Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [116]
Jake shrugged, his eyes gleaming wickedly. “Personally, I was growing rather fond of your Orphan Annie image,” he drawled. “But it was either garb you decently or court ptomaine poisoning for the remainder of the cruise. How did you tame our Tiger of the Kitchen in just four days?”
“Mr. Brockmeyer is not a tiger,” she protested stoutly. Then, meeting his skeptical look, she conceded, “Well, if he is, he has good reason to be. He's totally dedicated to his work and is a great artist. It's no wonder that he's so difficult. Just look at his background.” She paused for effect. “He was born in Cleveland!”
Jake took a sip of his wine and said solemnly, “How very unfortunate.” There was a suspicious twitch to his lips as he added, “I suppose that does have some significance, but I can't quite grasp it.”
“Well, of course, it does,” Jane said impatiently. “Whoever heard of a great chef from Cleveland, Ohio? The entire restaurant world is prejudiced in favor of French chefs. Even Italian chefs are given more opportunities than Americans.” She leaned forward, warming to her subject, her cheeks flushed. “I read an article in Gourmet magazine a few years ago about Sam Brockmeyer. Do you know that, as great as he is, he wasn't able to get work in any four-star restaurant in the world until he assumed the name of Pierre LeClaire?” Her voice rose indignantly. “Why, he even had to fake a French accent to get his first prestigious job! Can you imagine what that would do to a man of his temperament?”
Jake was grinning unashamedly now, his ebony eyes dancing. “I can see that a delicate flower like Brockmeyer could suffer irreparable psychological damage.”
Jane smiled reluctantly. “Well, he is a brilliant artist. He must be very sensitive under that gruff exterior.”
Jake's smile was cynical. “It doesn't naturally follow. I'm considered rather brilliant myself in some circles, and I assure you that I'm as hard as nails.”
She shook her head, her face troubled. “Don't say that. You couldn't be that tough and still be so kind to me. I'd probably be behind bars now if you were.”
“Don't make the mistake of putting me on a pedestal, redhead,” he corrected her wryly. “I'm a selfish bastard, and I always do exactly as I please. If I'd been in a different mood that night, I'd have turned you over to the authorities without a second thought.”
“I don't believe that,” Jane said quietly, her eyes steady on his.
“Then you're a fool,” he replied softly, his dark eyes ruthless. “Ask Marc what kind of man I am.”
Jane's gaze dropped. “I trust my own judgment,” she insisted stubbornly.
“You'll forgive me if I fail to be impressed by your efforts in that area to date. Well, I've warned you, Jane, and that's more than I've done for any other woman. Just don't expect me to be better than I am.”
“I don't think you know what you can be,” she said daringly. “Or who you really are.”
Jake's lips tightened, and his black eyes flickered. “And you do, I suppose,” he remarked caustically.
Jane shook her head hesitantly. “Not yet,” she said quietly, “but I'm beginning to think I may soon.”
The look he bestowed on her was half angry, half amused, before the impenetrable shutter once more masked his expression. “You'd better pray that the final unveiling doesn't scare the hell out of you, redhead,” he said lightly.
He reached for the bottle of wine and filled another glass and handed it to her. “Now, if you won't join me for lunch, at least have a glass of wine,” he ordered, grinning mischievously. “I promise I won't tell Brockmeyer.”
A few mornings later, they anchored at a small island off the southern coast of Mexico in answer to an urgent radio message from one Sheikh Ahmet Kahlid, a Middle Eastern oil potentate and apparently an old friend of Dominic's. Though Simon had apprised her of their passenger's arrival, Brockmeyer had kept Jane so busy in the kitchen that she didn't get a glimpse of the sheikh until it was time for her to go to the lounge to serve lunch.
She