

  “Fine. If you’re through giving me a hard time, I’m going to take D.O.G. and go for a jog. We have a special tasting this afternoon and Skye might need me to run to a few suppliers.”

  “A tasting for what?”

  “Foods of New York Tours. They’re talking about starting a walking tour of Red Hook and someone in-house recommended the Crow’s Nest. I guess Skye’s food impressed the hell out of him.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”

  “No. I figured I’d talk to Bree about it when she returns. It’s a great way to attract new customers.”

  “I don’t want new customers. Why the hell would I want a bunch of uptight city people at the Crow’s Nest? We have too many of them coming over as it is.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…to increase business, make more money, become a destination?”

  “We’re already a destination. We have a great customer base and we’re doing well. I don’t want that to change. I don’t want to ruin a good thing. The Crow’s Nest is a neighborhood joint. It’s a place people come to see a friendly face and eat good food. It’s a place to come for a beer after work or bring a date on a Saturday night. It’s not a place to bring a freakin’ tour group.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I own it and I said so.”

  “Well, sorry, Pop, but the tasting is on. It’s way too late to cancel and besides, Skye’s worked hard planning what to make.”

  “What’s she making?”

  “Three things that sound good. Braised oxtail and gnocchi, pork belly, and then something else that sounds interesting.”

  “What?”

  “It’s good. The woman can cook.”

  “Do you think my customers are going to eat oxtail and pork belly?”

  “If Skye makes it, they will. Pop, this is important to her.”

  “Fine. But you’re going to be the one to tell Bree that she’s going to have a freakin’ tour tromping in at all times.”

  “Bree will be fine with it.” He hoped. He’d seen Bree with a mad-on and he certainly didn’t want her to put him in her sights. Her aim was way too accurate.

  “Yeah, well, if I were you, I’d start praying now.” Pop walked right up to him and looked him up and down. “So, you and Skye are together now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Has she told you what she was running from yet?”

  “No.”

  “So the lady keeps her cards close to her vest even with you two being together. It’s a rough way to start a relationship. Secrets are never good.”

  “They’re not always bad.”

  “Then why keep ’em?”

  He shrugged—Pop didn’t look all that concerned. “What do you know? Did you run a check on Skye?”

  “Damn straight I did.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Nothing that I’ll share with you. That’s privileged information. If you want to know so badly, you’re going to have to get it from her.”

  “I’ve tried. She said it’s personal.”

  “And the fact that you’re sleeping with her doesn’t change things? Why do you think that is?”

  Good question. “It’s complicated, Pop.”

  “Relationships always are. Is she the only one keeping secrets?”

  “I’ve been straight with her from the
get-go.” Except for the weirdness whenever he touched her. Yeah, the second time around he realized it wasn’t only looking into her eyes that did it. He didn’t know what the hell it was. All he knew was it freaked him out—just not enough to stay away from her. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but whatever it was, he wished it would go away.

  Pop smiled at him like he knew something Logan didn’t. “Oh, I see how it is.”

  “You see how what is?”

  His smile just got wider and he rubbed his hands together. “Shit, boy, if you can’t figure it out, I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one to tell you. You’re smart—I know your IQ, remember? You’ll put it together eventually.”

  “Give me a break, Pop. Will ya?”

  “I am, son. Now you go ahead on your jog. I’m going to turn in. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

  “Yeah, so am I.” He went and changed, got the dog out of Nicki’s room, and took him for a five-mile run. It hadn’t helped. Nothing took away the feeling that he was in way over his head this time.

  Shit, one trip back home and now he was emotionally attached to a ten-year-old girl, the lover of a woman who had more secrets than the CIA, and the son of an ex-cop bar owner who was pissed as hell at him. He was triply screwed.

  * * *

  Skye came awake slowly and felt as if her head were on a hairy pillow—but Logan wasn’t hairy. A snort had her opening her eyes and she realized she was using Pepperoni as a pillow and not Logan. “Sorry, sweetie.” She pulled the sleepy puggle into her arms, avoided Pepperoni’s mile-long tongue, or tried to anyway, and looked for Logan. He was nowhere to be found. She listened to the quiet of the morning. It didn’t sound as if he was even in the apartment. He probably had to get home before Nicki awoke.

  She stretched and hurt in places she didn’t know she had, but couldn’t erase the smile on her face. Logan had been insatiable and she’d learned that, with him, so was she. She felt great and would feel even better after taking a long soak in a hot tub.

  She got out of bed carrying her chef’s bible with her and looked over her schedule for the day. She had a plan, and her plan was going to take some time to make happen. She went straight to the kitchen to make coffee and clean up the mess she’d made, only to find it spotless. She did love a man who knew how to clean a kitchen. Okay, not loved—but liked a whole lot.

  Logan had definitely made up for the weirdness after their first time. And by the fourth time, he looked as if he’d gotten over whatever it was that had bothered him—either that or she’d just been too exhausted to notice and too fulfilled to see straight. She’d curled up on top of him and slept like the dead.

  By the time she’d bathed, dried her hair, and fed and walked Pepperoni, she was running late. She pulled her sweatshirt around her and shivered. It was time to go shopping for a coat—after her next paycheck. She ran into the kitchen of the Crow’s Nest, started the coffee, and prepped vegetables.

  An hour later she had the pork belly and oxtail braising, and the potatoes were almost ready to go into the vegetable mill to make gnocchi. She considered calling in one of her line chefs—Enrique had said he’d welcome more hours—but she wasn’t in the mood to share her space. No, today, more than ever, she needed her kitchen all to herself. And making gnocchi was always relaxing. Besides—she looked over her notebook—there was nothing she couldn’t handle on her own.

  * * *

  Logan lurked outside the kitchen listening to Skye talk to herself. She was a piece of work all right. He just hoped she wasn’t pissed at him for leaving without saying good-bye. He’d thought about it, but she’d looked so cute curled up with the puppy, he didn’t have the heart to wake her. He thought cleaning the kitchen would make up for any points he lost by not leaving a note—he’d tried to write one, but couldn’t come up with anything that hadn’t sounded trite.

  He stepped inside the kitchen and waited for her to finish dropping what looked like dough into boiling water. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  She jumped and brought a floury hand to her chest. “You scared the crap out of me, Logan. Don’t you know not to sneak up on people in a kitchen? We have sharp knives.”

  “Sorry.” He pulled her hands away from her chest, ignoring the flour he was sure would dust his black sweatshirt, and brought them around his waist, then nuzzled her ear below her baseball cap. “I thought you’d hear the swinging doors. I came to ask if you needed me to make a supply run.”

  “No, I called and Dave is going to drop off a half-dozen lobsters. I was able to catch him before he left.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  She looked into the pot and gave it a stir. “I need a bucket of ice.”

  “Ice.” He was about to give her a kiss when she shoved a five-gallon bucket into his chest.

  “Now. I’m going to have to pull these out in a minute and I need to drop them in ice water to stop them from becoming overcooked.”

  “I’m on it, but I want a rain check on the kiss.” He didn’t wait for her response; he just took the bucket and headed to the ice machine, wondering if she’d ever had sex in a restaurant kitchen. After all the sex they’d had last night and this morning, he should be sated. Hell, he should be incapacitated. He shouldn’t want to take her on the worktable and run ice cubes all over her squirming body—at least not yet.

  He might as well have disappeared after pouring the ice into a container of water. Her total focus was on the gnocchi she transferred from the ice water to a tub. She ran from the stove to the walk-in and back to stir whatever she had boiling.

  He turned, not bothering to say good-bye—she was already talking to herself. Her complete focus was on her task. He didn’t take it personally.

  He stepped out of the kitchen, heading to the office to take care of the liquor order, when the sound of glass breaking made him take a detour. He cursed, grabbed the broom and a dustpan, and found Rocki practically hanging over the bar—her head and arms reaching over the service side, and her ass on the customer side. He’d recognize that ass anywhere—it was encased in black leggings, and her feet were hanging down.

  “Shit.”

  One of her heels had fallen off and the other was hanging from her toes. At least the glass—make that glasses—she’d broken were behind the bar.

  “Rocki, what the hell are you doing?”

  She arched her back to peer at him through blond and pink bangs. “I was trying to get a glass.”

  He peered over. “Looks as if you got a few of them.”

  She blew the hair out of her eyes. “I was going for a soda.”

  He bent down and grabbed the stilts she called shoes. “You know, you could actually go behind the bar. That way you wouldn’t drop your shoes or our glasses.” He helped her down and handed over the heels. “I saved the shoes, but the glasses, I’m afraid, are a total loss.”

  Shaking his head, he grabbed the broom and dustpan, ducked under the pass-through, and cleaned up her mess. He’d been cleaning up after Rocki ever since he’d arrived. The woman was a walking disaster. He emptied the dustpan into the trash and washed his hands. “So, what can I get you?”

  “Seltzer with lime.”

  He tossed a glass in the air and caught it. He’d already prepped the bar for the tasting, so he reached for the ice and poured, and then grabbed a lime and rolled it on the cutting board—knife in hand.

  “So, you and Skye, huh? That certainly didn’t take long.”

  He almost sliced his finger off. When he got the guts to look at Rocki, she didn’t have to tell him; the jig was definitely up.

  She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and shot him a don’t-even-try-to-deny-it look.

  Skye was going to be so pissed. If Rocki knew, it meant she’d alerted Patrice, who worked faster than the Associated Press. “Fuck.”

  “I should hope so, considering how long you were gone last night.”

  He shook his head. He didn’t even want to ask.

  “N
icki was worried about you. She called me to chat this morning. So, you got home at four and had words with Pete, and then took D.O.G. for a run? Like you didn’t get enough exercise last night? Your stamina is impressive. But then I had a feeling you would be.”

  What was a guy supposed to say to that? He had no clue and cursed the fact that his ears were burning.

  Rocki obviously relished his discomfort, if her cat-in-the-fishbowl smile was anything to go by. “When I told Patrice, we decided to give you a break—after all, Skye’s a huge improvement over that Payton chick. It didn’t take long for you to dump her when she got here.”

  “Look, Payton and I just didn’t work out. She’s not a bad person, she’s just not the one for me.”

  “Yeah, it’d be like loving a mannequin with the personality of a Stepford Wife.”

  “Rocki, that’s enough. This thing with Skye is—”

  “Hot?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She leaned forward. “Just a tip: The next time you play with chocolate cake and whipped cream, you might want to clean up after yourselves. Simon said you went through a full can of Reddi-wip. Kinky.”

  Logan cringed. “We had help with the whipped cream.”

  Her mouth formed an O and her eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. “Intriguing.”

  “Not that kind of help. Damn, you’ve got a dirty mind. Let’s just say Pop has a real gift when it comes to killing the mood.”

  “Coitus interruptus?”

  “No. God, what kind of guy do you think I am?”

  “The kind with a Y chromosome. Logan, women have to be in the mood; men just have to be breathing.”

  She had that right. Still, he didn’t think he would have taken Skye on the bar. At least that was what he told himself, but after last night, he wasn’t too sure. “So what are you doing here?”

  She smiled at him—the kind of smile that made a man want to protect his privates. “I’m meeting Patrice.”

  He groaned. “No, give me a break, Rocki. Don’t go causing problems between me and Skye. She’s still weirded out about the whole working-together thing.”

  “Yeah, about that.” She placed her elbow on the bar to hold up her chin and then tapped hot pink nails against her cheek. “How did you two get together anyway? When she first started here, she didn’t even like you.”