The Perfect Ingredient (Dare Valley) (6 page)

When he poured Rhett a glass of Pappy Van Winkle, his friend laughed as he threw back the first shot. “Damn, if I don’t love the name of this bourbon. Makes me feel all warm inside.”

“And unlike most kitschy-named liquor, this one actually delivers in flavor,” Terrance said and splashed more bourbon in Rhett’s glass before pouring one for himself. He hadn’t planned on drinking, but the way things were going with Elizabeth, he was going to need one.

“Glad you’re joining me, T,” Rhett said.

“I’ll bring out the first course,” he told them. Maybe if he gave Vix—
Elizabeth—
some time to cool off, they could resume the pleasantries.

Right now small talk was out of the question.

“May I help?” Natalie asked, sliding out of her chair. “I’m a professional caterer in Denver, and I adore food. It would be an honor to watch you in the back of the house.”

Elizabeth’s mouth twisted. Was she actually jealous? Well, that cut through his ire like a serrated knife through Angel Food cake.

“I love being watched,” he said huskily, laughing out loud when Elizabeth’s mouth pinched shut.

So she
was
jealous.

Okay, this could be fun.

He wrapped an arm around Natalie and led her to the kitchen. When the door closed behind them, she disengaged from his hold.

“There’s no need to use me to make her jealous. I have too much respect for myself and other women.”

A forthcoming female? He didn’t come across that every day, not when his fame had women throwing themselves at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect. It won’t happen again.”

She smiled then. “Good. Now show me what you have in mind.”

Natalie’s questions were as insightful as they were straightforward as he introduced her to his staff and gave her a tour of the kitchen. She knew food, and she understood portions and price points.

When she sampled their newest dessert, an apricot semifreddo with salted almond brittle, she suggested adding a slice of wildflower honeycomb from Dare Valley’s finest honey producer to give it a local touch. It was a genius idea and just the kind of thing he was looking to do at High Stakes. What a pleasure it was to speak with someone who understood his vision.

Soon he forgot about Elizabeth and was showing Natalie his new shipment of Gorau Glas, a blue cheese from Great Britain that had redefined blue cheese for him.

Too bad it wasn’t the perfect ingredient, the one he sought like the Holy Grail.

The first time he’d heard the phrase was from Manny Caruthers, his childhood mentor. The head chef at a small restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, Manny had caught Terrance trying to steal food from his kitchen. Rather than turning the punk kid in to the cops, he’d taken him under his wing, giving him a second chance. Terrance’s mom had died of a drug overdose a few years later, not long after his seventeenth birthday, and Manny had taken him into the restaurant’s walk-in cooler and gestured to the food.

“When my grandma passed, there was this huge hole inside me. She taught me how to cook, and she said that those of us who love to feed people are obsessed with finding the perfect ingredient—the one thing that fills the emptiness inside us with peace.

“My grandma’s perfect ingredient was having a glass of honey water and sitting on the back porch steps. Mine is the chipotle hot sauce from New Orleans that I add to the butter I use on my sourdough bread every morning as I watch the sun rise. Terrance, you need to search for your own perfect ingredient. Once you find it, you’ll have the peace you don’t have now, the peace you never had with the woman who gave birth to you and then threw her life away.”

Terrance hadn’t been ready to listen at the time, but Manny’s words had stayed with him. He’d been searching for his own perfect ingredient for a long while now, but he still hadn’t found the peace his friend had described to him—no matter how special or exotic or unusual the ingredients he’d sampled.

“Oh, my God,” Natalie said after her first taste of the cheese, interrupting his reverie. “I think I might have an orgasm. Right here in your kitchen.”

At forty dollars a pound, it warranted an orgasm. Thank goodness the high rollers coming to The Grand didn’t blink at the prices on the menu, so Mac gave him tremendous leeway when it came to ordering the best.

Usually he never missed the opportunity to make a wicked comment, but she’d put him in his place, and he respected that. “It’s life changing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think I will ever buy blue cheese crumbles ever again.”

“Not in the plastic container?” he asked, aghast.

“Yes. We normal people can’t always afford this stuff or don’t have access to it. I would go broke if I served this at an event.”

Terrance shaved off a taste of the cheese for himself and slid it in his mouth. Sweet mother of… “Depends on the event. Who’s your biggest client?”

She made a face like the cheese had gone sour in her mouth. “The Denver Raiders.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“My ex-husband plays for them. It’s been…complicated since our divorce last year.”

“I see.” When she turned away, he covered the cheese and stored it. “We should join the others.”

“Yes,” she murmured, and something about her downcast expression told Terrance he had met a kindred spirit.

“Come on. I expect the appetizers will cheer you up.”

Maybe they would cheer him up too.

Chapter 6

Rhett wasn’t saying a word—he just sat there, humming into his bourbon. Of course, Elizabeth knew she was being a bitch. And Rhett always said he would never call a spade a spade when it was as obvious as a wart on someone’s face.

“Fine,” she huffed finally. “I’m not exactly cool with Terrance being here.”

Again, no word from her adopted brother and boss.

“Why don’t you say something?”

“Are you going to admit you became a green-eyed monster when he kissed Natalie’s hand?” he asked in that slow drawl of his.

“Hmm…”
No way in hell she was going to do that.

“Then I don’t have anything to say except try and keep it clean around the kids.”

“Funny.”

When Terrance came out with Natalie after taking
way
too long for a mere tour—not that she’d been eyeing her watch or anything—her gaze clashed with his. He was pushing her buttons; there was no mistaking it. He’d never had eyes for anyone else during their time together, even though plenty of women had run their fingers over his arm in invitation at the parties in Rhett’s hotel suite.

And Natalie was gorgeous, dammit, so here she was pea green with envy, and not liking it one bit. Who could blame the woman for finding Terrance attractive? He radiated sexuality just as surely as the raging wall of fiery heat next to her.

“Sorry it took us so long,” Natalie said by way of an excuse. “Chef T ended up showing me around the kitchen, which made me drool.”

Drool was an appropriate phrase to use around Terrance, but it wasn’t because of his stainless steel appliances.

“Who’s ready to eat?” he asked softly.

God, the way his gravel and spice voice said that made her thighs clench.
Food
, she told herself.
He was talking about food.

“Let’s see what you cooked up for us,” Rhett declared, rubbing her shoulder in comfort.

“Why don’t we head to the tasting room?”

Terrance led the way to a special room accented in buttery wood planks, with one glass wall showcasing The Grand’s impressive wine cellar. The feel was cozy yet elegant, dominated by a rustic iron barrel hoop chandelier hanging from six thick rope cords above a ten-person, live-edge trestle farm table.

“My God,” Natalie gasped. “How many bottles does your cellar have?”

“About a thousand, but I’m already planning on expanding it. I have access to some wines Mac’s former chef didn’t.”

“What about your bourbon selection?” Rhett asked. “We poker players aren’t big on wine.”

“You’d be surprised what the high rollers order after they’ve left the tables,” Terrance told him, “but you’re right. A lot of them prefer hard liquor. We have about two hundred bottles of bourbon, and again, I am going to be adding to Mac’s inventory.”

“We should have a bourbon tasting at the next poker game,” Rhett mused, plopping down in the leather high-backed chair at the head. “You need to get High Stakes running as smooth as a baby’s bottom so you can join us, T. It blows that you only have one night off a week now.”

Elizabeth wanted to grind her teeth. Of course, Terrance had been asked to join the weekly poker game. Mac had started the tradition, and now it included the Hales and their growing family.

“It still pisses me off your poker night is for boys only,” Elizabeth mused, taking a seat on Rhett’s right. “Jane and I would kick your butts.”

“I expect you would,” Terrance murmured from behind her, his mouth close to her ear, under the pretext of helping her into her seat like a gentleman.

Something he definitely wasn’t.

To torture him, she leaned back just a fraction and angled her neck to the left, exposing her nape, which he’d loved to kiss and use his teeth on. Hearing him clear his throat put the first smile on her face since she’d arrived.

“I’ll have my staff bring in the appetizers.”

“You know,” Rhett drawled, “my mama always says ‘don’t start a fire you can’t put out.’ My mama is a wise woman, Natalie.”

Everyone knew whom he was really addressing, but Natalie nodded gamely and said, “My mom always tells us not to bite off more than we can chew. What did your mom tell you, Elizabeth?”

“My mom wasn’t into sayings like that when I was growing up.”

Elizabeth’s mom had never given her words of wisdom, only cruel taunts. How she had delighted in proving her wrong over and over.

Pretty girls aren’t smart.
By fifteen, she’d won the North American Open Chess Championship and came away with sixty thousand in winnings, adding to her college fund.

You’ll never amount to anything.
She’d been accepted into Harvard after vowing to attend the best university in the United States.

Better land a rich Harvard boy fast and get pregnant so he’ll take care of you.
She’d made her own millions as Rhett’s poker scout and invested it wisely, using all she’d learned at Harvard.

Elizabeth had remade herself at Harvard.

In the beginning, she hadn’t fit in. She was a sexy blond, and some people couldn’t see past her looks and lack of polish. But someone had been looking out for her, because the conservative Jane Wilcox had been assigned as her roommate. Under her new friend’s guidance, Elizabeth cultivated her manners, dyed her hair brown to counter all the dumb blond comments, and bought more conservative clothing.

Ultimately, becoming Vixen had simply been a matter of putting on a new mask, one she welcomed, enjoyed, and sometimes exploited. If men were stupid enough to underestimate her, she was all too willing to play them.

But then Terrance came along and upended her world, making her want to unmask herself.

Until the night he punched someone.

Vince hadn’t seemed possessive or scary in the beginning, even though she’d sensed an air of violence in him. Terrance possessed that same volatile air. He was jealous of the men who leered at her, the ones she played by batting her eyelashes as she carefully deconstructed their poker strategies.

His show of violence had been enough to send the dark part of her, perpetually scared and wounded from Vince, running as if her life still depended on it.

As Terrance strolled in with two assistants, the air of danger around him was still tangible. He was angry with her, and their impromptu connection over dessert the other night, a momentary truce, seemed to have dissolved like meringue dropped in water.

Terrance stood behind her again, but she didn’t know if it was because he couldn’t stand to see her face, or if he wanted to smell the Chanel perfume she wore—the one that used to drive him crazy.

“I spoke to Jane and Matt about their favorite dishes—” Terrance told them, handing out card stock embossed with The Grand’s logo, “—so I created selections that I think will suit them. Rhett suggested we do tasting cards, so everyone can rate the dishes and leave any comments. That way, everyone can enjoy the food without debating the choices. He figured it would save you some heartburn.”

Rhett was probably worried she’d tear one of the dishes apart out of frustration. He wasn’t necessarily wrong. She wanted to either fight with Terrance or tear off his chef jacket and pants and make love to him until she screamed—she wasn’t sure which.

“Beef skewers served with horseradish cream,” he said in a silky tone as he pointed to the first platter. “I understand Matt is an all-American man when it comes to meat.”

“All of us Hales love meat,” Natalie said. “Except Caroline, who likes salad. We’re thinking about disowning her.”

Terrance and Rhett laughed, but Elizabeth couldn’t even muster a smile. She was too aware of his husky voice, which seemed to wrap around her.

“Then we have shrimp wrapped in one of my all-time favorite bacons. It’s cob-smoked, a rare and remarkable flavor, coming to us from the Native American tradition back East.”

“Like a corn cob?” Rhett asked, plopping one of the appetizers off the tray without waiting for anyone to serve him. “Holy heck! This is amazing. Rye would love it.”

“Yes, he would,” Terrance agreed, since he also knew their country singer friend well.

“I
heard
you knew Rye Crenshaw,” Natalie said, clapping her hands. “Please tell me he’s coming to visit. Jill couldn’t stop talking about the impromptu concert he gave for your wife before you became engaged.”

“That boy is about ready to get himself hitched to the sweetest chef you’ve ever met. He’s coming here for a bachelor weekend in the near future, isn’t he, T?”

“I’m already planning the menu,” Terrance said.

“I don’t expect he’s going to sing here, but who knows.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” Natalie said.

“Okay, T. What else do you have for us?”

“Crab cake sliders for Jane. And finally pizza, since they told me it was their first meal together.”