Then she stilled because he slipped a tidbit of something that smelled incredible into her mouth.
And tasted even better.
She bit down and exquisite flavor burst through her mouth. Crisp, soft, rich, savory, it was a glorious blend of taste and texture that bombarded all of her senses, occupied every taste bud. She wanted to savor, she wanted to swallow. She wanted more. She couldn’t prevent a humming moan of pleasure.
“I take it that means you approve?”
The words dragged her back to the moment. Her eyes flew open to see Damon standing there, staring at her, intent. Something skittered around in her stomach. He watched her unwaveringly, but he didn’t watch her with the gaze of a chef interested in his creations.
He watched her with the eyes of a man who’d just pleasured a woman, not with taste but with touch.
The breath backed up in her lungs. He was close, way too close in his checked trousers and whites, the apron tied around his lean hips. She swore she felt the air heat around them.
It was just the line of stoves across the room, that was all, Cady told herself unsteadily. The place was always hot. That was why he had his sleeves rolled up. Her bad luck that years of demanding kitchen work had left him with the kind of powerful, sinewy forearms that made her more aware than ever of the strength and purpose driving that rangy body.
“Was it good?” he asked. “Good?” she echoed blankly.
“The food. Did you like it?”
“Oh.” By sheer force of will she dragged herself out of the sensory overload and stepped away for her own sanity. “Good, yeah, good doesn’t begin to cover it. What was that?"
“Judging by the way you looked just now, something that belongs on the menu. It’s an appetizer,” he elaborated. “Acroustillant. Squab, fois gras, morel emulsion in brek dough."
“You’re talking to someone who eats pizza and macaroni and cheese. Translate."
“Ah. Pigeon, duck liver and mushroom sauce in pastry.”
Her brow creased. “I think I liked it better when I didn’t know."
“Sorry, I’m fresh out of cheese Danish.”
“Too bad. I’m not much for fancy food.”
“Oh yeah?” He leaned against the counter. “For not being much for fancy food, you seemed pretty into it. Maybe you should spend less time worrying about what you don’t want to like and just go ahead and like it."
She had the uncomfortable feeling he was talking about more than food. She raised her chin. “Thanks for the sage advice, Yoda. I’ll keep it in mind. Here are your ramps, by the way. At least Gus thinks they’re ramps. If not, you’ve got a bunch of matching weeds."
“They look right to me,” Damon said, picking one up to inspect it.
“Great. I hope they rock your world. I’m out of here.” She headed for the door before she could start staring at his forearms again.
“Wait.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Just hang on a minute, will you?” He followed her.
“I already got up at the crack of dawn for you. What do you want now?” she asked, a tiny thread of desperation in her voice. She turned with her hand on the latch, heart hammering, to find him behind her.
“I wanted to say thanks,” he said softly. “You didn’t have to do this. It wasn’t your job and you still took the time."
She shifted uncomfortably. “I did it for Pete and his wife.”
“I like that all the more.” He took another step closer.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. “I should get to work.” She moistened her lips. “You should get back to work."
He looked down at her as though she was the next course on the menu. “We should do a lot of things."
“We shouldn’t do this.”
“You don’t know, you might like it.”
Something stirred again in her stomach. It was a risk she couldn’t take. “It doesn’t matter,” she reminded herself as much as him. “I know what I don’t like to like and I stick with it."
And with a turn and a step, she was out the back door.
It was a good thing, Damon told himself as he stood staring through the screen at Cady’s retreating back. He had no business kissing her, however much he’d had the urge.
And he’d been having the urge a lot in the past few days.
It made no sense. She certainly wasn’t like the women he usually went after. He already knew what she thought of him. Anyway, he didn’t need to be distracted just then by a woman, especially a permanently cranky woman who’d made it her mission to irritate him. However much it might fascinate him to see her hard shell dissolve, to watch her gaze blur and her mouth soften, she wasn’t for him.
But still he stood watching as she walked away.
Maybe if he hadn’t seen that look on her face, the complete and utter absorption in pleasure when she’d tasted thecroustillant. He’d expected her to like it. He’d never in a million years expected the reaction he’d gotten. He’d watched her face and all he could think was that this was how she’d look at climax. And he’d felt himself tighten as though he’d just brought her there.
And he was doing himself absolutely no good by thinking about it. He was working for her parents, Damon reminded himself, walking back into the kitchen. He was supposed to be changing his life, not just taking his act from Manhattan to Maine. Cady was right; they had no business doing anything about whatever it was that was suddenly simmering between them.
But as a chef he knew that the longer you left something on simmer, the stronger it became.
There was a brisk ticking noise from the kitchen. Roman, he saw, on the clock and jumping straight into work.
“You’re in early,” Damon said as the sous chef began to deftly and precisely cube the carrots that they’d use to make the stock for the lobster bisque.
Roman shrugged. “It’s gotten to be a habit.”
“It’s a good way to get ahead.” Damon reached for his knives. “How long have you been cooking, Roman?"
“Going on three years. Took a job cooking the summer after I got out of college. It stuck."
“College, huh? What was your degree in?”
“Business. Kitchen’s for me, though.” He flashed a smile. “My mom about had a stroke. All that tuition money down the drain."
“Not necessarily.” Damon started cleaning beef tenderloins, the sound of his knife against the cutting board providing a brisk counterpoint to the
