Turning Up The Heat

At me. Phoebe fought a grin at the surprising knowledge that he was jealous. As the executive chef of a noted restaurant, Cam was often in the spotlight, giving interviews and emerging from the kitchen to greet special customers. She’d been so proud of him, content to bake her desserts and watch him soak up the accolades. But it was a refreshing change to be the one getting a little attention.

Belatedly, she recalled Heath’s words before his mouth claimed hers. I have a plan. Understanding dawned. “You kissed me to make him jealous.”

“Hope you don’t think that’s too petty or juvenile.”

“Actually...” She recalled the times Cam had praised her as his muse and led her to believe marriage was in their distant future, contrasting those moments with the brutal shock of his announcement that they were “stifling” each other. He hadn’t even had the balls to make a clean break. Instead, he’d suggested they still go out occasionally—which she’d translated as code for wanting a backup sexual partner on the nights nothing better came along. Hell, no. “That was awesome.”

She just wished she’d realized sooner that Heath’s kiss was only playacting. As she recalled the greedy way she’d clutched at him and how her toes had curled inside Gwen’s borrowed stilettos, embarrassment rippled through her. Way to come on like a sex-starved hussy. She deeply regretted the loss of the martini she’d left behind.

“Thank you,” she told him. “But you didn’t have to do that.”

“Kissing a beautiful woman is no hardship.”

Heath thinks I’m beautiful. There was a momentary flush of giddiness before she reminded herself that he was a connoisseur of women. He appreciated many forms and shapes, the way she could savor dozens of desserts from around the world without ever picking a favorite. How many countless women had she heard him call “sweetheart” or “gorgeous”? His compliment, though flattering, wasn’t personal.

“Besides,” he added, frowning in Cam’s direction, “the big jerk had it coming. You were the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“That’s what Gwen said, too.” She was blessed to have such loyal friends, even ones who inexplicably disliked each other. The day Cam had broken up with her, Gwen had partially blamed Heath.

“That business partner makes single life look so glamorous, with his endless parade of women,” her friend had said. “Cam got so distracted by what he can’t have that he took you for granted.” Phoebe didn’t fault Heath, but the “grass is greener” explanation made as much sense as anything else. She’d thought they were happy.

“He is going to regret losing you,” Heath said. “If he thinks you’ve found someone, it might speed up his epiphany.”

Found someone? As in, an actual relationship and not just a quick kiss at a party? “You aren’t suggesting we make him think that you and I are dating?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

She laughed nervously. “No offense, but who would buy that? You’re never seen with the same woman twice.” Oddly, few of his ex-lovers seemed bitter. Most continued to smile and sigh when they saw him. He must be really good in bed. She felt wicked, secretly speculating on his sexual performance while he stood there giving her relationship advice.

The corner of Heath’s mouth curled in a half grin that made her immediately reevaluate her last thought. This man could teach a master’s class in wickedness. Next to him, she was a total novice.

“Why stop at making him think we’re ‘dating’?” he asked. “You want to really get under his skin, let him think we’re having a scorching affair hotter than an Atlanta heat wave. As for no one believing us...” His gaze arrested hers, and he shifted closer. She could almost feel the hard planes of his body through the fabric of her dress. “You’d be surprised at how convincing I can be.”

Oh, Lord, did she need a drink. Not her martini—ice water. Her throat had gone dry, and the crowded room was stifling. “I don’t know.”

Though she didn’t doubt Heath’s persuasive skills, she herself was a terrible liar. And she was still sorting through the aftermath of her breakup. Did she want to win back Cam’s affection? She was furious with him, but there were good memories and years of emotional investment. Either way, her feminine pride had taken a hit when he’d dumped her. Having Heath look at her as if he wanted to lick dark chocolate ganache off her bare skin was heady, yet confusing.

He rocked back on his heels, symbolically restoring the platonic distance between them. “Completely up to you,” he said. “Think about it, and we’ll talk soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should flee. There’s a Kemp sister heading this way.”

She chuckled, but he raised an interesting point about other women. “Heath, if people think you and I are a couple, won’t it hinder your love life?”

“Sacrifice I’m willing to make.” He grinned. “Temporarily. I’ve actually been swamped with work stuff recently and had to reschedule my last two attempted dates. So contrary to my suave reputation, I can go a couple of weeks without a woman on my arm.”

“Still, it seems pretty one-sided, me using you to make Cam jealous.”

“I’m at your disposal. Use me any way you want.”

It was the kind of outrageously flirtatious comment he routinely made. She knew better than to read anything serious into it. He’s a buddy, she reminded herself. He’s not genuinely propositioning you.

Yeah, she knew that. Intellectually. But the reminder would have been a lot more convincing without the memory of that scalding kiss still buzzing through her system.

* * *

“WHAT DO YOU mean Heath kissed you last night?” Gwen went from lazily lounging on the sofa to bolt upright and hyperalert—or as alert as one could look with bed head and flying toaster pajamas. She sounded scandalized, which was ironic considering the details of her own personal life.

Grinning at her friend’s reaction, Phoebe put her empty coffee cup in the sink. Then she made a beeline for her favorite armchair, the first piece of non–garage sale furniture she’d purchased after starting her side business of wedding cakes. Their apartment was modest, but the kitchen met her picky specifications.

“Which part of kissing don’t you understand?” she joked. “His lips, my lips. After the sordid tales of you and the hot stunt guy, I know you’re familiar with the concept.”

Gwen scowled, clearly not amused.

Wow, she really doesn’t approve of Heath. Not for the first time, Phoebe wished that two of her favorite people could get along better. She’d attempted to fix them up last year, thinking they had a lot in common, but the double date with her and Cam had been a massive failure. Even before Gwen’s blasphemous declaration that baseball was boring, Heath hadn’t been his usual charming self. He’d seemed oddly distracted. “Look, it wasn’t a real kiss. Heath wanted to help me make Cam jealous and offered to let me use him.”

A flutter of guilty pleasure went through her. What might a woman do with Heath Jensen entirely under her control?

Gwen shook her head firmly. “You don’t want any part of that. Making sure your ex sees you looking hot is one thing, but mind games are beneath you.”

“Maybe.” She recalled Cam’s stricken expression after he’d seen Heath kiss her and her vindictive delight. Maybe not. “But it’s not like you to judge. You’re the one always encouraging me to be reckless, have an adventure.”

“Yeah, but I figured you’d start small and work your way up. When a person goes skiing for the first time, she doesn’t head straight for the black diamond trails. She starts with the bunny slopes! Heath is no bunny.”

“I know the two of you didn’t exactly hit it off, but Heath would never hurt me.”

“Not intentionally,” Gwen agreed. “But you would be in way over your head trying to fake a red-hot fling with him. Next to that borderline man-whore, you’re a nun.”

“I went out last night in a dress cut down to my navel. I am not a nun.”

“Okay, wrong choice of word. But you have to admit you’re not...” Gwen peered at her with a combination of affection and sympathy. “Like when you talked about your love life with Cam? It sounded comfortable, maybe even a little routine.”

“Maybe I’ve never had a quickie with a ripped stuntman in a makeup trailer, but our sex life was plenty satisfactory!” Oh, there was a ringing endorsement. Hey, baby, wanna get satisfactory? Was that why Cam had left her—because the sex had been boring?

After growing up with a mother who’d done everything she could to impress on her that sex was evil, Phoebe had congratulated herself more than once on not turning out to be phobic. Still, her love life was pretty conventional. There’d been the boyfriend her freshman year in college who’d been as inexperienced as she was. He’d treated her like a princess, but the sex had not been earth-shaking. Then there’d been the bartender she’d dated during her year of working at a bakery. On the nights he worked, he didn’t get home until almost 3:00 a.m., and her predawn shift had started at four. Their sex life had been great...when they were both awake at the same time. Cam was by far the best lover she’d ever had, but now she realized she didn’t have much basis for comparison.

If she’d been more inventive in bed, would she have held his interest longer?

That was a depressing thought.

Phoebe sighed. “I guess instead of making fun of those Weird Ways to Bring Him to His Knees articles in your fashion magazines, I should be studying them for advice.” Then again, why read generic tips written by another woman? Why not get a guy’s opinion? She snapped her fingers. “Or Heath could help me.”

“What? Let’s not do anything hasty.”

“Heath offered to help.” Use me any way you want. “Why not take him up on it?” The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. “Best-case scenario, I win back the man I was planning to spend my life with, after an appropriate period of groveling. Worst case, Cam and I stay split up, but I salvage my pride by making sure he knows I’m not wasting away and I pick up tips on being more seductive. Where’s the bad?”

“In Heath Jensen’s arms,” Gwen said darkly.

There, her roommate was wrong. Because being kissed by Heath had been very, very good. And that had only been a brief preview of his expertise. Her pulse quickened.

How much more of Heath’s sensual skill would she experience firsthand? She glanced across the room to where her phone was charging.

Only one way to find out.

3

ARMS AND BACK muscles straining, a bead of sweat trickling down his chest, Heath raised himself into his last set of pull-ups. It was tempting to use the buzzing cell phone on the nightstand as an excuse to quit the workout, but after starting high school as the shortest, chunkiest guy in the freshman class, he took his athletic regimen seriously. Staying in shape required effort, especially for someone who worked with—and enjoyed the hell out of—food. He glanced down at the phone. Unless it was someone from the restaurant, and therefore a potential emergency, he’d call whoever it was back.

But then he saw Phoebe’s name on the screen, and he almost lost his grip on the bar.

Dropping to his feet, he snatched up the phone. “Hello?” So I’ll do an extra set of reps tomorrow. No big deal.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, tentative. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

That depended. Was she calling to tell him she didn’t appreciate his meddling last night and that he’d better keep his hands to himself? “Just finishing up a workout.” He reached for his bottle of water. “What can I do for you?”

“Teach me to be sexy.”

Thank God he hadn’t opened the water yet. An announcement like that would have had him spluttering. His obituary in the AJC would read Restaurateur Drowns in Bedroom.

“Phoebe. Not to state the obvious, but you are sexy.”

“The word people use is cute.”

Stupid people, maybe. Not even a chef’s jacket and apron could hide those curves. And anyone who paid close enough attention to her mischievous smile would discover an alluring potential to misbehave. How did people miss it? Hell, he’d been trying to unsee it for months.

Maybe now he didn’t have to. For the moment, she was unattached. And he was no longer her employer.

“It’s not like I suffer from low self-esteem,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m attractive, and I’m talented in the kitchen. But I’m not...you know. Va va voom.”

“Did you not look in a mirror before you left the house last night?” For that matter, was she oblivious to how aroused he’d been when she kissed him back? He got hard every time he remembered the taste of her mouth beneath his, the feel of her fingers in his hair as she tugged him closer.

“Eye makeup and a low-cut dress are superficial window dressing. I want a more meaningful makeover. I want to be exciting.” She lowered her voice. “Seductive.”

A more seductive Phoebe. God help him.

“If I take Cam back,” she continued, “I don’t want to worry that I’m not enough to hold his interest.”

Cam. Right.

Heath had been so busy picturing Phoebe as a confident seductress that he’d momentarily forgotten this was all to prove a point to her ex. Which was your idea, genius. He could hardly fault her for taking him at his word. Hadn’t he offered to help in whatever way she needed? She was, after all, one of his best friends.

“You suggested we pretend to be dating,” she said, “and I thought that while we’re spending some extra time together, maybe you could give me pointers.”

It was like the lamb asking the wolf to help make her more delicious. The noble part of him truly wanted to help her; the other 99 percent of him was preoccupied by the possibilities. For months, working alongside her, he’d been a gentleman—or, at least, his version of one. There’d been some playfully naughty banter, but he’d kept his hands to himself. And now she wanted to put herself in his hands and have him teach her about sex?

If he was a better person, he’d warn her away. “Are you free for dinner?”

“T-tonight?” The way she stumbled over the word made him wonder if she was already rethinking her request, or if she was just surprised he’d agreed.

“Yeah. I—” Reality caught up to him. He couldn’t miss work tonight. They were hosting some celebs in town to shoot a movie. He wanted to personally ensure that everything went smoothly and that service was stellar. As hard as he’d worked to make Piri successful, he had no intentions of slacking off now. They needed the extra profits to help bankroll a sister restaurant. “Wait, tonight’s no good.”

“Not for me, either. Sundays aren’t as busy as Thursday through Saturday, when we have the dueling pianos, but the weekly wine tastings are growing in popularity. I’ve got an entire dessert menu pairing chocolate and red wine.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“That could work. I go in on Mondays, but after I get the desserts prepped, I can probably leave. It’s our quietest night. Or if you want to wait a little longer, I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off.”

No, he emphatically did not want to wait. Part of him was still tempted to talk her into calling in sick and coming over tonight. Before she came to her senses. “Then, I’ll cook you dinner tomorrow. It can be after eight if you need to help with the dinner rush.” By nature, he was a night person, and working in the restaurant industry had amplified that.

“Or you could come to my apartment and I can cook,” she offered. “I owe you. After all, you’re doing me the favor.”

Debatable. “If I come over, can you guarantee my safety? That roommate of yours would probably stab me with a salad fork the first chance she got.”

“Good point. At your place, we won’t be interrupted.”

Private seduction lessons with Phoebe.

He couldn’t have imagined a better fantasy if he’d tried. And he had a very active imagination.

* * *

“UM...” AMY HUANG, the apprentice chef, darted a nervous glance at Phoebe and then looked back at the crystallized mess that was supposed to have been caramel sauce.

Dammit. Earlier, the top of a limoncello sponge cake had collapsed, now this. Embarrassment prickled along Phoebe’s skin, and her fingers clenched around the handle of the pan. She was supposed to be teaching Amy, not demonstrating a showcase of what-not-to-dos.

“Guess everything they say about Mondays is true,” Phoebe said lightly, trying to contain the annoyance she felt over her mistakes. “Why don’t you take a quick break and I’ll clean up?”

Amy’s expression was dubious. “I don’t think James hired you to do dishes.”

“If you want to get technical, he didn’t hire me to ruin perfectly good caramel, either.”

At that, the apprentice chef laughed. “Well, I would appreciate a few minutes to call my boyfriend. He’s out of town celebrating his birthday with his brothers.”

“Go.” Phoebe waved her away, trying not to succumb to a moment of cynicism. Was Amy’s boyfriend missing her, or eyeing other prospects? Were his brothers the type of guys who would respect a commitment, or the type who would try to convince the birthday boy that what Amy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her?

Not all men were heartless liars, she reminded herself. Take Heath, for example. He might date dozens of women, but she couldn’t imagine him deceiving one. He made no secret that he liked to have a good time—but there was more to him than that. He was an ambitious worker and a devoted friend. She was still a little surprised he’d agreed to put his own love life on hiatus to help her.

Surprised and nervous.

She wasn’t sure what to expect when she had dinner with him tonight, which probably explained the atypical mistakes she was making. She’d been distracted since she got here. Who are you kidding? She’d been distracted since she’d hung up the phone with him yesterday. The way his low voice had rumbled “you are sexy” had wound its way through her, as irresistible as the aroma of apple-cinnamon cake in the oven.

“Hey, there.” James joined her at the industrial sink. Of Norwegian descent, the big blond man was a cross between a Viking and teddy bear. From the concerned look on his face, it was clear he’d heard about her mishaps. She hated to fail him after he’d campaigned so long to hire her.

Despite the many times they’d joked about him stealing her away from Piri, she’d never once thought she would have to take him up on his offer of a job. She’d believed she and Cam were a lasting team—personally and professionally. Wrong on both counts.

It would take a long time to establish the same kind of rhythm with this kitchen staff that she’d enjoyed at Piri, but she loved James’s upscale bar and his infectious enthusiasm. Besides, she needed this job. Her side business in wedding cake orders and other specialty items was growing steadily, but it was nowhere near a full-time income.

“You want to head out a little early tonight?” James offered.

“Trying to get rid of me before I burn the place down?”

“Hell, yes. You’re only supposed to resort to arson for insurance when the business isn’t turning a profit. We’re actually succeeding.”

“No surprise there,” she said fondly. “Good concept, good location, great management.” The tapas plates were wonderful, and now that Phoebe was on board, the dessert selection of tasty traditional choices, like cheesecake and peach cobbler, also featured more creative dishes inspired by sweet liqueurs and cocktails.

Throughout the week, the bar offered something for everyone—from open-mic nights to the engaging “dueling pianists,” including James’s longtime boyfriend, to last night’s wine tasting, which paired vintages with bite-size appetizers designed to highlight the notes. A newly engaged couple had come in to celebrate with friends and toast their happiness. Phoebe had rolled out a special cake for them and, after witnessing how in love they were, it had been a struggle not to cry in the crepe batter when she’d returned to the kitchen.

“Don’t beat yourself up for having an off night,” James advised. “Gwen and I shouldn’t have bullied you into seeing Cam at that birthday party. It must have been awful. If Steve and I ever—” He broke off, wincing. “I can’t even think about that.”

“Me, neither. You guys are perfect together.” Then again, what did she know? There’d been a time when she’d believed that about her and Cameron, too. The pain of getting dumped was two-tiered, like the coconut wedding cake she was baking this week. First, there was the obvious pain of rejection and loss. But beneath that was a nagging feeling of stupidity, the questioning why she hadn’t seen it coming. She was starting to second-guess her own judgment.

Any more pastry catastrophes tonight and she might start to second-guess her culinary skills, too.

She sighed. “You know what? I will leave a little bit early. I have plans later anyway.” At the thought of what those plans entailed, her face heated. Part of her still couldn’t believe she’d followed through on her impulse to ask Heath for his help. But the request had been over the phone, from a safe distance. What would it be like to actually face him tonight? Nothing embarrassed the man, so there was no telling how explicit his pointers might be.

No problem, you’ve had years of experience with Gwen’s outrageous bluntness. True, but Gwen didn’t have Heath’s green eyes, or a deep voice that was as addictive as hazelnut truffles. And Phoebe wasn’t even going to think about his mouth or the way he kissed, like he knew all a woman’s secrets.

James gave a low whistle under his breath. “Wow, these must be some very rowdy after-hours plans for you to look that guilty. I take it Gwen has schemed something to cheer you up?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to dwell on her roommate’s dire warnings. “Nothing like that. I’m just grabbing a late dinner with Heath.”

“Heath Jensen? Nice.” He bumped her shoulder with his own. “But I’m a little miffed you haven’t mentioned until now that something’s going on.”

An automatic protest sprang to her lips, but she stopped herself from assuring him that she and Heath were platonic buddies. After all, the plan was for people to think there was something between the two of them, right? “I ran into him at the party Saturday,” she said. “And our encounter took a...surprising turn. I didn’t say anything because I’m not sure what will happen yet.”

James’s pale blue eyes twinkled. “Well, go find out.”

* * *

AS THE ELEVATOR slowly made the climb to what Heath jokingly called his seventh-floor penthouse, Phoebe tried to ignore the mirrored doors. Even though she’d changed out of her kitchen uniform of double-breasted jacket, elastic-waisted dark pants and pin-striped baker’s cap, no one was going to mistake her for a femme fatale. Her face, devoid of makeup, was still flushed from hours in a hot kitchen, and her loose bun was trying to escape its confines via frizz. The black skirt with dark metallic polka dots was cute, although a conservative length that stopped just above her knees; the loose blouse she wore over a copper-colored tank top was mostly shapeless. And her flat scandals screamed sensible.

As the doors parted, panic flitted through her. A plan that had seemed almost reasonable yesterday morning suddenly seemed insane. How could anyone make her a seductress? Gwen was right. This is a huge mistake.

Embarrassment churning in her stomach, she almost turned to go. She could call Heath from her car and tell him something had come up—work, or a headache, or alien abduction. But aren’t you sick of always trying so hard to avoid mistakes?

She’d spent the better part of her adolescence feeling like she was a mistake. Her mother certainly hadn’t planned to get pregnant as a teenager. The woman’s constant dire warnings, intended to keep her daughter from repeating her bad choices, had left Phoebe terrified of doing anything wrong. Phoebe had wanted to be the perfect daughter, to atone for her existence. And hadn’t she tried to be the perfect girlfriend to Cam? That sure as hell hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Anger heated her skin, and she ripped the blouse that suddenly felt claustrophobic over her head, shoving it into her shoulder bag.