Recipe for Romance Page 6

  Moments later she went out onto the sun deck carrying a tray laden with croissants, orange juice and coffee and placed the feast on the wooden table. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as she tucked herself into the patio chair. The tiredness had been evident, but not the intense feelings of missing her time off. Today had to be a good day!

  Kirsty slowly ate her breakfast sitting in the sunshine, savoring every bite while looking at the view. The ground floor garage meant her living area sat on the next floor offering a beautiful view from the deck. During the summer months she planned to set up a barbecue out here and have friends round to eat. Kirsty daydreamed, preparing the food and the guest list. Her imagination provided images of taking perfectly cooked steaks from the barbecue, handing them to Reeve and—. No!

  Her thoughts shot back to the previous morning. Why had her body reacted like a hormone-driven teenager when her hand had touched his? She had been involved with a man before. Despite the fact there'd been no one serious since the broken engagement to her high school sweetheart, this didn't mean she lived as a nun. So why the overreaction? The man had done nothing but pick on her since he'd arrived at the hotel, so why did his touch make her heart beat so rapidly? It couldn't be the flu as she'd first thought. She felt fine with a good night's sleep behind her. What could be wrong with her?

  "I know what's wrong." Kirsty decided. "Too much work and not enough play. It must be ages since I had a night out, let alone a date. Tomorrow I'll ask Gina if we can plan something for next week—or maybe this week if I can have some of the elusive time off they keep promising me."

  Her comment reminded her of Chef's strange behavior. He'd been very helpful since Kirsty had started working at the hotel. Of late his mind wandered elsewhere and the blame for every error fell in Kirsty's lap. She really would apply for another job if things didn't improve. Maybe she would fill in the application form they'd sent her for the head chef position at the theatre restaurant in Auckland.

  Breakfast over, Kirsty decided to clean the house as it hadn't had a good going over for a few weeks. Dusting and vacuuming didn't stop her thoughts from dwelling on the difficulties experienced at work. Kirsty methodically cleaned every single room in the house. At the end of it her thoughts were still confused. She took a late morning cup of coffee out onto the deck so she could enjoy the sunshine. Her gaze fell on the head chef application form as she crossed the lounge, and she paused indecisively.

  Her uncertainty vanished. She picked up the form and a pen and took it out onto the deck with her. Between sips of her coffee Kirsty carefully answered the questions and resolutely signed the bottom of the form. Determination fueled her movements as she added copies of her resume and certificates. She placed everything in a stamped, addressed envelope. With a resounding thump she sealed it and picked it up to take inside. She gazed at the brief expanse of golden sands and blue sea she could see between the houses.. Her thoughts were on her application, but her gaze snapped into focus and she gave herself a mental shake. No good would be gained from sitting here going over and over things. Each day should be taken as it came.

  The warmth of the sun shone on her bare arms as Kirsty stood and stretched, her body curving and arching like a cat. Movement on the sands caught her attention, and she shaded her eyes with a hand to help her see better. A sail whisked across the small stretch of beach in her line of sight.

  The sand yachts must be practicing for their weekend races. I can't miss a chance to see them.

  A quick rummage in the dresser drawers unearthed her swimming gear. She stripped and paused a moment, turning first one way then the other as she viewed her naked body in the full-length mirror behind the bedroom door. Her eyes travelled over the taut breasts, down over the flat stomach and on to her shapely legs. With hands on hips she stood and looked at herself full on.

  "Not bad." She nodded at her reflection. "Even if I do say so myself."

  She postured for a few moments longer, daydreaming about a handsome man sweeping her off her feet and making languorous love to her, her body incapable of resisting him. The dream man glanced up, his smile a sardonic grin, passion hidden in the sparkling depths of the grey eyes. Kirsty's body flushed a rosy red. The dream man making love to her had been Reeve Stuart—and to her shame—she'd been enjoying it!

  Kirsty hastily pulled on her swimming costume and covered it with the baggy tee shirt and shorts. Her feet slipped into comfortable jandals, she grabbed a towel and sunscreen then hurried to the kitchen. A picnic on the beach would make the most of this glorious day. Much better than dreaming about a man who barely knew she existed. Kirsty believed in keeping her small kitchen well-stocked, and it only took a few minutes to put together a delicious picnic lunch. Two fresh baguettes quickly became salad and tuna rolls, and a chocolate cake from the freezer provided a rich dessert. Next to these she placed a flask of fresh coffee and, as a last-minute decision, a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc taken straight from the fridge. The vintage came from her parents' vineyard, the last of the bottles shipped to her when she'd moved to the city. Wine drinking during the day made her feel a bit decadent. This was her first chance of relaxation in weeks, and she was going to make the most of it.

  After placing the hamper on the passenger seat, Kirsty backed her car out of the garage and onto the road. Then she headed for the beach, stopping at the post box on her way. A moment's hesitation washed over her before she took a deep breath and pushed the job application through the slot. Moments later the car drew into a parking space at the east end of a cul-de-sac next to the beach. Kirsty left the picnic basket in the car and walked across the grass to the edge of the sand.

  Yachts of varying hues and shapes either waited their turn, or hurtled recklessly across the hard-packed sand. Some looked professionally made, but most of them had an individual look of an amateur craft. The sea at low tide left a wide expanse of damp sand for the yachties to race on.

  I'm so glad I brought a picnic. Looks like they'll be here for some time

  Kirsty sat watching the yachts for about an hour. The racers had marked out an elliptical track and were speeding around this with up to six vehicles at a time charging down the beach. Kirsty held her breath each time a yacht hurtled around the curve, usually leaning way over with two wheels in the air, before dropping back to the sand and racing to the bends at the other end of the track.

  The racing stopped just after midday, although the drivers and their helpers weren’t packing up. One of the nearby spectators mentioned a break for lunch, so Kirsty returned to her vehicle and retrieved the picnic basket and a travel rug from the car. She arrived on the sand farther along from the yachts, returning to the beach at an angle, and placed the basket in the shade cast by the overhanging trees at the edge of the grassy area. With the blanket spread on the ground, Kirsty stripped off her tee shirt and shorts and eased herself onto the blanket. Sunscreen covered the skin on her arms and legs before she lay down on her stomach in the warm sunlight.

  EVERY TIME REEVE WENT near his office on Wednesday morning he remembered his reaction when he'd touched Kirsty. He hoped the desk had hidden his physical response, which he put down to over-enthusiastic male hormones. However, it didn't explain the tingling warmth which suffused his body with a mere handshake.

  His unsettled feelings eventually drove him to change into casual clothes and leave the hotel. He saw the sand yachts as he drove past the beach, and, as a fellow enthusiast, stopped to watch. This could take his mind off Kirsty. He strolled along the beach when the yachties stopped for lunch, and just before he turned to retrace his steps, he recognized the auburn hair of the sunbather a short way in front of him.

  Walking behind her, Reeve allowed himself the luxury of watching her for a few minutes before she caught sight of him. God, the woman was gorgeous! Long, golden limbs and a perfectly-curved body. The kitchen uniform didn't completely hide her shape, but it did disguise the slimness and suppleness of her body. He involuntarily reached toward her, his ha
nd itching to stroke her soft skin and silky hair, but Kirsty moved, and he quickly drew back.

  KIRSTY SAT UP AND STRETCHED her arms above her head. She sighed happily, stood and turned toward the trees. Kirsty gave a small start of surprise as she saw Reeve looking her over, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. Her body trembled as the gaze from his piercing grey eyes bore right through her. Embarrassed, she turned quickly and dragged on her tee shirt, getting tangled up in the short sleeves in her haste. When her head emerged through the neck Reeve had a grin on his face, exactly as it had been in her daydream. Kirsty blushed and her hair fell forward to curtain the redness of her face as she bent to pull on her shorts.

  By the time she straightened up her emotions were under control. She casually greeted Reeve as she walked toward the picnic hamper, trying to sound like meeting him here was the most natural thing in the world.

  "Hi! Are you enjoying a day off in the sun, too?" Kirsty asked, proud of how nonchalant she sounded. "Have you been here long?"

  Fool! What a stupid thing to say. It sounded like a question. How long had he been watching her? She didn't want him to know of her interest in him. Even the first question sounded ridiculous. Of course he had taken time off—why else would he be dressed in an open neck shirt, which showed the dark hair on his chest, and blue denim jeans which outlined his muscular thighs.

  Stop it, Kirsty. Or you won't be able to look at him without feeling embarrassed.

  "I've only been here a few minutes." Reeve continued to look at her with an intensity she found difficult to avoid. "Although I've been here long enough to enjoy the view."

  Does he mean me or the scenery at the beach?

  Kirsty bent to pick up the picnic to hide her confusion, but he beat her to it. Reeve caught the basket in his right hand in one fluid motion and handed it to her with a slight bow.

  "Do my eyes deceive me, or is this really a picnic hamper?" His eyebrow raised in query.

  "Yes, it is!" Kirsty couldn't help her sharp, defensive response. Her parents, knowing her love of al fresco meals, had given her this fully complemented basket as a 'leaving home' present. "I find it very useful when I want to eat outside."

  "Please." Reeve held up his hands in mock defense. "I didn't mean to criticize. It brings back fond memories. My grandparents had one years ago, but I didn't know they still made them."

  Kirsty's face flushed with embarrassment at her defensive attitude and to make amends, she indicated the basket and asked, "Would you like to join me? I always pack too much food for myself."

  "If you're sure it's all right?"

  Kirsty nodded, and Reeve smiled. This time the warmth of his lips was reflected in his eyes. "In that case, I'd love to join you."

  Reeve took the basket from her, and side by side they moved to the blanket on the sand. He hesitated, and Kirsty indicated he should set the picnic hamper down in the middle.

  She tucked her legs under her and sat on one side of the basket, pointing to the other side as Reeve dropped down beside her. He grinned cheekily and made a show of reluctant obedience as he moved opposite her, then looked on with interest as she lifted the lid. A low whistle pursed his lips.

  "You do yourself proud when you pack a picnic, don't you?" He watched her place the baguettes and cake onto plates retrieved from the basket.

  Kirsty put a small plate, fork and empty glass in front of him, then lifted the wine from the hamper. The polystyrene cooler had kept it cold, and she held the moisture-beaded bottle and a corkscrew out to Reeve.

  "Would you mind?" Her voice sounded coolly polite. "Then I can get the food sorted out."

  "Not at all." Reeve took the proffered bottle and held it at an angle whilst he scanned the label. "Mm, a Mansion vintage. A good year as well. You have good taste in wine, Miss Lawrence. "

  Kirsty had been going to tell him Mansion was her parents' vineyard, but his 'Miss Lawrence' made her lips go thin with annoyance. Even on her day off and when she was sharing her lunch with him, he had to remind her he was the boss.

  Reeve didn't seem to notice her ruffled temper as he opened the wine. Kirsty sliced each baguette in two, then cut the cake into segments. As she worked, her glanced flicked to watch Reeve from under her long lashes. He really was quite nice looking, she decided, especially when he wasn't being the big bad boss. His face was tanned and the wind had disturbed his dark hair. Casual clothing suited him and made him seem more approachable. Without experience of his overbearing manner she would have been tempted to get to know him better.

  The cork left the neck of the wine bottle with a discreet pop, and Reeve poured the golden liquid into the glasses. She waved a hand toward the food, but he passed her the drink, then lifted his own glass to his lips and sipped. He gave an appreciative sigh as the nectar slid down his throat.

  "Pure silk," he commented. "I must admit I'm surprised to find such a good quality wine at a picnic on the beach. I'd have thought on your salary wines like this would have been way above your touch, or at least kept for a special occasion."

  "Are you suggesting I came by it dishonestly...?" Kirsty asked, her temper rising and putting an edge to her words. "Because if you are..."

  "Of course not, Miss Lawrence. I merely commented on your taste."

  "Oh, this is ridiculous." Kirsty had had enough of this fencing with words. "Every time I talk to you, we end up arguing. If you must know, my parents own Mansion Vineyards, and they like to make sure I have a good supply of wine."

  "Miss Lawrence, I agree the situation is ridiculous. Maybe it's because Miss Lawrence makes you sound so formal and aloof. Perhaps I could call you Kirsty when we're not at the hotel?"

  Was he being facetious? Kirsty glanced at him.

  Reeve's expression showed a man waiting patiently for an answer, so she nodded. It wasn't until later it occurred to her he hadn't asked her to call him Reeve.

  "Your health." Reeve lifted his glass in salute and she picked up her own drink and took a sip. "So tell me, Kirsty, what made you want to be a chef instead of going into the family wine business?"

  "It's an extension of the wines really. Mum runs a small restaurant at the vineyard, and I earned my pocket money helping out after school hours. The lure of cooking grabbed me early, and I took it from there. I like the taste of wine more than the technicalities of producing it. What about you? How did you become interested in hotels?" Kirsty grinned at him as she bit into the baguette. Let him do some of the talking while she satisfied her ravenous appetite.

  "In a similar way to you," Reeve answered in an offhand manner. "The family owned two small hotels, so I took a management course and eventually took over. I assume you ultimately want to get a post as head chef. Have you had any thoughts about when or where?"

  Kirsty had the feeling Reeve had avoided telling her too much about himself, and why had he asked about her future plans. His last question could have an ulterior motive behind it. Well, two could play at that game. She would throw a few evasion tactics herself.

  "I've not thought much about it." A sip of her wine made her comment sound casual. "Until recently I've been content to work for Chef Antoine. He's got quite a name for himself in the catering world."

  "I know. At first I assumed his fame was local, but he soon put me right." Reeve's eyes bore into hers with far more intensity than his words suggested." You said 'until recently.' Does this mean you might be making plans to move on?"

  "Are you still trying to get rid of me?" Kirsty asked suspiciously. "Because if you are, you'll have a fight on your hands. I'll go when I'm good and ready and not before."

  "Whoa!" Reeve held up his hands in mock defense again. "I thought we agreed we'd start afresh and not jump down each other's throats. The way you've been treated over the last few weeks, nobody would blame you if you wanted to move on, and I thought this might be what you were referring to. I apologize if it sounded like I wanted to fire you. The real reason I ask is because I'm interested to know if I'll have the pleasure of getting t
o know you better."

  "Oh!" Kirsty felt lost for words, a state she often found herself in when dealing with Reeve Stuart. "Sorry if I jumped the gun, but nothing seems the same since you arrived at the hotel."

  "Really? In what way have things changed?"

  "Well, some things are for the better—the reception area for one. It looks more welcoming than it did a few weeks ago, but the cosy, comfortable feeling of the place has changed. What would be really nice would be to combine the efficiency you're trying to introduce, with the relaxed family atmosphere we used to have. The hotel staff aren't quite sure where they stand at the moment. They used to be more at ease and helpful, but now most of them are on edge all the time. They're making every effort to prove they're good at their jobs."

  "Are you talking about yourself in the last statement?" Reeve asked, and Kirsty got the impression worry hid behind his words.

  "No...well, yes, when it comes to being on edge. In this case I don't think it's all your fault. Chef Antoine has always had an artistic temperament, but since you arrived at the hotel he seems to be more—I don't really know how to describe it. More prone to mood swings and forgetfulness, I think." Kirsty frowned as she swallowed the last of her salad roll, then took a sip of wine. A wave of disloyalty flooded through her as she remembered who she spoke to. "I'm sorry. Forget it. I expect chef has something personal on his mind. He's usually very fair and supportive to me in my position as sous-chef."

  "Like you say, let's forget it."

  Reeve leaned back on one elbow and smiled at her. Kirsty felt momentarily dazzled by the whiteness and evenness of his teeth. He looked far more handsome when he allowed his features to relax, and his natural warmth broke through the cold, reserved attitude he wore for work. She realized she was staring at him so she dropped her head and separated out a slice from the cake.