Recipe for Desire Page 6

  “Hell yes! And I hope you have some shoes for me in your trunk.”

  Adriana frowned. “Come on, now. Do you think I would forget my best friend?” The women headed to Adriana’s car in the parking deck, but Marie wasn’t thinking simply about the shoes; she couldn’t get Devon Harris off her mind.

  Was he really that altruistic, helping those women because it was the right thing to do? Maybe he had something going on with one of them or the director of the place. Why do I care with whom the chef is dipping his spoon? All I have to do is perform the community service and then I’m out of there. Still, there has to be something behind why he’s so dedicated to that shelter. Maybe it will be fun to uncover and expose his judgmental ass.

  “Marie,” Adriana said as she popped the trunk of her car open. “Did you hear me?”

  “What? Huh?”

  “I said, the two boxes on the right are yours. What are you plotting over there?”

  Marie shrugged as she picked up one of the shoe boxes. “I was thinking about something. You know who I met with earlier?”

  “Your community service supervisor, and?”

  “It was Devon Harris.”

  Adriana’s mouth dropped open. “The Devon Harris from the Food Network? Is he as fine in person as he is on TV? I watch that show just to see his sexy behind. Nothing like a smooth black man who can cook and look that good at the same time. Between him and G. Garvin, I love cooking shows. You’re lucky to be working with him.”

  “Lucky? To be stuck in a homeless shelter with him? He was insufferable,” Marie said. “I don’t care how unbelievably sexy he is, I’m not going to allow him to treat me as if I’m some derelict.”

  “A derelict? Well, I guess you can understand why he would feel that way,” Adriana said.

  Marie shot her friend a chilly look. “That’s not the point. He was talking to me as if I was some hood rat with a mile-long criminal record. I’m Marie Charles, he’d better recognize it.”

  “That’s right, so you have to show him who you are and who knows what will happen after that. Knowing you, he’ll be eating out of your hand once this thing is over.” Adriana and Marie climbed into the car.

  “I want to uncover why he’s so into taking care of the people at this shelter. Now, he claims that he’s not doing it for the ratings on his show, but no one is that caring. Not in Charlotte and not for nothing. So, the more he treats me like garbage, I’m going to dig until I find his secret.”

  “What if there isn’t a secret?”

  “Then maybe I’ll let him buy me dinner,” Marie said with a laugh.

  “Better still, let him cook you dinner,” Adriana said. “So, how are you going to find out what his secret is, Nancy Drew?”

  “I figure something out,” she said. “Even if I have to be sugary sweet to him.”

  “You, sugary sweet? Please let someone have a video camera around when this happens.”

  They took the short drive to Marie’s home in silence, and Marie tried to wrap her mind around what Devon Harris was really doing. She had to get her plan ready, arrive at the shelter on time, cozy up to Devon, and pretend that she was interested in whatever was going on there and watch how he interacted with the women. Then, if there was something unsavory going on, she’d use it to her advantage.

  “How long will you be at the shelter?” Adriana asked when she pulled up to Marie’s building.

  “Until after lunch. Why, what’s up?”

  “Well, we need to talk about some of the campaigns we still have, and we need to caress some of our clients, who Greta’s trying to poach.”

  “What?”

  Adriana nodded. “I know we can’t have you out front being the face of the company right now, but I think you need to help me make some of the phone calls.”

  “Glad you’ve admitted that you can’t do this without me. I’ll call you when I’m done at the shelter and we can get busy. I’ll be damned if Greta actually takes something from me that I actually want.”

  Marie gave Adriana a brief hug and then headed inside to get herself together for her first day with Devon.

  When Devon woke up the next morning, he realized that he needed to stop by the restaurant before heading to the shelter, because he had to take a look at the setup for the show. When it came to doing live shows, Devon was a bit OCD. Today he would be cooking in front of an audience for the first time since he’d been filming the show at Hometown Delights. He was thankful that Alicia, Serena, and Jade were as excited about the filming as he was. Of course, Serena wanted a seat in the front row, although he wasn’t sure why because she still couldn’t cook.

  Now he was regretting that he’d told Marie to come to the shelter today for her community service, since he’d told the ladies who took his class that they could come to the taping. How did he forget that? It was probably because Marie Charles had pissed him off with her haughty attitude and her accusation of him volunteering for ratings. He didn’t understand why he was so offended by Marie’s charges. Serena had suggested the exact same thing when he first told them that he’d be working at the shelter. Alicia had told him that he was working at the shelter because of his poor dating luck. There was something about Marie, though, something that infuriated him as much as it turned him on. She was sexy, there was no denying it. But she was everything that he was trying to get away from. Now, he was going to be working with her every day. If he was lucky, she’d prove him wrong and not be the diva that he assumed she was.

  He took a quick shower, dressed, and headed to the restaurant to check things out. Looking at his watch once he entered the restaurant, he saw that he was going to be late getting to the shelter if there were problems on the set. The crew, to Devon’s pleasure, had everything under control, turning half of the bar into a cooking area.

  “What’s up, guys?” Devon said to the crew.

  “Hey, Devon,” the producer, Noah Clark, said. “Came to check things out, huh?”

  “Yes, I can’t remember the last time I cooked in front of an audience, and I have some special guests coming.” Devon looked out at the seating arrangements. “We need to add some more seats.”

  “Yes, sir,” Noah said, then spoke into his radio for someone to bring chairs. Devon walked around the side of the bar and checked out the cooking equipment. Everything was in place and he was worrying for nothing. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that if he left now, he’d make it to the shelter on time. “Noah, I’m leaving this in your capable hands. But I need another electric skillet over here.”

  Noah shot him a thumbs-up sign as Devon headed out the door. When he hopped into his car, he ran right into a traffic jam. This wasn’t going to look good. Why am I worried about impressing her? he thought as he sat in the traffic.

  Marie stood in front of My Sister’s Keeper with her hands clenched in angry fists. This man lectured her about being on time and she was five minutes late and he still wasn’t there. She rocked back on her Jimmy Choo heels as her resentment grew. “That jerk,” she groaned as she started pacing back and forth. “He’d better give me credit for every minute that he was late.”

  A young woman walked toward Marie and stopped short when she seemed to realize that she didn’t recognize her. “Ma’am,” she questioned as she gave Marie a cool once-over. “Are you lost?”

  “No,” Marie said. “I’m here to do some consulting with Devon Harris, but he seems to be running late.”

  The woman looked down at her watch. “He is a few minutes late. Would you like to come inside and wait? All you had to do was ring the doorbell and they would’ve let you in.”

  “So, you work here?” Marie asked.

  “No. I live here,” she replied as she punched a code in the front door and opened it.

  “But you look so ...”

  “Honey, what did you think we were going to look like here?”

  Marie honestly couldn’t answer that question because all she had been focused on was seeing Devon again. She glance
d at the woman again. She didn’t look like what Marie thought homeless women would look like: tattered clothes, dirty and matted hair, and holey shoes. This woman looked like someone she’d pass on the street, neatly dressed, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she was smiling. Marie didn’t expect to see smiling faces in the shelter, that was for sure. The woman at the front desk motioned for Marie to sign the visitors’ registry.

  “I’m here to work with Devon Harris,” she said.

  “Oh, you’re the lady who’s on probation? I’m Lydia Thompson; I run the front desk. Mr. Harris called and said he’s sorry that he’s running late.” Lydia opened the desk drawer and handed Marie a folder. “This is for your time sheets so that you won’t lose them.”

  “When is he getting here?” Marie asked. “I don’t have all day to wait for him.”

  “The wait is over; I’m right here,” Devon said from behind her. His baritone voice made her shiver. Whirling around, she drank in his wickedly sexy image clad in a white T-shirt showing off his sculpted arms and his blue jeans that hugged his thighs. Boxers or briefs? she wondered as her eyes roamed his body.

  “Well, you’re late,” she said, her voice taking on a breathless tone.

  “Yes, and I apologize, but we have a busy day. Our lesson is going to be short today because I’m taking the ladies to a taping of my show. I’m going to need you to help with transportation.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Devon motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen area. “First Baptist West is going to provide a van and driver. You can come along and observe and make sure we get to the restaurant and return here without losing anyone.”

  Marie folded her arms. “So, how long am I going to be here today? I do have work to do, work that I get paid for.”

  “Miss Charles, you’re scheduled to be here for five hours today. You’ve been here all of twenty minutes and you’re trying to leave?”

  “You don’t know how long I’ve been here, since you’ve just arrived.”

  Devon placed his hand on Marie’s shoulder and she felt her skin sizzle. “Can we not make this difficult?”

  Before she could reply, a group of women entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Devon,” one of the younger women said as the other ladies sized Marie up.

  “Who is this?” another woman asked with a nod toward Marie. Devon looked up at the women and smiled.

  “Ladies, I want to introduce you to Marie Charles,” he said. “She’s going to be helping us for a few months. I think it would be nice for us to introduce ourselves.”

  “I’m Shay,” said a woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  A younger girl with a skeptical look on her face nodded at Marie. “I’m Bria.”

  The other six women introduced themselves as Andrea, Rita, Yolanda, Deidra, Skylar, and Thelma. Marie smiled and waved at the ladies. She had to admit, they were nothing like what she’d expected.

  “So,” Skylar asked. “You’re a chef or a business woman like Serena?”

  “I’m in ...”

  “She’s here to do whatever we need,” Devon interjected. “And since we’re going to the restaurant for the taping of my show, we’d better get busy with our lunch.”

  Marie rolled her eyes at him, but held her tongue. Thelma, who was the oldest of the women, tapped Marie on the shoulder. “I hope you have another pair of shoes. It gets pretty messy and wet in here.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Marie replied as she glanced down at her four-inch heels. Thelma shrugged and headed over to her work space. Devon waved for Marie.

  Sighing, she crossed over to him. “Yes?”

  “I need you to get the seasoning tray, the pots, and ...” He glanced down at her feet. “You’re not going to make it in those shoes.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do? These are the only shoes I have with me.”

  It didn’t take long for Marie to find out that four-inch heels on a slippery kitchen floor were a bad idea. She’d slipped when she put the basket of vegetables in the middle of the counter. She’d turned her right ankle when Devon told her to get the knives.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her when she limped over to him with the silverware. He wiped his hands on his soiled apron, then scooped Marie up in his arms in one quick motion. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said to his students as he carried Marie out of the kitchen.

  “I can walk,” Marie said quietly as she felt her heart beating like a steel drum.

  “I just want to make sure,” he said as he sat her on an ottoman in the lobby. “Hold your leg out.”

  “You’re a doctor now?” she asked, but did what she was told.

  “I’ve nursed many ankles of women wearing ridiculous shoes in my kitchen,” he replied as he gently squeezed her ankle, searching for a knot. “You’re going to have to get sensible shoes while working here. I think you should be fine for the rest of the day, since we’re about to head to the restaurant.”

  “So, you keep your women in heels in your kitchen while you cook at home? Because OSHA would shut you down if you did that in the restaurant,” Marie said. “That’s pretty sexist.”

  “First of all, when I cook for a woman, she doesn’t enter the kitchen,” he said. “I just happen to work with hardheaded women like yourself. Tomorrow, wear flats.”

  “Do I look like I own a pair of flats?” she quipped. As Devon gave her a slow once-over and offered her a sly smile, Marie felt a heated explosion between her thighs that made her look away from his brown eyes.

  “Yeah, you don’t wear flats,” he said. “You’re probably five foot nothing and just too afraid to let people see the real you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked with one sculpted eyebrow raised.

  “Just what I said. Who comes to do community service in high heels, expensive clothes, and a fresh hairdo? No one needs to be impressed by how you look.”

  Marie folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, feelings of desire for this man waning slightly. “A cook, a doctor, and a dime-store psychologist. Is there anything that you don’t do?”

  Devon shook his head from side to side. “You know what I don’t do: deal with diva attitudes,” he said. “Since you can walk, why don’t you head across the street and see if the van is ready?” He turned and went to the kitchen, and Marie felt as if she’d been dismissed by her principal. Men didn’t treat her this way. They were oftentimes in awe of her and leapt to do her bidding. Who did Devon Harris think he was?

  Chapter 7

  When Devon and his crew arrived at Hometown Delights, he smiled at the excitement bubbling through the ladies from My Sister’s Keeper. Even Bria was showing signs of enthusiasm, despite trying to keep her face neutral.

  “Hey, Devon,” his sous-chef, Daniella King, said when she greeted him at the door. “Are these the ladies I’m taking care of today?”

  “Yes,” he said, then pointed to Marie. “She’s going to be your assistant for the taping.”

  Marie rolled her eyes, but didn’t say a word as Daniella crossed over to her and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Daniella.”

  “Marie Charles,” she replied with a limp handshake.

  Daniella gave her a questioning look. “All right,” she said. “Well, let’s get busy. Chef is going to have a great show. So many people have been trying to get in here.”

  Devon hoped Marie and Daniella would be able to handle the seating arrangements because he needed to focus on his cooking. “All right, guys,” he said. “I’m going to leave you to it.”

  He rushed down the hall to change into his chef’s jacket and get cleaned up for the demonstration. As he headed for the kitchen to get his utensils, Serena stopped him.

  “Devon, is that Marie Charles in the audience out there?” she asked.

  He sighed and nodded. “That’s her. She’s working with me at My Sister’s Keeper.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” Serena exclaimed. “And here I thought all she coul
d do was party. Wait a minute, you mean she’s doing her court-ordered community service at the shelter.”

  “Yeah, look, we can talk about that later. You got your front-row seat, right?”

  She nodded. “And you better not say a word about my cooking on your show, or I am going to throw grits at you.”

  “As long as they aren’t hot, bring it on,” he quipped. “You probably can’t even cook grits.”

  Serena shrugged, pouted, then sauntered down the hall while Devon laughed at her. The show’s director ran over to him. “Devon, five minutes!” Monique exclaimed. “It’s pretty crowded out there. This is going to be great. Like Emeril’s old shows.”

  “Hopefully better,” Devon said. “I don’t have a catchphrase.”

  “Good, because I wanted to ‘bam’ him after hearing it a million times; now let’s move,” Monique said as she placed her hand on Devon’s back and led him to the front of the restaurant. As soon as the audience saw him, they erupted in applause.

  Monique gave him the signal to start the show, and he smiled at his adoring public. “Thank you for being here today on Dining with Devon. I’m your chef, Devon Harris,” he said, full of energy. “Today, we’re going to combine two of my favorite things, fish and shrimp.”

  Marie watched Devon intently, not because she was interested in what he was cooking or his explanation of the different flavors he was mixing up for his marinade. She was just captivated by his passion. If he was this passionate about cooking, what would he be like with a woman? She watched as he rolled a filet of tilapia in bread crumbs, paying attention to his fingers as they stroked the fish. How would her breasts feel as he brushed his thumbs against her taut nipples the way he did the fish? Would he use his tongue along with his fingers to make her cry out in pleasure?

  Shay broke into Marie’s wanton thoughts when she pinched her on the arm. “Are you all right over there with all of that moaning?” she whispered. “Hungry much?”

  “Well,” Marie said, “I did skip breakfast.”