Page 1 of Journey to You

One

Tamara Rayne’s high heels clacked against the cobblestones as she strode towardsAmbrosia, Melbourne’s hippest restaurant, a gourmet’s delight, and the place she would get her life back on track.

Her favourite patent leather butterscotch boots with a staggering heel—impractical yet gorgeous—never failed to invoke the stuff of her surname as plump drops splashed down from the heavens and lashed her in a stinging sheet.

With her laden arms and no umbrella, she needed a mythical knight in shining armour. She thought she’d had him once in Richard.

How wrong she’d been.

Blinking back futile tears, she rounded the last corner and almost slammed into her knight. More of a pirate, really, a corporate pirate in a designer suit, with rain-slicked dark hair, roguish blue eyes, and a devilish smile.

“Need a hand, Tam?”

Definitely devilish. Ethan Brooks had the smile down-pat if the constant parade of women traipsing through his life was any indication. He had a legendary playboy reputation and they’d never been anything more than acquaintances. Consideringwhat had happened over the last year, at least he acknowledged her these days, which is more than he’d done before.

“A helping hand would be great,” she said.

He grunted as she offloaded the bag perched precariously on top of the rest.

“What’s in here? Bricks for the new tandoor oven I ordered?”

“You’ll see.” Her voice quivered a tad, and she swallowed, twice.

The mention of the tandoor oven did it. Her mum, Adhira, loved tandoori chicken, had scoured the chicken to let the spices and yoghurt marinate, had painstakingly threaded the pieces onto skewers before cooking, while lamenting the loss of her real oven back in Goa.

Adhira had missed her homeland so much despite living in Melbourne for the last thirty years. It had been the reason they’d planned their special trip together: a trip back in time for her mum, a trip to open Tamara’s eyes to a culture she never knew even though Indian blood ran in her veins.

Thanks to Richard, the trip never eventuated, and while her mum died three years ago and Tamara had come to terms with her grief, she’d never forgiven him for robbing her of that precious experience.

Bitter tears of regret stung Tamara’s eyes and she deliberately glanced over Ethan’s shoulder, focussing on anything other than the curiosity in his steady gaze.

“Can you get the door please? My arms are killing me.”

She knew he wouldn’t ask her what was wrong. He hadn’t pushed her when she’d become withdrawn and brittle in the weeks following Richard’s death while they sorted through the legal rigmarole of the restaurant together. He hadn’t pushed her when she’d started dropping intoAmbrosiasix months ago to kick-start her career.

Instead, Ethan had kept his distance, as he had all these years. At one time she thought he disliked her, his cool demeanour noticeable whenever she entered a room. And while he’d thawed towards her over the last few months, ready with a quick smile or a quip designed to make her laugh on the odd occasion, she knew their relationship focussed on business more than anything else.

It suited her fine. Ethan, like the rest of the planet, had thought Richard had been fabulous: top chef, top entertainer, top guy.

If they only knew.

“Hang on a second.” He slid a key into the deadlock, unlocked it, backed open the door, and juggled his load while punching in the alarm code. “Right, come on through.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice as she stepped into the only place she called home these days.

Ambrosia: food of the gods. More like food for her soul.

It had become her refuge, her safe haven, the last few months. Crazy, considering Richard owned part of it, had been head chef since its inception, and they’d met here when she’d come to critique Melbourne’s latest culinary hot spot.

For that alone, she should hate the place.

But the welcoming warmth ofAmbrosia, with its polished honey-oak boards, brick fireplace, and comfy cushioned chairs that had drawn her here every Monday for the last six months, was hard to resist, and what better place for a food critic determined to return to the workforce to practice her trade?

Throw in the best hot chocolate this side of the Yarra and she couldn’t stay away.

As she dumped her load on a nearby table and stretched her aching arms, her gaze drifted to the enigmatic man lighting a match to kindling in the fireplace.

Unpredictable Ethan blew hotter and colder than a Melbourne spring breeze. There were times he seemed almost friendly—when he slipped into his pirate persona, as she’d secretly dubbed his charming side—yet some days he’d back off, morphing into the cool, ruthless businessman she’d always seen.

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