For the Love of Cake (11 page)

“I suppose.”

“Then let’s go beyond the physical. If I were looking for a relationship, I’d seek out the same qualities in both genders: strength, loyalty, sense of humor, beauty, and so on. But in your world, if I find that in a guy instead of a girl, I’m a traitor.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Maya huffed. “You didn’t have to. Enough lesbians before you already have.”

“Look. It’s just a tough thing to swallow. It’s bad enough to lose a woman to another woman. But to a man?”

“Love shouldn’t be a competition. And being bisexual doesn’t make me less reliable or more promiscuous. If I’m in a relationship, I’m loyal—I’m committed.”

“When was the last time you were in one?”

“It’s been awhile.”

“Trouble getting dates?” Shannon tried to lighten the mood, partly to avoid admitting Maya’s logic made sense and partly to keep from imagining the kind of person Maya might be attracted to. She figured she’d have her pick of any one of the gorgeous young men or women who had shared magazine pages with her over the years.

“Something like that.” Maya tossed her own phrase back at her sarcastically.

“Come on. I don’t imagine you have to work too hard at it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look at you. You’re gorgeous and interesting and charismatic.”

“Don’t forget famous.” Now her sarcasm took on a hard edge.

“I didn’t forget. Give me a break. I was trying to pay you a compliment.”

“Maybe you could tell me just how hard I have to work at it.” Maya advanced on her swiftly.

“That’s not a good idea.” When Shannon pressed her hand to the center of her chest, stopping her, she felt the warmth of Maya’s skin through her T-shirt. Her splayed fingertips rested on the edge of Maya’s sports bra under her shirt. It wouldn’t take much to curl her fingertips into that fabric and pull her closer still.

“There’s no one else around.”

“That’s not the point.”

Maya smiled, a slow, almost predatory pull of her beautiful lips. “It’s too late to play hard to get. I’ve seen you looking at me. And I want very much to kiss you right now. What point could be more important than that?”

Shannon laughed, trying to diffuse the arousal that threatened to cloud her judgment and somehow kept her from looking away from Maya’s lips. God, she wanted that kiss. She closed her eyes briefly and reminded herself she didn’t have the luxury of giving in to such base sensations. And Maya’s insistence that nothing else mattered only highlighted the differences between them. “You’re so young.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You said yourself that I needed to focus on the show. That’s what I intend to do. I should go. I don’t think we’re supposed to socialize outside of taping, anyway.”

Maya shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with both Shannon’s abrupt subject change and their possible violation of the rules.

Shannon let her hand fall away, immediately missing the contact. “Of the two of us, you’re obviously more serious about being in the gym than I am. So I’m leaving.”

“The camera adds ten pounds.” Maya’s voice didn’t carry the teasing tone it had earlier. She sounded serious.

Shannon wanted to say that she’d seen her on television and she looked gorgeous, that no extra pound, or ten, could change that. Not to mention, she was even more stunning in person. Instead, she said, “I guess I’ll head back and try to go to sleep.” She backed toward the door.

“You should. You have an early morning tomorrow.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. We don’t have to be there until the afternoon.”

“No challenge judging?”

Maya shrugged. “We don’t know much more than you do.”

“Damn.”

“Why? Were you scheming to extract details of the show from me?” Amusement colored Maya’s voice, but the already present spark of heat flared brighter.

“And if I were?” She took another step back, as if she could retreat from the answering flame in her own body. But Maya moved forward, keeping near her.

“I would be interested in your methods.”

“Chef Vaughn,” she whispered, surprised she wasn’t trembling with the effort of holding back.

“If you’re going to look at me like that, you’d better call me Maya.”

Standing close in the quiet of the gym, Shannon no longer saw the put-on bravado and charisma that Maya displayed around the set. Instead, now, her eyes were full of sincerity and emotion.

Maya held her gaze and pulled in a deep breath, caution infiltrating her expression as if she had to will it there. “You should go.”

Shannon nodded slowly and leaned back into the push bar on the door. She made her way to her room with Maya’s sexy face still floating in her head. So much for going to sleep. Her mind and body were racing much too fast to settle down now.

*

Maya picked up a small ceramic bell with the words M
USIC
C
ITY
written in fancy script around it. She shook it gently, disappointed in its dull tenor. She returned it to the shelf and meandered through the rest of the store. She’d traveled a lot in the last seven years and had a strange obsession with tacky souvenir shops. She rarely made a purchase, but she loved walking among the shelves lined with coffee mugs, T-shirts, flyswatters, figurines of animals wearing clothes and doing people-things, and those weird tiny spoons. The staples in these shops didn’t change, only the names and slogans imprinted on them. Interspersed among them were regional items, as well. In the South, she found a lot of barbeque sauce and various meat rubs, items featuring the word “redneck,” and, so far in Nashville, stuff with guitars, boots, and cowboy hats on it.

She pushed through the shop door onto the street, thinking that the tinkling bell hanging from the door sounded better than the ones inside. She’d spent her morning exploring the several blocks that Nashvillians called “downtown.” Wandering more than exploring, she kept getting distracted by thoughts of her encounter with Shannon the night before. She would suddenly realize she’d covered two blocks and not seen a damn thing. So she stopped and surveyed the fronts of the buildings behind her to see if she’d missed anything good.

Knowing she didn’t have to get up early today, and having already planned this outing, she’d hit the fitness room late last night, confident she’d have the place to herself. Thrilled to find it empty, she’d plugged in her earbuds and jumped on the treadmill, intent on pushing her endurance. She didn’t really like to run. She just needed to stay in shape—to be camera ready. Exercise bored her, and running seemed the fastest means to the end—appearance, yes, but also the strength and energy boost that came with being fit. Not a big fan of sweating in public, she didn’t run outside, only on a treadmill—preferably in private. The pictures of celebrities in sunglasses trotting down the road with their hair plastered to their heads and sweat rings on their designer workout clothes were not flattering.

So last night when she’d seen movement out of the corner of her eye, she’d hoped it wasn’t a photographer or some well-meaning fan. Apparently locals were accustomed to seeing their country stars around town, so they took celebrity sightings mostly in stride. The few times she’d been recognized had been pretty low-key. But last night, she’d just wanted to run off her excitement over her team’s win, plus that sampling of spinach dip she’d had at dinner, without being bothered.

When she’d looked over and saw Shannon’s face through the door, she’d nearly stumbled off the machine, somehow managing to get it stopped before thoroughly embarrassing herself. She’d never thought she could find someone in pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt so damn attractive, and she’d seen enough people sporting the outfit in Walmart to have tested the theory. But on Shannon, with her just-out-of-bed tousled hair and her face free of makeup, the look was downright sexy. Good God, the woman was wearing Crocs.

She hadn’t meant to flirt with her, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d seen the way Shannon looked at her from the first day of competition. Shannon was a fan and obviously a lesbian. So, Maya told herself, flirting with her could be just the result of a habitual response. Sure. It was a purely physical reaction.

She’d honestly tried to make herself stop, but then Shannon had gazed at her like she wanted to push her against the wall and do naughty things to her. Could she really be responsible for her own actions at that point? Who could blame her for blurting out her desire to kiss her? She hadn’t imagined the answering look of interest, but, in the moment, Shannon apparently possessed more self-control than she did. She did take pleasure, though, in the rough edge of desire in Shannon’s voice as she’d shut her down. She should be thanking Shannon for her common sense instead of wishing she’d capitalized on the hint of weakness she’d detected in her eyes.

She couldn’t get involved with a contestant. Not because she didn’t think she could be objective, she was certain she could, but Hugh would rupture something if he found out. Besides, Shannon didn’t seem like the casual-fling type of woman, and pursuing anything more while trying to hide from television cameras would be dangerous. Maya wasn’t interested in that kind of drama. She remained purposely vague with the media regarding her relationships, guarding them like her last precious secret. She didn’t know Shannon well enough to trust her to do the same, let alone any of the many other people running around the set of the show at any given time.

Immediately following her own stint on the show, she’d soaked up the popularity, dating often, both men and women. She’d even taken a couple of shots at actual relationships. But when work, her travel, or jealousy got in the way, things ended, sometimes badly and with her reputation trashed in the media. Over the years, she’d gradually stopped trying so hard, and she walked away more easily. Since last year—since the baby—she hadn’t seen anyone more than once and, regardless of what the reporters thought, she hadn’t slept with anyone. She wouldn’t put herself in that situation again.

No, she needed to stick to the plan—focus on the show, ignore any hint of attraction, and get back home to New York with her reputation intact. The vow to do just that had barely passed through her mind when a visual reminder of Shannon hit her.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at the sign for Drake’s Desserts. She debated whether going inside could be considered unethical in any way. She was drawn to the door by curiosity about the quaint bakery where Shannon had worked. If she didn’t reveal her identity, maybe a quick step inside would be okay.

When she opened the door, a subtle chime announced her presence, and a woman called from the back that she’d be right out. Maya drew in the aromas so familiar to any pastry chef and automatically cataloged them: rich chocolate, coffee, vanilla, something with apple—a pie perhaps—and the sharp, clean scent of lemon.

No matter how much time she spent in television studios, nothing felt more like coming home than walking into a bakery. And this particular shop appealed to her. Sky-blue walls lent an airy feel to what could have been a confined space. The stainless-steel counter bisecting the room doubled as a display case laden with cookies, cupcakes, petit-fours, and other essentials. A chalkboard on the wall behind the counter listed today’s specials, which apparently were also the dessert line-up for the restaurant next door. Conveniently, if Maya was interested in lunch as well, a stack of menus for Drake’s rested in a stand next to the register.

“Sorry, my assistant isn’t here yet,” a woman said as she rushed in from the back with her head down. “What can I get for you?”

Maya had been so busy admiring the shop, she hadn’t even thought about placing an order. Since it would be rude not to, she said, “What’s your best dessert today?”

“Definitely, the lemon cake.” The woman looked up as she spoke, and her last word came out with a squeak. Recognition sparked in her beautiful dark eyes, but she cleared her throat and rushed on, “It travels well, too—um—if you’re not going to eat it right away.”

Maya smiled. “Great. I’ll try it. And a couple of your chocolate-chip cookies.”

The shopkeeper nodded and began gathering up the order. Maya watched openly, taking a bit of pleasure in catching the curious glances the woman tried to steal. The flush of color that crept up her neck somehow made her already attractive features even more appealing. With her olive skin, slightly exotic bone structure, and trim figure, she was just the type of woman Maya would normally chase. But knowing she was Shannon’s boss complicated the situation. And the flash of the ring on her left hand as she worked took the idea completely off the table.

Given that Maya had left the hotel that morning in an olive, military-style jacket to ward off the slight chill in the air and a knit cap that covered her hair, leaving only the fringe of her bangs to lie against her forehead, she had to give the woman credit for recognizing her. Had she not pulled off her over-sized aviators when she entered the shop, maybe she wouldn’t have.

When she’d finished, she set the order on the counter and met Maya’s eyes. “On the house.”

“That’s not necessary.” Maya reached for her wallet.

“I insist. It’s not every day I get a legendary pastry chef in here.”

“Legendary is a stretch.” A tiny hint of flirtation crept into Maya’s voice. Old habits and all.

“Well, extremely talented at the very least.” This woman wasn’t flirting back. Her tone was friendly but strictly business.

“It seems I’ll be a better judge of
your
talent than you of mine.” She pointed at the box between them, this time making sure that she sounded warm but not too overt. “You’ve never tasted anything I’ve made.”

“You may have a point. Perhaps my hero-worship is misplaced.”

“Hero-worship?” Maya laughed with her, raising her hands, palms out. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Jori Diamantina.” She extended her hand.

“Maya Vaughn.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jori blushed again and Maya wished she could read her thoughts. “I don’t suppose you could tell me how she’s doing.”