Tempting Target. Addison Fox
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and the very fact she’d nearly missed the meeting Violet had scheduled for them with one of their October brides had left her already-raw nerves flustered and frayed.
“What are we going to serve Amanda and Quinn?”
“I’ve got it, Vi.” Lilah stomped around the kitchen, dragging a glass serving dish from one of the cabinets. She had the Bavarian cream and she had a tray of the thick pastries. All she needed to do was add the rich mixture and she’d have cream puffs.
“Can I help you?”
Lilah eyed Violet over her shoulder. “Touch my food and die.”
Violet’s gaze never wavered, but she finally gave one hard nod. “You sure you’re up to this today? Gabby’s coming over to cover off the catering portion, and Cassidy and I can run interference for the items Elegance and Lace is responsible for. I can come back and get the cream puffs in a few minutes.”
“Get out, Vi.”
“Lilah—”
“Out.”
Violet stalked off on the stilts she habitually wore, their heavy clicking only adding to the tension headache throbbing in her temples.
She’d be ready. She’d be fine. And she’d be brilliant, to boot.
Oh hell.
Lilah glanced down at her chest and saw the evidence that she was anything but fine. Her chef’s coat had a large smear of cream and eggs running down dead center, both of which had crusted over into an unappealing yellow roughly the color of baby vomit.
“Damn it.”
Powering through the cream puffs—she had a little over a dozen plated in moments—she then raced for the small collection of clothes she kept in her office alcove for just this reason. Her anger at Violet’s prim and annoying tone still simmered as she stomped into her office. Mad with self-righteous anger, Lilah shrugged off her unbuttoned coat and flung it on the ground as she bent over, digging through the bottom drawer of her desk.
Her hand closed around a pale pink sweater set and she grabbed the cashmere like a lifeline. Who cared if it was a billion degrees outside? Violet had the AC cranked up to roughly match the air in the frozen tundra anyway.
Fingers tight on the material, she had the sweater up and out of the drawer and was already spinning around when she came face-to-face with Reed Graystone.
As she stood, unmoving, in her pale pink bra.
* * *
She’d already given him the satisfaction of a scream that very morning and she’d be damned if she was going to do it again. But neither could she stop the jackrabbit hammer of her heart in her chest as Reed stood stock-still, those delicious gray eyes wide in his face.
“You—” he managed to get out before he took a few determined steps away from her. “You should probably change.”
Despite the awkward moment, she couldn’t quite shake the satisfaction that bloomed in her chest at his appreciative gaze. Nor could she fully shake the tight ball of heat that had taken up residence in her stomach. He was an attractive man, and at the moment, she had his full attention.
Her gaze dipped lower, pleased to see she appeared to have all of his attention.
Ignoring the small thrill that shot through her, Lilah shut the door, even if it was an unnecessary formality. He’d already turned his back and had moved into the main part of the kitchen. She slipped into the sweater set, adding a quick fluff to her hair before she opened the door once more.
And felt her breath catch as she took in the long, lean lines of him.
Damn, but the man really was a vision. Trim waist, long legs and a rather impressive set of shoulders. He wasn’t skinny, but she suspected he’d leaned that way in school. No longer. Mother Nature, puberty and what she suspected was a fair amount of gym time to keep up with his job had sculpted him into a rather impressively built man.
Shaking off the persistent attraction that stuck to her like molasses, she pushed her way into the kitchen. “Twice in one day, Detective. To what do I owe the honor?”
“I told Cassidy I was coming back this afternoon. Didn’t she mention it?”
Cassidy had mentioned it, but admitting that—or the fact that she’d watched the door for the past three hours—wasn’t on her agenda. “So here you are. And I’ve got a meeting. We’re trying hard to remember we actually do run a business around here.”
“Then go to it. I can wait.”
“You don’t have anything better to do?”
“I have several calls to make. I can do them here as easy as I can at the precinct. Mind if I use your office?”
She gestured toward the small alcove off the kitchen. “Be my guest.”
Lilah passed him, the heat of that large body warming her through the already-oppressive cashmere. Why had she selected the sweater set again?
Ignoring the discomfort and chalking it up to her penance for nearly missing the meeting, Lilah grabbed her plate of cream puffs. In her haste, she’d plated everything she had, which amounted to fourteen puffs.
With a quick glance toward the clock, she snagged a small plate from the cabinets and removed two of the pastries. She rearranged the gaps on the serving plate—Violet would never know—and handed Reed the desserts. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”
* * *
Reed stared at the empty dessert plate and marveled at the pastries he’d just done his level best not to shovel into his mouth. The cream puffs had to be the best thing he’d ever tasted and he could have sworn he heard his blood humming on a satisfied sugar high as he methodically polished off both desserts.
Damn, but the woman could cook. Bake. Create. What exactly was he supposed to call the food he just ate?
He was an eater and he came from a family of foodies. One of his earliest memories after his mother married Tripp was the three of them out on a Saturday night for a steak dinner at one of Dallas’s finest restaurants the weekend before school started. He’d been wide-eyed and scared of making a mistake—both at the restaurant and at school—but Tripp had kept a bright smile on his face as he’d walked him through the various cuts of meat on the menu.
That night was one of the first times he’d recognized his stepfather wasn’t all bad. The man had been trying in his own way, and the gentle coaching that was never overbearing had gone a long way toward cementing their budding relationship.
That evening had also set him on a path as a food lover. And in a town full of some of the world’s best restaurants, he had a ready supply of offerings at his disposal.
Which was why, Reed realized, he’d been to both of Steven DeWinter’s restaurants in Dallas as well as the man’s properties in Las Vegas and Chicago. He pulled out his phone and did a quick search on the restaurateur, curious to see if the press-ready bio matched his memory. As he tapped in the search, his mind filled with the big man in the chef’s coat. Attractive and fit, DeWinter didn’t look like someone who spent his day around food.
In fact, come to think of it, DeWinter had more the build of a gym rat than a foodie.
Reed clicked into the bio, the man’s impressive list of credits, including a stint as the chef for several major events in the previous Hollywood awards season, running the length of the screen. Reed kept scrolling, curious to see any references to a personal life, only to find nothing.
Shifting, he opened a standard search app and did a deeper dive into the man’s background and that was where he found it. A small reference to having been married to a Lilah DeWinter for just shy of two years.
Which, from what he’d pieced together, made sense and matched the timeline Cassidy had provided.
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