With a Twist Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Praise for the novels of Deirdre Martin

  Just a Taste

  “Another victory for Martin.”—Booklist

  “A warmhearted romance with in-depth characters, this story will leave you satisfied, salivating, and ready to try one of the recipes included. Martin serves up a real treat.”

  —Romantic Times (4 stars)

  “Be prepared to get a little hungry . . . Pick up Just a Taste for a tempting read you won’t want to put down.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Just a Taste is delightful! Romantic, funny, and fast-paced . . . A great story that pulled me in from the beginning.”

  —Romance Reader at Heart

  “Ms. Martin does a terrific job in writing dynamic characters you will come to know intimately and care for . . . I thoroughly enjoyed this book, enthusiastically recommend it, and anxiously await future books by Ms. Martin.”

  —All About Romance

  Chasing Stanley

  “Martin has created an enjoyable sports community with quirky characters and lots of humorous dialogue.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Martin has a way of bringing her dissimilar characters together that rings true, and fans and curious new readers won’t want to miss her latest hockey-themed romance.”—Booklist

  “A real winner.”—The Romance Reader

  The Penalty Box

  “[Martin] can touch the heart and the funny bone.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Martin scores another goal with another witty, emotionally true-to-life, and charming hockey romance.”—Booklist

  “Fun, fast rinkside contemporary romance . . . Martin scores with this witty blend of romance and family dynamics.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Ms. Martin always delivers heat and romance, with a very strong conflict to keep the reader engaged. The Penalty Box should be added to your ‘must-read list.’ ”

  —Contemporary Romance Writers

  Total Rush

  “Total Rush is just that—a total rush, an absolute delight. Deirdre Martin is the reason I read romance novels. This contemporary romance is so well written [and] has a hero to die for and a romance that turns you into a puddle. It fills your heart to overflowing with love, acceptance, and the beauty of uniqueness. I laughed, I cried, I celebrated. It’s more than a read, it is a reread. Brava, Ms. Martin, you’re the greatest!”

  —The Best Reviews

  “Well written . . . Makes you want to keep turning the pages to see what happens next.”—The Columbia (SC) State

  “Martin’s inventive take on opposites attracting is funny and poignant.”—Booklist

  “A heartwarming story of passion, acceptance, and most importantly, love, this book is definitely a Total Rush.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Fast-paced, sexy, fun yet tender, the pages of Total Rush practically turn themselves. This is Deirdre Martin’s third novel and is as sensational as the first two . . . A definite winner.” —Romance Junkies

  Fair Play

  “Martin depicts the worlds of both professional hockey and ethnic Brooklyn with deftness and smart detail. She has an unerring eye for humorous family dynamics [and] sweet buoyancy.”—Publishers Weekly

  “Fast-paced, wisecracking, and an enjoyable story . . . Makes you feel like you’re flying.”—Rendezvous

  “A fun and witty story . . . The depth of characterizations and the unexpectedly moving passages make this an exceptional romance and a must-read for all fans of the genre.”

  —Booklist

  “A fine sports romance that will score big-time . . . Martin has provided a winner.”—Midwest Book Review

  “Sure to delight both fans of professional ice hockey and those who enjoy a good romance.”—Affaire de Coeur

  Body Check

  “Heartwarming.”—Booklist

  “Combines sports and romance in a way that reminded me of Susan Elizabeth Phillips’s It Had to Be You, but Deirdre Martin has her own style and voice. Body Check is one of the best first novels I have read in a long time.”

  —All About Romance (Desert Isle Keeper)

  “Deirdre Martin aims for the net and scores with Body Check.”—The Romance Reader (Four Hearts)

  “You don’t have to be a hockey fan to cheer for Body Check. Deirdre Martin brings readers a story that scores.”

  —The Word on Romance

  “Fun, fast-paced, and sexy, Body Check is a dazzling debut.”

  —USA Today bestselling author Millie Criswell

  “Fun, delightful, emotional, and sexy, Body Check is an utterly enthralling, fast-paced novel. This is one author I eagerly look forward to reading more from.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “An engaging romance that scores a hat trick [with] a fine supporting cast.”—The Best Reviews

  Be sure to visit the Blades’ website at www.nyblades.com

  Titles by Deirdre Martin

  BODY CHECK

  FAIR PLAY

  TOTAL RUSH

  THE PENALTY BOX

  CHASING STANLEY

  JUST A TASTE

  POWER PLAY

  WITH A TWIST

  Anthologies

  HOT TICKET

  (with Julia London, Annette Blair, and Geri Buckley)

  DOUBLE THE PLEASURE

  (with Lori Foster, Jacquie D ’Alessandro, and Penny McCall)

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and i
ncidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Publisher’s Note: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  WITH A TWIST

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / May 2009

  Copyright © 2009 by Deirdre Martin.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-04752-1

  BERKLEY® SENSATION

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For my parents, Bill and Barbara Martin, who always encouraged my dreams.

  Acknowledgments

  Very special thanks to: Kerry Burke of the New York Daily News, who truly is the best damn reporter in all of Manhattan. The staff of the Ithaca Journal, especially Dave Hill. Robert Rorke of the New York Post. Jennifer Fermini of the New York Post.

  Thanks to: My husband, Mark; my agent, Miriam Kriss, and my editor, Kate Seaver; Binnie Braunstein, Jeff Schwartzenberg, Eileen Buckholz, and Justin and Amy Knupp; the Actor’s Workshop of Ithaca Saturday morning class; the Batshit Crazy Writing Posse; Mom, Dad, Bill, Allison, Frankie, Jane, Dave, and Tom.

  1

  “Pardon me, mademoiselle, could you repeat today’s specials? I love listening to that sexy French accent.”

  Natalie Bocuse smiled sweetly as she honored Quinn O’Brien’s request. O’Brien, self-proclaimed “best goddamn reporter in all of New York,” ate lunch twice a week at Vivi’s, the small bistro owned by Natalie’s half sister, Vivi. Quinn loved getting under Natalie’s skin, but after nine months of his endless teasing (or flirting, as her sister claimed), she’d learned to hold her sharp tongue.

  Quinn took his time contemplating the specials (grilled tuna with herbed tomato, zucchini crepes), tapping his lower lip thoughtfully. “Which would you recommend?”

  Natalie suppressed a huff of exasperation. “Both are wonderful. Everything Vivi cooks is wonderful.”

  “True.”

  Vivi’s cozy little café was a hit in the family-oriented enclave of Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. She served classic French bistro food at affordable prices. There was a neighborhood feeling to the place, enhanced by Vivi’s engagement to Anthony Dante, the temperamental chef and owner of the Italian restaurant across the street, Dante’s, a venerable Brooklyn institution. Vivi, born and raised in a small French town, loved the sense of community. Natalie, born and raised in Paris, found Bensonhurst a little too provincial for her taste.

  Quinn still hadn’t made up his mind. Natalie stared at him, impatiently tapping her pencil on the small pad in her hand. She couldn’t hold her tongue anymore. “Well?”

  Quinn, knowing he’d pierced her armor, smiled mischieviously. “I think I’ll go for the zucchini crepes . . . unless you think the grilled tuna is better, Nat.”

  Nat. Another of the myriad ways he sought to irk her, by calling her by this stupid nickname, which she couldn’t stand.

  “Are you saying you’re such a simpleton you need me to pick for you?” Natalie asked sweetly.

  Quinn, satisfied that he’d gotten her to snap, laughed. “I’ll have the crepes.”

  Natalie scribbled down his order and headed for the kitchen, where she found Vivi standing in front of one of the stoves, joyfully stirring some fish stock. The kitchen was a hive of culinary activity. Vivi’s was always packed for lunch and dinner.

  Vivi glanced up at Natalie. “Doesn’t this smell heavenly?” she rhapsodized.

  “Heavenly,” Natalie replied flatly. “Mr. Journalist would like the zucchini crepes.”

  Vivi winked at her. “That isn’t all he wants, cherie.”

  Natalie clucked her tongue. “If he hasn’t figured out by now that I’m not going to give him the time of day, then he’s not as brilliant as he claims.”

  “Why can’t you just admit you’re as attracted to him as he is to you?”

  “Because I’m not. How many times do I have to tell you? He’s a journalist, which is the lowest of the low. Plus he’s an egomaniac.”

  Lord, when was Vivi going to stop trying to push her into the arms of Quinn O’Brien? Did Vivi really think she would go out with some reporter who looked like he slept in his clothing? Someone whose ego was so huge Natalie was surprised his head didn’t tremble under the weight of it? Someone with a horrible New Yawk accent? She’d never go out with a man like that, no matter how striking his sharp blue eyes were or how sexy his salt-and-pepper hair was.

  Vivi sighed in resignation as she moved to make Quinn’s crepes. “You’re stabbing yourself in the toes, you know.”

  “I believe you mean shooting myself in the foot.”

  Despite being in America for close to two years, Vivi still had trouble with American colloquialisms. Anthony thought it was adorable, of course. He thought everything Vivi did was adorable. Natalie hated to admit it, but she was envious of their relationship.

  “Shooting yourself in the foot,” Vivi repeated. “Well, you are. He’s not going to keep coming in here forever.”

  “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to be around much longer for him to torment.”

  Vivi looked stricken. “You’re not going back to Paris, are you?”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Natalie assured her, though the mention of her home city did give her a small pang of melancholy.

  “Then what?” Vivi appeared alarmed. “You’re not in trouble again, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Trouble” was their euphemism for Natalie’s inability to handle money. She was a shopaholic. One of the reasons she was working as a waitress at Vivi’s was to help pay off a loan from Bernard Rousseau, a UN diplomat who was an old friend of their late father. They’d needed the loan because Natalie had spent all the money they had to open the restaurant. Bernard had saved them, and Natalie had saved herself, regularly attending Shopaholics Anonymous meetings. She was “in recovery,” as they said. And she hadn’t slipped up once, which made her proud.

  “Then what?” Vivi asked again.

  “We’ll talk about it tonight, all right? I don’t mean to sound ominous. Honestly. It’s just something that needs to be discussed in private,” she said, nodding toward the two staff cooks working in the kitchen.

  “All right,” Vivi said, backing off. “I still think you’re a stubborn mule not to go out with Quinn,” she murmured under her breath.

  “Back to him again,” Natalie huffed. “Please, just let it go!” She tried to imagine what a date with Quinn O’Brien would be like and stifled a snort. He’d probably take her to a Papaya King and buy her a hot dog and some chemical-tasting phony fruit juice. No doubt that was all he could afford on a reporter’s salary.

  Vivi handed her the plate of crepes, which looked and smelled lovely. “Here you go.”


  Natalie took the crepes out to Quinn, putting them down in front of him with an exaggerated flourish. “Bon appétit.”

  “Merci, ma petit rougeur.” Thank you, my little rash. He was always doing this: intentionally making mistakes in her native tongue, trying to get a rise out of her. Natalie ostentatiously covered her mouth, gave a small bored yawn, and walked away. Honestly, the man was so tiresome.

  If home was where the heart was, like the needlepoint hanging in his parents’ cramped living room proclaimed, then Quinn’s home was the Sentinel’s newsroom. The place was alive, pulsing with chaos and tension. Quinn loved the sound of hundreds of frenzied fingers tapping away on keyboards and the curses of frustrated reporters slamming down phones. He loved seeing the messy cubicles piled high with folders and littered with empty coffee cups and the debris of fast-food meals. Home was where the adrenaline rush was. Home was where you triumphed and beat the competition.

  The last deadline of the day was 10:30 p.m. He’d hurried in at 10:15 and was frantically writing up his latest story while the city editor, Cindy MacKenzie, hovered over him, looking like she was going to have an embolism any second. “You sure you got all the details?” she asked Quinn repeatedly. “Because if we don’t get all the right details—”