Читать книгу To Love a Wilde - Kimberly Terry Kaye - Страница 8

Yasmine brushed away the hair that had escaped the tight chignon she’d so meticulously created that morning with one hand as she dragged her wheeled suitcase behind her with the other, avoiding passengers as she hurried along the airport terminal.

Her stomach rolled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and that had been nothing more than a bran muffin and a cup of coffee before she headed out to the airport.

But she knew it wasn’t the lack of food that was making her stomach grumble or giving her the overall queasy feeling in her gut. No, lack of food had nothing to do with her current state. To say she was on edge was putting it mildly.

Soon after assuring her aunt that she’d come home, she’d gotten in touch with the producer from the popular food and cooking network. After winning the reality-show competition, she’d been approached to host her own show, and like everything else, it was a dream come true for Yasmine.

But her aunt needed her and there was no way she could turn away from helping. Relieved, she was told that the show was still in the development stage and they needed to iron out details, such as the location and theme of the show. Although she hadn’t signed a formal contract, she was assured they were still very much interested in her and that her six-week absence would be acceptable. By that time, they would have everything ready, and she could do the first taping.

Relieved, she’d scratched one thing off of her to-do list and made the second call, this one to Clayton Moore, the owner of some of the most upscale restaurants in New York, who’d also approached her for the position as executive chef at one of his restaurants.

“Of course! Absolutely that’s no problem, Yas!” he’d assured her to her relief, when she’d asked if she could have more time to think about his offer and told him of her aunt’s need for her.

Although she’d felt the slightest bit uncomfortable with him using the shortened version of her name, she brushed it off, listening intently as he continued. “I told you, I’m very much interested in you … working for me, that is,” he’d said, quickly clarifying, making her unease escalate.

After her win of the show and the subsequent media attention, to Yasmine’s astonishment the offers had come pouring in from all directions. From requests to pitch a “miracle” dicer and slicer on one of the shopping networks to pitchwoman for a local down-home fast-food joint, the offers had been coming regularly.

“You take care of what you need to, and I’ll see you in a few weeks. And remember, I’m just a phone call away. In fact, before you head out, if you have time, I’d love to bring you by the restaurant, maybe have dinner. And discuss anything you might have questions about?” he’d asked, and Yasmine could feel his big smile come through the phone.

Something about his smile reminded her of the wolf in “Little Red Riding Hood.” And she definitely was beginning to feel like Little Red herself when, after the first meeting, his assessing glance brushed over her, subtly but with enough attention that she grew uncomfortable.

She’d shaken off the feeling when the rest of the meeting had gone smoothly and he hadn’t been in the least bit unprofessional.

Clayton Moore was definitely a mover and shaker in the restaurant business, and for him to offer Yasmine such a coveted position, as executive chef with two souschefs of her own, along with a full kitchen crew, was beyond remarkable.

Although she’d planned to use her earnings and newfound notoriety to open her own restaurant, the offer was more than appealing. If she accepted it, she’d be one of the youngest chefs to attain such a lauded position.

As for Clayton … Yasmine was more than aware that he was interested in offering her something more than a job. From the moment they’d met, the handsome entrepreneur had made his interest known.

Tall, dark, handsome and sophisticated. Clayton Moore was everything she should want in a man.

The minute Clayton’s face came to her mind, another man’s image superimposed its way over his. Forced its way in. Arrogantly shoved the other man’s image away as though he had every right to, Yasmine thought in irrational irritation.

Holt Wilde, the youngest of the Wilde men.

And each time it did, she ruthlessly shoved away the image of his big, hard body, along with the Stetson he always wore low, shadowing his bright blue eyes and hiding that half smile he seemed to favor … the one that always gave her shivers even when it wasn’t directed at her.

It wasn’t as though he was forcing her to think of him. In fact, she doubted she herself ever came to his mind.

Maybe that was what was more irritating than anything else, Yasmine thought glumly. The fact that she alone had this obsession with a man who probably didn’t even remember her, much less think of her on a regular basis, like clockwork, as she had him, all these years.

“I need serious intervention,” she mumbled aloud. “One-on-one, put me in the prayer circle and douse me with holy water type of intervention.”

Out of her peripheral vision Yasmine saw a young mother tug her toddler closer toward her, eyeing Yasmine with a frown on her face.

There she went again, talking out loud. Ugly habit she had, whenever anything plagued her.

“And Holt Wilde is just one big old plague,” she said out loud, again.

This time the woman grabbed her child’s hand and hurried in the opposite direction from Yasmine.

She ignored the woman and straightened her shoulders as she continued to stride through the airport. But no more.

No, she was determined that by the end of her stay at the ranch, things would change, she’d make sure of it. While helping her aunt, she had another agenda in mind. She would, once and for all, exorcise all thoughts and fantasies of the one man who had invaded her mind for nearly twenty years, rid herself of the feelings, feelings she knew were simply a residue of her girlhood crush, once and for all.

This time she would be the one to walk away …

Holt bit back a curse as he waited impatiently for the van packed full of tourists to move along. The uniformed police officer who whistled and waved his baton in front of the double-parked van in front of the airport was about as effective as an ass on a gnat, Holt thought, his irritation escalating.

Apprehension had his damn guts tied in knots, which didn’t help his current situation.

When his brother had asked him to pick up Lilly’s niece, Yasmine, from the airport, to say it was the last thing he wanted to do was putting it mildly. It was Sunday, the day he and his brothers, as well as the rest of the ranch hands, took it easy, the day they all attended to their own interests.

He thought back on his interest. That would be the blonde beauty he’d left in bed curled up around his pillow earlier that morning after he’d received the call from his brother Nate.

All thoughts of going another round with the woman came to a screeching halt when Nate had informed him that their housekeeper, Lilly, a woman they viewed more as a mother than an employee, needed a favor.

With her surgery coming up, the doctor had ordered as much rest for Lilly as possible, and the hour-and-a-half drive to pick her niece up from the airport wasn’t something she could manage.

He’d sat straight up in bed, impatiently shoving the hair from his eyes as he’d listened while his brother blithely went on to tell him that Holt needed to pick Yasmine up from the airport, as no one else was available.

Holt’s thick brows came together in a deep frown as he inched along the congested traffic at the airport, remembering the conversation.

“No one else can get her?” He’d questioned his oldest brother while glancing down at the woman who lay cuddled close to him, sound asleep in bed. “What about Jake? Last I knew he was staying at the ranch more than he was in town. Can’t he pick her up?”

Momentarily distracted, he saw her move … He frowned, trying to think of the woman’s name … Amy. Amy inched closer to him, the sheet covering her slim body slipping down to reveal one of her small, plump breasts. Before the call, that would have been more than enough enticement for Holt to awaken the sleepy woman and go at it another round.

But that was before he found out that Yasmine was returning. Now the image of the young girl he’d known long ago filled his mind.

“Payback can be a bitch, bro.”

“Asshat,” he’d bitten out as Nate’s booming laugh echoed into the phone, stabbing the end button on his cell and staring down at the phone, a deep frown on his face.

Nate was his oldest brother and had recently become engaged. The fact that Holt, along with their middle brother, Shilah, had hired Althea knowing Nate’s mandate of no women allowed had been an issue. Even though it had turned out well—better than that, the two of them had fallen head over heels in love, despite Nate’s avowals of never wanting to get married—both Holt and Shilah had known that he’d get them back for their interference.

Everyone knew, Holt included, that as a young girl Yasmine had had a major crush on him. Although he’d not allowed himself to think of her in romantic terms back then, he easily recalled her big brown eyes and riotous mane of curls and her laugh … The sound of her laugh had always made him pause.

“Round one goes to you, big brother, but the game ain’t over,” he’d said to the empty phone.

Holt had tossed the phone on the side table. The woman—hell, what was her name?—had sleepily turned to him at that moment, reaching out for him. He’d given her a distracted smile and kissed her on the forehead, promising to see her later in the week, that something had come up at the ranch, and within a matter of minutes he’d dressed and had headed out.

He’d planned to park and go inside to help Yasmine with her bags, but a last-minute change in the airport she was scheduled to fly into had made it so that he had barely got there in time for her plane to land. His glance fell to the dashboard. According to the flight itinerary she’d texted to Miss Lilly, she would have made it in thirty minutes ago.

There had always been something about Yasmine that made him want to go the other way whenever he was around her.

He remembered when she first came to the ranch; she couldn’t have been any older than nine or ten to his twelve years of age. He remembered that she rarely spoke; in fact, he’d wondered if she could until finally he had heard her laugh while in the kitchen with her aunt.

Her laughter, even back then, had drawn him to her, and briefly mesmerized, he’d stood in the doorway, staring across at her. But the minute she saw him, her light brown face flushed with color and she literally flew from the kitchen.

It hadn’t taken long for Holt to realize, as they grew older, that she had a crush on him.

That crush came to an awkward head when, the day before Holt left for college, the young Yasmine grabbed him and pulled him close and kissed him. Surprised, he’d pulled away. But not before he’d returned the kiss for a short time. The memory of her soft lips, the feel of her soft young curves against him, had intermittently whispered into his mind throughout the years.

That was the last time he’d seen her.

When he’d returned home, Yasmine had always been away, and within two years she had left for culinary school. The few times she’d come to visit her aunt, she’d always managed to come when he wasn’t home, whether by accident or design, Holt never knew.

Finally, the van moved and he scanned the crowded throng, looking for her.

He drew in a breath and froze, his hands gripping the steering wheel like a vise, his eyes widening, then narrowing. He felt as if he’d been sucker punched right in the gut.

Although it had been years since he’d seen her last, he knew the minute he saw the woman standing near the curb that it was her.

Yasmine Taylor. All grown up.

Damn.

The traffic and noise from the bustling travelers, the irritating shrill whistle from the cop, all faded to background noise as he sat behind the wheel, transfixed, staring at her.

The sun’s rays gleamed against her upswept dark brown hair.

His gaze swept over her, head to toe.

She was small; he remembered that she’d barely reached him at chest level as a young girl. She’d been slightly overweight when she was younger. However, as an adult, the curves had settled in all the right places, he thought, subtly adjusting his jeans, the fit becoming uncomfortable as he watched her bend over and unzip a compartment in her luggage.

Her jeans hugged her firm, round bottom to a T, and as she bent forward, the ends of the shirt she wore, which hugged her generous breasts, slipped out of her waistband, exposing the slim expanse of unblemished brown skin.

When she straightened she looked directly at him, her large, doelike eyes widening. Even from his ten yards’ distance away from her, he could see the flush that blazed across her face.

Again, he felt his gut clench and his mouth go dry as she stood staring at him, across the walkway.

The shrilling whistle broke him out of his absorption and he broke his gaze, turning to see the cop maniacally waving his baton, urging him forward.

“Sorry about that.” Yasmine glanced behind her, mumbling the apology when her suitcase banged against the guy standing so close behind her she could almost feel his warm breath singe the back of her neck.

But really, did he have to jump into the same sliding door as she had, at the same time? Plastering a fake smile on her face while pushing as close as humanly possible against the glass-paned door, she heaved a big sigh of relief when she finally tumbled out, nearly falling when the man pushed past her.

It was an unseasonably warm day, particularly for Wyoming, and she felt a trickle of sweat travel past her forehead and down the side of her face as she emerged from the revolving doorway. She righted herself and brushed her hands over her hips, down her jeans, a scowl on her face, as she scanned the curbside, looking for the ranch’s foreman, Jake Stone.

As soon as she’d deboarded the plan she’d turned on her cell and checked her messages. Earlier she’d made a hasty call to her aunt when she’d learned the plane she was scheduled to fly on was having mechanical issues.

Because of that, instead of flying into the nearby airport, she’d had to travel into this one, nearly four hours away from the ranch.

She’d been disappointed when she’d heard the message from her aunt, telling her she wouldn’t be able to pick her up from the airport, that her knee had been bothering her and she was instead sending the foreman from the ranch.

She’d been looking forward to the alone time with her aunt, to catch up on life on the ranch since the last time she visited. Although it had been a few years since she’d seen Jake, she found herself smiling, her mood lightened. Jake had always had a way of putting her at ease. Even when she was a younger woman, when she was so painfully shy, he could drag a smile out of her.

He was as much a part of Wilde Ranch as the men who owned it, as his father was Jed Wilde’s first foreman. Jake had grown up at the ranch from boyhood and eventually he’d taken over the position as foreman when his father retired.

And besides, the man knew how to make a great lemon Bundt cake. Any guy who could make a lemon Bundt, much less from scratch, was a winner in her book.

Yasmine shook her head, a ghost of a smile on her face as she thought of the ranch. It had been a long time since she’d visited, and she’d found herself eager to come home the closer the time came for her departure. Everyone who worked at the Wilde Ranch was treated like family. From the first moment she’d come, she’d been welcomed. Jed Wilde had been that type of man. Despite his gruff outer demeanor, he had a heart of gold and did his best to make her feel at home.

And as she inhaled a deep breath, releasing it slowly, Yasmine realized that she’d missed home.

The last time she’d been to the ranch had been after graduating from culinary school in Chicago, before she’d moved to Paris to study. Many times her aunt had requested she come and visit, but nine times out of ten, Yasmine found an excuse not to, and without questioning her reasons, her aunt would come to visit her instead.

They both knew the reason for her reluctance: Holt Wilde. But she was no longer that pudgy, shy adolescent who pined for the young rancher. She’d traveled the world, she’d already accomplished much of what she’d dreamed of and her future was only looking better.

She was a woman who was self-assured, confident and one who most definitely did not have any residual feelings for Holt Wilde.

She ignored the mocking inner laugh and put a determined smile on her face when she saw the red pickup with the ranch’s logo emblazoned on the side parked curbside. She waved, hoping Jake would see her, and quickly leaned down to unzip her bag and deposit her jacket before rising She’d made it to within a few feet of him when she came to a sudden and complete halt, her eyes widening, her mouth opened.

She frowned, her heart racing as she squinted her eyes, thinking they were fooling her, that the man behind the wheel couldn’t be …

No, she wasn’t ready, she thought, her heart kicking viciously as she watched him pull smoothly to the curb and jump out.

Oh God, yes, it was. She swallowed deep, her glance running over him, from his large feet wearing scuffed cowboy boots, up thick, muscled thighs that bulged beneath the jeans he wore, over the denim jacket until she reached the bright blue gaze that haunted her dreams.

“It’s been a while, Yas … Good to see you come home again,” he said, his deep baritone voice brushing over her, sending hot shivers throughout her body. When he reached a hand out for her to take, she stared down at it, her mind scrambled, unable to gather her wits enough to figure out what in the world to do.