Читать книгу Romancing The Chef - Robyn Amos - Страница 8

Preoccupied, Ace had given the woman before him only a cursory glance. He’d been trying to reach Garett because he couldn’t remember if GTV was sending a car, or if he was supposed to take a cab.

Even in that brief look, he’d noted that the woman was attractive, and he was always happy to meet a fan of his show.

Not having any luck reaching his publicist, he tucked his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans. Ace looked up in time to see the woman’s face go from pleasantly surprised to angry.

His brows knit. Why on earth would a perfect stranger be mad—

Then it hit him. She wasn’t a perfect stranger. He might not have recognized her right away, but after really looking at her face for a few seconds, he began to see those familiar espresso-colored eyes, her juicy plum lips and her pert little nose.

“Oh my God. Ronnie? Is that you?”

Her features were just about the only things that hadn’t changed. Somehow his friend had gone from cuddly cutie to buxom bombshell. Her round face was more narrow and her waist more slim, but, thankfully, she still had those voluptuous curves where it counted.

She’d always been attractive, but facts were facts. Now she was hot. He had to force himself to look away before his ogling became cartoonish.

Her lips twitched, but not into the smile he was hoping for. “Oh, so now you recognize me.”

He sighed sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I was distracted. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, and I wasn’t expecting to run into you just now. But, you look fantastic and … I’m rambling, aren’t I,” he said, when her expression remained impassive.

She simply nodded.

Her rumpled clothing and slightly mussed topknot suggested that she’d had a rough flight. But Ace still couldn’t stop staring at her. The new Ronnie was a slice of perfection.

Dressed in hip-hugging caramel slacks, a scooped cherry-red tank and a butter-soft leather blazer the color of roasted peanuts, she looked good enough to top a hot fudge sundae. Her form-fitting clothes showed off her feminine curves.

She cleared her throat, and Ace pulled himself together. “I guess we were on the same flight. I should have realized when I made my connection at Dulles, but I didn’t see you on the plane.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes. “That’s because I was in coach.”

He frowned, confused. “Didn’t the show fly you—”

“Yes, but it’s a long story.” She picked up the handle onher rolling luggage and searched for the exit. “I guess I’ll see you at the hotel.”

Surprised by her dismal mood, Ace stared after her. Was she so upset just because he hadn’t recognized her right away? No, it had to be something else. Even though they’d been out of touch for a while, they’d been too close for something so petty to come between them.

Grabbing his luggage off the carousel, Ace headed toward the exit. To his relief, there was a driver outside holding a sign with his name on it. The man led him to a black sedan waiting at the curb and opened the door for him.

He slid across the seat and found a pleasant surprise. Ronnie was already in the car. “And we meet again.”

She nodded without her usual enthusiasm, and Ace knew he had to get to the bottom of this once and for all.

“It’s a short drive to the hotel. So you’d better talk fast.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Your long story. What happened on the plane? I can tell it’s put you in a bad mood. And Vegas is a party town. I can’t let you show up with the wrong attitude.”

With a heavy sigh, Ronnie said, “I’ve always been a nervous flyer, but I was actually looking forward to this trip. But when I boarded the plane and tried to claim my seat in first class, some guy was already sitting there. We called the flight attendant to sort it out. Apparently the flight was overbooked, and we were both given the same seat assignment.”

Ace shook his head. “So why didn’t the guy move?”

“Because of the age-old rule that applies in these situations.”

“What’s that?”

“Finders, keepers.” From there she described an uncomfortable ride in coach, wedged between a snoring businessman and a mother cradling a cranky newborn. “It might not have been so bad if the guy next to me hadn’t passed gas in his sleep during the entire fight.”

Ace reached for the complimentary bottle of champagne in the minibar in front of them. “Sounds like we need to put this trip back on the right track, starting with a glass of bubbly.”

He popped the cork, filled two flutes halfway and clinked glasses with her. “Here’s to a fantastic journey. And to winning.”

Ronnie clinked his glass, flashing her eyes at him mischievously. “It’s so kind of you to drink to my victory.”

Ace grinned, happy to see the sassy girl he knew returning. “Oh? You think you can beat me?”

“I know I can. I’ve changed a lot more than my dress size since I saw you last.”

Not sure if he should broach the subject, Ace couldn’t resist asking, “So what did make you decide to … get so fit? You always used to say that if you lost weight people would think your food wasn’t any good.”

“That’s another long story. One we don’t have time for now. Suffice it to say it was time. Besides, I’ve finally gotten to the point where my food speaks for itself.”

Ace saluted her with his glass. “I heard you opened a restaurant in Georgetown.”

“Crave. You should come by next time you’re in D.C. I might even give you a professional discount.”

“You don’t need to give me a discount,” he said, teasing. “I’ll just pay for my meal out of the prize money when I win.”

She cut her eyes to him. “Honey, I don’t know if you’re aware … but, there is no prize for second place.”

Ace threw his head back and laughed. He’d forgotten just how fiercely competitive they’d been in culinary school. Hearing her talk smack the way she used to was arousing his drive to win, among other things.

Winning hadn’t been his strongest motivation when he’d agreed to do the competition. He’d been more interested in trying out the new techniques he’d picked up on his European travels. But after five minutes in Ronnie’s presence, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to win just for the bragging rights.

“You’re so confident now,” he taunted, “but you may have gotten in over your head. It’s not just me you have to beat. You have the culinary queen, Etta Foster, to compete with. Not to mention Ann Le Marche and Stewart Compton. Are a fledgling restaurant and a couple of Food Fight wins enough to back up all your big talk?”

Ronnie drained her champagne glass. “Don’t you worry about me, Ace. My biggest advantage is that I’m the underdog. Underestimating me will be your downfall.”

Ace knew first hand not to underestimate Veronica Howard. She’d always been tenacious and eager to learn. He had no doubt that she would be good competition. But his reputation spoke for itself.

“I just want to make sure you haven’t forgotten just how things went down in culinary school. Soufflés, marinades, knife skill—I got better grades in all those areas. Plus, I’ve been honing my craft with some of the masters around Europe.” He popped the collar on his polo shirt. “You don’t want none of this.”

“And? I got better grades in pastry and desserts,” Ronnie said, waving him off. “Plus, I’ve got a lot of new tricks up my sleeves. And your chef’s jacket doesn’t even have sleeves.”

Caught off guard, Ace laughed. When he’d started doinghis show, The Sexy Chef, it had been Garett’s idea to take the sleeves off his jacket.

“Europe or no Europe,” Ronnie continued. “I’ve seen what you do, and I’m ready to take you and the others on. We’ll prove ourselves in the kitchen soon enough. But for now I just want to salvage what’s left of this day and enjoy being in Las Vegas.”

With their obligatory trash talk out of the way, Ace swiveled in his seat, letting his knee touch hers. Damn she looked good, he thought, resisting the urge to say it out loud.

Was she single? No ring on her finger. He hoped she wasn’t still dating that jerky food critic.

Unable to ask what he really wanted to know, he asked instead, “Is this your first time in Las Vegas?”

“Yes, I was supposed to come for a bachelorette party once, but I got the flu and had to stay home. The girls told me all about the fun I’d missed. Gambling, Chippendale dancers, staying up all night—”

“So much for What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

She sighed. “I know. I’m still mad that I couldn’t go.”

“Then you’ll just have to make up for it this time. I don’t know how much you’ll be able to squeeze in, but there’s the rest of today and part of tomorrow.”

“There are three things I want to accomplish before I leave Vegas. First, I want to gamble in the casino—not just slot machines like I’ve played in Atlantic City—but some real table gambling. Then I want to see a show. I love Cirque du Soleil.”

“And the last thing?”

“I just want to perform well enough to make it to round two,” she said, showing vulnerability for the first time as she rested her forehead in her palm. “Ugh, I don’t want to be the first to go home.”

“That doesn’t seem like too much to ask for.”

Ace smiled, both happy to be with his old friend again and excited by the crackling tension he felt between them. Was it mutual this time?

It could be. Her eyes had taken on a coy slant as she lowered her lashes to hide her normally direct gaze. When she raised them again, he saw her eyes trace his body from where their knees touched slowly up his frame.

Time to make his move. “Ronnie, are you—”

Before he could ask if she was seeing anyone, the car stopped. They had arrived at The Venetian hotel, where the first leg of the All-Star Food Fight would take place. The chauffeur pulled open their door just as things were getting interesting.

Bellhops instantly appeared, and the two of them were ushered off to check in. Unfortunately, Ace didn’t get the opportunity to finish his question.

On the elevator ride to his room, he made a silent vow.

If they were both as good as they thought they were in the kitchen, they would have up to three weeks together on the road. Ace decided it was finally time for him to take a shot at romancing the chef.