Sweet Talk Ch 01

There was a distinct possibility, Annalise Marsh decided, that she would commit premeditated murder today. With her keys clenched in one hand, she climbed out of her car and crossed the street to the Counter Point condominiums. Where her future victim awaited.

A strong wind blew in off the lake, tossing her shoulder-length brown hair all over her face. She tried to pull the hood of her jacket over her head, but the wind just whipped it right back off. Letting out an irritated curse, she walked up to the building entrance.

Just to humor herself, and to give Jason one last chance at life, she stopped outside the double-glass doors in front of the condo and pressed the intercom button for #718. The nameplate next to the condo number read J. Blake. Her expression turned grim when the buzzer rang repeatedly. As she'd expected, Mr. Jason Blake wasn't answering. But he'd have to answer to her in a few minutes. Right before she murdered him.

Anna turned to the door and tapped on the glass, catching the attention of the doorman who sat at a rounded desk just inside the condo lobby. He looked up from his newspaper and grinned when he recognized her. The door buzzed open and Anna gratefully stepped into the warm draft of air that wafted out to meet her.

"Morning Miss Marsh," the doorman called out, tipping his cap to her as she walked by.

"Good morning, James," she said, without her usual smile.

"Uh oh. I've seen that look before," the doorman observed. "Want me to come up and hold Mr. Blake down while you kick him?"

Anna couldn't help but chuckle at the crooked smile on the doorman's wrinkly face. James had to be in his early seventies. At least.

"No, I think I can handle him," she laughed, pushing the elevator button. "Thanks for the offer, though."

"All right. But you just say the word and his mail could start to mysteriously disappear."

She laughed again as the elevator doors swished open. "Good to know."

Inside the elevator, she hit the number for the seventh floor and felt her smile fade.

Here I am, once again,

she thought,

being forced to baby-sit Jason Blake.

She clenched her jaw in frustration.

As the reigning darling of the "Cook Time" column in the

Seattle Times,

Jason had just been given a weekly thirty-minute slot on

Wake Up, Seattle,

the most widely-watched morning news show in the local broadcasting area. And because of his talent as a pastry chef, combined with good looks and more charisma than any one man deserved, he was constantly in demand for small-scale endorsements and charity events.

Even viewer ratings of

Wake Up, Seattle

had increased by eight percent since Jason's undeniably handsome face had begun gracing the KIRA studio kitchens two months previously. If Seattle had celebrities other than a certain technology titan and a few sports stars, Jason was one of them. And, as his personal assistant, it was Anna's job to keep him afloat, in control, organized and, more than anything, she had to make sure the public saw his best and most polished image.

Too bad he seemed intent on ruining that image.

When the elevator doors opened, Anna emerged armed with a second set of keys—she had one to Jason's car and his condo, for emergencies. Like this one.

Her star client, her only client, had overslept.

Yet again.

At least I hope he just overslept,

she thought, opening his apartment door.

Worst-case scenario, he'd taken it into his head to catch a red eye flight to Vegas for some spur of the moment gambling. These days, she never knew what to expect from him.

Sighing, she admitted to herself that she should've quit three months ago when he'd shown up almost an hour late for an extremely important interview and photo shoot because he'd been test-driving a new car. But she hadn't been able to quit then because...well, because he was her best friend and had been since she was eleven.

Loyalty really was her biggest weakness.

"And that's something you need to work on," she muttered to herself as she stepped into the condo and called out into the darkness. "Jason? You home?" No reply. From what she could tell, he wasn't there.

She'd kill him if he were out buying a boat or something.

Walking toward the master bedroom, she took in the ashtray on the glass-topped coffee table, filled to the brim with half-smoked cigars and lipstick-smeared cigarettes.

A woman. Great.

Anna hesitated. Her first instinct had been to barge into Jason's bedroom and wake him up, but the possibility of walking in on something that she'd rather not see in this lifetime—namely, Jason naked and entangled with some nameless bimbo—held her back.

Feeling like a nine-year-old, she tiptoed to the bedroom door, holding her breath as she pressed her ear up against the cool wood. Jason's steady snores drifted through the door.

Well, at least he's not otherwise occupied, she thought.

She knocked. "Jason?" Still nothing. "Hello?"

More snoring greeted her. And, she figured, since some strange woman hadn't answered the door demanding to know who she was, he was probably sleeping alone.

Hopefully.

Anna cracked the door and peeked inside.

Definitely alone.

He lay face down on the bed, sprawled diagonally across the queen-size mattress. She inched inside and took in the fact that he was shirtless, the blankets scrunched down around his waist, revealing the toned planes of his muscular back. A thick pillow partially covered his face, but his soft, steady-paced snores sounded perfectly clear.

"Here you have a taping with PBS in two hours," Anna muttered to herself, "and you're dead asleep." Without hesitation, and spurred by her irritation, she walked to the side of the bed nearest his head and shook his shoulder. "Jason, it's a quarter past ten."

He mumbled something about turning the volume on the TV down and burrowed deeper underneath the pillow. More irritated, she regressed to a technique she'd used to wake him back when they were still kids. She pinched his shoulder. Hard.

Before Anna could react, one of his arms shot up and dragged her underneath him. Her heart started a sudden pounding that she felt in her throat.

"Jason!" she squeaked. "Get off!" That last part came out a bit breathless.

Jason, on the other hand, was still mostly asleep and operating on pure instinct. "I told you, no biting," he mumbled, settling the weight of his upper body across hers, pinning her in place. Then, while she lay in motionless shock, he nuzzled his stubbly chin into the sensitive area between her jaw and collarbone.

"Mmm," he murmured into her ear.

For a very long moment, Anna stayed still, holding her breath. She allowed herself to enjoy his weight pressing into her; she inhaled the smell of him, a combination of spicy-sweet cigar smoke, a hint of cinnamon and something simply...

Jason

. His dark hair felt impossibly soft where it brushed against her cheek and, more than anything, she wanted to run her fingers through it.

She let seconds tick by, stifling her anger for the moment, and reveled in being so close to him. So near to this large, handsome, talented and infuriating man who wasn't only her client—but who was also the love of her life and had been for thirteen years. No matter what she did to try to change that.

She was about to push him off of her when his lips, warm and slightly damp, pressed into her neck. At the same time, he ran a hand up her side, slipping underneath her unzipped jacket. Heat spread through her; a decidedly unwelcome mix of arousal and longing...quickly followed by panic when his hand pushed under her shirt to her bare skin.

"Jason," she half-shouted, shifting beneath him, trying to get up. "Stop!"

"Mmm," he repeated. "Your hair smells good, Tammi."

Tammi? For a split second, Anna froze; a wave of all-too-familiar anger and embarrassment washed over her. Then she reached up and twisted his nipple as hard as she could.

A yelp of pain escaped him and his eyes popped open, revealing a bleary, blood-shot hazel gaze. Surprised, he blinked down at her.

"Anna?" He quickly pulled his hand out from under her shirt. Stupidly, his hurried retreat irked her just a little.

"Get off me," she said, her tone even. But instead of moving, he relaxed his arms and settled his chest back onto her, propping himself up on both elbows.

"What're you doing here?" he asked on a yawn. "And why the hell did you just try to rip my nipple off?"

She gave him a nasty smile. "It was a wake-up call since you're obviously too hung-over to answer your cell phone. Or your pager. Or your intercom. Or—"

"I get the point," he interrupted. "Still, violence was uncalled for, sugar."

"Don't call me that," she grunted, shoving at his immovable chest. "And get off of me."

Shifting playfully, he settled more comfortably on top of her. "You know, for such a tiny girl, you're kind of cushiony. Guess that's one of the perks of puberty, huh?"

Anna felt her cheeks redden, worsened by the fact that Jason noticed and laughed at her.

"Oh, grow up," she muttered.

"No, thanks," he shot back. "Besides, I don't think grown men get wake up calls like this one and I kinda liked it." He glanced at the skin around his nipple, now a faint red color. "Well, besides the pinching, clearly."

Determined to chastise him despite the fact that he was pinning her down on his bed, while shirtless, Anna set her chin. "Either way, you still have that show to tape in less than two hours. So I suggest you get off of me and—"

Abruptly, he rolled away, pushed her to the far side of the bed and tucked his arms underneath a pillow.

"Sugar—Anna," he corrected, when her eyes narrowed, "Wake me up in thirty minutes. I need my beauty sleep." Then he closed his eyes, effectively dismissing her.

Pressed near the end of her rope, Anna took another page from the childhood she'd spent growing up with Jason and her older brother, Nate. Staring at Jason's perfect, yet irritating features, she eased off the bed and with deep enjoyment, yanked the pillow out from under his cheek. His dark head hit the plush mattress with a dull thud.

His eyes popped open. "What the..." he began, but trailed off, watching as Anna circled to the bottom of the bed. "Hey!" he protested when she cleanly swept the expensive comforter and top sheet into a pile on the floor.

She knew Jason couldn't sleep on an empty bed and he hated having the lights on so, for good measure, she crossed the room and turned those on, as well.

Jason was staring at her with a mix of amusement and irritation on his face. "Now who's being childish?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"I only stooped to your level," she replied then tossed all of the bedding into the hallway. "Now get up, or I start pinching again."

"Fine." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and gave her an irritated look. "When did you get so damn pushy?"

"Right around the same time you got lazy," she said, literally pushing him into the large en suite bathroom. It took all of her concentration to ignore how incredibly firm the muscles beneath the warm skin on his back felt. She backed away as soon as his bare feet hit the tile floor.

From inside the bathroom, Jason turned and peeked his head around the door.

"You know what would help my laziness?"

She shot him a wary look. "What?"

"Coffee. And lots of it."

Anna rolled her shoulders, relaxing out the tension. If he was asking for coffee, he wasn't going to drag his feet anymore this morning. Thank God. It seemed like over the last few weeks—months, actually—she'd had to constantly prod him just to keep him on track.

Already remaking the bed, she didn't even glance up. "Coffee. I'm on it."

"That's why I love you, sugar," he said. "Always taking care of me."

Then the door closed and the shower went on. As she methodically tucked and folded the sheet and comforter back into place, all she could think about was that someday—soon—she needed to start taking care of herself, too.

Half an hour later, Jason re-appeared, not fully dressed, but freshly shaved. Anna was in the kitchen, stationed in front of the toaster, waiting for her pop tarts to emerge. She'd been so preoccupied with getting to Jason's house to get him up and ready, she'd completely missed breakfast and hadn't realized it until the near-crisis was almost over.

"You know those things are like ninety-nine percent artificial ingredients and preservatives, right?" Jason asked, coming up behind her to plant a brotherly kiss on her cheek. He smelled pleasantly of after-shave and Anna, despite herself, inhaled deeply.

"I found them in

your

cupboard," she told him.

"You lie." His tone held mock insult.

When the pop tarts shot up out of the toaster, Anna gathered them on a saucer. "There's a box of Lucky Charms in there, too. I guess you're going to deny all knowledge of those, right?"

Jason poured himself a steaming cup of the gourmet coffee he loved. "Nope. That leprechaun doesn't lie—those things

are

magically delicious," he said, making her laugh.

He crossed the kitchen and took a stool next to where she'd settled herself at the marble-topped island in the center of the room. She'd just opened her mouth to reply when he deftly scooped the remaining pop tart off her plate and took a bite, leaving her only half.

"Hey! What happened to preservatives and artificial ingredients?" she pouted, eyeing the rest of her pop tart glumly. "You jerk, the strawberry ones are my favorite."

Jason was still chewing, but managed a self-satisfied grin. He took a swallow of coffee. "I burned my tongue if it makes you feel better. That strawberry filling is like molten lava."

Anna smirked. "That's what you get."

Jason sipped his coffee then gave her a quizzical look. "What time am I supposed to be at the CBS station, again?"

"It's the

PBS

station, Jason," Anna said, clearly exasperated, but realized he was just messing with her when she caught his laughing gaze. "God, you're such an ass," she muttered.

"But it's a nice one, huh?" he joked, leaning to the side on his stool so part of his butt, clad in gray sweats, came into view.

Too her credit, Anna ignored him. "Not to mention conceited," she added.

He had good reason, though, she admitted to herself. He

did

have a pretty nice butt.

Giving herself a mental shake, she quickly changed the subject. "Did you fax your entry packet to the Culinary Association?" Confused, she watched as Jason's light-hearted expression disappeared.

"Do we have to talk about this now?" he asked.

Anna frowned. What was his problem?

He'd been avoiding talking about the Seattle Culinary Association's annual recipe contest all month. The SCA chose several top-ranking local chefs to submit recipes and, based on that and other criteria, gave out awards at a huge ceremony. But Jason was acting like they wanted to publish his secret recipes on the front-page of the

Times

or something.

"Uh, yeah, now would be nice considering you keep putting them off." She sighed, studying his profile. "Jay, they're going to skip right over you if you don't show at least

some

interest."

He slid from his stool and walked over to refill his coffee cup, keeping his back to her. "I think I can live without a nod from the Association, Anna."

She wanted to throw her saucer at him. "I know you can, but I thought the whole idea here was for your career to get bigger. Better. You know? Advancement?"

When he finally turned back toward her, the scowl on his face showed his irritation. Well, too bad for him, she wasn't letting the subject drop this time. "They only nominate something like twenty-five local chefs, so I don't know why—"

"Because I'm not a chef, Anna," he said angrily. "I'm a damn baker, okay?"

His outburst shocked both of them. Jason rarely swore in front of her, and almost never at her. The fact that he had meant something was wrong. Something more than he was telling her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," he muttered at the same time, avoiding her eyes.

Putting his cup in the sink, he came up and wrapped his arms around her from behind in a familiar bear hug. A warm, pleasant tingling spread through her whole body, but she ignored it, forcing herself to focus on Jason's words.

"Look," he said, "can I just get through this taping today before you start pestering me about submitting a recipe to the Association?"

His newly-shaved chin slid against her cheek when she turned toward him. "I'm not pestering," she protested. "I'm persistent. There's a difference."

"Fine," he amended, "can we get through today without you

persistently

pestering me about the Association? I'll get around to it later this week. Friday at the latest."

"You promise?"

The scent of his after-shave came to her again when he kissed her cheek.

"I swear."

Anna chewed her lip, not ready to accept his too-easy capitulation. "Because if I end up having to make last minute phone calls, Jason, I'll—" The pressure of his arms squeezing her brought her to a halt.

"Geeze, Anna. I told you I'll do it. Have a little faith, will you?"

"Fine. This is me having faith." She pushed at his arms, needing to put some space between them. "Now will you go get dressed? You barely have an hour before you need to be there. And, knowing you, your little primping session's going to take up most of that time."

Releasing his hold, Jason shot her a careless grin. The same grin that had charmed thousands of Northwest women into tuning in to his show each week.

"My primping can't be helped, sugar. Perfection takes time." He backed toward the door with his arms flung wide. "You can't expect me to rise from my beauty rest and not put in a little effort. In fact, the only thing better than seeing me in the morning is—hey!" He ducked the dishtowel Anna threw at him.

She gave him a sweet smile. "Sorry. I couldn't take much more of that."

"Sad you're missing out on the Jason-mobile?" he teased, turning so he was looking over his shoulder and smacked a hand on his butt.

Rolling her eyes, Anna let out an exasperated breath. "I have no idea why women think you're so damn attractive," she said. "If only they knew about the dork within."

"It's all about the baking, sugar." His smile widened into a devastating grin. "You ladies can't resist something sweet."

"This lady can," she countered. "Now go get dressed! You're gonna be late."

With a teasing salute, he disappeared around the corner.

As Anna predicted, they were almost fifteen minutes late getting to the PBS studios. But within thirty seconds of their arrival, Jason had charmed nearly everyone in earshot to the point that they would have waited around if he'd said he wanted to take a quick nap. On top of that, he got down to work so quickly and smoothly that every person in the room couldn't help but be mesmerized.

Standing on the sidelines behind the huge cameras, Anna watched him work with a grudging sense of wonder and, yes, pride. The man was an absolute genius at what he did. On the surface, he was just a twenty-six-year-old guy who made desserts. Most of his creations wouldn't even qualify him to be classified as a pastry chef, despite the fact that he'd graduated from the Culinary Institute of America, one of the most prestigious culinary schools in the country.

And after graduation, he'd spent a few years in three and four star restaurants across New York and Boston. The plan had been for him to get his fill of the high-class, cutting edge 'cheffing,' as he called it, before coming back to Washington to work alongside Anna's dad in the Marsh family bakery; the same bakery where he'd learned how to make his first pie crusts and cake batters under Charlie Marsh's eye.