Mine: A Stepbrother Romance: (With bonus novel Bossy!) (11 page)

Maybe it’s unfair, but I hate him a little for it.

Chef Dominguez. Mr. Dobson. My island. My life. Is there anything I get to keep? I’m afraid to start poking around the house and find him sleeping in my old room.

“So, are you going to introduce me to your lovely lady friend?”

Hunter laughs. “Of course. Where are my manners? Chef, let me introduce you to the beauty that is gracing us with her presence this evening, the ravishing Miss Sarah Dreyer.” Hunter takes my left hand in his, and with his right at the small of my back, he propels me a step forward.

My name sounds fake and plastic coming out of his mouth. I hadn’t thought much beyond Hunter when I started this whole mess. Being introduced to a man I used to know feels somehow even more dishonest.

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you, Mr—” I catch myself before I blurt out his name. No one’s told me yet. My hand trembles slightly as he takes it in his calloused palm.

He smiles. “Just call me Chef.” When he gets a better look at me, he pauses, his bushy eyebrows narrowing and his forehead furrowing for a moment.

Crap, he’s recognized me.

He glances quickly between us a couple of times, then seems to decide and takes my hand in his. Raising it to his lips, he kisses it briefly, then beams at me. “Welcome to my humble restaurant, Señorita Dreyer. Please, call me Chef.” He’s always been like that. I’m not sure anyone knows his real first name. He might even have forgotten it.

Just then, his wife emerges from the kitchen, with a smile every bit as welcoming as his. At least until she turns to him and says sharply, “Chef, let our poor customers in. I’m sure they’re not interested in standing in the doorway all day.”

Does she call him Chef in the bedroom too? I giggle at the thought.

“Yes, Maria.” He laughs and steps aside, guiding us with a slight bow and a sweep of his arm. “Please, enter.” He glances over his shoulder and then pretend-whispers to me, “And don’t be alarmed at my wife’s tone. She is really quite sweet.”

Maria rolls her eyes dramatically and disappears back into the kitchen. “Tonto,” slips out before the door slides shut. It’s the most loving way I’ve ever heard anyone call someone an idiot.

I smile. They’ve always been like that. Him boisterous and excited, her quiet and warm, but with a bite. A perfect match. I used to wish I had parents like them. First when my father was gone so much and Mom would cry. Then when Mom and Hunter’s dad were together. Happy for a short while, then miserable for so long. Maybe some day I’ll find someone like that, but I’m not holding my breath. Maria puts more love into her gentle teasing than Mom put into her entire marriage.

I look around. The cozy dining area only has room for a few tables, and tonight we are the only ones here. It’s nearly as I remember it, but well-polished and bright where it had seemed dull and worn. Much like the estate. Hunter not only has my life, he has an upgraded version.

The lucky bastard leans in close. “It’s just us tonight. I made sure of it.”

He means the restaurant, I’m sure, but the implication of privacy makes me think of other—more intimate—things than dinner.

Chef seats us himself, pulling out my chair before Hunter gets the chance. Our cameraman gets a table next to us, where he can sit and be a good little stalker, watching us through his lens.

Nothing like a private, romantic dinner in front of a video camera. I sigh.

The dinner menu arranged before we even sit down, Chef goes off to perform the final steps of his culinary magic. Hunter leans forward over the table. “I’m getting worried I’m going to lose you to Chef. He might be getting older, but he’s smooth.”

My lip quirks up in a smile as I imagine Maria beating him over the head with a pan. “A man who knows his way around a kitchen is quite a catch, but I think I’m safe. Although...” I trail off, giving Hunter an assessing look. “Now that you mention it, if not food, then what do you bring to the table?”

Aside from money, good looks and over six feet of gorgeous muscle.

Hunter smirks. “I’m an amazing kisser.”

“Yet to be proven,” I point out, though if my teenage memory can be believed, he’s absolutely right. “Still, I think I need more than nice lips and a sexy body to sweep me off my feet.”

“Sexy body? I didn’t mention that, but good to know you’re thinking about it. I think I already proved I can sweep you off your feet just fine, though.”

Alright, so I giggle. A little. “Dork.”

His eyes go theatrically huge, and he leans in even closer. “Do you know what a dork actually is?”

It’s going to be something horrible and embarrassing, but I shake my head anyway.

He crooks his finger, and I put my ear next to his mouth. “A whale dick!”

I sit back, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I know ‘hung like a horse’ is more standard, but I’ll take ‘hung like a whale’, though I’m not sure how you’d know.” He grins. “Yet.”

“No way, I don’t believe you.”

“You want me to show you? Right here? That hardly seems appropriate!” Hunter says in mock horror.

Just as I open my mouth to tell him what he can shove in his blowhole, Chef comes out carrying two plates.

Piled high with fresh seafood, the large serving tray in Chef’s hands exudes an aroma that makes my mouth water. Hunter’s antics are easy to put up with when they mean access to wonderful cooking that drags me right back to my childhood.

Everything smells heavenly, and looks amazing. Prawns, scallops, crab and lobster, they all glisten in a buttery sauce that looks as delicious as it probably is bad for me.

I give Chef a grateful smile. “This looks so, so good.”

He bends his shoulders in a quick bow, and smiles broadly. “Gracias.” Maria appears behind him with wine.

I panic, covering the top of my glass. Alcohol has already done more than enough damage in my life. “Just water, please.”

She looks at me, and then to Hunter. He studies me for a moment. “The same, Maria. Sparkling if you have it.”

Maria nods, coming back momentarily with glasses full of fizzy water and lemon wedges.

Hunter motions to get her attention, and whispers something I can’t make out. She smiles, and before long, the cameraman has his own plate full of food, and our bottle of wine.

Stabbing a scallop with my fork, I put it in my mouth, the tender meat melting over my tongue with rich, buttery flavor. God, I haven’t had food like this in... in I don’t even remember how long.

Something strokes softly along my calf. Looking up at Hunter, I find him chewing a morsel of his own, but his eyes sparkle, and his lips are curled up at the corners in a teasing smile.

I swallow before speaking. “If I leap to my feet and dump my water all over you, do you think that would make good TV? I think it might, but I wanted your opinion before I wasted my drink.”

He laughs, but his foot continues to caress my leg. “Oh, God no. I think it’d make miserable TV. I think you should slide under the table. The viewers would love that.”

“Hmmm.” I swirl my fingertip along the rim of the water glass. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely. Much watch TV.” Hunter wiggles his eyebrows.

“Well...” I drag out the moment, putting my napkin on the table. Just when I see a flicker of uncertainty cross his face, I put my napkin back in my lap. “Too bad the film has stopped rolling.”

Hunter looks over at our cameraman, who is chowing down like he hasn’t eaten for a week, the camera forgotten on the table. “Shit.”

Slipping a hand down under the tablecloth, I find his foot. I stroke it gently, trailing my fingers over its contours.

He grins.

As I pass over the top of his foot, I pinch as hard as I can.

“Ow! Fuck!” The foot disappears quickly.

“Good thing we’re on cable.” I drag a piece of crab through the sauce, popping it into my mouth.

Hunter settles back into his chair, letting me get the last word for once. “Not a big drinker?” he asks, casually.

Talk about an uncomfortable change of topic. “No, not really. I don’t mind if you do—so long as someone else is flying us back—but I just... I’ve never seen anything good that it makes better. Not compared to how many bad things it makes worse. Does that make sense?”

I expect him to turn it into a big conversation, like most of my dates have. Making me feel guilty for making
them
feel guilty if they want to order a beer. I honestly don’t care, but not everyone believes me. Instead, he just nods thoughtfully, and lets it drop. Maybe living those few years with my mother made him more understanding than most.

We finish, and the empty plates are whisked away.

The next dish is a wonderfully tart and peppery flying fish fillet that melts in my mouth. Wonder how much it would cost to hire Chef to work at the estate. Now that would be magical. Of course without Hunter’s money, I couldn’t afford to even keep it going as it is now, let alone hire Chef.

It suddenly occurs to me that if I get my wish, people might lose their jobs. That was never my intention.

The dinner continues, course for course, and each comes out paired with a non-alcoholic concoction. Some fruity, some dry and fizzy, everything delicious. To our side, the cameraman is looking less and less focused as he goes through the booze intended for us.

We’re eating the most tender steak I’ve tasted in my life, when Hunter leans forward. “I’m glad it was you. That won, I mean.” He’s looking at me with a raw longing that fills me with warmth.

I duck my head, trying to hide my flush. “Me too.”

“Plane ride and everything?”

“I’m still more of a boat fan, but yeah.”

He chuckles. “This show is a joke.”

“Then why do it?” I’d been asked why I was participating a dozen times, but I’m not sure I’d ever heard Hunter asked why he would go along with such a crazy idea. It’s not like he needs the money or the publicity.

“Short answer? My father. Long answer? My fucking father.” He sighs, taking his napkin out of his lap and leaning back. “He’s spent his whole life looking for the jackpot. But even when he had it, he was too blind to see it.” Hunter’s blue eyes cut straight through me.

He isn’t talking to me like a stranger. He’s talking to me like he
knows
.

Unease makes the rich dinner sit heavily in my stomach. “So how does the show fit into that?”

“For twenty-five years, I depended on him, which was a fucking joke because he’s about as dependable as a hurricane. You know it’s going to hurt you, you just don’t know exactly when or how bad. I don’t even think he means it. It’s just who he is. Always searching, never happy.”

A lot like my mother. I nod in understanding.

Hunter finishes off the last of his mocktail. “When I gained control of my trust money, everything changed. That’s when I moved back here for good, but without the convenient cash flow...”

“He needs you.”

Pointing his finger to his nose, Hunter nods. “He’s a selfish bastard, but he’s my father. His network needs a hit, and doing the show here with me saves a shitload of cash. Stupid, right? He’s using me and I know it.”

“No. Your heart’s in the right place. You should never feel bad for helping people who need it.” I reach over and take his hand. We’re more alike than he’ll ever know.

Things are shifting between us. I’m afraid that if I don’t steel my heart, I’ll never be able to do what needs to be done. I can’t afford to empathize with Hunter. If he loses the island, he might be annoyed, but he can just buy a new one. For me, this is my only chance.

I need to find the deed and get myself kicked off the island. Soon, before I totally fall for Hunter all over again.

But not tonight. I’m not quite ready for the dream to end.

“It’s getting awfully late,” I point out.

He leans back, arms behind his head. “Yeah, we’re supposed to head back in another hour or so.”

“Is that safe? It’s so dark, and you’ve been drinking...”

Hunter looks at me, confused. “No, I haven’t.”

Oh, that’s right. “Well, but if you had been...”

He arches an eyebrow.

Come on, work with me.
“Wouldn’t it be a shame if we were
stuck here
?”

Comprehension raises his brows. “Ah! Yes, terrible shame. We could always get a room somewhere.”

“Two rooms.” Keep the cart behind the horse, buddy.

“On such short notice? I’d ask for a big bed.”

“Do that. In
both
rooms.”

“And maybe a hot tub.”

“Sure, in
my
room.”

A snore from the other table stops our argument in its tracks. The cameraman is fast asleep, head resting on his arm. Hunter and I look at each other and burst out laughing.

Hunter waves Chef over. “Make sure he ends up somewhere safe to sleep it off, okay? Put it on my tab.”

“Si, si. No hay problema.” He waves it away like the request is nothing. “Go on. I remember love.”

“We’re not in love.”

It’s obvious from Chef’s expression he doesn’t buy it. “Of course. My mistake.”

“Come on. Let’s go.” Hunter stands up and holds out his hand.

I hesitate.

He looks down at me, hair tousled and mischief written across his face in giant capital letters.

Throwing caution to the wind, I grab his hand. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

W
e duck out of the restaurant and emerge laughing into a small parking lot. The heavy scent of flowers fills the night air, more intoxicating than wine. In the distance, San Juan lights up the night sky.

“What’re we going to do?” she asks. “The show people didn’t leave a car here or anything, did they?”

“Nope.” I have no plan at all, and it feels great.

Liz looks skeptical. “So we’re stranded.”

A car approaches, its brights on high. I step out into the road and wave my hands, trying to flag it down. Luckily they stop.

I grin at Liz. “Nope.”

It’s an old Chevy, driven by a sunbaked man with a bushy gray mustache and a fedora that sits crooked on his mop of straw-like white hair. He rolls down the window with a hand crank and looks at me curiously. “Si?”