The Flirtation Game: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance Page 2

  “Eight!”

  Sure, she’d been kissed on New Year’s Eve before. Plenty of times. She’d never had a meaningful kiss. A kiss that meant more than a fun time.

  “Seven!”

  He walked into the room. Tall, broad shoulders, trimmed scruff on his square jaw and rough cheeks.

  Michael.

  A shudder of desire made her shiver. Her stomach jolted, and her pulse picked up pace. He might’ve changed over the years, but her reaction was the same. A nervous teenager in his presence. Awkward and shy. Her tummy whirling into jitters.

  She’d had a crush on Michael since she was twelve, maybe younger. He’d left Castle Ridge to pursue his love of cooking, and become a famous celebrity chef on television, with hordes of female fans. He had a reputation of being more of a flirt than she.

  Ironic, since he’d always accused her of flaunting boys in high school.

  “Six!”

  His gaze swept past and stopped, swiveled back. Stared.

  Stared at her.

  Her lungs concaved, and she couldn’t breathe. Her heart beat so fast it sounded like a food processor. Swallowing, she tried to calm herself.

  His famous television-megawatt smile lit his face and he paced toward her. The tuxedo jacket he wore fit perfectly, narrowing at the waist. The jacket flapped open, revealing a starched white shirt. Although nothing about the way he prowled forward appeared stiff and starched.

  Pull yourself together. You are no longer fifteen. You are thirty and sophisticated; accomplished.

  “Five!”

  “Michael.” She managed to get her tense arms up and around his broad shoulders in a half-hug. A brotherly-hug.

  That’s all it could ever be between them. He was Danielle’s big brother, and had acted like one of hers, which always irritated Isabel. Her own brothers watched her every move, she didn’t need another.

  “Isabel.” Michael spoke her name with a deepness that quivered through her soul. His muscles tightened beneath her fingers, ending in a flare up her fingertips.

  She slid off her hands, accidentally touching his six-pack abs.

  He didn’t get those abs from flipping pancakes.

  “Great to see you.” His perfect, white teeth gleamed.

  Isabel swore she saw a special-effects sparkle similar to what they used on his television show. She refused to be intimidated, and forced herself to act normal. “When did you return to Castle Ridge?”

  “Four!”

  “Today.” His deep voice rumbled through her.

  No wonder his female fans flocked to him. He was sexy, gorgeous, and completely off-limits for a number of reasons, including long distance. Temptation to steal a kiss, one kiss, fluttered in her chest.

  “Three!”

  “Danielle didn’t mention you were coming to town.” Isabel licked her tingling lips, lips wanting to kiss his.

  “Danielle doesn’t know.”

  Maybe what Danielle didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. For example, Isabel kissing her best friend’s brother?

  “Two!”

  She furrowed her brow. The siblings were close, even though he lived in Los Angeles. Why wouldn’t he tell his sister he was coming to Castle Ridge? “Have you seen her yet?”

  “Not yet.” The intensity of his gaze dug deep into her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. He wasn’t looking for his sister. He was only looking at her.

  The fluttering rushed out of her lungs in a gasp. Her heart, which had been beating rapidly, squeezed tight, causing it to spasm. What was going on? This wasn’t the Michael she’d grown up with. He’d never been interested in her as a woman. This was someone wilder, on the edge.

  “One!” The crowd shouted.

  Startled, she glanced around. It was midnight. Auld Lang Syne played. People were kissing, and she hadn’t found the perfect guy.

  Except Michael was standing right in front of her.

  The Michael of her teenage dreams.

  Her head lightened and spun. Her gaze reconnected with his slate-gray orbs. Orbs swirling with desire. For her, or any girl? Did it matter? It was midnight on New Year’s Eve. A kiss was traditional. She wasn’t breaking any friend-pact. It was a simple kiss.

  “Happy New Year.” He leaned toward her and their lips brushed. Sparks sizzled and exploded, connecting and entwining. His mouth moved against hers, shooting flames of desire inside her core. All from a simple touch.

  Gentle. Coaxing. Caressing. As if he was afraid of her response.

  She’d give him something to be afraid of. Something to remember. She’d imagined this moment for at least a decade. Her response poured out years of pent-up attraction. Increasing pressure against her lips started an achy pressure in other parts of her body. A needy pressure.

  His arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her against him. She put her hands out to push against his chest. He’d always treated her like a child, an annoying irritant who he couldn’t wait to get rid of. She refused to melt at one contact. Or kiss.

  Oh, but what a kiss.

  Her knees gave way, and she grabbed onto his shirt, tugging him closer, closer. She felt his heart pound. His mouth moved possessively on hers.

  Conquering. Devouring. Devastating.

  Devastating her.

  This kiss was everything she’d imagined a kiss from Michael would be. Her fantasies come true. And she wasn’t referring to her childish ones.

  Wanting to show him what he’d missed, she opened the seam of her lips, welcoming him inside. Their tongues danced, sparring and twisting and tangling. It was similar to a tango, or the perfect blend of competing yet complementary spices.

  This was the kiss she’d hoped and yearned for tonight. A kiss with passion and connection and meaning. She heaved a contented sigh. Or was that a moan?

  Her spirits soared, and her body became languid and wanton. The kiss was evidence this was going to be a great year.

  “Michael?” a voice interrupted. A female voice. A familiar voice.

  Guilt gutted her passion.

  Danielle.

  Her best friend’s name dropped to the pit of Isabel’s stomach.

  Michael’s mouth stopped moving. His arms slipped from around her, and the loss of heat sent a chill of foreboding through her body. She snatched her hands off him, staring into the wide eyes and opened mouth of Danielle’s shocked expression.

  Passion drained, siphoning to Isabel’s feet. Her cheeks singed. Oh, my. She’d been caught kissing her best friend’s brother. Something she’d promised she’d never do.

  A really-happy-to-see-you smile lit Michael’s face, and he wrapped his arms around his sister. “Hello, Danielle.”

  “Michael! What’re you doing here?” She pulled back from the hug, quirking her head.

  Isabel lost focus. The other people, the revelry, blurred in the background. She’d kissed him with such passion; a desperate teen instead of a sophisticated and flirtatious woman.

  This shouldn’t be a big deal. It was just a kiss. A New Year’s kiss. She’d pinky-swore she’d never date Michael. He was here to visit his sister, not romance Isabel. He’d return to his celebrity career in Los Angeles before she got back from her beach vacation.

  He’d never take her seriously. Not with his adoring female fans. He must know she’d always had a crush on him. The way she’d flirted with other boys in front of him and bragged about her dates in high school so he heard about the escapades.

  Best to leave the lodge now, go on her vacation, and forget about the most perfect kiss.

  As if she’d stuck a cooking thermometer up her butt, she straightened her back and shoulders. She needed to play this like she would with any other guy. Gathering her courage and her flirty persona, she gave Michael a saucy wink. “Thanks for the flambé tip.”

  Because he started her fire.

  Chapter Two

  Michael should’ve been concentrating on the construction, making sure everything was as he’d specified. The drilling, hamme
ring, and sawing echoed through his head, while dirt, dust, and paint stuck in his nose, at odds with the garlic, rosemary, and coriander he normally preferred. These were not the normal scents in a kitchen.

  Except, he wasn’t thinking about the construction, or the noise, or the information he’d received from his business manager. He could only think about the New Year’s Eve kiss.

  With Isabel.

  A kiss from three weeks ago, continuing to scorch his lips and his brain. Plus, her parting remark about the flambé tip heated him from the inside. If anyone, it was Isabel who’d flambéed his soul, burning a single kiss into his memory.

  A kiss from a girl he’d known since first grade. An irritating girl who’d hung around their house, and was best friends with his sister. Who’d nagged, and annoyed, and flirted with other boys in front of him. A cute girl. And funny. And flirtatious.

  And she still was.

  Only now, she was sophisticated, and worldly, and gorgeous, too. The image of her lush lips and emerald eyes swirling with desire when he’d pulled away hit his gut for the millionth time. She’d clung to his shirt and seemed desperate for a second taste, a second kiss.

  Steam blasted him, making certain parts of his body tense. He needed to focus. Shaking his head, he tried to concentrate on the remodel drawings to make sure the specifications were correct. He shoved his hand in the front pocket of his jeans.

  Isabel had disappeared after midnight like Cinderella at the ball. She had no real interest in him. Never had. She’d always paraded her high school boyfriends in front of him and, according to Danielle, still dated lots of different men. She probably thought he was gay because he was a chef. A lot of other people in this backward town did.

  Heat boiled into anger, making his midsection rock hard. Flashes of his father’s berating crashed into his head like a meat cleaver. Men did not do women’s work. Men worked manly jobs. Men did not cook.

  That’s why he’d left Castle Ridge after high school, and it was also why he’d come back.

  The town held too many memories—bad ones. The locals enjoyed gossiping, usually with no real factual information. And the only decent restaurant was The Heights at Castle Ridge Lodge.

  Which is where he stood, in the middle of the construction chaos. In the middle of a restaurant owned by a once-good friend he’d betrayed. The boiling slowed to a simmer thinking of his goals in returning to Castle Ridge. He was here to make amends and help the friend he’d hurt, knowing the harm it could do to his own career. Michael hadn’t realized how much harm, until after he’d signed the contracts.

  His stomach boiled again, causing the contents to churn. His wish to make up for past mistakes had played into his business manager’s greedy underhandedness. His desire to spend time with his sister and niece, and to escape the escalating friction in Los Angeles, added to the pressure.

  He’d signed the contract for the reality show about re-opening a restaurant for these reasons. The news about a famous celebrity chef returning home to help a friend would be good press, and hopefully overcome some of the negative and untrue personal things leaking out about him in the gossip rags.

  His intent had been pure.

  His business manager’s, not so much.

  Ex-friend Parker Williamson sauntered into the kitchen. He wore a business suit with a crisp tie. Perfect in his appearance. Not a hair out of place. A lot different than Michael’s jeans and long-sleeved black T-shirt. Weird to think they’d once been best friends.

  “How’s the work progressing?” Parker slid his hand on a piece of stainless steel countertop, avoiding looking at Michael.

  The churning in his gut spiked up toward his lungs. He choked.

  Parker had avoided any personal conversation for three weeks. He refused to meet Michael for dinner or drinks. Refused to listen to an explanation and apology. It was like running into a brick pizza oven again and again.

  “Fine.” He gritted his teeth, prepared to try again. “We need to talk.”

  “Will we be up and running and filming by the end of January?” His ex-friend ignored his request.

  While he wanted to get this conversation and groveling done before the cameras started filming.

  “About that.” The foul taste of disgust coated his tongue. Him signing a generic reality program contract was his mistake, but he hated being forced to be part of this charade. “Is this even legal? I mean, I know about the show. Your other employees don’t.”

  Parker’s sliding hand skidded to a halt. “With the remodel, I had everyone sign new employment contracts to cover the new equipment.” His face paled, as if the guilt was getting to him. “And in the contracts was a little clause giving permission—”

  “You tricked them.” The disgust flew off Michael’s tongue and out of his mouth. He’d been duped, and now he was helping to dupe other employees. Everything about this was wrong.

  “Each employee will get a sizable bonus when the show airs from the network.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You never would’ve done something like this in the past.”

  Parker glowered shooting daggers. “Honesty doesn’t usually yield the wanted results.”

  The daggers slashed Michael in a direct hit. Pain radiated outward. He deserved the pain. He knew Parker referred to their past.

  Michael grabbed his friend’s arm forcing him to listen. “I’m sorry about the way I reacted. I was young, stupid.” Had been brought up by a father who hated everything Parker represented.

  A cough interrupted them. “Sorry to interrupt.” A construction worker walked past, carrying a toolbox. His red face revealed the man had overheard, and put his own connotation on the discussion, probably a lover’s quarrel.

  Michael’s inner sixteen-year-old wanted to lash out, explain, and deny. He held the turmoil inside. He didn’t care what the construction worker thought. He didn’t care what others in this smallminded town believed.

  “I’m not a kid anymore.” Parker ripped his arm away. He stuck out his chin in a stubborn tilt. “I’m a man running a business who is forced to do things, not always nice things, to save my heritage.”

  Michael understood doing things for the good of business. His own business had suffered with the news leaks. His cookbooks weren’t selling, and his network put his cooking program on hiatus. He inhaled a sharp breath, trying not to give in to the frustration and panic stirring whenever he thought about his Hollywood future.

  “I understand, but—”

  “No, buts. No conversation.” Parker stepped back. “There’s a lot of work to get done for the remodel, which the network is paying for, so let’s get back to work.”

  He marched out, leaving Michael in the middle of the kitchen and an emotional maelstrom.

  “Chef Marstrand.” The same burly worker who’d overheard their conversation took off his hard hat. “The oven has been delivered.”

  “Great. Let’s get it in position.”

  He’d worked construction through college, and wanted to be here to make sure the workers got the appliance installations correct. He didn’t want a hood that didn’t exhaust smoke, or a cooler not set to the correct temperature.

  “My men have left for the day. One guy can’t position the heavy appliance into place.”

  “I’ll help.”

  The construction worker pulled back. His expression showed skepticism. “I need muscle, not batter mixing.”

  Every insulting comment Michael had ever received mixed in his mind. The insults, the insinuations, the flippant remarks. Each time someone belittled his manliness because of his career choice, the words brewed in his head and in his heart, whipping in with his father’s prejudices. Prejudices that had taken years to get over. Prejudices that had hurt his best friend.

  Instantaneous fury clenched in his belly, and he fisted his large hands, trying to control himself. He wanted to bench press a couple of hundred pounds.

  He’d worked hard to be the best chef, he’d dated multitudes of mo
dels to prove his machismo, and he worked out with weights every day since college. At first, it was because he wanted to appear manly. Now, it had become part of his daily fitness routine, and his female fans loved every carved muscle.

  Un-fisting his hands, he slowly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to bare his arms. He didn’t want to argue. He bent his elbow and flexed his muscles in the classic muscle-man pose. “Strong enough?”

  “Great guns.”

  He didn’t gloat, just wanted to make a point. “Let’s get cooking.”

  After putting the oven in place, the construction guy left, and he had the kitchen to himself. The last major appliance had been installed. The stainless steel gleamed, and the copper pots sat in boxes, ready to be hung. The counters were smooth without a single scratch. Only a few remaining touches left.

  He should’ve felt a sense of achievement. He didn’t. A trail of disappointment ran through him, thinking about Isabel and her kiss. He wouldn’t have the opportunity to get to know her and explore her varied depths. He couldn’t stay in this small town any longer than necessary. Not with their penchant for gossip and prejudices, not with their small minds, and not with their limited organic produce.

  His cell phone vibrated, and he slipped it out of his back pocket and glanced at the number. “Tell me something good.”

  “Hello, to you, too.” His business manager’s snippiness rubbed his recent wounds raw. “It’s good you have another television job.”

  “I don’t want a television show like this.” He massaged the back of his neck feeling the tension from talking to Cal Miller.

  “You practically begged to take the Castle Ridge job.”

  “To help re-open a restaurant and help a friend.”

  “And to get out of the hot seat.”

  The uncaring tone riled Michael. “You and the network executives deceived me about the purpose of the program.”

  Similar to how Parker had deceived his employees.

  “I got you an excellent salary—”

  “Of which you take ten percent.”

  “Time to spend with your sister.”

  Michael had thought this the perfect opportunity to make amends and help his old friend with the hotel and restaurant. He believed getting out of Los Angeles for a few weeks to let things cool down was a good thing. Being with his sister and niece, a bonus.