Leandra Logan - Family - The Secret Ingredient

Looking back, it seemed highly unlikely that a man fresh out of college would have fallen for a whimsical schoolgirl of seventeen. Being the sister of Kyle’s college buddy hadn’t helped enhance her womanly image any, either. The guys had shared an apartment near the University of Minnesota campus for four years, but had spent many hours at her parents’ suburban Minneapolis home, witnessing her in the throes of teenage angst. She should have known better, no matter how rich her fantasy life.

Common sense suggested a cool head here. Offering proof that she had truly come of age would perhaps finally give her closure on the trouncing she took at his expense.

Still, hope nudged her as she watched his large hands lever the knife through the hill of chopped onion. His ring finger was bare. Could he and Libby have parted ways?

No one had expected the union with Libby Anderson to happen, much less last. A slender, quiet, intense girl, Libby seemed all wrong for the jovial Kyle from the start. Sure, they were dating casually, and she and Kyle worked at her grandparents’ downtown bar and grill, Amelia’s Bistro, together. But even young Grace was insightful enough to know that the elder Andersons, Andy and Amelia, were working hard to protect their ward Libby from Kyle and all the other males who frequented the college hangout.

Their romance seemed so far off the radar screen that when Kyle had confided to Michael that he intended a surprise proposal, eavesdropper Grace had imagined herself the bride-to-be. She’d played the biggest kind of fool, anticipating a tap at her bedroom window that night, thanking her lucky stars they lived in a one-level home that made elopement ever so convenient.

Michael had been the one to find her at dawn, slumped over in the window seat clutching a handkerchief that would count as something old and something blue. Grace had confided all to him between choked tears, and he had behaved like the best kind of big brother, taking the crisis seriously, rather than making a scene over her incredible naïveté.

It was a mistake they never spoke of again. Kyle and Libby had abruptly moved to Chicago shortly thereafter. Kyle’s absence helped buffer the hurt, allowed Grace to move on.

She could barely believe he was back, in her space, tantalizing her in the same old way. But she couldn’t allow herself to be so easily lured back into his web. He might still be very married for starters. Maybe he didn’t wear his wedding ring when he cooked.

“So, Kyle,” she said on a deep breath, “surely you didn’t fly in just for my birthday. You and Libby must be here for another occasion…” It was an awkward play for information, but he didn’t look offended, just a bit sober.

“Libby’s gone,” he said simply. Trying to lift a smile again, he added. “As for me, I’m back in the Twin Cities for good. Yep. Back to stay. Living in the moment. And at this moment, I’m making my special chili just for you.”

If this wasn’t a dream, it oughta be, she decided. Trying not to allow her weak knees to wobble noticeably, Grace advanced on the narrow alleyway that held her appliances and limited counter space. Sure enough, there was a shiny steel kettle on a front burner, holding a bubbly reddish concoction. Like the onion, the kettle and its contents were new.

“Look good?”

She sniffed appreciatively. “You’ve managed to overpower any traces of last night’s pizza. Though it does seem a little early for lunch. Barely ten.”

“It’s all in the planning. You’ll see.”

“But when?”

His controlled expression softened. “Still the demanding princess I see. But Michael wouldn’t want me giving everything away.”

No, he wouldn’t. One thing she could be certain of, however, was that her brother was trying once more to alter her life somehow. As far as Michael was concerned, she lived in a state of chaos, from her in-house clothing design business cluttering every room, to her lack of domestic skills, to her varied tastes in men.

She mulled the minor facts she had. Kyle was a fantastic chef who had, on occasion, worked for pay preparing meals for her folks’ lavish parties. He earned cash for college in any number of cooking related jobs. He’d done a bit of everything at Amelia’s Bistro, from slapping together sandwiches to bartending.

Still, this catered affair was, today of all days, strange and unnecessary. Michael knew full well their parents had a formal dinner party planned at the family’s Lake Minnetonka home tonight.

“I don’t think I’d be stepping on Mike’s toes by telling you your kitchen here is a bit of a disgrace,” Kyle complained in mock sternness. “Barely enough food to keep a mouse alive. Cheap, mismatched utensils. Outdated stoneware dishes and jelly jar glasses. You have money flowing from your ears. I just don’t get it.”

Grace laughed in the face of reality. “I am after a more homey feel. When we were kids, we were scared to death of breaking something precious. Nothing in this kitchen is precious.”

“You do have wonderful appliances, though.” He lifted up the handle of the paddle shaped board and carried it to the stove, using the knife’s shiny blade to scrape the onion bits into the kettle. He then hovered over the brew with a wooden spoon, adjusting the burner’s flame. “These gas stoves are far superior to electric ones.”

“Really? Why?” Grace sidled up to him, placing red manicured fingertips on his arms.

“A true flame makes for quick and even heat.”

No lie. She closed her eyes, carrying herself off to an erotic place. The red hot pepper steam was seeping into her pores, making her burn everywhere. Suddenly his broad shoulders seemed the full breadth of the tight alley in which they stood. Time and space were squeezed short.

It took a lot of nerve to raise her gaze to his with cool smoothness. To keep her hand on his arm even as he glanced at it with some surprise. But Grace managed. What she lacked in culinary skills, she made up for in nerve.

A thread of sexual tension pulled tight between them. She could almost feel him wince from the imaginary tug.

“Care to join me for a taste?” he asked flirtatiously.

“All right.”

He rooted through the cutlery drawer with a low unexpected whistle, pulling out a tablespoon. He held the curved scoop end flush against her nose, as a magician might doing a spoon trick. “You realize you don’t even have eight full place settings?”

“I do so have them,” she spouted, swatting the arm she’d just caressed.

“Not a matched set,” he persisted.

“See if I care.”

“A challenge I just may accept.” Cupping one hand on her chin, he used the other to dip the spoon into the chili, guide it to her mouth.

“Blow.”

“Huh?”

“Gently,” he encouraged. “On the chili. Don’t want to burn your tongue.”

Trembling with awareness, she allowed him to guide the spoon between her lips. The chili proved thick and satisfying, though a bit spicier than she was accustomed to. A trace line of perspiration quickly formed on her brow.

So much for playing it cool.

He’d set the spoon on the stove top, in no hurry to move his face or hand away from her. “This is a lot of fun,” he murmured, “tormenting you all over again.”

“You and Michael never did play fair with me,” she complained. “The endless teasing about my hair, my clothes…”

“You make us sound awful.”

“Precisely!”

He massaged her chin with his roughened palm. “Well, shouldn’t hurt to give you a hint. In a way, I’m Michael’s birthday present to you.”

His tone was unmistakably provocative. If he thought she was still harmless fun, though, he was in for a big surprise himself. She touched his collarbone, skimming a flame tipped fingernail along his throat. Kissing Kyle full on the mouth, without the old excuse of mistletoe was growing just too tempting. “Well, happy birthday to me,” she said huskily. Moving her hand to his neck and she began to pull him down. Their lips brushed in a featherlight fencing.