Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [66]
Could that be the reason for his pursuit of Miranda? To charm her, seduce her into writing only what Adam wanted? With a sinking heart, she acknowledged it was all too likely. Ignoring the corner of her mind that wished she’d never answered her cell, never gone to see Rob at that bar, Miranda resolved to be on her guard.
No more flirting. No more kisses. And definitely no more insanely hot groping up against the kitchen counter.
She had a terrible feeling that might be easier said than done.
It was disgustingly cheesy, but all Adam could think about was that scene from the Jimmy Cagney movie, where Jimmy climbs a tower or something and says, with this maniacal laugh, “Top of the world, Ma!”
Okay, so the movie was White Heat and the premise had something to do with Cagney as supercriminal thug, as near as Adam could remember, but still. The near-psychotic euphoria of that moment struck a chord.
Sometimes life was fucking awesome.
A restaurant that was a smash hit after only one week, phone lines burning up with reservations, insanely talented crew—all the things he’d always wanted, the life he’d been working toward since he was eighteen. Plus one stunning extra to top it all off, like the dollop of crème fraîche on a teaspoon of Beluga caviar.
Miranda Wake. A sizzling hot redhead full of contradictions and surprises. They’d squeezed a few more cooking lessons in over the past week, and even though they’d stuck to the culinary stuff, Adam knew it was only a matter of time. Looks passed back and forth, bodies brushed against each other as they moved around the kitchen—at this point, the sparky tension between them was enough to power a six-burner range.
They’d talked endlessly, conversations ranging from politics (they were both liberal—no shocker there, they both lived in Manhattan) to religion (Miranda went to the Methodist church near her apartment; Adam subscribed more to the Church of Sunday Brunch) to pop culture (they agreed that Aliens was as close to flawless as a movie could get).
Adam had noticed that when the talk turned personal, Miranda held back. He’d told her all about his crazy family, his Florida retiree parents, his cranky grandmother, and even his loser cousin, Joey, who blew every paycheck on the dogs. Miranda listened to it, soaked it up like a sponge, matter of fact, but she didn’t offer much in return. He’d tried to draw her out, ask about her parents and what it was like to lose them so young, but she snapped shut tighter than a fresh oyster.
So okay. She wasn’t ready to talk about that stuff yet. But Adam wasn’t discouraged. Something was building between them, layer upon layer every time they met, like a flawless terrine, and Adam couldn’t wait to finally dig in.
He pictured her tart mouth all pursed in concentration during that first lesson as she cracked egg after egg, and the image made him want to laugh out loud with joy or hug someone or something.
Frankie, innocently stocking the grill station with his mise en place, was the victim of Adam’s outpouring of emotion. Luckily, he was used to it.
“Oi,” he complained when Adam collared him with one arm around the neck and hauled him in for a bear hug.
“Shut up and enjoy it, you deviant,” Adam said, releasing him after a pointed squeeze. “You know you love me.”
“You’re off your nut,” Frankie said, attempting an unsuccessful scowl. “What did that scribbler of yours do to you this afternoon?”
“Nothing,” Adam said. Nothing except drive him crazy with her sidelong glances and casual touches. And there’d been a moment, when he’d straightened up from removing the parbaked piecrust from the oven, he’d been sure she was about to jump him.
Frankie raised a brow, and Adam smiled. They both knew Adam would spill his guts if there were anything to tell. They didn’t do secrets, not with each other.
Which reminded him of the one and only brown spot on the otherwise delectable peach that was currently his life. He was