Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
I let everyone go, but Ferris still lingered.
“I’m fine, Ferris, go home,” I told him.
He hesitated for a split second, peering at me with his brows knitted together.
“Yes, Chef,” he nodded, turning and leaving me. Alone. In my kitchen. Which was usually my happy place. The quiet, the clean juxtaposing with the rest of the night. I would run through the tasks I needed to do then check over everyone’s stations, even though I knew they’d be spotless.
Sometimes, rarely, I would share a drink with Michelle at the bar once the guests had left.
Tonight, the quiet kitchen did not calm my heartbeat. Anticipation curled up my back like a snake, my palms sweating. Michelle had already cleared it with me that Kane stay and be informed when the kitchen was closed down. She’d assured me she’d send him back. And she’d had a glimmer in her eyes, the slightest teasing, but other than that, she said nothing. The consummate professional.
I held my breath as the doors to the kitchen opened and closed.
Kane was in here.
There were not dozens of other people coming in and out, no one shouting tickets, no plates to distract me. Just him and me.
And he looked as good as he had when he first came in. Better. His forearms were defined and sinewy, peppered with tattoos. His hair was ruffled, messy. There was a large shadow of dark stubble on his angular jaw, making him look all the more rugged. His eyes… They were what captivated me. They were zeroed in on me with a different intensity than before. Heavier. He’d seen me in the kitchen. Seen me as a powerful woman and it hadn’t scared him away.
No. If I was reading him correctly, it excited him.
His eyes ran up and down me. I wasn’t brave enough to hold his gaze and just let him look at me, so I kept wiping at surfaces that were already gleaming.
He settled on a stool in front of the plating counter, lazily leaning against it as he cradled his chin in his hands, watching me.
“Your food is good,” he said.
The compliment was simple. Too simple, my ego would say. My food was not just good. It was fucking great. Extraordinary. Some of the best food to be plated on the planet.
It was that way because food was my life. I’d spent years honing my skills. Hours upon hours tweaking singular elements on each dish, traveling the world to pick up flavor profiles and cooking techniques.
My food was not merely good.
People had said many great things about my food over the years.
Yet somehow, Kane’s simple, unadorned compliment meant the most.
He said it with a kind of concrete intensity that glued me to the floor. That made my insides do somersaults.
“Thank you,” I replied, my voice wispy.
I was glad I had the act of polishing the stainless steel countertops, or else I might’ve felt awkward.
Awkward.
Like I was a pimply teen at a dance, and my date’s hand was on my lower back.
“I figured you’d have people to do that.” He gestured to where I was polishing. “You doin’ this for our benefit?” he asked.
Our.
A single word. Our. Intimate somehow.
I tried to remain emotionless, knowing the counters were pristine, and all my jobs for the night were done.
Never someone to put off the difficult things, I abandoned the basket of soiled kitchen linens and faced Kane without anything to occupy my body.
His attention was squarely on me. As it had been since the moment he walked through the doors to my kitchen. Before, though, I was busy. I stole glances at him, of course, but there was never the opportunity to just stand under his gaze.
My palms were sweaty, heartbeat thrashing.
“No,” I said, my voice even … ish. “I finish out the night myself.”
He tilted his head. “Every night? You? Alone?”
I nodded once. “I don’t do anything in this kitchen I don’t expect my staff to do.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Something hot and hungry.
He got up from his stool. “We’re going to revisit you bein’ here past midnight alone at a later date.”
My cheeks heated at the possessive lilt to his tone and the gist of what he was saying.
I was about to tell him that we were not going to revisit anything of the sort because this was my kitchen, and I called the shots here.
But I stopped myself. It was second nature to put on my ice queen persona, to establish that I was not going to be ordered around or dominated.
A part of me, one that Kane had awakened, wanted to let go of that persona, wanted to try something different. I wanted to submit.
So I tried something different. I didn’t lash out with my ice-tipped words. I let the first thing come to my head, then I said it.