Fired Up

Chapter Seventeen

Layla was up early—relatively speaking, given Avery was already at the chuck hall—and showered, changed into a satin nightie in buttery yellow, and spread out her laptop and papers on the bed. She clicked through the snippets her marketing team had sent her from Avery’s segments, in addition to trailers that had been created for all the competitors thus far, so that she could do a recap.

She approved Reels and memes that were positive reflections on all the chefs’ efforts. Also some bloopers, even ones from Avery, because everyone had a snafu here and there, and that was something that humanized them during this challenge.

Not to mention, there were outtakes of Layla flubbing her lines during the live streams.

That was another great aspect of this platform. They captured everything on-screen, in real time, but they also produced an edited version that was more condensed. People who weren’t able to invest in the full hour due to having a short attention span, not being available during the live stream, or not having enough time in their busy day could get the highlights in a pithy video.

However, Brodi’s data reported they were doing a fine job of converting those recorded viewers into subscribers.

Todd was spot on with the ability to continue the series.

Then again—

“That’s another sexy visual that makes me wonder how I leave this bed in the morning.” Avery interrupted her thoughts.

She smiled at his deep, intimate voice, caressing her like a warm Texas breeze.

She sighed—with ample lust tinging her breath—and glanced over her shoulder as she lay on her belly, taking him in.

He said, “You sprawled over my duvet is hot as hell, honey.”

“Come join me,” she said as she sat up. “I’ve got news for you, cowboy.”

“That you’re equally fired up for me?” he asked as he perched himself on the edge of the mattress, so as to not disturb her layout.

She moved in close. Kissed him. And said, “You have more huge love—from the viewers. Also from various companies that want you to endorse their products but don’t have contact information for you, other than through the show. In other words, me.”

“Not sure what you’re getting at, darlin’.”

“Avery ...” She snatched a stack of a half dozen sheets and held up the papers. “They’re offering you money to promote their products on social media—be a BBQ influencer. A couple are interested in you being their sole spokesperson. And this is just the beginning ...”

He dragged a hand down his face. As though trying to hide his grin.

“Like Jack?” he inquired.

“Yes, like Jack. He’s got plenty of interest in sponsorships and endorsements. Jillian as well. But I’m talking about you, Avery.”

He shook his head. “That’s nice and all, but I don’t have time to film commercials or pose for social media posts, Layla. I can’t afford that distraction, even after the bunkhouse cook competition ends.”

“Agreed. But similar to our current production, cowboy, they’re willing to come to you. This ranch is too beautiful not to capitalize on as a backdrop, and your chuck hall is part of that aesthetic.”

He stood and paced.

She said, “I didn’t even have to vet these, Avery. They’re household names. Brands you recognize—and use. With one stellar addition.”

He halted. Turned to face her. “What’s that?”

“The global top seller of cast-iron and enamel Dutch ovens.” She whipped out a sheet and thrust it toward him. “Look at that name. Look at the number behind that dollar sign. It’s a bona fide offer. My legal consultant verified it.”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” he murmured.

“Nope.”

“I’ve wanted a couple of these ovens for Ritchie and me. Can’t buy them with my budget, though. Considered purchasing them if I win, but—”

“Avery, they will give them to you,” she asserted.

While he contemplated this, she grabbed her phone, rolled onto her back, crooked one knee, and rested her ankle against it.

She scrolled through comments that mentioned him, telling him what they said.

Mostly, she was searching for the few corporate accounts that had been more direct, stating they wanted him to represent their products.

But then she happened upon a new post.

“Holy shit.” Her leg dropped. She sat up once more, her loose curls falling all around her. She hooked a forearm under the mass at her nape and draped it over one shoulder.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, a look of alarm on his face.

Layla gaped. Blinked. Tried to latch onto a clear thought. Then she simply blurted, “Your dad left a comment on the LYF socials!”

She handed Avery her cell, pointing to the post.

He read, “‘Excellent job, son. Best of luck to you. I’m proud of you.’”

Avery tossed the phone onto the bed.

Backed away.

“What the fuck is he doing?” he growled in a low voice.

Layla retrieved the phone. “He has a profile. He has a Facebook page.”

She clicked on his pic. And what she saw blew her away.

“Oh, wow ...” She could barely breathe. Didn’t say more for the moment.

“Is it his mug shot? Home address listed as some prison where he’s sentenced to life for being a mean son of a bitch?”

“Not quite.”

The profile picture was of Caleb Reed with an attractive brunette and a young boy. A lit Christmas tree filled the background. The banner photo was of Avery’s dad on a horse with the kid in the saddle, a small ranch behind them.

She opened his About Info and said, “He’s married, Avery.”

“Didn’t know he was ever divorced.”

“Apparently so. Her name is Grace. He has a stepson named Michael. They have a small ranch in Grant.”

“That’s a county over.”

“And ...” She stalled out for a moment.

“And what?” he asked with a tinge of I don’t give a rip but still want to know in his tone.

She glanced at him and said, “Your daddy’s a recovering addict. Been sober for four years now. Calls himself a ‘ne’er-do-well given a second chance by Grace.’”

She passed him the phone again. And he actually took it.

Though he scowled and returned it to her a nanosecond later. “Means nothing to me, darlin’.”

But she knew that wasn’t true.

In a soft voice, she said, “Can’t sit well with you that he has a new family. And it’s okay to express that, Avery. To feel it.”

His gaze locked with hers. “Honey, I’m not sure what I’m feeling.”

She nodded. “I understand, Avery. Believe me, I do.” Emotion swelled in her throat. “I couldn’t grasp at first how reveling in someone’s death was spiritually or universally acceptable. To be honest, I kind of feel as though I’m the monster.” She glanced away for a second or two. “Maybe that’s why it’s taken me so long to tell you the man who abused me is dead. I wanted him to be. And now he is.”

“Layla ...” He joined her on the bed again, crinkling some papers, but who cared? “Darlin’, from the moment I saw you on the event lawn, I wanted to know you better. I sensed your inner beauty would rival the outer—maybe exceed it. I was not wrong.”

Her eyes misted.

“What that man did to you is not your fault.” He stared intently at her and added, “You made mention that first day we met that the blame was on others—and on you. I don’t believe the latter. You changed your trajectory. And paid dearly for it.”

She nodded.

“You’re still paying,” he said with agitation. “But ... point being ... you’re no monster. You’re a victim of circumstance, who’s risen above. So reveling in the demise of someone who could have killed you—nearly did—is not a character flaw. You have a conscience that tells you it is. But for the record, I can state that being free of an evil soul is something worth celebrating.”

His lips brushed hers.

He swiped away one more tear.

Then he told her, “I’m going to shower now. You wrap all this up, so I don’t further destroy your work when I make love to you.”

He removed his shirt and boots. Yet he bypassed the bathroom and stepped out onto the balcony, through the doors she’d left open to let in the fresh air.

Layla watched him, giving him a few minutes to collect his thoughts and reconcile his emotions. Also because hers had clogged her brain and throat.

He gripped the railing, his head dropping between those impossibly broad shoulders of his.

She slipped from the bed and went to him, trailing her fingertips lightly up his spine, then threading them in his thick hair.

She said, “You don’t have to wish your dad well in his new life, Avery. Doesn’t make you a bad person, either, for being angry or hurt that he didn’t take the initiative to improve himself when he was here at the ranch but is doing it for someone else. Whatever atonement he’s working on, that’s for him to achieve and for you to choose whether you accept it or not. And if you don’t ... that’s not a poor reflection on you, cowboy.”

“Easy to dole that out but not as easy to acknowledge it on your end.” He glanced at her. “Am I right?”

She sighed. “You got me on that one. But I am embracing my liberation. You just have to decide if your dad being out there in everyday society with a different wife and child is worth investigating to see if he really has changed ... or just let it go. Sweep him and his comment under the rug.”

He nodded. Straightened. And gazed down at her. “I don’t think I can bring myself to believe this change. There’s always a catch with him. I don’t even want to know what it is this time. I’ve got money to win so that I can assuage some of my guilt over having a thieving father. That’s my focus.”

He turned and stalked off.

Then did an about-face and returned to her.

“Aside from loving on you.” He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, then sauntered off to the en suite to shower.

Layla stared after him, her heart wrenching.

She’d gone through therapy to help her get to a healthier mental state while in the hospital.

Avery and Chance had not. Other than with their family.

Though from what she’d gleaned thus far, they hadn’t been wholly forthcoming about what had gone down in that house—or for Avery, what had happened time and again on the BBQ circuit.

Counseling wasn’t something she felt comfortable suggesting. Not while raw intensity and uncertainty radiated from him over this convoluted twist. He needed a spell to think it all through.

Problem was, she’d only be adding to his misery tomorrow when she left him.

But that was twenty-four hours away.

In the meantime, she dried the rest of her tears and packed up her work.

She’d texted him earlier that she’d made herself oatmeal, so no need for him to bring her breakfast. She wanted to spend their last two mornings under the covers for whatever stretch of time they could steal.

In that vein, she was quick to rid herself of her nightie and slip between the rumpled sheets, him joining her not long thereafter.

They didn’t bother with words. Just shared all they were feeling through gentle touches and a slow lovemaking that left her breathless and sated.

The dessert competition was as invigorating for Avery as all the other meal prep was.

He had his ovens buried and now walked Layla, the judges, and the audience through his demo of the slightly spicy blueberry empanadas Layla had wanted a while back, his triple-berry cobbler, a moist red velvet cake, and his showstopper: a calzone filled with a chocolate and raspberry-chipotle filling, accented with chocolate chips and white chocolate shavings.

A lot to manage all at once, certainly.

But he had the recipes and the cooking down pat.

While he gave the live prep talk, Riley was in the background, in the camera’s frame, strumming on her guitar and humming softly, so as to not distract the audience but to enrich the ambience. The campfires were lit and crackling, as were the fireboxes. A fine layer of smoke ribboned through the grass. Cowboys and ranch hands finished their supper off to the side of the outdoor kitchen. Ale and Hunt bounced a tennis ball for the dog, who paused dramatically, as though on cue, to roll onto his back or pose like a meerkat to incite belly rubs.

Ritchie set out the southwestern-style platters on the buffet table.

The rest of the family filed in, unobtrusively, taking the Adirondack chairs and the sofa that had been moved onto the back patio.

Having Jack and Jillian on the outskirts could do nothing but bolster Avery’s favorability, he was sure.

While he could do without another post from his dad, he did appreciate that his cousin’s fans were supporting him.

Layla was her usual enticing self, asking pertinent questions and drawing out his pro tips as she maneuvered with him like an intuitive shadow while he assembled remakes of what was currently baking in his pits.

The aromas mingled with the steaks he’d served to the staff.

When they reached a lull during the cooking segment, Layla went into full-on hosting mode, introducing the family members who were interacting with the cowboys. Then she directed attention to Riley, who’d brought Whit with her.

Riley stopped her humming and said, “We’ve got a snappy tune for y’all that is perfect for Jack teaching Jillian how to two-step.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jillian croaked out.

“I noticed you weren’t on the dance floor at Luke’s.” Riley jutted her chin toward her twin, who was in attendance as well. “So that means Jack’s givin’ a live lesson.”

Jack swooped in to twine an arm around Jillian, pulling her close to him. He said, “Darlin’, cowboys like a woman in their arms.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Luke chimed in—and gave a sexy grin to the audience.

Jack told Jillian, “First, let’s learn the carriage.” He placed their hands in the correct position. “Now, Jilly, I’m going to walk you backward in two steps that are quick, then two steps that are slow.” He demonstrated. Then said, “We’ll move in a counterclockwise direction around Riley and Whit.”

“Jack, it’s hard to concentrate on the rhythm when you’ve got that sparkle in your eyes,” Jillian told him.

He chuckled.

Layla pressed her lips together as though in awe of a swoon-worthy moment.

Avery would have given up the entire competition to get her wrapped around him. But he had to be cognizant of her career, too, not openly slant a bias his way where she was concerned.

Wyatt and Mateo joined in. As did Garrett and Mindy. Todd and Brodi. Then Luke, alternating with the boys to show them proper technique, letting them be the lead, to get used to it.

Avery gave his aunt a twirl or two before Chance took over so Avery could check his ovens.

Layla and one of the cowboys struck up an accord, and it turned into a lively hoedown.

When the desserts were ready, Ritchie retrieved the Dutch ovens, and Avery revealed their contents.

Oohsand aahs came from The Three.

The first one said, “I would have been so disappointed if you hadn’t baked a cobbler in that pit.”

Avery nodded. “Almost sacrilege not to.”

“Agreed.”

The second judge told him, “I’ve never had dessert empanadas, and now I’m wondering why. They’re sensational.”

“Thank you. I had a little inspiration there.” He curbed himself from stealing a glance at Layla.

The third judge was silent for a while. Savoring the calzone.

Eventually, she said, “I simply can’t think of a better combination. I was wary of the chipotle in such a delicate dessert, but it’s fabulous. The raspberry with both the dark and the white chocolate complement each other. This is a dish that should be on a restaurant menu. All of the dishes you’ve served, actually. And the presentation is astounding.”

“Thank you very much for that,” he said.

“It’s clear you know how to set a scene, Avery,” Layla said.

The judges finished their samples and cleared out, along with the production crew.

Ritchie had a pep to his step as he started to clean up. Whit looked equally charged as he repeated over and over, “I think I’m cured.”

Riley loaded up her guitar while wearing a cat-that-ate-the-canary expression.

The cowboys demolished the desserts.

Jillian said, “I get the allure of the ‘turn’ in the two-step. I mean, it’s a twirl for me. And I just ... like the twirling part.” She was a bit giddy.

Jack gave her another spin, despite there being no music. “Darlin’, I’ll turn you to your heart’s content.”

“Somewhere else,” Avery told them with humor in his voice. “I have to get this place reset for tomorrow morning.”

Everyone pitched in.

Before he knew it, Avery and Layla were at his house, both aware of the short amount of time they had together. They didn’t mention it.

Layla said, “We have last night’s leftovers that I can heat up for you, since you couldn’t eat with the staff because you were creating your ovens.”

He drew her in nice and tight and said, “You must be starving too.”

“I could eat.” She smiled saucily.

“Me not feeding you is an oversight on my part that must be rectified ASAP.”

“I’ll survive.”

“So you want something else to whet your appetite.”

“Nothing quite like sexy kisses from a sexy cowboy.”

His mouth sealed to hers. They were barely inside the house, still standing on the raised foyer platform.

When they came up for air, he mused, “Do I take her to the kitchen or straight to the bedroom?”

“Always start in the bedroom,” she seductively said. “She prefers that.”

He chuckled. “Whatever makes you happy, honey.”

“Are you indicating food should come first?”

“Not when you’re in my arms, darlin’.” And with that, he scooped her up and carried her to his suite, then got them undressed.

The long and leisurely route held merit. He took his time exploring her body, curling his tongue around her beaded nipples, flitting it over her quivering belly. Nipping at her inner thigh. Tasting the cream oozing from her pussy.

That was where he settled in, continuing the languid pace as he sampled her. While she writhed beneath him. Moaned in her sultry way. Lifted her hips just so, pressing herself against his mouth. Silently demanding more.

He was willing to give it.

Two fingers penetrated her tight depths, and she gasped.

He stroked slowly as his tongue fluttered over her clit.

“Avery,” she said on a wisp of a breath. “Oh, God ...”

He suckled her clit, eliciting more moans.

He gradually picked up the pace until his fingers were pumping inside her as his tongue glided over her slick folds, then homed in on that pearl of nerves again. Teasing her, pleasing her. Causing her nails to dip into his muscles as she gripped his biceps.

“That’s so good,” she murmured. “So amazingly good.”

Her body tensed, and her breaths turned shallow.

He suckled her clit once more, and she cried his name as she came.

Seconds later, he was sinking into her, losing himself in her. Absorbing the vibrations through her body from her first release. Giving her another one before he succumbed to the heat and the mounting pressure. Then offering the softer bonus climax that seemed to make her even more delirious.

He grinned, his lips curving against her neck.

She sighed, sounding blissful and content.

Neither dared to say a word, to not shatter the moment.

Really, there was nothing left to be said.

They’d known their fate all along.

Neither of them could nor would change it.

They’d had their “for better,” no matter how fleeting.

Now they’d suffer their “for worse.”