Hungry for More

CHAPTER 32



Josh Toby and Jasmine went back to New York. Most of the staff went on an inebriated celebration bar-crawl after Scottie Jones left with assurances that all went spectacularly. Amy, unsure where to go, sat alone in the empty dining room. She wasn’t sure if the doorman at James’s would let her in, and she dreaded being turned away.

Troy sat down across from her. “That was awesome.”

“I wish James had been here.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

She looked at the boy. “So you’re alone again?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like the first time we met.” Amy smiled sadly.

“Not really. So much has happened, you know.”

“I know.”

“You wanna stay with me?” Troy asked. He had lost his sheepish I-don’t-care facade. “I’d really like it if you did. I don’t know how long my mom will be gone. She was really pissed at me at first, and then I told her the name of her One True Love, and she talked to him and they hit it off.”

“Both of you come and stay with me.”

Amy whipped around. It was James, his travel bag still on his shoulder.



Amy stood, her heart racing. “James.”

“Can’t a person get a bite to eat in this joint?” He echoed the first words that she had ever said to him.

“I’ll go help Charlie clean up,” Troy said as he stood. Such a good, smart kid. “In fact, I’m gonna get Charlie to take me home.”

James tossed him his keys. “Tell Charlie to take you to my place.”

Troy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, Chef? Really? Okay. We’re out of here. You kids have fun.” He hurried out of the room, raising his three-finger salute. James tousled his hair as he passed.

James didn’t move toward Amy. “My father died three days ago. A massive heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry, James.”

“Yeah. Well. I got to see him before he died. I got to cook for him. I made him our entire menu—the one we created. He ate it alone, at his huge dining room table, while I watched. And it occurred to me that I’d never seen anything sadder in my life than this man who had no one because he’d lived his life like an idiot. Running around the world making money and nothing else. He was rambling on and on about the food, like that was what mattered. I hadn’t seen him in years, Amy, and he was talking about opening a restaurant chain called ‘LaChance’ and marketing my sauces. He took three cell phone calls during the soup alone. Next day, he went to play golf with two business associates and died right there on the course. Neither one of those guys came to the funeral.”

Amy watched him, unsure what to say.

“I don’t want to live like him, Amy. I don’t want to eat the best meal of my life alone.”


“I don’t either, James.”

He let his bag fall from his shoulder. He left it and crossed the room to her. “Then why did you leave?”

“I got scared. It was a habit. I couldn’t help it. But, James”—she felt her breath hitch—“I came back.”

He didn’t look impressed. “I got your messages.”

“It went great, James. Scottie Jones—”

“Honestly, Amy, I don’t give a rat’s ass about Scottie Jones. I want to know what you intend to do. I won’t be your consolation prize.” He raised his arms to take in the room. “I won’t let Les Fleurs be your prison. What are you doing here, Amy? Why’d you come back?”



She came forward and held out something to him. It was an envelope. She was more beautiful than ever, and yet, tiredness claimed him. Arranging the funeral and seeing it through had been a special kind of hell. The seven hours stuck at Logan International hadn’t helped.

“Open it,” Amy urged.

He couldn’t think of any reason not to except, of course, that he was way too tired to be able to read it. He slid his thumb under the seal and pulled out the paper inside. His eyes went wide with confusion. Even this exhausted, he could decode a long row of zeros on a check when he saw them.

“It’s from my sister Cecelia. A loan. But I think it’s enough to get me in, right?”

“In?” Into my heart? He sincerely doubted she meant that. He was so tired and so sad from dealing with his father’s funeral and estate. He was a very, very rich man now, as his father’s only heir, and he couldn’t have cared less about Scottie Jones or Amy’s check.

“Into a new place. I think it’s about time Les Fleurs had some real competition. It would be ours, together. I was thinking we’d call it Pure Sin.”

He carefully tucked the three-hundred-thousand-dollar check back into the envelope and held it out to her. “I don’t need your money.”

“Yes, you do. Because without it, I won’t feel equal. And I have to feel equal. I need something of my own. It’s my way. I can’t change, James. I wish I was okay with us being lopsided, but I’m not. If I’m going to give up Maddie forever for you, I need this.”

Was she saying she wanted back in with him? He watched her carefully, unsure of how to proceed. This was a woman who left him and could do it again at the drop of a hat. And yet, all he had wanted for the past week was for her to come back so that he could change his life and not turn out like his father.

“James, please?”

Then he saw it, in the way she gulped, the sheen on her forehead, her pursed lips. She was nervous, too. She did come back. “Lopsided? Amy, we weren’t lopsided.”

“So we’ll own Pure Sin together, and then it’ll be part mine and part yours and then”—she inhaled and looked right at him—“then we can be equals and be together. James. I want us to be together. And I know it’s f*cked up, but I can’t change. This is the only way I can do it. I realized when I ran into that stupid Bob. I’m not gonna be the type to get all nice and kind. I’m just gonna keep on being me, and if you want to love me, you’re gonna have to deal with that.”

“What if I say no?” He could feel his chest expand and contract in slow motion.

“Then I’ll open next door and kick your sorry ass.”

He sucked in his cheeks, trying not to smile. “Really? I’d like to see you try.”

“My place will be fun. Gnocchi with a stick of butter and mixed houseplants. Oatmeal stirred clockwise. None of that truffle bullshit. Just real food. And real people. Oh, and music. I like music. You won’t stand a chance in your fluffy Frenchie place. No matter how many stars you get from that jerk Scottie.”

He stared at her, not sure whether to kick her out or take her into his arms.

They watched each other for a long moment. In the pristine perfection of Les Fleurs, she still looked like a mirage. Just the way she had looked the first time he’d seen her. Only that time, she had seemed so supremely alone. And he saw now, after watching his father die, how alone he had been, too. If he turned her away just because she was an impossible nutcase, he’d have no one. It was the one thing she couldn’t help. He had to forgive her. She was, after all, his soul mate.

“So, are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was quieter now.

“Yeah. I’m over it,” he said. “My father was a dick his whole life. It was more like coming to terms with the fact that a stranger died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“A stranger who left me a boatload of money.”

“Give it to Troy,” she suggested.

“I intend to,” he said.

“Roni left him for her One True Love.”

“Yeah, Manuel called and told me. She probably felt too ashamed to ever show her face here again.”

“James, I want us to take Troy in.”

“Well, of course, stupid. How could we not? You know how much help we’ll need running two first-class restaurants?” He was feeling very much like kissing her. In fact, he was feeling very much like doing more than that.

“Only thing is,” she said, “if we opened a new place, we’d need to do a whole new menu.”

“Yeah. That would be a problem.”

She moved in close to him. “I get my inspiration from beautiful men,” she said. Her lips quivered around the corners, and he didn’t think he could last another minute without tasting them.

He wrapped her in his arms. “Beautiful men, huh? Think you could settle for me?”

“Does that mean you’re accepting my apology?”

“I didn’t hear you apologize,” he pointed out, pulling her closer.

She leaned into him. “James. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry. I was a ninny. I need you. Let’s do this. Together. Please?”

“You were a fool for leaving me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re never going to leave me again.”

“Yes. Well, I’ll try. I mean, probably, I will. But I’ll always come crawling back.”

“You’re going to come home with me and let me make soft, slow love to you?” His lips brushed hers.

“Yes. Well, after Troy’s asleep.”

“And you’re gonna let me tear up that stupid check.” He said it into her hair, then bit her ear.

She pulled back. “No way. Didn’t you understand a word I just said?”

He smiled, maybe for the first time in days. “That’s my Amy. I just had to make sure you were the right woman, not some Gypsy imposter.”

“Oh, I’m the right woman, all right. And don’t you ever forget it.”



They never did make it back to James’s place. By the time they got to the deserted kitchen, he pushed her against the chrome counter and kissed her full and hard. “Amy,” he murmured. “Don’t ever change.”

“Hell no,” she said. Or, rather, she said “hell” and then it sounded more like “hello” as their lips crashed together again. Hello.

He pressed his hardness against her, and the thought of what it could do to her made her think of, well, what it could do to her, and the thought was so delicious that she sighed.

“Madame.” He scooped her up into his arms.

“Put me down!”

But he didn’t. He carried her across the kitchen, banging into pots and counters and cursing them.

“Where are we going?”

He made for the back stairs.

“Ouch! You brute.”

He maneuvered her down the stairs, grunting. “Damn, you’re heavier than a side of beef.”

“If you’re trying to be romantic, you’re failing desperately,” she said. But then she shut up because he kicked in the door to the walk-in.

“Amy, will you marry me?” he asked, standing on the threshold.

“What?” The walk-in was like a chapel, white and clean.

“Not ‘what?’ Yes. I’m about to carry you over the threshold into my temple, so you’d better agree to marry me. Because let’s be honest—I can’t trust you not to leave unless I get a major legal commitment.”

“I can’t—”

“I’m not taking on a business partner who’s gonna scram again. We need to be married. In every way. True love. Forever and all that.”

She didn’t know what to say. She was so shocked, so stunned.

“You’re heavy, lady.”

“I’ve been eating too much French food.”

“This is only the beginning. Decide. Now. Say yes.”

“Yes.”

He dropped her. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll marry me?”

“What, do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Is that a dyslexic joke? Because if it is, it isn’t funny.”

“James.” She pulled him into the walk-in. “No one carries anyone in this relationship. C’mon.” She pushed him to the floor, collapsing on top of him.

He smiled. “Right. Sorry. Forgot. I’m going to have to get used to that.”

She pressed her full length against him, feeling his hardness against her stomach. “Guess I’m gonna have to get used to that .”

“You better believe it.” He rolled her over, then suspended himself above her on straight arms, dipping low to let their noses touch. “I love you, Amy. But if you ever leave me again, I’ll kill you.”

“Got it.” She took a deep breath. This was it, now or never. “James, I love you.”

She waited to feel the emptiness and sadness of Maddie being gone forever. But it didn’t come.

In fact, she felt fantastic.

He let his weight settle on her, and she felt so good and protected and warm.

And when they were done, she told him about the nachos that he had just inspired for Pure Sin, with artisan organic tortilla chips and pomegranate seeds in a passion-fruit salsa.





Epilogue



Amy and Troy climbed out of the cab. The early spring breeze was colder here in Chicago than in Philadelphia, but it still felt good after their three-hour plane ride and endless cab ride.

The enormous gate towered above them, blocking access to a winding driveway.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Troy asked.

“Yep. I’ve been here before, it might surprise you to know.” Amy buzzed the intercom on the gate. They waited, staring into the camera that rotated with a whir, taking in the scene. The cabdriver waved.

A few minutes later, a golf cart appeared. The driver, a young man in a baseball cap, studied them, then opened the gate with a clicker he held in his hand. The gate sprang open. “Five minutes,” he said to Troy and Amy.

They clamored inside the little cart, which then zipped out of sight of the bored cabdriver, up the driveway.

When they reached the house, Troy gasped. “Holy shit. She sure is rich.”

“Yeah, well you’re not doing so shabby yourself, young man.” James had put his father’s inheritance in a trust for Troy for when he reached age and finished culinary school. The kid had been living with them for three months, and he already felt like family. He’d gotten used to the voice, although he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it yet. But Amy insisted that he learn to cook. Because one day, Maddie would leave him, and he had better be ready for it with a life of his own. She wasn’t going to let him make the mistakes she made.

Oprah appeared at her front door, staring down at them. She didn’t smile. Didn’t even move.

The driver stopped the cart and turned off the engine with a key. “Go on,” he said.

Troy looked a little shaky, but Amy was sure she was more nervous as they climbed the imposing marble stairs to Oprah’s front door. She touched the hawk she had had tattooed on her wrist for luck. James had an upside-down horseshoe on his wrist, and Amy imagined him touching it as he started to prepare for the night.

Oprah nodded. “Amy Burns. If you’re here to flog you and your new cheffie’s book, forget it. I’m on a diet.” She was referring to James and Amy’s first cookbook, The Meal of a Lifetime, which would come out next year. James could hardly read it, of course, but, then, he didn’t need to. He could just kiss Amy, and the recipes would come to him. Never failed. Stupid jerk got to have his muse and eat it, too.

“Amy LaChance now,” Amy said to Oprah. “And, no, the book will do fine without you. I’m here to introduce you to someone.”

Oprah looked confused. And a little thin. Amy would have to remember to send her something from Pure Sin when she got back. Maybe gnocchi in butter sauce. Oprah shook her head. “Amy Burns is not here to sell herself? I can’t believe that.”

“Believe it. This is the new Amy Burns. And this is Troy. He can tell you, well, you know, what I couldn’t. If you want to know.”

Troy nodded politely at Oprah, but he couldn’t stop staring impolitely. She had that effect on people.

“Oh. Well, isn’t that interesting?” Oprah hesitated for a split second, and then held out her hand. “Okay, lay it on me.”

Troy took her hand in his. Then he closed his eyes. He listened for a few moments. Amy watched, a little jealous, a little awed. But not too jealous. She had made the right choice. She wouldn’t give James up for anything. Even a shot at Oprah.

Troy leaned forward and whispered a name in Oprah’s ear. She nodded, then shook his hand. “Thank you.” She turned to Amy. “Now that was more like it. He’s a good boy. Good luck.” And then she shut the door before Amy could ask her about coming on the show with her and James’s book.

As she and Troy made their way back to the waiting golf cart, Amy felt like skipping; she felt so light and free.

So she did skip. Back to the cart, then the cab, then the plane, then into her husband’s waiting arms and their new no-star restaurant.

Pure Sin.





Dear Reader,


Still hungry for more?

Romance novels are like chocolate—no matter how much you get, you always need more. Or is that just me? If you missed the beginning of this feast, don’t worry. Nothing wrong with eating dessert first!

First Course

Make Me a Match , the first book in the One True Love trilogy, is the story of Amy’s oldest sister, Cecelia. Doctor Cecelia Burns has it all—gorgeous fiancé, great job, promising future—until Amy shows up to tell her that her One True Love as destined by Fate is dying. If Cecelia wants to save her only chance at True Love, she’s got to ditch her perfect life and find this stranger. Fast.


Main Course

Sexiest Man Alive , is the second book in the trilogy. It tells the story of Amy’s youngest sister, Jasmine. Jasmine Burns’s One True Love as destined by Fate is named Josh Toby. Of course, he might not be THE Josh Toby, the biggest movie star of the decade. After all, a shy girl like her could never be loved by a movie star like him? Could she?



Dessert

Luscious, rich, full of flavor, Hungry for More is the last book in the Burns sisters’ saga, when Amy finally gets to find her own One True Love. The best for last? You’ll have to read all three and let me know what you think!


For more treats, snacks, and nibbles, visit me at www.DianaHolquist.com. You can read an excerpt of my next book, enter my contest, or just say hello. I love to hear from readers, so please stop by.





THE DISH


Where authors give you the inside scoop!


From the desk ofAmanda Scot



Dear Reader,

An incident during the Lake Tahoe fire of June 2007 proved to me once again that ideas come to a writer from unexpected sources of every imaginable kind.

BORDER LASS (on sale now) was outlined and its teaser chapter written when I decided, because of the way that first chapter brings together the hero and the heroine—Sir Garth Napier (a Scottish knight) and Lady Amalie Murray—that I should add a brief prologue to show readers why Sir Garth acts as he does.

I was sitting on the porch at the cabin where I spend much of each summer, on a lake a thousand feet above Tahoe, trying to decide how I wanted to structure such a prologue, when I looked up to see a yellow-white cloud of smoke billowing above the granite peak that shoots up another thousand feet directly across the lake.

To anyone in a forest, such a sight is terrifying, but with a medium-sized lake and a tall granite mountain to protect me, I felt fairly safe staying put.

The incident that awoke my imagination occurred a few days later when an irate man accosted a firefighter and his wife in a Tahoe supermarket. The firefighter's T-shirt identified him as a member of the South Lake Tahoe Fire Department.

The community had signs out everywhere, thanking the firefighters for all they had done and were doing to save the many, many houses they were able to save. As a result, most folks the firefighters met were friendly and grateful. Many called them heroic.

The man in the supermarket loudly began berating the firefighter about the department's "failure" to bring in "the bombers" (planes dropping retar-dant) sooner. The firefighter, although exhausted, tried to explain that such planes have to be called in from other areas and asked sympathetically if the man had lost his home.

Admitting that his house was not in danger, the man continued his tirade until the firefighter walked away to avoid losing his temper, only to look back minutes later and see the same irate man approach his wife again in the checkout line and begin poking her in the chest as he shouted at her. Fortunately, a large candy rack stood between the firefighter and the other two, and the store's security people quickly removed the antagonist from the premises, so no blood was spilled.

When I heard about the incident, my always busy gray cells began to turn the incident into a more violent confrontation in fourteenth-century Scotland. Soon I was recalling other firefighter anecdotes I'd heard that likewise suited my hero's character and were irresistibly easy to translate into plausible knightly actions.

My brief comparison of today's firefighters with knights of old gave me a fresh perspective on both. I hope you enjoy the result when you read BORDER LASS.


Until then, Suas Alba!