скачать книгу бесплатно
“What about you?” she challenged Mackenzie. “I know you’re the good sister and all, but there’s room for improvement in your life, too. How long have you been in a holding pattern with Mr. Dull? And hasn’t your boss at Regal Foods been promising you a promotion to executive in charge of jawbreakers and Gummi Bears for, I don’t know, forever and a day?”
Mackenzie’s mouth pursed. “You haven’t been keeping up. I was promoted nearly a month ago, when you were jet-skiing in Mazatlan.”
“Uh, wow. That’s fabulous. Congrats, and all that.” Sabrina wondered how her sister stood it, being so steady and reliable all the time. She really ought to offer the family’s heirloom ring to Mackenzie, except that…
“And how is Mr. Dull?” Sabrina asked.
“His name is Jason Dole. He’s—”
“A deep snooze. A dead bore.”
“You’re wrong. He might not be up to your Danger Boy standards, but he’s a good guy.”
Sabrina rolled her eyes. “There’s that word again. Good. The kiss of death.”
“Not for me. We’re alike. We get along.”
“You wouldn’t be talking change if all you wanted was to ‘get along.”’ Ever since the divorce had turned their world upside down, Mackenzie had been resistant to change. She’d lived in the same apartment since college, worked at the same candy company as she slowly worked her way toward a position as the top Tootsie Roll. She had to be as tired of routine as Sabrina was of airports and train stations.
“Look,” she said, nudging Mackenzie toward the railing again. Charlie and Nicole had continued to kiss. Aside from the slight ew factor—this was their middle-aged parents, after all—the couple’s affection was enviable. “Tell me you have that much passion with Jason and I’ll gladly dance at your wedding.” And even surrender the ring.
“I can’t.” The admission came too fast. Mackenzie wasn’t nearly as resistant as Sabrina had expected.
“Well, then, there you go.” Sabrina cocked her head. Charlie and Nicole were still kissing. She leaned over the railing and yelled, “Hey! You kids down there. Getta room, why don’tcha?”
Her parents broke apart, looking around in surprise. When they spotted their daughters up on the balcony, they laughed and waved, calling hellos.
Sabrina lifted her glass to them, then drained the remaining champagne in one swallow. “Mackenzie—I’ve got it. You and I need to switch lives.”
“Oh, no. I’m not cut out for changing boyfriends with the seasons. And I can’t roller-skate.” Sabrina’s latest temporary job was as a roller-skating waitress in a fifties-theme drive-in restaurant in St. Louis, a city she’d chosen by poking her finger at a map in a travel agency’s window.
“But we do need to make changes,” Mackenzie went on. She took a breath. Stuck out her chin. “I will if you will.”
Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “What did you have in mind?” It wasn’t like her sister to be reckless, so she was forced to be cautious in response. One way or another, they always balanced each other out.
“For your part, you’ll settle down in one city. Sign a real lease, not a month-by-month.”
That wasn’t so bad. “You have to break up with Mr. Dull.”
Mackenzie nodded. “I can do that. If you get a job—a job you like enough to stick with for at least a year.”
“An entire year…” Sabrina gulped, then leveled a finger at Mackenzie’s round face. “Fine, but you have to quit the candy company.”
“Quit Regal Foods? Why? I told you how I just got that big promotion.”
“You’ve always talked about running your own fancy candy store. I know you’ve been saving for it. Why not crack open your nest egg? There’s no better time to go for it.”
Mackenzie had paled, but she nodded. Reluctantly. “I’ll take the plunge if you promise to give up men,” she said, probably because she’d calculated that it was a safe offer which would never be accepted.
Celibacy? Sabrina thought. That was absurd! Impossible! But she retaliated without voicing her doubts. “Only if you cut your hair.”
“How short?”
“How long?” Sabrina said at the same time.
“Until you truly fall in love,” Mackenzie answered.
Sabrina’s fingers clenched on the ring box. “Then you go above the ears.”
The sisters stopped, momentarily dumbstruck by their careening conversation.
“My hair?” Mackenzie whispered, lifting a hand to stroke the dark length of it.
“No men?” Sabrina said, her voice faint and very far away. She couldn’t possibly. She loved men. She was addicted to testosterone.
Mackenzie’s eyes sharpened. “One year to change our lives. I say we shake on it!” And bam, she stuck out her hand without taking the usual week to think over the decision.
Sabrina wavered. “I…”
“Chicken?”
“Of course not. But what are the stakes?”
“The journey is its own reward.”
“Phooey. How about this?” Sabrina flung back the cashmere wrap and held out her hand, palm up.
Mackenzie froze, staring at the worn blue velvet box which was familiar to both of them. Finally she reached out to flip up the lid and reveal the diamond ring that Nicole Bliss had removed from her finger the day of her divorce and stuck way in the back of her jewel box, saying she never wanted to see it again. Now and then, when their mother wasn’t home, the sisters had sneaked in to take the ring out and try it on. Sabrina had wanted to believe that her attachment to the ring was the usual girlish attraction to shiny jewelry, but now that it was hers, she knew it meant more than that. Romance, love, marriage—which she wasn’t supposed to believe in.
“Grandmother’s diamond solitaire?” Mackenzie said, awed.
“Mom gave it to me before the ceremony.” Charlie had presented Nicole with a new ring to symbolize their fresh start, so she’d passed the heirloom on to her oldest daughter.
“But I’m not sure I want it,” Sabrina added hurriedly. “You’ll be getting married before me. I mean, I have no intention of ever getting—”
“No, no, you’re the oldest.” Mackenzie gazed longingly at the ring. “You should have it.”
“Ugh, I knew you’d be noble. That’s why I want to put it up as the prize in our bet. The one of us who most successfully changes her life in the next year gets to keep the ring. We’ll make the decision on our parent’s first anniversary—if they last that long.”
Mackenzie laughed in disbelief. “That’s so—so—”
“Sacrilegious? It’s only a ring.” Sabrina slapped the velvet box into Mackenzie’s palm, then impulsively tossed the champagne flute over the railing. “I’m not giving you time to change your mind. We have a deal!” They shook hands, clasping them around the treasured ring box. The sound of glass shattering on the patio below seemed appropriate. They were breaking out, starting off new. Just like—
Well, maybe not just like their parents, Sabrina thought when she glanced over the balcony. Charlie was laughing and Nicole was pulling out of his embrace, trying to get away so she could stalk over to the balcony and scold Sabrina for being so careless.
Typical.
But even as Sabrina watched, Charlie managed to grab hold of his wife’s hand. He kissed Nicole on the cheek, placating her with a few murmured words, then raised a fist, shaking it playfully at his daughters. “Which one broke the glass?” he called. “A shard might have flown up and nicked my beautiful bride’s face.”
Sabrina and Mackenzie looked at each other and grinned. “Sorry,” they sang in unison, standing shoulder to shoulder.
There was no good reason for it, especially with grown-up responsibility and a crazy celibacy promise looming in her future, but Sabrina’s spirits soared when she looked into her parents’ upturned faces. Charlie was balding and Nicole had lost the battle of the bulge. They had wrinkles and graying hair and fallen arches. There had been sieges when they’d threatened that widowhood was an even better solution than divorce, yet here they were, holding on to each other, trying again, their timeworn faces glowing with love. What courage they had.
Maybe, Sabrina thought, recognizing that the tiny part of herself that still believed in love wasn’t buried as deep as she’d thought. Maybe this time….
1
Six weeks later
FLEXING MUSCLES and swirling chocolate—Sabrina Bliss was in heaven. I could get used to this, she told herself, immensely pleased to have found an aspect of her new job that would still be fun a year from now…if she stayed with it that long.
And she might if this kept up, even without an heirloom engagement ring at stake. How lucky could one woman get?
The sight of male muscles bulging and rippling over pots of melting chocolate or whizzing mixers was an everyday occurrence at Decadence. In her first week as lunch manager, she’d learned to time her breaks to catch ten minutes of the show as Kristoffer “Call me Kit” Rex concocted the day’s desserts. The renowned pastry chef almost always featured chocolate, his specialty.
Today Kit was working with semisweet chocolate, coconut and phyllo triangles. Sheets of the paper-thin pastry were stacked nearby under a dampened kitchen towel. He removed the cover of the food processor he’d used to chop the high-quality French chocolate he insisted on even though it took a big bite out of the restaurant’s dessert budget. He added softened butter and the toasted coconut to the mixture.
“Please pass me the knife.” The request didn’t register with Sabrina for a second or two because she was distracted with comparing Kit’s rich voice to an image of warm chocolate pouring over his naked body.
When she didn’t react, he reached for the knife, his bare arm brushing against hers. Skin on skin, the contact was as sharp and sensual as a swallow of chocolate-laced amaretto cream. She could gain weight merely listening to him. Actual touching brought her one chocolate kiss away from orgasm.
I shouldn’t be here, she reminded herself, thinking of her pact with Mackenzie. The temptation is too much.
Kit’s knife was a blur as he chopped almonds in five seconds flat. He scraped them into the food processor, his biceps bulging as he lifted the hefty chopping board.
Yum. Sabrina tried to smack her lips, but her tongue was parched. Probably from all the panting.
Kit replaced the lid and blended the chocolate with the other ingredients, shooting a sexy little grin at his audience of one. She grinned back at him, not even trying to hide her interest. Let him think she was a wanna-be chef or a slavering chocoholic. Anything but what she was—a sex-starved celibate who was ready to crawl inside his starched white chef’s coat and eat him whole.
He moved over a step and stirred a saucepan of melting butter on the stove. She used the inside of her loose V-neck tank to blot the dampness on her chest. The kitchen was always hot, but even if they were in an igloo, watching Kit cook would make her sweat.
At five-eleven, he was only an inch or so taller than Sabrina, but his nicely developed chest, arms and thighs more than made up for the slight lack of height. He had black hair that was one week’s growth away from shaggy, penetrating blue eyes and the kind of hollow cheeks and strong jaw that looked best shadowed with stubble.
Fortunately for Manhattan’s female population, his stubble usually complied.
Sabrina fanned herself. Oh, yeah, the man was hot. The gold ring that pierced his left ear gave him the look of a pirate. Even his eyelids were sexy—drooping slightly whenever he lapsed into a moment of silent brooding. He didn’t talk a lot when he cooked—or any other time, for that matter—but he was quick with a smile or a joke. He cared about people. She’d seen him quietly inquiring after the dishwasher’s college applications and the vegetable delivery guy’s daughter who had tonsillitis.
Kristoffer Rex had fascinated Sabrina ever since her first day on the job at Decadence, a Manhattan restaurant that was a major step up from serving burgers on roller blades. Not a single member of the kitchen crew or serving staff had a bad word to say about him, but none of them knew his story either. She’d asked outright—asked everyone but Kit. The essence of himself, who he was, where he’d come from and how he lived outside of the restaurant, had been kept strictly private. To learn more, she’d have to get closer to the actual man.
And that, given her bet with Mackenzie, was simply not going to happen.
Sabrina gave a silent, inward groan. She’d have to content herself with watching Kit make his chocolate desserts. Even if that raised her body temperature to the boiling point.
A strip of the phyllo dough had been laid out on the work surface. He brushed melted butter across it, then looked over at Sabrina. “Want to help?” Practically the first words he’d spoken to her, other than “Taste this,” or “Good morning.”
She caught her tongue between her teeth, then nodded. “Sure.”
“Come over here beside me.”
She pushed off the stool and went to stand next to him. He smelled like bittersweet chocolate, darkly sweet and delicious. Gobble, gobble, slurp, she thought, humming with vibrations at his nearness.
“You can be the folder.” Kit put a heaping spoonful of his chocolate mixture onto a corner of the pastry strip. He showed her how to fold the corner into a triangle, then again onto itself, continuing along the entire strip until the filling was wrapped in the airy layers of phyllo dough.
“Not bad,” Sabrina said as she transferred the pastry puff onto a baking sheet.
“You’re a natural, kid.”
She looked into his amused eyes. They gave her a charge, even though she could see that he was humoring her. The other chefs tended be high-strung and easily annoyed, so she’d learned to stay out of their way. But the pastry chef’s work station was set off to one side, and Kit didn’t seem to mind when she hung around.
Still…
Kid, huh?
It had been a long time since an attractive man looked at her as a kid sister. She didn’t like it. True, she had no intentions of hooking up with Kit. Nevertheless it didn’t seem right for him to dismiss the possibility so easily.
“Fold,” he said, and she realized he’d laid out another strip of the delicate dough and spooned out a dollop of chocolate. They worked together in silence for a few minutes until the first pan was filled with neat rows of the triangles. Now and then, their elbows bumped or their hands brushed and Sabrina got more and more peeved that Kit had no reaction at all when she was struggling not to make cheesy analogies about oozing filling and hot home cookin’.
One of the servers, Charmaine Piasceki, stepped through the stainless-steel swinging doors that led out to the dining room. “Sabrina, your sister’s here.” She looked at Sabrina’s buttery fingers, then over at Kit. “Should I tell her you’re greased up with one of the chefs?”
Out of Kit’s range, Sabrina made a menacing face at Charmaine, who’d become a friend as soon as they realized they both had smart mouths, food tattoos and opposite tastes in men. Despite kooky pink hair and a Persephone’s pomegranate on the small of her back, Charmaine went for uptight lawyers and investment bankers. She liked to turn them on to their wild side.
Sabrina wiped her fingers on the towel keeping the phyllo dough pliable. “I’ll be there as soon as we’re finished with the filling.”
Charmaine pushed backward through the doors with her rump. She looked at Kit and laughed, flashing the silver stud in her tongue. “Sure thing. We wouldn’t want you two to skimp on the filling.”
Sabrina’s gaze skidded across Kit’s face. He was grinning at her again. She gulped, too aware of the heat flushing her cheeks. “Umm. Well, that was fun, but I have to get back out there.”
“I’ll bring you and your sister a sample, fresh from the oven. Well-filled.”
“Great.” She meant it. Maybe if Mackenzie saw Kit in the flesh—the living, breathing, warm, rippling flesh—she’d let Sabrina out of the “no men” part of their deal. Mackenzie was reasonable. She’d understand that there was only so much she could expect her sister to resist.
The quiet, clean public area of the restaurant was a relief after the hot zone of the kitchen. Sabrina stopped at the bar and got a couple of bottled waters from a small fridge. She uncapped one of them and took a long swig of the icy liquid to soothe her parched throat as she surveyed the activity in the front room. Servers moved from table to table in their stark white-and-black uniforms, doing the final prep work before they opened for the lunch trade.
Mackenzie had been seated at a table by one of the windows that overlooked West Broadway. The prime Tribeca location went hand in hand with the restaurant’s gourmet menu, hip reputation and a parade of well-heeled patrons who liked to rub shoulders with the funkier creative types. Word was that although a real working artist might actually starve on the minuscule portions served at Decadence, they could never afford them.
“Hey, sis.” Sabrina set the blue bottles on the table and slid into one of the Danish modern chairs. “What happened? Your hair’s still long.” She’d made an appointment for Mackenzie at a Madison Avenue salon recommended by one of the restaurant’s owners, the famously stylish Dominique Para.
Mackenzie looked up, guilt written across her face. “I’m sorry. I backed out at the last minute.”
“No! Do you know I had to give Dominique my favorite flea-market boots as a bribe for your appointment? I won’t mention how hard it is to find authentic Victorian lace-ups in my size.” Sabrina’s feet were long and thin, like the rest of her. Dominique, a former model, was a perfect match, size-wise.
“I just couldn’t go through with it,” Mackenzie said, blinking puppy-dog eyes.
“Do I have to go with you to hold your hand?”
“Yes, please.”
Sabrina wagged her head. “What’s the hang-up with your hair? You’ve managed everything else. You quit your job, the new candy store is opening on schedule, Mr. Dull has been given his walking papers…” She caught Mackenzie’s blank look. “He is gone, isn’t he?”
