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that it didn’t sound like he’d spoken the words through gritted teeth.

    “Well, sure.” Win shrugged. “I’m happy for ’em, too. That ain’t the issue. But you and Jules used to be super close, and now she’s all wrapped up in Max. It’s normal to feel left out.”

    Danny forced a laugh. “No one should be as in touch with his feelings as you are. It can’t be healthy.”

    Win’s eyes narrowed on Danny’s face. “I’ll tell you what I think you’re interested in getting in touch with: the lovely Miss Eva-the-Diva.”

    “You’re way off base,” Danny told him as the elevator bell dinged. “All I’m interested in is winning.”

    Danny breathed a sigh of relief. This conversation was treading dangerously close to some of the shit he wanted to suppress and avoid.

    Yeah, okay. The woman in charge of running the entire Rising Star Chef competition, one of the most successful restaurateurs in the country, was hotter than a pan full of caramelizing sugar. Which didn’t make her a sensible option for relieving the annoyingly persistent ache he felt when he looked at his brother cuddled up to his best friend.

    Used to be super close, Win had said, and Danny couldn’t lie to himself. There were times when he missed being the man in Jules’s life, and having her be so present in his. But she deserved someone who could love her for real, not just as a friend, and Danny was happy for her. For both of them. He was.

    And he definitely wasn’t lonely or pathetic enough for pointless, impractical fantasies about Eva Jansen.

    “Just remember what they say.” Winslow threw an arm over Danny’s shoulders as the doors swished smoothly open, and hauled him inside. “All work and no play makes Danny a Cranky McCrankypants.”

    Pulled off balance, Danny laughed and shoved at Winslow, who stumbled back into the immovable wall of Beck, who grasped his shoulders and set him gently on his feet.

    “It’s like watching a Marx Brothers routine,” a lazy feminine voice said from the corner.

    With a start, Danny realized they weren’t alone in the polished wood box. Standing there all gorgeous and sexy in her bluish purple mummy-wrap dress and that ever-present curl of a smile was Eva Jansen.

    That figured. No wonder the elevator took so long to arrive. She’d probably had the doors held open for ten minutes, waiting for her to finish powdering her nose or something.

    “Well,” Eva purred, tilted gray eyes slitting like a cat’s on the prowl. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Chapter 4

    Completely against his wishes, Danny’s body responded to the low seduction of her voice. He shifted uncomfortably. Why did she always have to sound like she’d just gotten out of bed?

    “Hi, Ms. Jansen!” Winslow stuck his hand out, all chirpy and bright-eyed, sure of his welcome. “Love the dress.” He slanted a look at Danny. “Michael Kors is the master of wearable beauty, I always say.”

    “Do you?” Eva arched one perfectly arched brow as she shook Win’s hand. “Thanks. Where’d you get that T-shirt? If you say at a concert, I’m going to die of jealousy right here in the elevator.”

    Danny did a double take. Yep, he’d remembered it right—Winslow had on a battered Rolling Stones shirt, the original black faded to gray after repeated washings.

    “You’re a Stoner?” Winslow was beaming now, all but bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

    “What can I say? Mick Jagger is hot.”

    There, he told himself. See? She isn’t the perfect woman—she’s every bit as shallow and superficial as you thought .

    Which wasn’t as comforting as Danny would’ve expected, not when he was face-to-face with the slender curves of her unabashedly female body bound by that tight little dress.

    Danny had his shallow and superficial moments, too.

    Win got thoughtful. “I was always more into Keith, myself. That boy can really rock a head scarf.”

    Beck cleared his throat, drawing Danny’s attention