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“This kitchen is not too small. It's perfect.” She jabbed her finger at the burners and ovens lining the back wall. “We get through one hundred and fifty covers every Saturday night using this tiny kitchen, and we don't need the Kilroy stamp of approval. We’re already on the map.”
“I never said tiny, but I'm full of admiration for how you've utilized the limited space.”
* * *
That earned him a response somewhere between a grunt and a snort followed by a surprise move toward a heavy stand mixer. Surely, she wasn’t going to start clearing up? He put a placating hand on her arm.
“Hey, don’t worry. I’ll put everything back the way I found it.”
She glanced down at his hand resting on her golden skin. By the time her eyes had made the return trip, she was shooting sparks. Back off. Hooking a stray lock behind her ear, she returned to her task—clean up his mess and make him look like an arse. A cloud of unruly, cocoa brown hair pitched forward, obscuring her heart-shaped face and giving her a distinct lunatic vibe.
It would take more than a death stare and a shock of crazy curls to put him off. Teasing her was too much fun. “I’m pretty fast, love, and if you can move with superhero speed, we’d get it done in a jiffy.”
Another push back of her hair revealed a pitying smile. “Don’t ever claim to be fast, Kilroy. No woman wants to hear that.”
Ouch.
* * *
Before he could muster a clever retort, the kitchen doors flew open, revealing Cara DeLuca, his producer in full-on strut. Neither the crazy hour nor the mind-melting heat had stopped her from getting dressed to the hilt in a cream-colored suit and heels. Laurent, his sous chef and trusty sidekick, ambled in behind her with his usual indolence and a tray of take-out coffee.
Cara's sister grumbled something that sounded like, “Kill me now.”
Sibling drama alert. Unfortunately, with a younger sister determined to drive him around the bend, he was in a position to recognize the signs.
“Lili, what on earth are you wearing?” Cara gave a languid wave. “Oh, never mind.”
* * *
Lili. He had called her ‘Lilah’. Lili was much better. Lilah sounded like someone’s maiden aunt. This woman didn’t look like anyone’s maiden aunt.
Cara's eyes darted, analyzing the situation. His producer was nothing if not quick, which made her both good at her job and prone to snap judgments. The crew called her Lemon Tart, and not because she was sweet.
“Why are you holding your head like that?”
* * *
Jack cast a sideways glance at the sister. He wasn't planning to rat her out, but to her credit, she confessed immediately. In a manner of speaking.
“I thought it was that gang of classic-rock-loving, yet remarkably tuneless, thieves that have been pillaging Italian kitchens all over Chicago, and as I was already dressed for crime-fighting, instinct just took over, and I tried to lock your star in the fridge.”
Laughter erupted from deep inside him, although he was fairly positive she had just insulted his beautiful singing voice. A muscle twitched near the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile, but he still felt the warm buzz of victory.
“Lili, you can't go locking the talent up in a fridge,” Cara chided. “Or hitting it on the head with a frying pan,” Jack added.
Cara's head swiveled Exorcist-style back to her sister. “She did what?”
Jack rubbed the back of his head, heightening the drama. “I don't think she broke the skin, but there'll be a bump there later.”
Cara caressed his noggin and yelped like a pocketbook pup. “Oh, my God, Lili, do you realize what could have happened if Jack had a concussion and had to go to the emergency room?”
“It might have improved his personality. He could do with a humility transplant,” Lili offered, again with that cute muscle twitch that he suddenly wanted to lick.
Laurent had been suspiciously quiet but now he stepped forward, and Jack braced himself for the Gallic charm offensive. As usual, his wingman looked bed-head disheveled, sandy-colored hair sticking out every which way. His bright blue eyes twinkled in his friendly face as he launched into one of his patented gambits.
“Bonjour, I am Laurent Benoit. I work with Jack.” It tripped off his tongue as ‘Zhaque’, sounding lazy and sexy and French. “You must be Cara's beautiful sister, Lili.” He proffered his hand, and Lili hesitantly took it while the corners of Laurent's mouth hitched into a seductive grin. “Enchantée,” he said, raising her hand to kiss it. This netted a husky laugh, which was a damn sight more than Jack had managed in the five minutes he had been alone with her. Man, that Frenchman was good.
“Now that's an accent I can get down with,” Lili murmured.
