The Place I Belong (20 page)

He rested his forehead against the back of his hand. Even at his most drunken, he couldn’t imagine himself lifting his hand to a woman or a child. But he knew there were other ways to abuse a loved one. Words could inflict equally painful and lasting damage.

He must have made a sound because Trace lifted his head, making Matt stir in his sleep. Not wanting to disturb his exhausted son, Adam shoved away from the wall and headed for the front door.

Locking it behind him, Adam strode along the tree-shrouded path that led to The Aerie. As he walked into the kitchen, the slam of a heavy freezer door, the scent of freshly chopped basil, and the clatter of a pan against a cast-iron burner made him close his eyes in appreciation.

“Chef! The butternut squash is unusable,” Bobby said. “And Delores called in sick again so we’re short a line cook.”

As he pulled out his cell phone to find a substitute for both vegetables and personnel, a sense of ease sank deep into Adam’s bones.

Here was a world where he was in control.

Chapter 16

T
HE LOUD BUZZING
of Hannah’s alarm yanked her out of a sleep so deep she felt drugged. She hit the “dismiss” button and flipped on the light beside her bed. The digital numerals read 12:20 a.m., which meant Adam was picking her up in forty minutes. It was like having a relationship with a vampire.

She sat up and scrubbed her palms over her face.

After her Saturday afternoon appointments were over, she,
Adam, and Matt had met in Satchmo’s stall. She’d told them about the inconclusive test results she had received from the
lab that morning, but since Satchmo was standing up and eat
ing, the Bosches discounted her concern about an accurate
diagnosis.

Hannah was happy the pony’s condition seemed to have improved, but she hated treating him when she still wasn’t sure what she was trying to cure. However, she told Sharon to keep up the EPM medications and Adam’s gourmet horse food, projecting an image of confidence she didn’t feel. It would be a relief when Tim was back in the office on Monday and she could consult with him.

It had taken some persuasion to convince Matt he didn’t need to sleep with Satchmo again. When Sharon offered to move the pony to the foaling shed where there was a video camera the night groom would keep an eye on, the boy reluctantly agreed to go home. Hannah had assured Matt her phone would be on all night because she was on call.

The truth was she had let Satchmo come too close to dying, and guilt gnawed at her.

Adam had left Matt with the pony while he walked Hannah to her truck. That’s when he’d talked her into this late-night date.

She extricated herself from her slumbering dogs and stood up to stretch.

If she’d pleaded exhaustion, he would have accepted her refusal, but the heat in his eyes and the husky timbre of his voice had conjured memories that melted her resolve as though it were a stick of butter in a saucepan. “I’m already thinking in food metaphors,” she muttered.

Matt’s statement about his father’s plans to send him away haunted her almost as much as Satchmo’s brush with death. It simply didn’t fit with the Adam who had abandoned his restaurant on a busy Friday night to nurse a sick pony.

Hurrying into the bathroom, she took a fast shower, blew her hair dry, and rummaged around until she found a pale-blue lace bra with matching panties. She’d bought them right before the crap hit the fan in Chicago and never worn them, since Ward had dumped her shortly thereafter.

Unfortunately, she had no idea what to put on over the lingerie. As she stood staring into her unhelpful closet, Anabelle padded over to join her.

Smoothing her palm over the collie’s narrow, elegant head, Hannah looked down. “You always look perfectly dressed, you lucky girl.” With her other hand, she riffled through the various articles of unsatisfactory clothing hanging on the rod. “I guess it’s going to be jeans, a silk blouse, and a blazer. And maybe a shopping trip next week.”

After dressing, she twisted her hair up into a loose bun and pulled some strands down to frame her face. Sapphire studs sparkled on her earlobes in an attempt to dress up the outfit. She looked down at her bare feet and decided heels were called for. She had one pair of black stilettos, so that would be it.

After glancing at her watch, she shooed the dogs off the bed, pulled the comforter up over the rumpled sheets, and grabbed her purse and black wool blazer.

Just as she flicked on the hall light, the throaty rumble of a high-powered engine broke the dead-of-night stillness. Grabbing her keys, she slipped out the front door as Adam’s Maserati eased into her driveway.

The driver’s door opened and he emerged, coming around the car to take her by the shoulders and graze her lips with his. “Mmm,” he said before raising his head to take one of the
tendrils
by her ear between his fingers and lift it to his nostrils. “Grapefruit and something floral. Magnolia? And a hint of cedar, I think.”

“Now you’re deconstructing my shampoo?” Hannah was trying to ignore the exquisite shivers racing over her scalp as he wound her hair around his finger.

“Scent is important to the palate,” Adam said. He tilted her head sideways and bent to inhale beside her earlobe before he put his mouth against the side of her neck and kissed her there. “Texture is also crucial.”

The feel of his lips made her eyes flutter closed as she gave in to the sensuality he so skillfully evoked. He gathered her in closer, his arms snaking around her back and her waist. She curled her fingers into the lapels of his leather jacket to give herself an anchor as he slid his mouth down to the base of her throat. Each time his lips touched her skin, heat and pleasure sparked and rippled through her body in widening circles that fed the tension building low in her gut.

“Delicious,” he murmured against her.

“Mmmhmm,” she agreed.

He huffed out a chuckle, his breath sending warmth tingling across her skin in contrast to the chill night air. He lifted his head and the porch light made his eyes shimmer like an expensive liqueur, tantalizing and opaque. “Time to try out the Maserati,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the low, curving car.

Hannah buckled into the leather seat, the richness of the car’s interior cradling her as though she were priceless, like a Fabergé egg. Adam slid into the driver’s seat beside her and set the engine purring. His hands moved over the polished wood of the steering wheel in a gesture that came close to a caress. She was beginning to understand the man was a sensualist in more than just food. The fabrics he wore, the car he drove, the scent of her shampoo—all fed his senses. Which made her wonder again about his monochromatic attire.

“You said you’d tell me why you always wear black,” Hannah said, as he steered the car onto the street.

“Did I?”

“A couple of days ago. When I was surprised your Maserati wasn’t black. So is there a reason other than it makes you look dark and enigmatic?”

He slid her a half-smile in the pale glow of the dashboard’s illumination before he responded. “That’s a good one.”

“But not the real one.”

He shook his head. “My first boss was a famous chef who was also a monster. Conrad Faust.” Adam’s voice took on a hard edge as he said the man’s name. “He had a thing about
wearing
a spotless white chef’s jacket. If someone splashed sauce on it or brushed against it with a dirty pan, he reamed them out and went back to his office to change it. The man was a chef and he couldn’t stand to have food touch him.” He seemed to realize he had revealed more than he’d intended because he shrugged. “Since I hated everything about him, I did the diametric opposite and wore black.”

“In your personal life too,” Hannah pointed out.

“Until I ran my own kitchen, I had to wear whatever color jacket the head chef chose, so my statement had to start in my personal life.”

“The bad guy wore white, so the good guy had to wear black,” she mused.

“Don’t give me credit for being a good guy. Black suited
my mood.”

“I thought you loved your job.”

“Faust came close to killing my passion.” His voice dropped low as he continued, “That’s when I started drinking.”

“No wonder you hate him.”

He shook his head. “Not for that. That’s my own weakness. I hate him for ruining so many aspiring chefs before they’d even begun. He took pleasure in ripping apart the young people who came to learn from him.”

“Some people think that’s a good management style.”

“He was a destroyer, pure and simple.”

“Where is he now?” She hoped Faust’s restaurant had failed, so he’d gotten a dose of his own medicine.

“Dead.”

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” she asked after a moment of silence.

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Only in my fantasies. He had a heart attack about five years after I moved on. Keeled over on a table where he was schmoozing with a couple of customers.”

“I guess they got their meal comped.”

He gave her another sideways glance. “You keep surprising me.”

“Is that a good thing?” Hannah couldn’t tell from his tone.

“It’s what I strive for in my cooking. A layering of flavors that reveals itself in unexpected ways.”

“So I’m like gourmet food?” she said, cherishing the ultimate compliment from a connoisseur of haute cuisine.

“Your base is sweet, but there’s a tartness that’s both startling and refreshing.”

His words, spoken in that deep, seductive voice, vibrated inside her. Ward had liked only the sweet; the nurturing healer who added warmth to his political image. “Lemon sherbet, that’s me,” she said.

“Much more complex than that,” he said, swinging the car in a wide circle. She wanted to find out what food he thought she resembled, but he brought the car to a stop and killed the engine.

She looked out her window to see the soaring glass facade of The Aerie. Adam came around to open her door, offering his hand to help her out of the low sports car. She shivered as his powerful fingers closed around hers and pulled her upwards with a strength that made her feel fragile and feminine. She’d never before thought it would be an enjoyable sensation, but his dark sensuality reached into some primitive place within her.

“Welcome to The Aerie,” he said, tucking her hand into his elbow and leading her through the double doors into a large entrance foyer. Paved with stone and tile, it was lit by a giant chandelier of sculpted steel and glass.

“Your kingdom,” she said, noticing the proud angle of his head as his glance swept over the silent dining room. The tables were set for the next day’s patrons, the glasses and silverware gleaming against the white linen tablecloths that seemed to float like ghosts in the low light of the wall sconces.

He guided her between the tables while she craned her neck to take in the soaring ceiling of wooden trusses and the giant plate-glass windows giving a view of a star-spattered sky over the dark hulks of the mountains. A glow of golden light to one side showed the location of downtown Sanctuary. “Sunsets must
be amazi
ng from here,” she breathed.

“My architect told me the view would be too much competition for the food, but I believe all the senses should be nourished by a truly fine restaurant. And I’m not afraid of competition,” he said, stopping in front of a closed door made of wood set with gleaming brass panels. “Would you mind waiting here? I need a moment to get the room ready.”

“It’ll give me time to gawk some more,” Hannah said. “I’ve heard so much about this place.”

“But it’s sleeping right now. You have to see it when it’s alive with people and aromas and the sounds of food being savored.” He brought her hand to his lips, just brushing the back of it so she felt the heat and texture of his skin before he let her go. It sent a tremor of delight through her body before he swung the door open and vanished into the darkness beyond.

She scanned the room, admiring the way low half-walls of exotic wood created havens of privacy around small groups of tables. The floor stepped down in terraces as it approached the huge windows so virtually every diner in the room could have a view of the mountain ranges rolling away into the distance. At this late hour, the sky was the real spectacle. The cold November air was so crystalline she felt as though she could count every star in the Milky Way.

His food must be incredible if he wasn’t worried about competing with this.

“Too bad the moon has set,” Adam said, coming up behind her. “It turns the tops of the mountains silver.”

“The stars are enough,” she said. “It looks like someone spilled diamonds all over the skirt of a black velvet dress.” She turned to see his gaze fixed on the view, his eyes as dark as the sky. “Do you ever look out the windows when you’re working?”

He shook his head. “There’s no time.”

“At least you appreciate it after hours.”

He held out his hand to her. “Come with me for a different view.”

She put her hand in his, feeling his fingers close around hers with a carefully controlled strength. He tugged her forward to the door and threw it open.