“What’s in this for you?” Jack asked. What did she want from Tom? “He can’t endorse your product, you know. He’s subject to all kinds of clauses in his contract. Forbidden to do anything in terms of new sponsorship deals until after the games.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” She clipped the words the way she sliced the apricots—quickly.
“So why?” Was she genuinely interested in Tom? Or would she be interested in any guy who might help out her business? Yeah, Jack was wary and he didn’t want any more pressure put on Tom than was necessary. His brother didn’t need to be hurt the way he had been before.
She poured the bag of hazelnuts onto a tray. It made a hell of a din for two seconds. She picked up the tray and slid it in the oven, banging the door shut before whirling to face him. “Because he asked me to.”
“So you’re doing it out of the goodness of your heart?”
“You don’t think that’s possible?” Her brown eyes fixed on him. But it wasn’t only defensive anger he saw in them, there was also accusation—like she was assessing and finding him wanting. “Can’t someone help another out—just as a friendly favor—without there being some kind of ulterior motive?”
“It’s possible,” he answered bluntly. “But unlikely. There’s always more to it.” As his business had gotten increasingly successful, he’d discovered there was often something more to what appeared to be simple requests. Yeah, he’d become cynical.
“Not in this case. Tom wants my muesli, I’m making it for him. And okay yes, he’s paid me to make it. End of story.”
“So if he’s paid—if this is something you produce, why can’t he buy it from a shop? Why do you have to make it here?”
Her gaze dropped, as did her shoulders—so slightly. “I’m not making any for the shops at the moment.”
“But you do?”
“Of course I do,” she said lifting her chin, her spirit—and volume—returning. “That’s how he’s had my muesli before. He’s bought it.” She tightened her grip on her knife and went back to decimating apricots.
“How did he know how to track you down if there isn’t any in stores now?” Jack needed to know how long this had been going on.
“You should get a job with MI5,” she snapped. “Why don’t you call him back and ask him? He’s the one who tracked me down. He called me. He asked me. He’s the one who’s paid me already. Not because he’s interested in me, or I in him, or because I want anything else from him. He ordered, paid and here I am.” She shrugged her shoulders, looking at him like he was a crazed conspiracy theorist.
And Jack almost believed every word—all except the Tom wasn’t interested bit. She was beyond cute by any guy’s standards, but the timing for Tom sucked. It was out of the question for him to start seeing her now. As for Jack—well, he wasn’t encroaching. He picked up the bottle of bronze liquid, deciding to change the topic while he internally processed. “Why not honey?”
Her expression lightened as she glanced at it. “Maple has a more subtle flavor. More delicate.”
“More refined?”
“No, more natural.”
“It’s sure as hell more expensive.”
“Actually, some honey is as expensive. But you’re right, pure maple isn’t cheap.”
He held it up and looked and let the sunlight hit it. “Beautiful color though.”
“And a beautiful flavor.” She poured the oats into another tray. “So I can get on with this now?”
Jack gritted his teeth. “Can you be done in an hour?”
Chapter Three
Libby looked at the guy who’d been so determined to give her a hard time these last twenty minutes. He honestly thought she’d “distract” Tom? What a joke. Tom hadn’t even looked her in the eyes when he’d come to see her—having first contacted her through her website. At first she hadn’t believed his email was for real. She’d demanded to meet him and she’d demanded upfront payment—though that had been because of her cash flow problems. But he’d been happy to pay then and there. In fact he’d been so manic about the muesli and so obviously uninterested in her, she’d almost been offended. She was hardly model-material but she occasionally scored a second look.
Now Jack, unlike his brother, had done nothing but gaze right at her, and frankly, it turned her insides upside down. Not that Jack seemed in any way aware of her other than as some bizarre threat to Tom. She had the impossible desire to make him pay a different kind of attention to her—and just because something might be impossible, didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.
“The best things need time to get exactly right,” she said. “Creating something that tastes exquisite cannot be a rushed process.” And yes, she deliberately infused a frisson of tease in her tone.
“Exquisite?” he mocked. “Oats are what you feed horses.”
“And international athletes,” she pointed out smugly.
“Muesli is not a real meal.”
Oh he so wasn’t going to win that argument. “When eaten with milk it’s a complete protein that will give you a sustained energy release for hours.”
“Sustained energy?” He eyed her wickedly. “For hours you say?”
“Absolutely,” she held her cool. “It’ll make you all Energizer Bunny.”
Boldly she met his gaze—refusing to wither under his relentless scrutiny—though her toes were curling tight in her shoes and she was clamping down on the lush melting sensation deep in her belly.
His brows lifted slightly and the corners of his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Do you mind my staying to watch?”
Of course she did. She was far too aware of him watching her every move and making her fat-fingered and clumsy. And hot. “Not at all.”
“I guess if I learn how to make it, then he can always have your muesli.”
It took a little more than a few stirs with a spoon and a half hour in the oven to make her muesli, but she held back her eye-roll. “You’d make it for him?”
“Is that so unbelievable?”
She gestured at the kitchen with its beautiful stainless steel appliances that shone with showroom perfection—untouched newness. “Isn’t this the first time this oven has been used?”
The first thing she’d done when she’d gotten there was peek in the pantry. Surprisingly Spartan, there were no baking ingredients and only a couple of cans of tomatoes. There was nothing in the fridge other than some milk, a packet of smoked salmon and some yoghurt. She’d figured Tom must eat out or have meals delivered. He probably didn’t have time to make the stuff himself or was on some special diet or something. But now she knew it was Jack’s place—and a guy as strong as he looked had to eat. Maybe they both had food delivered.
He grinned. “You’re right. I just had it refurbished. But I can and do cook. You’d be surprised what I’m capable of doing with my hands.”
A tingle shot down her spine.
“Can I try some of the maple syrup?” he asked slowly.
There was definite tease now. She bit back a pleased smile—and then she noticed the smell.
“Oh no!” She raced to the oven. “No, no.”
Damn.
“It’s just a few nuts,” he said easily. “It doesn’t really matter that much, does it?”
Of course it mattered because those nuts cost a fortune and she couldn’t charge Tom for her own mistake—and she couldn’t afford more of the wretched things. And in Jack’s brand new oven? She opened the oven door and tendrils of smoke wafted out. The smell intensified. That bitter, singed odor of burned nuts—she’d never forget it. And now, standing before the open oven, she remembered the rest—the acrid, eye-watering smell of burning plastic, walls, tables, chairs…
Jack pushed past her with a cloth. He lifted the tray of charred nuts out and quickly slammed the oven door. He turned to face her, smoking tray in hand—his expression questioning.