His finger retraced its trail, everywhere he touched creating a path of fire. She sucked in a breath.

So did he. “Tell me what you feel,” he said.

You, making me shaky with lust. You, taking me to a place I’m not ready for. “I don’t-”

“Tell me.”

“Heat.” Her voice cracked so she cleared her throat and said it again. “I feel heat.”

“It’s the oil,” he told her, his hand smoothing slowly up and down her back. “It’s seasonally blended to create a warming effect in cool weather. It works the opposite way when it’s hot outside.”

“Oh.” An embarrassed smile escaped her. “I thought-”

“What?”

“That it was you.” Her eyes drifted shut. “Whenever you’re touching me, I feel so…”

“Aware?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the calamus root and sandalwood powder.” His voice was low and quiet, and incredibly arousing, as much as the oil and his manipulation of it on her body. The man would be a huge asset to any spa, his presence alone making it millions of dollars.

“The combination is meant to stimulate.” His gaze held hers as his finger kept moving over her, lower than her collarbone now, just barely skimming the upper curve of her breast, right at the edge of the sheet. “But I’m very much enjoying that you thought it was me making you feel so aware.” His finger slipped just beneath the edging of the sheet.

“Jacob,” she gasped.

He used the backs of his fingers now, his knuckles brushing over her.

She couldn’t help it, she watched his fingers on her breast, mesmerized by the erotic sight of his big, tanned hand on her pale, creamy skin. Though her nipple was still covered by the sheet, barely, it poked against the material, begging for equal attention.

Other parts of her body were clamoring for attention, too.

He kept giving it, until she was a quivering, anticipatory wreck.

“I can’t stand any more,” she whispered. “Please…”

Putting his hands on her shoulders, he slowly turned her away from him.

She stood there wondering what he was going to do to her, the wondering made more all the overpowering because she could no longer see him.

“Onto the table,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers in her sheet at the base of her spine.

“Hey.” She grasped it between her breasts, held on to it for dear life. If she moved, the sheet would stay with him, falling away from her body.

She was not ready for that.

“Lie back down,” he said softly from just behind her, his breath rustling the hair over her ear. “I’ll cover you.”

Unable to let go, she shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Go on,” he said with a tone she hadn’t heard from him before: tenderness.

Craning her head, she looked back at him. His eyes flickered with a tenseness that matched hers, but in a blink it was gone.

“Lie back down,” he said. “You don’t want to waste all the relaxing you’ve done.”

“Too late,” she muttered.

With infinite patience, he waited her out.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and then let go of the sheet.

He surprised her, holding the sheet up between them, blocking his view of her as she lay down. Then it fluttered over her, covering her from midback to midthigh, and she let out a breath, only to have it clog her throat when he stroked a hand down her back, reactivating the oil, heating her up in an instant.

She kept her eyes tightly closed, concentrating on what he made her feel, but unable to let go of the tenseness she’d seen in his expression when he’d first walked in. “Jacob?”

“Hmm?”

Over the sheet, his fingers moved on her lower back, pressing lightly in just the right spot to make her want to stretch and purr like a kitten. “Are you…okay?”

Ignoring her question, he moved up her spine and then back down again. “You smell like something a man might want to gobble up.”

“You’re changing the subject-” She broke off to moan when he got to her shoulders and dug in.

“Good?” he asked.

So good she’d beg if he stopped. “Please talk to me.”

He sighed as his fingers made their way back down her spine, slowly, with unbelievable talent. “You have a one-track mind.”

And so, she was willing to bet, did he. “Talk.”

He skimmed over her bottom, which had her clenching her cheeks, but he didn’t stay and linger, not until he got to the backs of her thighs. While he worked there, another helpless moan fluttered out of her lips before she could stop herself.

“Why don’t you just concentrate on the pleasure?” he asked. “Stop holding back.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

She already knew that. “Try me.”

One finger traced a silky path up the back of her thigh to the very edge of the sheet, and then a little farther. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She tried to turn over so she could see him but he held her down with one big, warm hand at the middle of her spine. “No, don’t move. Just stay on your stomach. I’ll go. Your attendant will be back in a few.”

“But…”

But nothing. Whether it had been her reaction, or that he felt he’d said too much, he was gone.

Letting her cheek touch the table again, she lay there, mind racing, body aching, heart pounding, pounding, pounding.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Well, that made them even.

8

To: Spa attendants

From: Spa manager

Re: Herbal wraps

New as of today! Stay in room once herbal wrap is applied to keep guest relaxed and immobile. Otherwise, the linens apparently may unravel and fall off.

“THEY’RE HOLDING open auditions here today for some new cooking show.”

This was what Jacob heard the next day when he got to his kitchen. Pushing open the doors, he found Caya and two other servers gathered around, talking.

Caya grinned at him. “Did you hear?”

“Yeah,” he managed to say without a grimace. “I’ve heard.” Though due to his own stubbornness, he knew none of the details. He didn’t want the details. He wanted things to go back to normal.

“Maybe I should try out,” Caya said. “I could become famous, and give you a run for your money.”

“No one gives me a run for my money,” Jacob said.

Everyone laughed, and they all got to work, but late that afternoon, he sneaked out of the kitchen and headed to the conference level. There he found a long line of chef hopefuls in the hallway holding résumés in their fists, wearing eager expressions on their faces. He moved past them, ignoring the softly muttered grumblings when they thought he was cutting in line to get his shot at stardom.

Not a chance.

But as to why he was there, he couldn’t have said. He honestly had no desire to be on a TV show, to be the “it” boy of the week, to have people watch his every move as if he were performing brain surgery.

He loved what he did too much to turn it into a spectacle. He loved all of it: the physical skills, the easy joy, the variety and the choices. It fed his heart and soul. And after too many years of being forced to prove himself, being evaluated at the blink of an eye, never knowing how long his job would remain his, he just couldn’t imagine willingly putting himself there again, this time at the mercy of an intangible thing like ratings, or the invisible Powers-That-Be.

No, he was here merely to satisfy his curiosity and nothing else, and with that in mind, he walked to the double doors of their largest conference room.

Standing there was a man holding a radio and a clipboard.

Jacob recognized him as one of the two people who’d accompanied Em to dinner at Amuse Bouche two nights ago. “Eric,” he said, remembering.

Eric looked up from the clipboard and raised a brow. “You want an audition?”

“No.”

“So then why are you here?”

Hell if he knew. “Is Em inside?”

“Yep.” But Eric stepped in front of him. “Sorry, man. Only people who are auditioning can get in there.”

“I want to talk to Em.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because whatever you’ve said or done to her already has left her feeling shaky. Now she’s in there trying to save her career and I’m not going to have you screw with her head.”

“You do realize she’s the one who lied to me, right?”

“Not lied exactly,” Eric corrected. “Just a slight omission is all.”

Jacob raised a brow.

“Look, just leave her alone to do this, okay?”

“Are you her husband?” Jacob asked.

“What? No, of course not.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Boss, then.”

“No,” Eric said, looking annoyed. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Then I’m going in.”

“I already told you why you’re not.”

“Only if I was auditioning, right? Then you’d let me in.”

Eric slapped the clipboard against his thigh as he studied Jacob. “If you wanted to audition, none of this would have been necessary.”

“I don’t do performance cooking.”

“Someone here in line today is going to be extremely thankful for that.”

“I just want to talk to her.”

Eric sighed. “You know what? Fine. Talk to her. But mess her up, and I’ll mess you up.”

They sized each other up for a moment, then Jacob sighed. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt her.”

“Sure it’s not too late for that?”

What the hell did that mean? Jacob had no idea, and with a muttered “thanks,” he stepped inside the conference room. There was a long table set up, and behind it sat Em and a blonde, both watching the man standing in front of them.

The man was short, fat, bald and toting a whip. Instead of a white chef’s hat and coat, he wore all black. “First, you must determine if the lettuce is dirty,” he said in a deep, strict voice. He snapped the whip through the air for emphasis. “Is it dirty? Is the lettuce dirty? If so, naughty, naughty.”

Jacob, who’d seen it all, just shook his head.

The blonde’s mouth fell open.

Em looked equally flabbergasted.

“Are the tomatoes bad?” the auditioning chef asked sternly. “Are they very, very bad? If so, you slice them up real nice, or no food for you!” Another swoosh of the whip.

Em jerked to her feet. “Thank you,” she said quickly. “That’s enough.”

The man pointed the whip at her. “You, quiet. I am not finished.”

“Oh, yes, you are.” Liza jumped up next to Em. “Get out.”

The man “hmphed,” then stormed past Jacob, his squat figure barely coming up to his shoulder.

The blonde reached for her drink. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Yes,” Em said, and looked at Jacob. Relief filled her gaze.

She thought he’d changed his mind, that he wanted to be her chef.

Jacob shook his head, and the disappointment in her eyes nearly killed him. It had been a hell of a long time since he’d disappointed someone he cared about.

It had been a long time since he’d cared like this at all.

Liza turned to see what had caught Em’s eye, and put down her drink. “Tell me this is our lucky day,” she said to Jacob.

Again he shook his head.

“You’re killing me,” Liza muttered. “Next!”

The doors opened. A woman entered, dressed in nothing but a string bikini. A string bikini with strings sorely tested by her considerable girth. Her large breasts were pushing precariously at their restraints, and the bottoms of the bathing suit were strained to the point of being frayed. She’d topped this off with pink polka-dot stilettos.

“My turn!” she cried, waving a carrot of all things. “I plan to be the Great Loss Chef! Together, me and America are going to lose twenty-five pounds!”

Jacob thought she could have tripled that and been closer to the right number.

She began gyrating, dancing to some music only she could hear, her body jiggling and shaking, and not in an attractive fashion.

“Uh, thank you,” Em said. “But…”

The woman didn’t stop. In fact, she kept dancing as she began to eat the carrot.

“That’s all,” Em called out politely.

“No, don’t say stop,” Bikini Woman pleaded. “I can do this! I’m your next amazing chef!”

“I’m sorry.” Em shook her head. “I’m going to have to ask you to-”

“Not yet! I’m not finished-”

“Yes,” Liza said firmly. “You are. Next!”

Bikini Chef threw her carrot to the floor. “This is nothing but a bunch of crap! I’m an excellent chef. You’re all making a big mistake. You hear me? I was meant to be a star-my mother told me so!”

Em pressed her fingertips to her eyelids.

“Look,” Em said firmly, dropping her hands. “You haven’t shown me what I wanted to see, which was talent for cooking.”

“That’s because I can’t cook,” she cried.

“Then try one of the other reality shows,” Em told her as patiently as she could.