Page 165 of Hot Cops

Chloe wanted to deny that, but he was right. Her mother had always had a soft spot for Blake. Chloe blamed it on her Mama’s tendency to root for the underdog.

“You know the drill. Table is loaded with food by noon. Get there by then or we’re starting without you.”

Chloe clicked off without saying goodbye, hoping that would make it clear she didn’t want to see him between now and then. She rolled her eyes.

Sure you don’t.

There was no way to ignore how excited she was about next Sunday.

By the following Friday,Chloe was regretting agreeing to help out with her mother’s damn calendar even more than before. If she never saw another shirtless, beefcake, prima donna asshole again in her life, it would be too soon. With the exception of Ned—whose photo shoot was a blast—and a lovely pediatrician, the last five guys had run the gamut from God’s gift to women to more demanding than J. Lo on tour.

Today’s shoot was the one she’d been dreading the most. With good reason. The manhandler had arrived in full-force.

Javier Ramsey was one of New Orleans’ premiere chefs, his restaurant in the French Quarter winning national acclaim from all the critics and making it a local hotspot whenever the rich and famous came to town. Reservations for dinner were booked months in advance.

Now Chloe was beginning to understand why he was so talented. It appeared he had at least a dozen extra hands, all of them managing to touch her constantly, and while his supposedly glancing blows hadn’t crossed the line to inappropriateness yet, he was getting damn close.

Chloe reached up to adjust the lighting once more. Even though she’d told Javier to stand still so she could get it right, the man was behind her in an instant. He placed one hand on her hip as the other met hers on the light. His bare chest pressed against her back and she stifled the urge to curse. Their close proximity drew her attention to his erect cock.

Great. This wasn’t going to end well.

Javier had elected to wear just an apron, and while she knew he had boxers on beneath it, they wouldn’t appear in the picture. It was the most risqué portrait she’d done thus far and she was a little bit worried about her mother’s response when she saw it. Of course, none of that would matter if Mr. Hands didn’t stand still long enough for her to snap his picture.

“Javier,” she said, her temper beginning to pique despite her attempt to remain calm. She’d been trying to set things up for nearly forty-five minutes, but Javier kept changing his mind about his pose. It was mid-morning and she wondered how long he could continue to stall before he’d have to give in and let her take the damn picture. The restaurant was opening in a few hours.

During their initial meeting, he’d sat too close to her on her couch as they’d discussed their ideas for the calendar. He had asked her out, but she’d refused. Then he’d played the French card, kissing her on both cheeks as he left. That wouldn’t have bothered her if he hadn’t lingered on the second kiss and placed it a bit to close to her earlobe, adding a bit of hot breath to the touch.

The guy squicked her out. Majorly. He’d called a few times since then, but she’d sent him straight to voicemail.

“I don’t want you to burn yourself,” he murmured, his lips too close to her ear for comfort.

She tried to take a step away, but he tightened his grip on her hip.

“I really need you to stand over there so I can make sure the direction is correct.”

“You are a very beautiful woman, Chloe.”

She sighed and wondered how much it would piss her mother off if she brought her heel down on Javier’s foot and crushed all of his toes. Given his behavior, she suspected her mother would encourage it. However, she recalled the fundraiser committee’s glee when the famous chef had agreed to participate. They’d been thrilled, claiming his presence alone would sell tons of calendars.

“Thank you,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I think the lighting is fine now. You can take your place.” She didn’t give a shit if his whole face was in shadow. She was snapping a few shots and getting the hell out of here.

Javier didn’t appear anxious to move away, but mercifully, his sous chef arrived, an Amazonian woman named Elise whom Chloe had liked the moment they’d met. Javier released her and moved back to his place by the chopping board.

“What do you want?” he barked at his assistant, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

The woman must have been accustomed to his rude manner. “If we’re going to serve thetarte au pistoutonight, I need to begin preparing the ingredients before the rest of the staff arrives.”

“We’re not finished yet. You’ll have to wait. Go away.”

Elise seemed unfazed by her boss’s anger. She walked over to Chloe. “How much longer will you be?” While her question was innocuous, the concerned look on Elise’s face proved the woman was really wondering if she was okay.

Chloe tried to decide if there was any way she could finish her job without making a scene. Perhaps Elise could help. She handed the woman her phone and spoke quietly, hoping Javier couldn’t overhear. “Do you mind clicking on my contacts, calling Blake Mills and telling him that I’m running late for our meeting. Tell him it would save time if he could meet me here.”

“Of course.” Elise gave her a subtle wink—all too aware that Chloe was calling in the cavalry—and took the phone out into the main restaurant.

Blake was at work and they didn’t have any meeting scheduled. Hopefully he’d catch the drift that Chloe needed help and he’d come over. She wasn’t all that worried about Javier trying something. Chloe was more than capable of fending off an overzealous womanizer. The problem was Javier wasn’t responding to her verbal warnings. All she had left was her right hook. If she pulled that out, he’d withdraw his agreement to participate.

Chloe sucked at peaceful resolutions. She’d grown up in a houseful of boys. All disputes were handled quickly and efficiently…physically. While her brothers had never lifted a hand to hurt her when they were all kids, that hadn’t kept them from wrestling or tickling her into submission in order to get a toy or the last dessert.

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