Is lasting love on the menu?

Hotelier Harper Fontaine only wants one thing in life: to take over her family’s business empire. And she won’t let celebrity chef Ashton Croft screw up the new restaurant in her Vegas showcase. Getting the adventurer to meet deadlines is hard enough, but turning down the flame on their uncontrollable chemistry soon proves impossible!

Ashton has traveled the world but has never encountered a delicacy as delicious as Harper. Sure, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but will Ashton stay for Harper…especially when the chips are down and she suddenly stands to lose it all?

“From the minute I showed up here I’ve rubbed you the wrong way.”

Harper stared at him in helpless fascination. This was the Ashton Croft she’d been dying to get to know. The dashing adventurer who’d gamely hiked into dangerous surroundings to share a meal with locals and educate his viewers about what was unique to the area. It was always fascinating and often stuck with her long after the credits rolled.

“If you knew that, why didn’t you try rubbing me the right way?” Harper regretted the words the instant they left her lips. They sounded like flirtatious banter. “What I meant was…”

Ashton shook his head, stopping her flow of words. A low chuckle vibrated in his chest. “Please don’t try to explain it,” he said. “I think it’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

* * *

A Taste of Temptation is part of the Las Vegas Nights trilogy: Where love is the biggest gamble of all!

Dear Reader,

Being a huge fan of cooking shows, it was only a matter of time before I had a chef as a hero. A man who knows his way around a kitchen is oh-so-sexy. And when he’s also an adventure-loving world traveler, I’m hooked.

Researching new places to visit is a favorite pastime of mine. I’d never considered South Africa a must-see destination until I started researching the perfect safari camp for Harper and Ashton to fall in love. As I wrote, I listened to sounds of the bush, and by the time I finished the story I felt as if I’d actually traveled there. The area’s culture and history intrigue me, and I’ve added South Africa to my growing list of places I’d like to experience.

I hope you enjoy this third installment of my Las Vegas Nights series featuring the Fontaine sisters. I certainly had a blast writing their stories. I always enjoy hearing from my readers. You can contact me at cat.schield@yahoo.com.

All the best,

Cat Schield

A Taste of Temptation

Cat Schield

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAT SCHIELD has been reading and writing romance since high school. Although she graduated from college with a BA in business, her idea of a perfect career was writing books for Mils & Boon. And now, after winning the Romance Writers of America 2010 Golden Heart Award for series contemporary romance, that dream has come true. Cat lives in Minnesota with her daughter, Emily, and their Burmese cat. When she’s not writing sexy, romantic stories for Mills & Boon® DesireTM, she can be found sailing with friends on the St. Croix River, or in more exotic locales, like the Caribbean and Europe. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at www.catschield.com. Follow her on Twitter, @catschield.

To my MFW-BIAW Golden Girls: Nan Dixon, Lizbeth Selvig and Nancy Holland.

Thanks for keeping me motivated and inspired. You ladies rock.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Extract

One

As soon as Harper Fontaine stepped from her lively casino into her stylish new restaurant, she checked near the door for a rolling black leather duffel. Ashton Croft’s go bag. She loathed the thing. It represented everything that drove her crazy about the celebrity chef. His tendency to show up without warning. The way he thrived on excitement, and when none could be found, his knack for either stirring it up or heading out of town on some adventure or another.

But she needed the bag to be there because it would mean that Ashton had shown up for today’s head chef interview. Batouri’s grand opening was two weeks away. When the original deadline for the opening of the restaurant had come and gone without it being ready, Harper had questioned the wisdom of asking an unreliable television personality to start a restaurant in her hotel.

True, the buzz about the grand opening had drawn all eyes and scads of publicity to her hotel, Fontaine Ciel, but was the attention worth the stress Ashton had heaped on those in charge of making the restaurant a success? Carlo Perrault, the restaurant’s manager, wasn’t sleeping and had grown irritable these past two months. Harper was grinding her teeth at night. The headaches induced by this behavior had forced to her seek medical help. She now wore a mouth guard when she went to bed. Slipping the awkward plastic device into her mouth, she would lie on the mattress and wish she had some idea what happened to Ashton’s initial enthusiasm about the restaurant.

The longer the filming of The Culinary Wanderer had gone in Indonesia, the more difficult she’d found working with him to be. They’d had to postpone Batouri’s launch date twice because of scheduling conflicts with his travels for his wildly popular television series.

Which was why Harper refused to delay again. The restaurant’s black floors were polished. The chandeliers had been hung from the high cove ceiling. Their light illuminated the white napkins and crystal wine goblets on the black tables. Ten days earlier the painters had completed the metallic gold treatment on the three wide pillars down the center of the room. Near the fully stocked bar, the assistant manager was putting the waitstaff through their paces.

But for two things, Batouri was ready to open. Two key things. It lacked a head chef and a menu.

And seeing that Ashton’s go bag wasn’t in its usual place, it looked as if that menu was going to have to wait. Harper glanced at her watch. It was exactly four in the afternoon. She’d told Ashton the interview would happen at three to make certain he arrived on time. Playing these sorts of games wasn’t in her nature, but she was at her wits’ end in dealing with the celebrity chef.

She dialed her assistant. Mary picked up on the second ring.

Harper got straight to business. “Did Ashton Croft call to say he’d be delayed?”

“No.”

“And his plane was supposed to land in Las Vegas at one?”

“Yes, I confirmed his itinerary this morning.”

Damn the man. Two weeks ago Ashton had promised Harper his full attention starting today. She should have known better. “Thank you, Mary. Let me know if you hear from him.”

“Sure thing.” Harper was on the verge of disconnecting the call when something Mary said caught her attention. “...in your office.”

Carlo Perrault emerged from the kitchen, a scowl on his handsome face. The forty-six-year-old restaurant manager was known for his composure, but even he was showing signs of stress at all the things that still needed to be done. “We have a problem.”

“I’m sorry, Mary. Who did you say was in my office?”

“Your mother.”

“My mother?” Surprise kept her from guarding her tone. Aware of Carlo’s scrutiny, Harper turned her back on him and stepped away to give herself some semblance of privacy. “Did she say what she was doing in Vegas?”

“No, but she seems upset.”

“Just upset?” Harper mused.

Penelope Fontaine wouldn’t have left her elegant condo in Boca Raton to fly two thousand miles to visit Harper unless something was seriously wrong. And if it was, why had Penelope come to Harper? Usually Penelope took her problems to her father-in-law, Henry Fontaine.

“You once mentioned she smokes when she’s agitated,” Mary said. “She’s starting her second cigarette.”

“She’s smoking in my office?” Harper pinched the bridge of her nose. She wanted to insist Mary tell her mother to put out the cigarette, but knew that would be asking too much of her assistant. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“You can’t leave,” Carlo protested. “Croft has started the interview without you.”

“Great,” she muttered. “How long has he been here?”

“Long enough to taste everything Chef Cole has prepared.” Carlo’s dour expression was enough to tell Harper that this interview was going the way the other seven had.

“Mary, looks like I am going to be a while. Get my mother settled in a suite and I’ll visit her as soon as I’m done here.” Harper hung up and turned to Carlo. “If he messes this interview up, I’m going to kill him.”

Carlo offered her a tight nod of understanding.

The hostility in the two male voices hit her before she’d reached the food pass area.

“There’s nothing wrong with the sear on these scallops,” one of the men protested, his tone both arrogant and simmering with hostility. “And the sauce is not under seasoned.”

“It’s obvious the only thing worse than your culinary skills is your wretched palate.”

Pain stabbed Harper’s temple as she recognized the voice of the second speaker. Ashton Croft had been interviewing head chefs for two months, rejecting one after another for failing to live up to his exacting standards.

Harper snapped her vertebrae into a stiff line and stepped into the meticulously organized, stainless-steel kitchen. As was her habit, her gaze swung immediately to Ashton. He dominated the room with his presence. Tall and imposing in his chef whites, he stood glaring at Chef Cole, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.

He hadn’t yet noticed her, hadn’t turned his Persian-blue eyes her way, hadn’t noted her slight breathlessness. His passion for food sent his innate charisma soaring. She cursed the hero worship that she couldn’t completely squash despite her professionalism. She was unequal parts frustrated with the restaurateur and enamored of the dashing adventurer.

His travels fascinated her. Some of the things Ashton had eaten made Harper shudder, but he boldly consumed whatever he was offered. She’d spend her entire life knowing exactly where she was going, and the way he allowed random opportunities to push him into unexpected and sometimes startling discoveries both unnerved and captivated her. Watching his television shows had made her realize just how safe her world was. And a seed of restlessness had sprouted inside her.

With effort Harper ripped her gaze from Ashton and turned her attention to the other chef. Taking in the interviewee’s blazing eyes and clenched fists, she donned her most diplomatic expression and entered the war zone.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” She stepped into the middle of the clash with calm authority. She wanted Chef Dillon Cole to run Batouri’s kitchen. He was an excellent chef as well as a strong, organized leader. Harper restrained a weary sigh. Of all the candidates, he’d been Harper’s first choice for head chef. It was why she’d saved his interview until the last. This close to the restaurant’s already delayed grand opening, she had the leverage she needed to force Ashton’s hand. “I stopped by to see how things are going.”

“Taste this,” Ashton commanded, pushing the plate in her direction without ever taking his eyes off Cole. “Tell me if you think it’s up to Batouri standards.”

The first time he’d done this she’d been flattered that he wanted her opinion. After the third candidate had been rejected, she’d realized he was merely using her to drive home a point. If someone with no culinary experience could taste the inferior quality of the entrées, the chef who’d prepared the dish had failed.

Harper made no move to do as he’d asked. “May I speak to you privately for a moment?”

“Can it wait?” Ashton never took his eyes off Chef Cole.

She fought to keep her frustration on a tight leash. How would it play out on social media if the general manager of Fontaine Ciel was recorded shrieking empty threats at the famous Chef Croft?

“No.”

Her conviction came through loud and clear, snagging Ashton’s complete attention. His laser-sharp blue eyes scanned her expression. Sexual interest flared low in her belly. It traveled upward, leaving every nerve it touched sizzling with anticipation. She cursed silently. Her body’s tendency to overreact to the man’s rakish good looks and raw masculinity had distracted her all too often. She was not her professional best around him.

Once again Harper reminded herself that the flesh and blood man standing before her was unreliable and unconcerned with how his priorities impacted those around him. The dashing adventurer he portrayed on television was entertaining to watch as he charmed locals by listening attentively to their stories and sampling the regional specialties. But when it came to the routine matters necessary to start a restaurant, he easily became distracted.

Lips tightening, Ashton nodded. “Excuse us,” he said to Chef Cole, and gestured for Harper to return to the dining room. “What’s so important?” he demanded as soon as they’d exited the kitchen.

“The restaurant opens in two weeks.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“The press releases have gone out. There will be no further postponement.”

“Understood.”

She tamped down her irritation. “We need a head chef.”

“I will take charge of the kitchen.”

If only that were true. “I need someone I can rely on to be here every day.”

His nod indicated he saw where she was going. “You want me to hire Cole.”

“The last time I was in Chicago I ate at his restaurant. It was excellent. I was looking forward to tasting what he’d created today.”

“You didn’t miss much.”

Harper spent a minute studying Ashton. There was something different about him today. Usually he breezed in, found something wrong with the construction or the fixtures and then stirred up everyone associated with the project before coming up with a fix for whatever he perceived wrong. Working with him had been stressful and invigorating, but in the end the restaurant was far better for his interference.

Today he seemed to be creating trouble for the sake of drama rather than because he had real issues with Chef Cole.

“Is there something going on with you?”

Her abrupt change in topic startled him into a moment of uncertainty. “Not a thing. Why?”

“Because you were on time for a change.”

“I believe I was an hour early.”

She gestured toward the door, making no effort to correct him. “And there’s no go bag.”

“Go bag?” he echoed.

“The black leather bag that you bring with you everywhere.”

“You mean my rolling duffel?” He pointed toward a far corner of the restaurant where the bag sat beside a semicircular corner booth. “Why do you call it a go bag?”

“Because it’s your crutch.”

Amusement narrowed his eyes. “My crutch.”

“When things get too tedious you make some excuse, grab the bag and head off in search of greater excitement.”

“Leaving you behind to clean up after me?”

She let a brief silence answer his question. “You’ve interviewed and rejected seven head chef candidates.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s your point?”

“I need you to hire someone. Chef Cole is that person.”

“You didn’t taste his entrées.” When it came to food, Ashton was a creative genius. She wasn’t surprised he couldn’t find someone who was capable of living up to his demanding criteria. “I found them lacking.”

“He has the experience and the organization to run this kitchen the way I expect it to be run—”

Ashton interrupted. “When you came to me about opening a restaurant in your hotel, I thought you understood that I had the last and final word on all creative.”

“Creative, yes, but this is about the management of the kitchen.” Which was why she was determined to get her way. She’d been able to control costs and manage the construction schedule, working hard to manifest Ashton’s vision for the restaurant without exceeding budget.

In that respect their working relationship meshed.

“But the kitchen is where the magic happens.”

“Except there’s no magic happening because we don’t have a menu or a head chef to work with the kitchen staff.” Pain shot through her head. She winced.

“We will be ready for the opening.” His absolute confidence should have shut down all her worries.

“But—”

“Trust me.” His deep voice broke into her protest, his soothing cadence catching her off guard.

“I do.” That’s not what she’d meant to say.

But she knew it was true. They might have had completely different philosophies on how to accomplish something, but he had proven time and again he was as capable of getting things done as she. Deep down she knew he’d plan a fantastic menu and win the love of customers and critics alike.

That it would happen in the frantic last hours before the door opened was what made her crazy.

Famous dimples flashing, he countered, “No, you don’t. From the minute I showed up here I’ve rubbed you the wrong way.”

Harper stared at him in helpless fascination. This was the Ashton Croft she’d been dying to get to know. The man who charmed smiles from people who’d seen nothing but hardship and violence. The dashing adventurer who’d on occasion gamely hiked into dangerous surroundings to share a meal with locals and educate his viewers about what was unique to the area. It was always intriguing and often stuck with her long after the credits rolled.

“If you knew that, why didn’t you try rubbing me the right way?” Harper regretted the words the instant they left her lips. They sounded like flirtatious banter. “What I meant was...”

Ashton shook his head, stopping her flow of words.

* * *

Not once since they’d first met nine months ago had she given him any hint that her interest in him went beyond his skills in the kitchen. Plagued by unruly flashes of lust for the überprofessional businesswoman and not wanting anything to interfere with the negotiations for the Las Vegas restaurant, he’d ignored his disobedient hormones and kept things strictly business.

But as they neared the date for the restaurant opening, he found it harder and harder to stop seeing her as an attractive—if too serious—woman.

It made him crazy that he couldn’t accept that she wasn’t interested and move on. This was Vegas. There were thousands of women arriving every day looking to have a good time. Perfect for a frequent flier like him. He rarely stayed in the same location for more than a few days. The time he’d spent in Vegas these past few months was the most settled he’d been since leaving New York City ten years earlier.

A low chuckle vibrated his chest. “Please don’t try to explain it,” he said. “I think it’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“That’s not true.” But she went no further.

“I think it is.”

Ashton had watched her walking the line between frustration and diplomacy with finesse and grace these many months. He wasn’t completely oblivious to how hard he’d made her life.

At the beginning of the project he’d been excited to put his creative stamp on Las Vegas. He hadn’t understood until it was too late how difficult his ideas would be to communicate. He’d demanded changes that irritated the designers and caused forward progress to halt. Forced by his filming timeline to oversee the restaurant from thousands of miles away, he’d found few things that met with his approval. The layout of the kitchen wasn’t to his satisfaction. Numerous shipments of lighting and furniture samples didn’t meet his expectations.

Then there were the filming delays caused by the Indonesian weather. Days of rain threw off their schedule. The crew joked that their ratings would skyrocket if they captured him soaked through, his clothes plastered to his body, but no one wanted to venture out into the mud and damp.

“Why don’t I tell Cole he blew the interview and then fix something delicious. You can tell me what’s bothering you while we eat.”

“The lack of a head chef is what’s bothering me.”

“There has to be something else. You’re not usually so testy.”

“I’m not testy. I simply don’t have time to eat with you.”

“Five minutes ago you were ready to sit down and taste everything Cole had prepared.” He crossed his arms and regarded her solemnly. “So I have to ask, what is it about my food you don’t like?”

“It’s not your food. I ate at Turinos while you were executive chef and the food was brilliant. You don’t seriously think I’d invite you to open a restaurant here if I didn’t love your cooking.”

“Then is it me you don’t like?” He held up his hand to forestall her denial. “I’ve been told I can be difficult to work with.”

She took a deep breath and let it out, releasing some of the tension. “You’ve been murder to work with, but I think the restaurant’s going to be worth every name I’ve called you.”

Her bluntness made the corners of his mouth twitch. “You’ve called me names?”

“Never where anyone could hear me.”

“Of course.”

“Meaning?”

“Just that you’re too much of a lady to ever let loose.”

“And there’s something wrong with being a lady?”

In the back of his mind a rational voice warned that he was baiting her. At the beginning of their association he’d often lobbed provocative statements her way. But she’d been far too professional to react and eventually he’d stopped aggravating her. This conversation felt different. As if she’d let the mask slide and was giving him a taste of her true self.

“Only that you never seem to have any fun.”

She wasn’t the only one who’d done her homework. He knew about the contest she was waging against her half sisters to one day take over as CEO of the family business. She’d had a phenomenal amount of success in her career, but Harper wasn’t one to rest on her past achievements. In that way, they were alike. No one could put as much pressure on Harper as she put on herself.

“I have a great deal riding on the success of my hotel.” She wouldn’t stop until she had everything exactly the way she wanted it. “And you aren’t one to talk. You barely take any time off between filming The Culinary Wanderer, promoting the series and managing your other restaurants.”

“I won’t deny that I’m busy, but I also take time to enjoy what I’m doing.” He cocked his head. “Do you?”

“I enjoy my work. I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t.” But beneath her vehemence was a grain of doubt.

She’d tried to hide her weariness with a careful application of concealer and blush, but he’d watched her long hours bite deeper into her energy each time he came to check on the restaurant’s progress.

“But there must be something for you besides work,” he said. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t gotten around to yet?”

“You make it sound like I’m sacrificing everything for my career.”

In fact, he hadn’t been saying that at all, but that she chose to interpret his question this way told him more than she’d intended.

“Everyone has dreams of something carefree and fun they’d like to do someday.”

“I agree.”

“Tell me one of yours.”

“I don’t get the point.”

Was she stalling? Trying to come up with something safe? “Humor me. What’s the first thing that pops into your mind?”

With her brows drawn together in exasperation, she blurted out, “I’d like to ride a camel across the desert and sleep in a tent.”

Ashton wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by her outburst. “Seriously?” He laughed. “That’s not at all what I expected you to say. I thought you’d tell me you wanted to...” He trailed off. They’d worked together for nine months and he knew so little about her.

“Wanted to what?” she prompted, wary curiosity in her warm brown eyes.

“I’m not sure. You aren’t the sort of woman I imagine wanting to run off to Paris on a shopping spree or lounge on a yacht.” She was too driven by timetables to enjoy such frivolous pursuits. “Maybe something more serious-minded. A visit to a museum, perhaps?”

His suggestion didn’t meet with her approval. “You know, I’m a little tired of everyone criticizing me for being too serious.”

Whoa, he’d definitely touched a nerve there. “Who is everyone?”

“My family. My classmates when I was in school. Friends. Life isn’t all about play, you know.” She glanced down at her smartphone and frowned.

“It’s also not all about work.”

Sharp irritation sliced through her voice. “Says the man who rarely does any.”

“Well, well, well.” He flashed her a big grin. “That’s some hellcat you keep bottled up.”

She stared at him in consternation before sputtering, “That’s ridiculous. There’s no hellcat here.”

“You didn’t see the bloodlust in your eyes just now.”

Her jaw worked as if she was grinding something particularly nasty between her teeth. “I’ll admit to being a little on edge. You are not the easiest man to work with.”

“Maybe not work with,” he agreed. “But when you’re ready to have some fun, give me a call.”

In the quiet of the restaurant, Harper stared at Ashton with raised brows and lips softly parted. His offer wasn’t sexual in nature, but when he spied the hope that flickered in her melted-chocolate eyes, his perception of her shifted dramatically.

“I don’t have time—”

“For fun.” He scrutinized her expression. “Yes, so you’ve said.”

As a teenager, he’d fallen in with some dangerous criminals. Learning to read micro expressions had helped him survive. That he’d not picked up on the passionate woman concealed beneath Harper’s professional exterior pointed out just how complacent he’d become.

Time to wake up and start paying attention.

She cleared her throat. “Getting back to Chef Cole...”

“I’ll hire him if you spend an evening with me.” This time he was deliberately hitting on her.

She set her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Five minutes ago you were ready to pass on him.”

“Five minutes ago I didn’t realize just how starved for adventure you were.”

“I’m very happy right where I am.”

“When the first thing on your bucket list is riding a camel in the desert and sleeping in a tent, forgive me if I don’t believe your life is as satisfying as you’d have people believe.”

“I don’t have a bucket list,” she retorted. “And if I did, that wouldn’t be the first thing on it. It was just something that popped into my head. I remember you doing that in an episode of The Culinary Wanderer.”

“You’re a fan?”

“Before I get into business with someone I do my research.”

Sensible. But he hoped that hadn’t been her only motivation. Swept by the urge to see her let her hair down, literally and figuratively, he decided to ignore her verbal cues and concentrate on what she was saying with her body.

“And your research involved watching my shows? I would have thought you’d be more interested in hard facts such as the financials of my four other restaurants and the uptick in advertising revenue my show brings to the network.”

“All those things paint a very positive picture of you. I also spoke with a number of your employees and several of the crew who worked with you on your shows. As I said, I do my research.”

Obviously she knew much more about him than he knew about her. The imbalance bothered him. “Then you know the sort of businessman I am, and when I say I’m willing to hire a chef you favor, it’s not done lightly.”

With her gaze firmly attached to his left shoulder, she murmured, “In exchange for a night with me.”

“I proposed an evening.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the conclusion she’d jumped to. “You have a naughty mind if you think I’d barter hiring Cole for sex.”

Hot color flared in her cheeks. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Oh, I think it was. I told you that hellcat was going to get you into trouble.”

“I misspoke.”

“I don’t think so.” Now that she was off balance, he decided to keep her that way. “I think it was a Freudian slip. You want me. You just can’t admit it.”

“What I want is for you to hire a chef and get him trained to your exacting standards so I don’t have to worry about what happens after you leave.”

She’d taken refuge in exasperation, but it wasn’t fooling him.

“My offer still stands. Give me one evening and I’ll hire Cole.”

“Why would you want to spend an evening with me?” She looked as frazzled as he’d ever seen her.

“I thought you’d be interested in tasting the dishes I’m considering for the restaurant.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And that’s all there is to it?”

“Of course.”

She regarded him in silence for several heartbeats before replying. “Hire Cole. You need someone accomplished to run your kitchen while you’re off playing celebrity.” With that, she pivoted on her conservative black pumps and strode across to his bag. Snagging the handle, she pulled it after her. “I’m taking this as collateral,” she called over her shoulder.

It was a silly gesture—taking his clothes hostage wouldn’t prevent him from getting on a plane—and so unlike Harper, the consummate professional. Ashton’s gaze followed her, appreciating the pronounced sway of her hips. Thinking she’d put one over on him had injected a trace of strut into her stride.

“I will hire him,” Ashton promised her. “And you will spend the evening with me.”

“Sampling your menu.” Her words floated back to him.

He’d been right about the hellcat lurking beneath her skin. It had been asleep far too long and he was the perfect guy to rouse it.

His final shot chased her out of the restaurant. “I’m going to make it a night you’ll never forget.”

Two

Smugness from her encounter with Ashton lasted about a second as she strode out of the restaurant and headed toward her office. What had she been thinking to walk off with his luggage? He must think she’d gone mad.

Well, hadn’t she?

She’d agreed to an evening with him. Harper had no doubt she’d signed on for more than a private tasting of his menu. Which meant she was in big trouble. Already her mouth watered at the prospect of being the beneficiary of his culinary prowess. As long as that was the only prowess he plied her with, she might survive the evening without making a fool of herself. If he decided to test her level of resistance to his manly charms she wasn’t going to maintain her professionalism very long.

Her skin burned as she thought of how he’d called her on her assumption that he wanted sex in exchange for hiring the chef she preferred. Not once had she suspected Ashton was the sort of man to make such a sordid offer. So why had she jumped to that conclusion? Even worse, why had she lobbed the accusation at him? Naturally, he’d presumed her misunderstanding represented her deepest desires.

And he was probably right. For the past nine months she’d been complaining that the real Ashton Croft wasn’t as wonderful as the one on television. But that wasn’t exactly true. His persona on TV was charismatic and amusing. He was the cool guy everyone wanted to hang out with. The flesh and blood Ashton Croft was no less appealing. It was just that the travel series didn’t fully convey the masculine energy of the man. The rawness of his sex appeal.

Most of the time she focused on how frustrating he was. She was terrified of being bamboozled by his dimples and rakish grin. If he had any idea how easily he could knock her socks off, he’d probably go after a few other items of clothing, as well.

Harper shook her head at the thought. She was not going to sleep with Ashton Croft. It would be different if they’d met in some exotic locale; she could see herself being one of his random hook ups. The next morning, she would chalk up the evening as an adventure worth having. Hadn’t she spent tedious hours on the treadmill imagining all sorts of spicy scenarios where she bumped into Ashton at a vineyard in Tuscany or on a walk around Dubrovnik’s ancient city walls? There they would share a sunset and he’d persuade her to join him for dinner. On a private terrace overlooking the Adriatic Sea and surrounded by candles, he’d take her into his arms and...

The faint smell of cigarette smoke ripped Harper from her daydream.

Parking Ashton’s go bag just inside the door of her office, Harper surveyed her formerly pristine sanctuary. Her mother’s ostrich leather Burberry holdall sat on the sky-blue sofa, half the contents scattered around it. An empty pack of cigarettes lay crushed on the coffee table beside a crystal tumbler with a pale pink lipstick stain. The elegant lines of a cream trench coat were draped over Harper’s executive chair. Her mother had definitely moved in.

Penelope Fontaine stood by the window overlooking the Las Vegas strip, her right hand resting at her throat, as if protecting the string of large black pearls she wore. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the cigarette pinched between the fingers of her other hand. In a black-and-white Chanel dress, with her long blond hair pulled away from her face in a classic chignon, she looked elegant and untouchable.

The sight stirred up memories of the day her parents had sat her down and explained that they were splitting up. Her mother needed to move to Florida for her health. Harper would remain in New York City with her father. Which basically meant she’d be alone with the staff because Ross Fontaine had spent most of his time avoiding the company’s New York headquarters and his father’s expectations. With Fontaine Hotels and Resorts’ extensive holdings in the U.S. and abroad, Harper’s father could be as irresponsible as he wanted without Henry Fontaine being the wiser.

“Mother, I would appreciate it if you didn’t smoke in my office.” Harper advanced toward Penelope, ready to pluck the cigarette from her mother if she didn’t comply.

“I’m sorry, Harper.” Crossing to the coffee table, she dropped the cigarette into the empty glass. “You know how I revert when I’m upset.”

The lingering smell of smoke made Harper’s nose tingle unpleasantly. “What’s bothering you?” She fetched a can of air freshener from one of the cabinets that lined the east wall and sprayed the room with ocean breezes.

“I need your help.” Penelope’s voice warbled as she spoke the last word.

Unsure whether her mother was being theatrical or if she was truly in trouble, Harper took a quick inventory. Penelope’s eyes looked like a forest after a downpour, the green enhanced by the redness that rimmed them.

“You’ve been crying.” This was no bid for her daughter’s attention. “What’s wrong?”

“Something terrible has happened.” Harper heard the weight of the world in Penelope’s voice. “Why else do you think I came to this godforsaken city? It’s not as if you’d come visit me in Florida.”

“The hotel is taking all my energy right now.” Harper knew better than to book passage on her mother’s guilt trip, but her encounter with Ashton had stirred up her emotions. “Why didn’t you go to Grandfather?”

Penelope fiddled with the ten-carat diamond she wore on her left hand despite her husband’s death five years earlier. Why would she take if off now when she’d worn the ring through eighteen years of being separated from Ross Fontaine?

“Henry can’t help me with this.”

“But I can?” Harper struggled to get her head around this shift in her world’s axis.

Never once had her mother reached out like this. Penelope was of the mindset that only men could solve the world’s problems. Women were supposed to adorn their husbands’ arms, looking beautiful and displaying graceful manners. They weren’t supposed to run billion-dollar corporations at the expense of attracting lovers, much less suitable husbands.

“You’re the only one who can.”

All her life Harper had been waiting for her mother to acknowledge her as powerful and capable. That Penelope had turned to her daughter for help was as thrilling a victory as Harper had ever known. “What do you need?”

“Money.”

Her mother received a sizeable allowance each month from the Fontaine family trust. What could she possibly need to buy that she couldn’t turn to Harper’s grandfather? “Why?”

“I’m being blackmailed.”

Blackmailed? This was the last thing Harper expected to hear.

“Have you spoken to the police?” To Harper’s mind, paying a blackmailer was never a good idea.

Penelope stared at Harper as if she’d suggested her mother get a job. “This is private business.”

“Blackmail is illegal.”

“I will not have my personal affairs become public knowledge.”

Until her mother had retreated to Florida, Harper had been conditioned daily to believe that image was everything. And even though she’d subsequently found her true strength lay in being resourceful and focused, that earlier rhetoric wasn’t easily ignored.

“I understand your reputation means everything to you, but what’s to say the blackmailer won’t leak the information even though you pay him?”

“He’s promised not to.” Penelope said this as if stunned that her daughter could be that stupid. “I came here thinking you’d help me.”

Harper chewed on a sigh before saying, “How much do you need?”

“Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

The sum rendered Harper speechless for a long moment. “What did you do?”

Treating her mother with such bluntness wasn’t going to win Harper any points, but the amount had caught her off guard.

Penelope gathered outrage around her like a shawl. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Excuse me for interrupting.” Ashton strode into the room, looking far from remorseful that he’d barged in.

Too stunned by the bomb her mother had dropped to react to his intrusion, Harper sat motionless and watched him approach. His gaze shifted from her to Penelope, and Harper wondered if he was comparing mother and daughter.

Was he making the assumption that Harper and her mother were the same? Wealthy women, confident in their identity, knowing exactly how their lives were going to play out and content with the direction. Most days that’s how Harper felt. Not today.

“Harper?” her mother’s low warning tone prodded Harper to her feet.

“Mother, this is Chef Ashton Croft. He is the creative genius behind Batouri. Ashton, this is my mother, Penelope Fontaine.”

She ignored the flash of humor in Ashton’s eyes as she introduced him as a creative genius. It was true. No matter how big a pain in the ass he’d been, there was no denying the man was brilliant in the kitchen.

“Delighted to meet you,” Penelope murmured, extending her hand like a queen to her subject.

Harper mentally rolled her eyes as Ashton clasped her mother’s hand and flashed his charismatic celebrity grin.

“I’ve enjoyed working with your daughter.”

Liar.

He’d tolerated her at best.

Seeing the effect his dazzling persona was having on her mother, Harper momentarily surrendered to amusement. Not normally one to be charmed by a handsome face or flirtation, Penelope appeared as if she’d forgotten all about the blackmail that had driven her more than two thousand miles to seek her daughter’s help.

As much as she hated interrupting their mutual love fest, Harper wanted to return to her mother’s blackmail problem and get the issue solved. “Is there something you needed from me?” she asked Ashton.

His attention swung to her. “Just my laptop. I have a video conference in ten minutes.”

“It’s over there.” She gestured toward the black bag.

He bent to a side pocket in the duffel and took out a thin silver computer. Harper followed the smooth bunch and flex of his muscles, and her breath hissed out in appreciation. Strong and athletic in his cargo pants, denim shirt and hiking boots, sun-streaked shaggy hair falling into his bright blue eyes, he represented everything that Harper was not. Physical, unpredictable, exciting. The yang to her yin, she realized, and felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“Leave the bag,” she commanded, her voice a husky blur. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Of course.”

She caught his smug gaze and stared him down in silence, refusing to backpedal or stumble through an explanation of what she’d actually meant. And maybe just a little afraid to ask herself about the subtext he’d picked up on.

“Check with Mary to see which conference room is available.”

“I appreciate the accommodation.”

“Come see me when you’re done. I’m interested to hear how your conversation with Chef Cole went.”

“I look forward to telling you. Will you be here?”

Harper glanced at her mother. “I’m not certain where I’ll be. Ask Mary. She has a knack for finding me.”

He nodded and exited her office. With his departure, the energy level in the room plummeted. Harper’s heart pounded in her chest as if she’d done a two-minute sprint on her treadmill.

“You’re letting that scruffy man open a restaurant in your hotel?”

Penelope’s criticism would’ve stung if Harper hadn’t witnessed her mother batting her eyelash extensions at that scruffy man only moments before. “He only recently returned from four months in Indonesia.”

“I thought you said he was a chef. What was he doing there?”

“Filming his television series, The Culinary Wanderer.” Harper waited for her mother to recognize the name. “He travels all over the world, eating local cuisine and bringing attention to the history or current troubles of the places where he films.”

“I don’t watch much television. It’s too depressing.”

Harper didn’t bother arguing. Penelope lived in a snug bubble. She played golf in the morning and then lunched with friends. After a few hours spent shopping, the remainder of her day was taken up by something cultural or philanthropic. The only interruption to her schedule happened when she traveled to the Hamptons to visit her mother or decided a room of her condo needed updating.

“His show is very popular.”

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” Penelope replied, her tone indicating that she’d dismissed a subject that no longer interested her. “How soon can you get me the money I need?”

“I’ll call the bank and have them wire the funds as soon as you tell me who is blackmailing you and why.”

“I’m your mother,” Penelope huffed. “Don’t you dare barter with me.”

Before Harper could argue, Mary appeared in the doorway. “Your grandfather is on line one and Carlo called to say Chef Cole wants to talk to you as soon as you’re available.” Mary placed a wealth of emphasis on that last part.

She needed to do some damage control. “Tell him I’ll be down as soon as I’m done talking to Grandfather. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

Penelope clutched her daughter’s arm as Harper began to rise. “You can’t say anything to Henry.”

“Why don’t we sort this business out over dinner later,” she suggested, attempting to pacify her mother. “I need to know more details before we proceed.”

“But you are going to help me,” Penelope stated, anxiety shadowing her determined tone.

“Of course.” Harper’s gaze skittered away from the relief in her mother’s eyes and fell on her assistant.

Mary had been waiting patiently through their exchange. Seeing she’d regained Harper’s attention, she switched on her headset and spoke to the caller. “She’s on her way to the phone now. Okay, I’ll let her know. Your grandfather has had to take another call. He’ll catch up with you at four our time.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Harper turned to her mother. “I have some business to take care of. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.”

Penelope glanced at her watch. “I have a manicure appointment in half an hour.”

It made perfect sense to Harper that her mother would schedule a beauty treatment in the midst of a personal crisis. No matter how bad things got, she never neglected her appearance.

“Mary will get you settled in a suite. I’ll order dinner to be served there at seven. We can talk then.”

* * *

Ashton lounged in the Fontaine Ciel’s executive conference room, tapping his fingers against the tabletop in a rhythm that called to him from the past. He had his back to the large monitor set on the wall opposite the door that led to the hall. The network suits in New York had not yet figured out the connection was live and he was gaining some useful insights into their thought processes.

He’d been in negotiations for a brand-new television series for almost five months now. The Lifestyle Network wanted him to star in a culinary show that “showcased his talent.” Or at least that was the way his manager, Vince, had pitched it. Ashton agreed that it was a solid career move. Something he’d been working toward these past eight years.

It would allow him to live permanently in New York City. He’d never again have to travel under the most uncomfortable conditions to places that no one in their right mind wanted to live.

Too bad he loved all those miserable out-of-the-way places he visited. Nor was Lifestyle Network’s demand that he quit The Culinary Wanderer if they gave him his new show sitting well with Ashton. With the sort of taping schedule he had with the travel show, there was no reason why he couldn’t do both. He’d given six years to Phillips Consolidated Networks and The Culinary Wanderer. The show remained vital and continued to do well in the ratings. Giving it up made no sense. And then there was all the aid that the places he visited received as a result of the show.

He hadn’t set out to do a culinary series that highlighted socioeconomic and political issues around the world. He’d started out romping around the globe doing a six-part series featuring out of the way culinary adventures for the network’s travel channel. At some point toward the end of the first season, he’d started to see the potential of shining the light of television on some of the places regular travelers would never go. But it wasn’t until the first segments aired that he realized he was raising social awareness.

The series’ high ratings caught the network executives’ attention. They liked what they saw and wanted to work with him again so Ashton pitched them a show focused as much on the problems faced by the locals as it was about the regional cuisine. Six months later, The Culinary Wanderer was born.

By the end of the first season, his viewership had increased threefold. Inspired by the flood of emails from viewers asking how they could help, the network partnered with a world help organization to bring aid to the areas hit hardest by war and poverty. It was somewhat surreal to discover he did more good with his half-hour television series than his parents did in a year with their missionary work. And it was sad to realize no matter how much he did, they would never approve of his methods.

Still, money had been raised. People had been fed and given medicine. Sources of fresh water had been brought to villages that needed it. But no matter how much Ashton accomplished there was always another town ravaged by unrest or burdened by poverty. His gut told him he shouldn’t walk away from all those who still needed help. Yet wasn’t it this exact sort of arrogance—that he was somehow special and necessary for others’ salvation—that made him so angry with his father?

“Chef Croft, are you ready to begin?”

Ashton swiveled around and gave the assembled group an easy smile. “Whenever you are, gentlemen.”

He could see that his manager was on the call from his L.A. office. Vince’s expression gave away none of the concern he’d voiced to Ashton late last night, but he wasn’t looking as relaxed as usual. This show would take Ashton from celebrity chef to household name. From there the possibilities were endless.

“Chef Croft,” began Steven Bell, a midlevel executive who’d been acting as the group’s mouthpiece these past several months. He was the third in a line of conservatively dressed, middle-aged men with a talent for pointing out problems and little else. “We have slotted the new show to begin the end of February and would like to start taping in three weeks. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.”

Several of the men exchanged glances, and Ashton picked up on it. If he’d learned anything in the past several months, he’d discovered the path to superstardom wasn’t a smooth one.

“We’ve been told your restaurant in the Fontaine hotel is behind schedule,” said the man Ashton thought of as Executive Orange because whatever spray tan he used gave his skin a sunset glow.

“Untrue. It’s set to open in two weeks.”

“And your expectation is that you’ll have it running smoothly immediately?”

Ashton knew what was going on. Vince had warned him that since Ashton was unwilling to give in on the matter of quitting The Culinary Wanderer they were looking at other chefs in an effort to force his hand.

“I will be leaving my kitchen in good hands. I offered Chef Dillon Cole the head chef position.” He left out the fact that Cole hadn’t agreed to take the job.

“He’s out of Chicago, correct?”

Unsure which of the six executives had spoken, Ashton nodded. “A talented chef.” Which was perfectly true, despite his earlier criticism. Ashton just wasn’t sure he was the right man for Batouri, but he was running out of time and options. If he wanted to host the new show, he needed to be available.

“We’d like you to come to New York next week and spend a couple days working with our producers. We feel you should be on the set and run through a couple versions of the show to get some film that we could run past a couple of our current hosts for their input.”

“What days did you have in mind?”

“Wednesday and Thursday. We could schedule something in the afternoon, say around two?”

Harper was going to filet him when she caught wind of this impromptu trip. “I’ll be there.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing you.”

After a few more niceties and good luck wishes for his restaurant opening, the New York executives signed off. When it was just Ashton and Vince still on the call, the manager let his true feelings show.

“Those bastards are not making this easy, are they?”

“Did you really expect them to?” Ashton countered. “This isn’t a travel network with a couple hundred thousand viewers. This channel draws over a million viewers for some of its least popular primetime shows.”

“What I expected is for them to be falling all over themselves to bring you in. They’re looking to give their lineup more sex appeal. While the numbers have been slipping for cooking shows lately, home improvement segments are on the rise.”

“Any idea why?”

“If you listen to my wife and daughter, it’s all due to the hunky carpenters they’ve been hiring.”

Ashton grinned. “So you’re saying they aren’t as interested in my culinary expertise as my impressive physique?”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Like we should be negotiating for more money.”

“Maybe I should suggest you do the episodes shirtless.”

“Don’t give them any ideas.” Ashton grimaced. “They’ll probably turn it into a bit. Stay tuned for the next segment when Chef Croft will burn off his shirt.”

“Well, you’d better get that restaurant of yours open in Vegas or you won’t have to worry about what they want you to wear.”

“Have you heard from the guys over at Phillips about the proposals I made regarding next season’s location?”

In addition to negotiating with the Lifestyle Network, he was in talks with Phillips Consolidated Networks for his seventh season of The Culinary Wanderer. They were pushing him to film next season in Africa. They’d reasoned that since he was South African, he would enjoy returning to the land of his birth. The exact opposite was true, but since he’d created an elaborate backstory that had nothing to do with his true history, he couldn’t provide an excuse strong enough to dissuade them.

“They rejected England immediately. Apparently your best ratings come when you are off the beaten track. The Indonesian stuff has been a huge hit with everyone who’s seen it.”

“What about South America? I could get six or seven episodes out of Brazil alone.”

“They said they’d consider it for next year.” Vince rolled a pen between his palms. “I think if you want to keep doing the show, it’s going to have to be Africa. Of course, that’s dependent on whether Lifestyle Network gives up on getting an exclusive on you.”

Frustration with the producers of The Culinary Wanderer had led him to talk to Lifestyle Network. He wanted to grow his career in a big way and the new show could do that. Becoming a household name would open a lot of doors. But it wasn’t where his heart lay. He’d never stop craving new adventures in exotic locations. It’s why he intended to find a way to do both. Being forced to choose between his passion and his ambition wasn’t an option.

“I really don’t want to go to Africa.”

“Come on. How bad can it be? You still have family there, don’t you?”

“Sure.” In fact, he had no idea if his parents were still alive. He hadn’t spoken to them since he left home at fifteen. A lot of bad things could happen in twenty years, especially in the sort of places his parents took their missionary work.

He heard the door open behind him and noticed the change in Vince’s demeanor. His manager sat forward in his desk chair and ran his fingers through his short sandy-blond hair. Glancing over his shoulder, Ashton noticed Harper had entered the room. She didn’t look happy.

“Gotta go, Vince. Keep in touch.” He ended the network connection and the monitor in the room went blank. “Thanks for letting me borrow your equipment. This is some nice stuff.”

“Chef Cole tells me he’s not going to be our head chef.”

“I offered him the job just like you wanted.”

“I wanted you to hire him.”

“He turned me down.” Ashton pushed his chair back from the conference table and stood up.

“So, now what?”

“You have me.”

“I need someone permanent. How long before you take off again?”

Next week, but in her current state of displeasure, he wasn’t going to mention that.

“Not to worry. I have someone I trust who I’ve been training. He arrives tomorrow.”

“Who is it?”

“I met Dae Tan a few months ago. Helped him out of a jam.”

“What sort of a jam?” Her skepticism came through loud and clear.

“He was arrested for something he didn’t do.”

“You’re sure he was innocent.”

“Absolutely. After that, things got a little hot for him. He’s been traveling with me and I’ve been training him.”

“Why didn’t he come with you today?”

“He wanted to see L.A. He has this thing about movie stars.”

Harper regarded him with suspicion. “Where has he worked? Is he capable of handling the pressure of a restaurant like Batouri?”

“It’ll be fine. The kid’s got talent.”

“Kid?” She echoed his description and her irritation grew. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-five. Twenty-six.”

“You can’t be serious.” Harper advanced on him. “You’ve passed on chefs with twenty-five years of experience and now you’re telling me you want to hire someone who’s been in the field a couple years.”

“Months,” Ashton corrected. “He only had the most rudimentary skills when I met him.”

Harper’s eyes closed while she sucked in a deep breath and let it out. When she opened them again, she looked no calmer. “You’re crazy if you think I’ll go for this.”

“You really don’t have a choice.”

“We’ll see about that.” Harper folded her arms across her chest. “You forget we have a contract.” Her tone indicated he’d stretched her goodwill as far as it would go.

“I have a great deal riding on this restaurant, as well,” he reminded her.

“Then act like it.”

The trouble was, he had a great deal riding on every iron he had in the fire. He was determined to leave his mark on the world and that meant going big. Would it have been smarter to not stick his neck out? Sure. He could have played it safe, kept going with the same shows he’d had success with these past eight years, but Ashton liked the rush of conquering new territory, seeing what lay beyond the horizon.

Harper continued, “Go convince Cole to take the job at Batouri.”

“I thought you said he’d gone to the airport.”

“I caught him before he left the hotel and convinced him to fly to Chicago tomorrow. You have reservations next door at Fontaine Chic’s award-winning steakhouse at seven. You might as well sample the competition. Perhaps you will both dislike the food and find some common ground to build a relationship on.”

“And our evening together?”

She shot him a cool smile. “When Cole takes the job, I’ll block out two hours for you.”

“Make it three and you have a deal.”

Three

With the Chef Cole problem handled for the time being and her mother safely ensconced in the day spa, Harper was able to steal a few minutes to herself to take stock of the day. Thank heavens they weren’t all like this.

Unable to imagine what her mother had done to open herself up to blackmail, Harper paced her hotel, trying to find comfort in achievement. The ceilings throughout had been painted to represent different aspects of the sky her hotel was named for. In the lobby, it was a pale midday blue dotted with clouds. Lighting changed from dawn to dusk to match what was happening outside. The casino ceiling was a midnight indigo sparkling with thousands of pinpoint lights configured like the star patterns above Las Vegas.

It was a simple concept, beautifully rendered. She was proud of all she’d accomplished. But today, there was no joy to be found in surveying her domain. Harper glanced at her watch. Two hours to kill. With her ability to concentrate shot and no meetings or crisis pending, she considered returning to her suite and running on her treadmill. Or she could go talk to Scarlett.

Five years ago when her grandfather had come to her with news that she had two half sisters, she’d been angry, miserable and excited. She’d been eleven when she’d first learned her father regularly cheated on his wife, but until five years ago, she’d had no idea his extramarital wandering had messed up more lives than just hers and her mother’s.

A quick walk through the skyways that connected the three Fontaine hotels brought Harper to Fontaine Richesse, Scarlett’s hotel. She sought out her sister in the casino. Spotting Scarlett was easy. She radiated sex appeal and charisma in her emerald-green flapper costume, her long brown hair tucked beneath a twenties-style, shingle bob wig with bangs.

The rest of the casino staff was dressed like something out of a movie from the forties and fifties: men in elegant tuxedos and suits or military uniforms from the Second World War, women in evening gowns or stylish dresses.

Harper had thought the whole idea of a Golden Age of Hollywood night was crazy. But she’d underestimated her sister’s brilliance. The casino was packed. Many of those playing the machines or lining the tables were also dressed in costume. There were prizes awarded for best outfit, and casino cash was given to anyone who guessed what particular movie the dealers or waitresses were dressed from.

Scarlett wore a delighted grin as the man who’d approached her guessed her costume.

“Cyd Charrise, Singin’ In The Rain?”

“That’s right.” She handed him a card he could trade in for money to gamble with. As he walked off, she spotted Harper. “What a surprise.”

“You look amazing,” Harper said, admiring the dress and matching green satin pumps. “Is it new?”

“First time I’ve worn it.” She struck a pose. “I think Laurie outdid herself.” Scarlett had been friends with the Hollywood costume designer for years and used her for every costume in the casino.

“I would agree.”

When she’d first met Scarlett, Harper hadn’t given the former child actress much credit. She couldn’t imagine what her grandfather had been thinking when he’d concocted the contest between his three granddaughters. What could someone with Scarlett’s background know about running a multibillion-dollar hotel much less a corporation the size of Fontaine Hotels and Resorts? Five years later, Harper was a huge fan of Scarlett’s creativity and authenticity. She knew exactly who she was and had played directly to her strengths.

“Do you have time for a drink?” Harper asked, instantly seeing her request had startled Scarlett.

Harper was the family workaholic. Rarely did she sit down in the evenings when the casino was busiest, much less take time out to eat or drink.

“For you, always.” They found a table in a quiet corner of the lobby bar. Scarlett ordered two glasses of cabernet and made small talk until the drinks arrived. “What’s wrong?” she asked as soon as Harper had taken a sip of wine.

“What makes you think...?” She could see Scarlett wasn’t fooled. “I don’t want you to assume that I’m only here because I needed help.”

“I don’t care why you’re here.” Scarlett gave her a lopsided smile. “And I’m glad Violet is out of town with JT. Otherwise, I know you’d have gone to her first.”

“That’s unfair.” But probably true. As much as Harper loved her half sister, she wasn’t always comfortable with Scarlett.

In so many ways, they were opposites. Scarlett was gorgeous, flamboyant and utterly fearless when it came to her relationships. Hadn’t she tackled Logan Wolfe and turned the tetchy security expert into a big purring lion? She’d managed to do the same thing with Harper. Wariness had become loyalty, something Harper gave rarely and not without reservation. But Scarlett had won her over for the most part.

“Okay, there is something wrong.” Harper paused, knowing Scarlett deserved more. “But you aren’t right about how I’d go to Violet instead of you. If she was here, I’d have come to both of you with this.”

“Must be serious.” Scarlett’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “Do you need some advice about Ashton Croft? I heard he’s back in town.”

“Nothing like that.”

“I suggest you sleep with him.”

“What?” Harper cursed the sudden heat in her cheeks. “I’m not going to sleep with him. Our relationship is strictly professional.”

“You should reconsider that. I know you have a thing for him. And he looks like he’d be a riot in bed.”

Harper needed Scarlett to get off that particular subject. “My mother is being blackmailed.”

All mischief went out of Scarlett. She paled. “Blackmailed? Why?”

“I don’t know. She won’t tell me.”

“Does she know who is doing it?”

Harper shook her head. “It’s all so crazy. My mother. The perfect Penelope Fontaine. I can’t imagine her doing anything wrong much less anything scandalous enough to invite blackmail.”

“How did you find out?”

“She came here needing to borrow money.”

“How much?”

“Three hundred and fifty thousand.”

Scarlett gasped. “That’s a lot.”

“I keep wondering what she’s done. It must be something truly awful for them to be asking that much.”

“From what you’ve told me,” Scarlett began, “your mother isn’t great at considering the value of something before she spends. Is she sure what happened is worth that much money?”

“It’s hard to say with my mother. She’s so big on keeping her reputation unsullied, it might be something as simple as a bump and run.” But Harper couldn’t picture her mother having a minor accident much less fleeing the scene of one.

“Could she have cheated on her taxes?”

“Impossible. Grandfather handles all her finances.” Penelope’s lack of financial smarts was what had caused Grandfather to put her on an allowance and hire a money manager to pay the bills.

“I don’t suppose she wants to call the police.” Scarlett framed the question as if she already knew the answer.

“She won’t do that,” Harper said. “The blackmailer will make her secret public.”

“Do you need help coming up with the cash? I have some money set aside.”

Her sister’s offer came so fast Harper doubted Scarlett considered the magnitude of the gesture. She was humbled by her sister’s affection. “Thanks, but I didn’t come here for that.”

“Then why?”

“I thought talking with you would put me in a calmer frame of mind before I have dinner with my mother.”

“She’s here?”

“Showed up this afternoon out of the blue.”

Harper had never spoken directly about how she and Penelope got along, but both her sisters knew that Harper’s mother had left her daughter behind in New York City and moved to Florida. It wasn’t a stretch to deduce that things between mother and daughter weren’t good. But if anyone understood that family could produce the most complicated relationships, it would be Harper and Scarlett.

“Why don’t I talk with Logan,” Scarlett suggested. “Maybe there’s something he or Lucas can do.”

“I don’t know if anyone can help at this point.”

“Are you kidding? Logan and his brother are security experts. They should be able to figure out who’s blackmailing your mom without breaking a sweat. If not before the blackmail is paid, then I know they can track where the money goes.”

Harper was suddenly feeling a whole lot better. Impulsively, she hugged Scarlett. “I don’t know what I would do without you and Violet.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. I wasn’t always sure you liked having us in your life.”

Scarlett’s admission twisted Harper’s stomach into knots of regret. “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way. In the beginning it wasn’t easy embracing you as sisters. I’d been alone my whole life and hadn’t exactly been smothered with love by my parents. I didn’t really understand what it meant to be family.”

“I hope that’s changed.”

“It has. You and Violet are the most important people in my life along with Grandfather.” Seeing the tears that filled Scarlett’s beautiful green eyes, Harper wished she’d made this confession long ago. “I’m sorry if I made it seem otherwise. I’ve been so focused on getting Fontaine Ciel built and running that I haven’t been a very good sister.”

Scarlett waved the apology away and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. Delight filled her voice as she said, “You didn’t need to say anything. We knew how you felt.”

Harper made a resolution to be more open with her sisters going forward. It wouldn’t be easy. She’d spent her whole life bottling up her feelings. Her mother wasn’t demonstrative and her father’s rare appearances in her life hadn’t been filled with warm moments. In school she’d been a leader and her habit of ruling by persuasion and occasional ruthlessness hadn’t won her the love of the majority of her classmates. But it hadn’t mattered as long as they followed her. Or so she’d told herself.

“Let me call Logan and see what he suggests we do.”

“I’m sure he’s not going to want you to do anything,” Harper said with a faint smile.

“Since when has that stopped me?”

Scarlett had given her fiancé a lot to worry about after inheriting some files from Tiberius Stone, Violet’s surrogate father. The casino owner had been murdered by a local councilman who’d been embezzling campaign contributions. Tiberius had accumulated a storage unit full of people’s secrets including his brother-in-law, a man who’d stolen the identity of Preston Rhodes, a wealthy orphan from California. Violet had gone to Miami intent on bringing him to justice in order to help her husband take back his family’s company.

“It’s rolling to voice mail,” Scarlett said. After leaving Logan a brief summary of the situation, she hung up. “It won’t take him long to call me back. Do you want to wait?”

About to say yes, Harper suddenly remembered she still had Ashton’s go bag. “Can’t. I have to see a man about a bag.”

Scarlett cocked her head in puzzlement, but nodded. “As soon as I hear from Logan, I’ll call you. In the meantime, can you stall your mother?”

“I can try.”

Leaving Scarlett, Harper made her way back to the Fontaine Ciel’s executive floor. Mary had gone for the day, locking Harper’s office before she left. Harper half expected Ashton to have persuaded the personal assistant to give him his bag, but to her surprise, either Mary had resisted the celebrity chef’s charm or Ashton had stuck to his part of the bargain.

Either way, she grabbed the bag and shot a quick text to let him know the luggage would be waiting for him at Batouri. But when she got there, she was surprised to find Ashton sitting at the corner table where his bag had sat earlier.

* * *

When the door to the restaurant opened, Ashton was nursing a tumbler of ten-year-old Scotch. It was his third. The first two had gone down fast and smooth. He didn’t think he should continue at that pace or his dinner with Cole might not go the way Harper wanted.

That she spotted him so fast made him smile. She felt it, too. This irresistible pull between them. How had he ignored it until now? Oh, she was good at hiding it. And he hadn’t exactly given her any reason to feel more than irritation toward him. He wanted to strip her layers of professionalism away and get to the firecracker below. How hot would the fire burn? And for how long? With fireworks, the thrill was in those seconds of exhilarating danger. The breathtaking waterfall of light. The big boom that lingered in the chest even after the sound faded.

Still, it might be worth sacrificing her goodwill to experience the rush.

“What brings you here?” He sipped the Scotch, felt the burn in his chest.

“I’m returning your go bag.”

He’d been so focused on Harper he hadn’t even noticed that she was towing his bag along.

You’re slipping.

In the places he traveled, being distracted for even a moment could be trouble.

“The deal isn’t done with Cole yet,” he reminded her. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it hostage for a bit longer?” Maybe take it back to her suite. “I could pick it up later.”

She parked the bag beside the booth. “I’ve lost my taste for blackmail in the past few hours.” Her gaze flicked to the glass and then to his mouth.

His heart tapped unsteadily against his ribs. “Anything you’d like to talk about?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Was it the alcohol that was making him light-headed or the way she was staring at him as if she wondered what he’d taste like? She reached for his glass, and he figured she was going to chastise him for drinking up the restaurant’s stock. Instead, she lifted the tumbler to her lips and tossed back the last ounce of Scotch. He expected her to come up coughing as the strong liquor hit her throat. Instead, she licked her lips and smiled, her eyes thoughtful and distant.

“My grandfather loves Scotch.” She set the glass back on the table and turned to go.

“I’m a very good listener.” Ashton claimed few virtues. Giving a speaker his full attention was one. But would she trust him to share what was going on?

Harper hesitated before facing him once more. “My mother came into town unexpectedly.”

Ashton relaxed, unaware until his lungs started working again that he’d been holding his breath. “I noticed the air between you two wasn’t particularly cheerful.”

“Do you have a good relationship with your parents?”

He shook his head, the twinge in his gut barely noticeable. “I left home at fifteen and never looked back.”

“I’ve read everything ever written about you and I’m pretty sure that wasn’t part of your history.”

He knew better than to be flattered. “It’s a story for another day. We’re talking about you.”

Her gaze was steady on his for several seconds. “My mother moved to Florida when I was eleven, leaving me in New York with my father who was rarely home. At the time I hated her for not being around, but as I grew up, I realized that being away from her criticism gave me the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them without being afraid she’d make me feel worse.”

“I’m not sure many people would be as unaffected by their mother’s abandonment as you are.”

Harper gave him a wry smile. “Don’t for a second think I’m unaffected. I’m just realistic. My mother didn’t abandon me. She fled a situation she’d didn’t like. Penelope isn’t someone who stands and fights when she can run away and go shopping.” Harper shrugged, but she was far from sounding nonchalant. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little more bothered than I let on.”

“It’s nice to hear you admit that.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you and I haven’t been able to figure out why.”

“You like me?” Her breathless laugh wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

“Very much,” he admitted, more than a little disturbed by the way her delighted smile transformed her into a stunning, vivacious woman.

“After the way I’ve hounded you these past nine months?” She shook her head, and the career woman took over once more. “I think you’re just trying to charm me. If this is your way of changing my mind about Chef Cole, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“So suspicious,” he taunted. “That’s not it at all. I’m starting to come around to your opinion about Cole. As for the way you’ve acted these past few months, I get it. This hotel is important to you. Batouri will make a statement and depending on how it does, that statement will be good or bad. I’d be a hypocrite to criticize you for doing whatever it took to make sure Batouri is a complete success.”

“That’s awfully accommodating of you.”

Rub me the right way and I can be very accommodating.

But that’s the sort of comeback she’d expect. “Does your mother visit you in Las Vegas often?”

“Never. She hates it here.”

“Must be important for her to show up then.”

“She needs my help. Which is different. She usually takes her problems to my grandfather because he’s a man and taking care of women is what men do.”

“That sounds very traditional minded.”

“It goes against everything I believe in. I’m a modern career girl.” A trace of self-mockery put a lilt in her voice. “She disapproves of my choices. Thinks I should have married a tycoon like my grandfather and dazzled New York society on his arm.”

“That seems like a waste of your intelligence and drive.”

“It’s hard being a disappointment.”

“I agree.” This they shared. No matter how much either of them accomplished, they weren’t living up to their parents’ perception of success. “It spoils what you’ve achieved, doesn’t it.”

She looked surprised by his insight. Her gaze became keen as it rested on him. “It does.”

He lifted the bottle of Scotch. “Do you want another drink?” He was dying to watch her swallow another glass. And then lick her lips again. There’d been something so decadent, so wickedly un-Harper-like about the deed.

“I should get back to work.”

“See you tomorrow night.”

“Text me when Chef Cole agrees to come work for you.” She started to leave, but then paused. “Thanks for listening.”

He suspected voicing her gratitude hadn’t come easily. “Anytime. You know where to find me.”

Shaking her head in exasperation, Harper spun away and headed toward the exit, her stride purposeful. Whatever sharing she’d done, it was now over. Ashton was left with an increased appreciation for Harper Fontaine.

These past few months he’d assumed her arrogance was a natural byproduct of her family’s money and connections, that life was a breeze for her. He’d been as guilty of stereotyping as his critics often were. To be fair, her confidence had always been dent-free.

Now he realized there were a few pinholes in her armor.

And they had more in common than he’d have ever guessed.

* * *

Harper pushed lettuce around on her plate, her appetite deadened by the smell of cigarette smoke. The suite would have to be deep cleaned before any guests could be booked in here. Over dinner, her mother had refused to speak about the blackmail. Harper’s impatience was growing with each minute that ticked by. She set down her fork. It clattered on the china. The discordant sound startled her mother.

“We have to talk about why you’re here.”

“I don’t want to.”

“If you expect me to give you three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I’m going to need to know why you’re being blackmailed.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“That’s a relief,” Harper muttered. She left the table, needing activity to think. As she crossed the room, a dozen ideas sprang into her mind. She picked the most likely one and turned to confront her mother. “You stole something.”

“I’m not a thief.” Penelope stubbed out her cigarette and reached for another, but Harper beat her to the package.

“No more smoking.”

Her mother glared at her. “You are trying to provoke me into telling you something you’re not ready to hear.”

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