Murder Al Fresco by Jennifer L. Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

didn't say a word as we made our way through the human gauntlet toward the Bowtie Angel. The front door was logjammed, so instead of pushing my way through, I headed toward the kitchen door in the narrow alley. I'd just opened the gate when I was gripped from behind and spun around to face one seriously angry New Zealander.
    "What the devil was that, Andrea?"
    My mouth fell open. "What?"
    "Don't play games with me. I'm in no mood. You let that bloke put his hands all over you."
    I shoved him back, needing some space. "I did no such thing."
    "He desires you," he ground out through clenched teeth.
    I made a disgusted sound. "You're jealous? Seriously? Malcolm, Rodrigo is a flirt. It's his shtick. I could have been any woman here, and he would have behaved exactly the same. Let it go." I tried to move past him, but he pressed me up against the side of the building.
    "You're not just any woman," he gritted eyes flashing blue fire. "You're my woman."
    And on the heels of that soul-deep declaration, he kissed the stuffing out of me.
    I was so stunned at first that I didn't respond. He took advantage of my shock to press me fully against the side of the building, pinning my arms above my head as his lips seized mine. His heat and urgency grew contagious, and I lost all sense of time and place. Lost everything except for my connection to my man. This was unlike any kiss we'd ever shared—so carnal, so possessive. A claiming kiss.
    His free hand gripped my hair, which had spilled loose of my messy bun. The heat raged on and on and on…
    Until someone doused us with icy cold water.
    Malcolm swore as the chilly blast pounded us, an assault just as relentless as our stolen moment of passion. I shrieked and lunged away from the building and away from Jones.
    The water cut off, and Pops stood there, a hose in one arthritic hand. "None of that hanky-panky now. Them TV people are everywhere, and you two are acting like a couple of horny teenagers."
    "Pops," I snarled dripping wet and steaming mad. "You could have just said something. How can I go in there looking like a drowned rat?"
    "Should have thought of that before you decided to get all frisky in the alley." My grandfather gave Jones a withering glare, dropped his weapon of choice, and disappeared into the building.
    "Well, at least it wasn't a shotgun," I groused and wrung my hair out. Although his methods may have been crude, the impromptu shower had cooled my overheated blood.
    "I'll drive home and get you a change of clothes." Jones refused to meet my eyes.
    "Malcolm?" His name came out like a question, mostly because I didn't know which question to ask.
    Not that it mattered. He strode off without a backward glance.
     
    *   *   *
     
    Since I didn't want to upset Aunt Cecily any further, I held court with Stu in the small garden behind the pasta shop. "What the freaking hell, Stu?" I greeted him.
    One sardonic eyebrow lifted when he took in my sopping wet state. "New look, Andy? I doubt that will be camera-friendly."
    I glared at him. "Never mind how I look. Who are all these people, and how did you get them here so fast? We just agreed to host the competition here yesterday for crying out loud."
    Stu was short for a man. He only had about two inches on my five-foot-four stature, but the lack of height advantage didn't make him any less imposing. One of the foodie blogs had dubbed him Napoleon of the Kitchen because he wasn't going to stop before he conquered the culinary world. "There's a ton to do to just get everything set up, and we needed to jump as soon as possible. Don't worry—nothing's going live until the finals. Besides, there's the other thing you're supposed to be handling."
    I wasn't sure if he appreciated the situation he'd put me in. "Again, I need more than a day's lead time. Jones and I have some stuff to deal with and—"
    Stu glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure we were completely alone. "It's getting worse, Andy. Chad Tobey is receiving