Hotshot

  “Where do you live now?” she asked.

  “San Francisco.”

  “That’s a long way away.” She said the thought out loud.

  “A long way from where?”

  “Here . . . home.”

  “I haven’t lived here in a long time, Peyton.”

  “It’s still your home. You were born in Texas. Your roots are here.”

  “Ah, roots,” he said, smiling. “Then you’ll be happy to know there’s a good chance I’ll be moving to Dallas next month. I fly out on a lot of assignments, and getting in and out of San Francisco is difficult on the best of days. Dallas will probably be as bad, but at least it’s more centrally located.”

  “What do you do for the FBI?” she asked.

  A long minute passed and she didn’t think he was going to answer her.

  He took a drink, put the glass down, and quietly said, “I get people to talk.”

  She waited a minute and then said, “And . . . ?”

  “And what?”

  Embellish, for Pete’s sake, she wanted to say. He apparently wasn’t going to tell her anything more, and she decided not to press. He looked so solemn all of a sudden, and she felt as though he was closing up on her.

  “Want to change the subject?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said. “Is there anyone special in your life?”

  “I haven’t had much luck dating, so I’ve given it up.”

  The look he gave her told her he thought she was joking. She decided to prove that she wasn’t.

  “Do you like cats?”

  The question caught him off guard. “I don’t know. I guess so. I’ve never thought about it.”

  “One of the boys I went out with asked me if I liked cats. Turned out he had seven.”

  Finn was in the process of taking a drink when she said the number, and he nearly spit it out. She handed him a napkin.

  “What about ferrets?” she asked.

  He set his glass down. “What about them?” A hint of a smile creased the corners of his eyes.

  “I went out with a boy who had—”

  “Let me guess. Seven?”

  She laughed. “No, just one. Before I agreed to meet him for dinner, I asked him if he had any cats, but I didn’t think to ask him about ferrets. My mistake,” she added. “He kept it in his coat pocket. We were at dinner when it poked its head out and looked around. I saw it and screamed, and, FYI, ferrets don’t like loud noises. At least this one didn’t.”

  Finn couldn’t stop laughing. He kept picturing Peyton’s reaction. “In his pocket?”

  “Turned out he never left home without it.”

  Peyton loved watching Finn laugh. He’d been so serious, and it was nice to see him let go and relax. “What about you?” she asked.

  “You’ve got me beat.”

  “No stories to share about the women you’ve dated?”

  Several hilarious stories popped into his head, but he couldn’t share them because they all had to do with getting naked and having hot, steamy sex.

  He shook his head. “None that I can tell.”

  “I heard you were thinking about getting married a couple of years ago.”

  “Who did you hear that from?”

  “Your mother told my mother who told everyone.”

  “It was three years ago, and I was going to ask the woman I was dating to marry me, but I changed my mind and broke it off.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t see any reason not to tell her. “The drama. I got tired of it. My job can get . . . tense, and I didn’t want to come home to that every night.”

  The waitress put the bill on the table, and Finn reached for his wallet as he said, “I used to think I wanted marriage and kids, but not anymore.”

  Frowning, she said, “You want peace when you come home, right? You have to deal with serious issues, and when you finally get home you want peace and quiet.”

  He was pleased she understood. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Boring, Finn. You want boring. What you need is excitement and fun. Love and laughter. You need to balance the bad with the good.”

  “Yeah? And what do you need?”

  Her answer was immediate. “Normal. I need normal. Did you find any bullets in my car?”

  “No,” he answered. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before the rain starts. The clouds are black. We’ll talk in the car.”

  She offered her eleven dollars to help with the check and laughed at his exasperated expression. They just made it to the car before the skies opened and the rain poured down.

  “I didn’t think you’d find anything,” she said. “I’ve thought about what happened, and I’ve decided I made all the wrong choices. When the guy was chasing me, I should have called nine-one-one, and after he drove into the field, I should have waited by the side of the highway for the police or highway patrol to come. I guess I was afraid it would take forever for anyone to get to me. I never got a good look at his face, but if I’d stayed, the police would have searched his car and found his gun.”

  “You also didn’t know that he had a gun and was shooting at you,” he reminded. “You know what I think? You should have gotten the hell out of there, and that’s exactly what you did.”

  He was making her feel better about her decisions. “I was so angry when I left, I thought about sending the recording to the Internet and being done with it,” she admitted. “Mimi talked me out of it.”

  “I’m glad she did,” he said. “Once you put it out there, it becomes as much about you as it is about Drew Albertson. You don’t want that. What is it you do want to accomplish?”

  “To look Randolph Swift in the eye while he listens to the recording and to hear what he will do about Drew. If he doesn’t get rid of him, I’ll sue. You’re right,” she added. “The recording is leverage.”

  “Albertson and his wife should be pretty complacent by now.”

  “I’m sure Eileen has been checking her father’s e-mail while they’re in Europe, and I’ll bet she has someone checking his phone while they’re away. They’ve also had plenty of time to fill his head with stories about me, don’t you think?”

  “It won’t matter,” he assured her. He turned on the engine, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to her and said, “If you decide to sue, this is the attorney you want.”

  “I hate the idea of suing. There will be mudslinging, and the publicity will be terrible. It’s more complicated now because of Bishop’s Cove,” she added. “Swift Publications has never been sued, and their attorneys will come out swinging. They’ll try to destroy my credibility and maybe go after the restaurants in the Cove. Anything is possible.” She stared out her window, reflecting on the ramifications if she retaliated against the Albertsons. Taking a deep breath, she said, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do what I have to do to stop him.”

  He nodded. He watched Peyton for several seconds without saying a word. Who was this amazing woman? She was breathtakingly gorgeous. That was obvious to anyone who looked at her—he’d barely been able to take his eyes off her luscious mouth all through dinner—and she was also funny and smart and caring. He was used to game players, but Peyton wasn’t coy or pretentious. She was refreshingly honest, and maybe that was why he liked being with her so much. No, he decided, it wasn’t just her honesty. He liked everything about Peyton Lockhart.

  “I have to get back,” he said as he put the key in the ignition and backed the car out of the parking space.

  Finn was quiet on the drive to the apartment. At first Peyton felt comfortable with the silence, but after several minutes, she looked over at him. He seemed lost in thought and she wondered what he could be thinking that would make him so pensive. Maybe he was thinking about a c
ase he was working on, she surmised, or maybe he was mulling over her dilemma with the Albertsons. Oh God, she thought, maybe he was thinking about saying good-bye to her. That was it. He was trying to figure out a way to say good-bye without her throwing herself at him again. How humiliating! She’d have to think of a way to let him know she didn’t expect anything from him, to let him leave without making it awkward.

  By the time he pulled up to her apartment building, the rain was coming down in torrents. Finn ran around the car and opened her door, and they made a mad dash up the steps. Standing in the small recess at her front door, they were barely inches apart and soaking wet.

  “Finn . . . ,” she began. She looked up into his eyes and lost her train of thought.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “About the kiss the other day,” she blurted. “I’m really sorry . . . I don’t know what came over me . . . I guess I was just glad to see you after all these years . . . I don’t want you to think I do that all the time . . . I don’t blame you at all . . . it was all my fault . . . I—”

  Her rant stopped when his mouth covered hers. Pulling her to him, he kissed her like she’d never been kissed before, a long, hot, ravenous kiss, and then he turned and hurried out into the rain leaving her weak-kneed and dazed.

  TEN

  Finn decided he was out of his mind. He had to be, he reasoned, because there he stood outside Peyton’s door. It had been several days since he’d left her, and flying back to Brentwood for the sole purpose of seeing her again was crazy. He knew it was, yet he still did it.

  He was leaving for Philadelphia tomorrow afternoon. He could have taken a direct flight from San Francisco, but he left a day earlier so that he could stop in Texas. For her. He wanted to see her one more time before she left for Bishop’s Cove and he moved on with his own carefully structured life. No, that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t want to see her; he needed to. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and, yes, that was one of the reasons he was sure he’d lost his mind.

  She would be surprised to see him, and if she asked him why he was here, he didn’t know what he would say. That he was drawn to her? That he felt the same peace and joy with her that he did when he was in the water? Or maybe he’d give her a little more of the truth. That every nerve in his body wanted her. Craved her. He wondered how she would react to that chunk of honesty. When he’d scheduled that flight, had he planned to have sex with her? He told himself no, yet he’d put a condom in his pocket.

  It was a little after seven. He knocked on her door and waited. Maybe she still worked at that restaurant. No, she’d told him she had one more week to go and then she was finished. And the week was up.

  She opened the door just as he was about to knock again. His intention was to ask her if she would like to go out to dinner with him, and if she told him she had other plans, he would try to figure out a way to talk her into changing them. It wasn’t a great strategy, and he was feeling a little nervous about it, but as soon as he saw her, he relaxed. She wasn’t dressed to go anywhere. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing a baggy, long sweatshirt over a pair of leggings. Her face was scrubbed clean. Her cheeks were rosy, and so were her lips. She smelled wonderful, too.

  She smiled, letting him know she was happy to see him, but she also looked surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Is everything all right? Why are you back in Brentwood?”

  “I wanted to check on you.” Yeah, right. That was as believable as “I was in the neighborhood.” What would she think if he told her the truth, that he had made the detour because he couldn’t stay away.

  “You’re just in time. Come in,” she said.

  “In time for what?” he asked. He shut the door and locked it. He saw all the boxes against the wall and asked, “Do you want me to help you pack?”

  “Oh no, I’ve got that covered. You’re just in time to eat,” she explained. “I’ve been cooking . . . experimenting on three new dishes. Two have shrimp in them. Do you like shrimp?” she asked as she moved a stack of folded laundry from the sofa. “The third dish is chicken. Will you try them?”

  Peyton thought she’d done an adequate job of acting casual about his sudden appearance, considering her heartbeat was going wild. She’d been so shocked and happy to see him, it took all of her control not to throw herself into his arms.

  “Come into the kitchen,” she said. She nervously threaded her fingers through her hair to separate the strands. God, it must look like hell. “What would you like to drink?”

  Finn took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. “What have you got?” he asked.

  “Water.”

  Smiling, he said, “I’ll have water.”

  Her recipe book with notes sticking out every which way was spread open on the table. She moved it to one side and got two bottles of water out of the refrigerator. Finn found the utensils and napkins while she prepared the first entrée.

  “It’s still nice and hot,” she said. She placed the plate in front of him and sat down across from him.” Does it look appealing? You won’t hurt my feelings if you say it doesn’t, but does it? What do you see when you look at it?” She picked up her pen and waited for his answer.

  He laughed. “Food, Peyton. I see food.”

  Finn didn’t particularly like grits—he would never order them in a restaurant—but he took a bite of Peyton’s and changed his mind. The dish was delicious. It was spicy, yet not overly so, and there was just the right amount of heat.

  “It’s really good,” he praised.

  She was pleased. “I thought it was, but everyone’s taste buds are different. I’m glad you like it.”

  The second entrée wasn’t quite as good, but he still ate all of it. She asked a few questions about the flavor, found the recipe she’d written, and crossed it off. Then she served the chicken. He told her it was okay. She thought it was bland and marked that recipe off her list as well.

  “I don’t eat a lot of rich food,” he said. He picked up his plate and took it to the sink. “When I competed, food was fuel. I got used to bland, I guess.”

  Peyton picked up a round tin container from the shelf and put it on the table.

  “Food doesn’t have to be drenched in rich sauce to be good.”

  He rolled his sleeves up and rinsed his plate. Then he tried to find the dishwasher.

  “There isn’t one,” she said. “Leave the dishes. I’ll wash them later.”

  “Let’s do them now, and you can tell me about France. Did you like it there?”

  “How did you know I went to France? Surely not my mother.”

  He was bent over the sink scrubbing a pan, splashing water everywhere. “Ivy told me. Why not your mother?”

  “Cooking isn’t something she can brag about. I majored in English lit and journalism, and she can’t understand why I turned my back on all that education to cook instead. I’m a disappointment,” she ended with a dramatic sigh.

  He rinsed the pan and handed it to her to dry. She patted the front of his shirt with a towel first. “You’re getting water everywhere,” she said. “I loved France. It’s a beautiful country.”

  She talked about the culinary institute and Chef Jon and told him a few amusing stories about some of the students. The kitchen was cleaned up in little time. Finn grabbed another bottle of water and went to get his phone from his coat pocket so he could show her some photos from the wedding reception. She picked up the tin and followed him to the living room. He sat beside her on the sofa, scrolled through the camera roll on his phone, and handed it to her. The first photo was of a grinning Beck holding Ivy in his arms.

  “He looks like he’s bench-pressing her,” she remarked.

  All the photos showed happy couples celebrating with Tristan and Brooke.

  “I wish I’d been there,” she said. She was handing the phone back to him when it rang. She saw who wa
s calling and so did he. When he declined the call, she asked, “Who’s Danielle?”

  He didn’t immediately answer. She nudged him.

  “She’s a woman I used to date. That’s all.”

  “The one you almost married?”

  He nodded.

  His relationship with Danielle was none of her business, but it still bothered her. “Why is she calling?”

  “She wants to reconnect. I don’t,” he said, and before she could think of another question, he asked, “What’s in the tin?”

  She wanted to talk about Danielle. What did she look like? What did she do for a living? Had he loved her? She didn’t ask any of those questions, though. She discussed cookies instead.

  “Inside are chocolate cookies for dessert if you’d like. I make them for the restaurant. People say they’re addictive. They’re always asking to buy extra to take home.”

  “I don’t usually eat dessert, but I’ll try one.”

  She removed the lid and let him take one. “Be careful. They come with a warning,” she teased.

  “That they’re addictive?”

  “No, that there’s a slip of paper inside with a little note. It wouldn’t kill you if you ate it, but it’s best not to.”

  “Like a fortune cookie?”

  “No, those are clever sayings. Some of my cookies have notes; some don’t. The diner chooses.”

  “Who writes the notes?”

  “I do,” she answered. “They’re my words of wisdom,” she added with a smile. “Lessons I’ve already learned. Don’t laugh at me. I’ve learned a lot in the past five years.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Turn the cookie over, and if there’s a note, you’ll see the end of the paper.”

  There wasn’t a note. That was a shame because at the moment she couldn’t think of a single word she’d written. It was his fault. Sitting so close to him, looking into his eyes, made it difficult to hold a thought. She kept getting distracted.