Jackie Braun - Falling for Her Rival

She could pull back and put on the brakes. No harm. No foul. Or she could plough full steam ahead.

Lara didn’t feel reckless when she chose the latter. Rather, she felt right.

“Your shirt. I’ve been wondering what you would look like without it.”

Deep laughter rumbled again. With his body still pressed against hers, she felt his mirth as much as she heard it. The sensation was oddly erotic, but what had the breath backing up in her lungs was his reply.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing. What do you say we both satisfy our curiosity?”

Dear Reader

I’m no gourmet chef, but I’m a pretty decent cook—especially when I’m not on a deadline for a book. My husband and kids will tell you the closer I get to turning in a manuscript, the more pizza and cereal they wind up eating for supper!

Even though my culinary skills may be mediocre, I love watching cooking programmes. I am especially addicted to competitions such as The Food Network’s Iron Chef and Chopped! So when I decided to write a book that featured a couple of talented chefs who have the hots for each other, I figured what better way to ratchet up the heat than to pit them against each other on a televised cooking contest?

Lara Durham and Finn Westbrook both have compelling reasons for wanting to win the show and the executive chef position at a New York landmark restaurant that goes with it. Those reasons become major obstacles, of course, when they start to fall in love.

Bon appétit!

Jackie Braun

Falling for

Her Rival

Jackie Braun

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JACKIE BRAUNis the author of more than two dozen romance novels. She is a three-times RITA ®Award finalist, a four-time National Readers’ Choice Awards finalist, the winner of a Rising Star Award in traditional romantic fiction and was nominated for Series Storyteller of the Year by RT Book Reviews in 2008. She lives in Michigan with her husband and two sons, and can be reached through her website at www.jackiebraun.com

Other Modern Tempted™ titles by Jackie Braun:

AFTER THE PARTY

This and other titles by Jackie Braun are available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

With much love to my husband and boys for their support.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

ONE

Gather ingredients

Lara Dunham moved the sprig of basil a fraction of an inch to the left on a sautéed chicken breast that sat atop a bed of risotto and asparagus tips. Afterward, she took a step back. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the food editor of Home Chef magazine, she eyed the table.

“I don’t know,” the other woman murmured. “It still doesn’t look right.”

Nor did it taste right, but Lara kept the thought to herself. She’d filched a nibble during the setup. It wasn’t merely a trick of the trade that had left her palate dissatisfied. Food used in photo shoots was often undercooked to help retain moisture. No, in this case, the rice needed more seasoning. In fact, it needed a lot more seasoning. But she bit her tongue because doctoring up the recipes wasn’t her call.

She did say, “The square plate isn’t working for me.”

Just as she’d suspected, it was giving off a decidedly Asian vibe that didn’t lend itself to the Italian-inspired dish.

The plate had been the editor’s suggestion; one Lara had taken out of expediency rather than agreement. She knew from past experience with the prickly older woman that it was easier and ultimately less time-consuming to show her that something didn’t work than to insist on something else up front.

Sure enough, the editor made a humming sound before agreeing. Lara held back a triumphant smile and turned to the college intern who was assisting her.

“Bring me the large round one with the wide rim. And let’s swap out the candles and napkin rings.” Again, they had been the older woman’s suggestion. “The silver is too formal.”

Forty-five minutes later, with the food carefully replated and the tablescape tweaked to represent Lara’s vision, the photographer got his shot. It would grace the October cover of the national publication and be seen by millions of people.

“Another fabulous shoot,” the editor gushed as the photographer gathered up his equipment and Lara prepared to leave the magazine’s offices. “I should know better than to give you suggestions. What you come up with always looks better. No one makes food look more appetizing than you do.”

Lara accepted the compliment with a nod. As a food stylist, that was her job and she was good at it. She was much sought after because of her attention to detail, a reputation that she’d earned over the course of nearly a decade.

Perhaps that was why it stung so badly that to her father, Lara remained a colossal disappointment.

Those who can, cook. Those who can’t, style food.

So sayeth the legendary restaurateur Clifton Chesterfield.

He’d paid her tuition to the top-rated culinary school in the country, after which he’d sent her abroad for two years to study cooking techniques in both Tuscany and the south of France. From the time Lara had been old enough to make a simple roux, his plan had been that she would follow in his footsteps and someday run the kitchen at the New York landmark that bore his name. The landmark where he’d spent practically every waking hour of Lara’s childhood.

Was it any wonder that she’d resented the restaurant? Was it any wonder that she’d resented him for choosing it over his family?

So, as a full-of-herself young twentysomething, she’d rebelled. And she’d done so spectacularly.

At thirty-three, Lara could look back and admit that she’d taken her revolt too far. She’d publicly dissed both her father and his beloved restaurant, and then married the only food critic in Manhattan who’d ever dared to give the Chesterfield a subpar rating.

Her marriage to Jeffrey Dunham had lasted only slightly longer than the rise on a first-year culinary student’s soufflé before she’d come to her senses. By then, however, the damage was done. Her father refused to speak to her.

Six years later, Lara was old enough and wise enough to admit that she’d cut off her nose to spite her face. Irony of ironies, she now wanted to hang up her stylist credentials and pursue a career as a chef. She also wanted her dad’s respect, if not his affection. She wanted to hear him say, “Well-done.”

But when she’d approached him a year earlier about a job, he’d broken his silence only long enough to refuse to hire her—not even to do prep work. And since he wouldn’t hire her, no credible kitchen in the city would either. Such was Clifton Chesterfield’s reach and reputation.

Well, finally, she had an opportunity to make her father see her as a serious chef, and Lara wasn’t about to blow it.

With the shoot wrapped, she stepped outside to catch a cab. Barring a traffic tie-up, she had just enough time to make it to Midtown before one o’clock. Of course, she wouldn’t have a chance to grab lunch, but since nerves had tied her stomach in knots, she wasn’t complaining.

Overhead, fat clouds the color of ripe eggplants were huddled together. Any moment, the sky was going to open up and it was going to pour, and she hadn’t brought an umbrella. She tried not to think of the weather as a bad omen, but she couldn’t deny its effect on her hair, which had a hard enough time holding a curl when there was no humidity. It was stick straight now, a glossy auburn curtain that fell even with her shoulders. Before raising her arm to hail a cab, she fussed with the fringe of bangs she already regretted getting at her last salon visit.