by Allie Burton
He took hold of the bride’s hand and helped her off the counter. “Let’s go into my office so we can discuss menu options.”
Betsy ran a hand across his chest. “I’ve got some really spicy ideas.”
Isabel wanted to give her a kick in her spice. The bride acted like she owned Michael. “Spicy isn’t something everyone at your reception will enjoy.” Her phony smile stiffened around her lips.
Betsy winked. “Everyone enjoys a little spice. Right, Chef Mikey?”
Isabel cringed. Hadn’t she teased him with something similar? She hoped she didn’t come off as obnoxious as this woman.
Holding Betsy’s hand, Michael led her toward his office. The ignored fiancé followed.
Seething, Isabel wiped her hands on a towel. She wanted to be with him while he was in the bride’s presence. Again, not because she was jealous. She planned to stick up for the restaurant and the kitchen staff.
“Hold the fort,” she told Earl, and hurried to the office.
“They are secret family recipes.” Betsy perched on the edge of the desk facing Michael, who sat in the desk chair. Her fiancé stood near the door, not wanting to get involved. The bride leaned forward, displaying ample cleavage. “I have the recipe cards, except I can’t give them to you in case you steal them.”
Did the woman not know how to use a chair?
“How will we be able to make them if we can’t see the recipes?” Michael’s mouth formed a slight smile showing the front teeth clenched together. He scooted further back in the rolling chair and hit the wall. He wasn’t interested in whatever Betsy displayed.
She patted his thigh and giggled. “I’ll be right beside you, Chef Mikey.”
The immature nickname tickled Isabel. A seven-year-old spoke more maturely than Betsy. Working with this woman, watching her flirt with Michael, sympathizing with her fiancé while not having any reason to be jealous, would annoy and irritate. One more thing Isabel would need to deal with. Her ribcage constricted, forcing a breath out. She was more upset about the disruption to dinner service tonight, than the women’s blatant flirting.
Betsy plopped off the desk, took a tumble, and fell into Michael’s lap. She giggled again and stroked his cheek. “Every second of the process. Right, Jorge?”
Isabel’s heart womped. She started forward. “Chef. We need to get back to the kitchen.”
“Betsy, darling.” Jorge, her fiancé, spoke up. “We should let Chef Mikey,” the man emphasized the childish nickname. “And Chef Isabel get back to work. They do have a restaurant to run.”
A restaurant they’d need to run with the additional pressure of planning this woman’s wedding and using recipes they weren’t allowed to see in advance. What a farce. Plus, they needed to clean up the places the woman had touched and restart the orders they’d been working on.
Isabel groaned. The situation was intolerable. Michael needed to cancel this wedding. “We do.”
Betsy giggled. “We do. Just like in the wedding ceremony.” She tapped Michael on the cheek. “Except it’s I do, right, Chef Mikey?”
I do want to kick this bridezilla in the butt.
Tony knocked at the open door. “Alfred went home sick.”
Isabel huffed. Her night was getting longer. She’d need to handle the prep work for tomorrow after closing tonight. Scurrying back to the kitchen, she halted in front of Alfred’s station. It was as if every dish on tonight’s menu had exploded.
The night went from bridezilla to catastrophe. After cleaning and organizing Alfred’s station, she did double duty, moving back and forth between her job and his. In addition, they’d run out of the steak roulade featured on the menu. The dishwashers couldn’t wash fast enough. And the Bonnet stove Alfred had been working on had gone on the blink.
By the end of the night, the backs of her eyes burned. Exhaustion baked into her, and her bones resembled wet noodles. Here she was, slaving away, pulling extra duty because someone went home sick, and she’d been told Michael was sitting in the restaurant with a leggy blonde. Was she one of his many girlfriends from Los Angeles who followed him here?
She said goodbye to the staff, sending them on their way, and started the prep work for tomorrow. Tony and Maria had offered to stay and help. With her emotions on a rollercoaster, she wanted to wallow in her anger alone.
Without the hoods running and no staff chatter, the quiet of the kitchen was comforting. Usually, she enjoyed this time of night. A time where she could relax, reflect on the meals enjoyed, and prepare for the next day. Except all she thought about were the women falling over Michael, like the bride and the blonde. And he had the nerve to accuse her of flirting at work.
She gripped the rag to shine the stainless steel and scrubbed harder, putting her muscle into cleaning. If she could exhaust herself, she wouldn’t think of him while falling asleep. The equipment was new and barely smudged, but she needed to work excess energy off. Excess fury.
“Hey!” Michael snatched the rag from her hand. “What did the stainless ever do to you?”
“It never yelled at me or accused me of slacking off at work.”
It never cheated.
Pain traveled through her, ravishing her to defeat. Michael hadn’t cheated on her because they didn’t have a relationship. They didn’t even have a friendship. What exactly did they have? An attraction. A past. A secretive present. Definitely, no future.
He rubbed his knuckles across her upper arm, kneading the tight muscles. His gaze raked over her, assessing. “What’s wrong?”
She was wound up similar to a pasta maker. “Wrong?” His touch sparked a fury of frustration and she let loose. She stepped up to him in a threatening pose. “You want to know what’s wrong?”
“Uh, yeah.” He gifted her an unsteady smile. “That’s why I asked.”
“You.” She placed her hand on his solid chest and pushed. “Call me a flirt.” She shoved again, trying to control the flood of emotions. Her burning eyes filled and she blinked trying to hold the tears back. She refused to cry. “And yet, you—” Her fingers dug into his chef’s coat. “—flirt with bridezilla and the blonde.”
He held his hand up in surrender. “Not bridezilla. She’s scary.”
“What about the blonde?” She forced her fingers to let go of his coat. “You were with her tonight. And I saw you with her opening night.” She took a step back. His clean scent mixed with the smells from the kitchen, making her woozy. “And I heard…”
She couldn’t tell him Tony had seen Michael and the blonde at another restaurant.
“You heard what?” Michael spoke slow and clear. His lips pursed in a disapproving frown.
“Nothing.” Shaking her head, she took another step back and bumped into the counter. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t matter.” She tried to convince herself.
He took a step forward into her personal space. They did a dance of acceptance and denial. “I don’t matter?”
Grabbing her hand, he yanked her toward him. Her chest bumped into his. Her gaze swung up to meet his. His intense eyes plumbed her depths, trying to see into her soul. She’d angered the beast. Her lungs shrank like she wanted to shrink to hide from him. She didn’t want him to realize the depth of her emotions. She didn’t understand the depth of her emotions.
“Are you jealous?” The quiet question sounded shaky, as if he was fascinated and pleased by the concept.
Her heart convulsed. A racing in her bloodstream urged her forward. She held her breath. It was similar to the moment when you pulled a quiche from the oven. Admitting how she felt would either set her free or scar for life.
If she didn’t take a risk, if she wasn’t the bold Isabel, who was she?
She licked her lips. “Yes.”
Silence. He said nothing, continuing to stare.
Her heartbeat quickened. She’d made a mistake. She shouldn’t have admitted anything. She licked her lips again.
His gaze lowered to her mouth. His hands moved, one pressing aga
inst her lower back, bringing their bodies closer. The other hand slid to her neck, his fingers weaving through the strands escaping the bun on top of her head.
Her pulse throbbed. She throbbed.
His scent surrounded her, blocking out the fresh scents of produce. His head lowered and he kissed her. A hungry kiss.
She didn’t resist. She couldn’t move. Every nerve in her body came to life. This was what she’d been dreaming of, anticipating. Another perfect kiss.
He took her mouth in full possession. His lips tasted of red wine, and she thirsted for more. Heat ripped to her core. She moaned, parting her lips. Welcoming him.
His tongue plunged, setting off wave upon wave of desire. Her head spun and her knees quivered. She gripped his upper arms, trying to steady herself. The hardness of his pecs increased her passion, imagining his glorious body naked in bed.
He shifted his mouth, trying to get more intimate. His body angled across hers. She was practically laying on the counter. And she’d given bridezilla a hard time for sitting on it. Now, she wanted to strip down and let him take her, here and now.
The thought shocked her. Shocked her into moving quicker, pressing harder.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched into him. He placed his hand on her butt and lifted her higher. Through their clothes their cores connected. Spirals of pleasure shimmered down her spine.
Her head pushed against the splashback.
Whirrrrrr. Whirrrrr. Whirrrrrrr.
The strange noise purred in her ear.
She stiffened and whispered against his lips. “What is that noise?”
Chapter Sixteen
Michael froze.
Whirrrrrr. Whirrrrr. Whirrrrrrr.
The noise was a camera lens focusing in and out.
Horror scraped across his chest and choked his lungs. He’d practically taken Isabel on the kitchen counter, knowing cameras recorded every move.
Every touch and every kiss.
His inflamed hormones had taken control of his brain. She’d seemed so upset, and he’d wanted to make her feel better. He’d been so careful until this point. First, he’d tried to make the show boring. Then, he’d tried to be an asshole so the producer would move forward. With this slip, the reality show would have a hot scene for Kitchen Catastrophe, and Isabel’s career would be ruined.
As if he’d jumped in the low boy, guilt and devastation cooled his ardor. Sliding off her body while trying to shield her face, he realized this was too little, too late. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
The sensual expression she’d been wearing seconds before disappeared, replaced by a stunned surprise. “Where?”
He tugged her forward. “Somewhere private.”
“Everyone’s gone. We’re alone in the kitchen.” She reached for his waistband.
Flattered she didn’t want to stop, he had to cut off his desire and make the right decision. “Not here.”
He pulled her out of the kitchen, through the restaurant, and past the lobby. The entire time, his thoughts ran a million miles ahead. When he got to his hotel room, what was he going to say? How would he explain? How much could he reveal?
His million thoughts tangled and twisted in the image of stringy spaghetti. If he revealed anything to her, what would the repercussions be from the network executives? To himself? To Parker?
“Michael, what’s going on?” She yanked her hand, trying to get free. If he lost her to fury, he deserved it. “Dragging me to your hotel room is so Neanderthal.” Her sensual laughter played havoc with his nerves, but there was an edge to her voice.
He wanted her. Wanted her with a passion he hadn’t felt in a long time. If ever.
The extreme passion was what had sent him past the point of no return, what had made him act rash and foolish, what had made him ruin the best chance at ending the show. She was going to blow a stack of pancakes when she learned about the cameras. He should’ve told her at the beginning. Now, he would lose her forever.
If he ever had her.
The doomed thoughts drummed in his mind as they cruised down the hall toward his room. He had to tell her something. Why he’d stopped their intimacy, why he’d rushed her out of the kitchen, and finally, what had made the whirring noise. He slid the keycard in and pushed his hotel door open, pulling her inside. He closed the door behind them, and dropped her hand.
They were in his hotel room, alone. Lust reared again. He pushed his desire down. Bracing himself against the door, he took a deep breath knowing he had to tell her. “Now we can talk.”
She leaned into him and played with the collar of his chef’s coat. Her heavy-lidded eyes told him she didn’t want to talk, and some of the chill left his body. “After that kiss, you want to have a discussion?”
His heart pounded. He could forget about the cameras, forget she’d heard the lenses, forget their torrid embrace would be immortalized on TV. His head prevailed. He had to tell her, no matter the consequences.
“I don’t want to talk.” Unable to resist because he might never be allowed to touch her mouth again, he pressed his lips against hers in a long, lingering kiss. “But we have to.”
She dropped her hands from his collar and took a step back. Her luscious lips flattened and she stared at the carpet. “Is this where you tell me this is just a fling?”
Jealousy kicked him in the ass. “Isn’t that your line?”
She jerked back. The thin line of her mouth moved into a fake-flirty smile. Hardness glinted in her orbs. “You don’t know my lines. You never let me use them on you.”
His sarcasm had hurt her. “Sorry. It’s just…” He ran a hand through his hair. She deserved to know. “It’s just… We need to talk.”
“About us?” A real smile emerged on her beautiful face. The playful, fun, challenging smile.
The kind of challenge a man wanted to take on. He wanted to take on.
Yet, he couldn’t. And after he told her the truth, she’d probably storm out of the room, slamming the door in his face. His future looked dim and lonely.
“This relationship can’t go anywhere.” He wished it wasn’t true. After their few kisses and last embrace, he wanted to see where they went, how high they could go, how long they would last.
And a one-night-stand with Isabel would never be enough.
“Because we work together.” Her finger pressed against his mouth and the urge to flick his tongue over her skin and suck her finger into his mouth tempted.
He believed she’d enjoy the sensations. Until she learned about the cameras and how he’d ruined her career and her reputation. He couldn’t take advantage of her desires now and tell her the truth later.
“Is that why you dragged me into your hotel room? So we could talk about how we couldn’t have a relationship?” Her temptress smile teased like her words.
He swallowed the knot in his throat, a knot made of threads from varying paths. He was going back to L.A. She was going to be furious when she learned about the cameras. He didn’t want to hurt her. “Is that what you want? A relationship?” His body trembled. Did he?
She bit her lower lip, appearing perplexed and making his chest ache. Did she even know what she wanted? The temptress smile appeared again. She draped herself across his body. “I know I want you.”
His body sagged at her choice of words. Want, not need. He’d asked if she was interested in a relationship and she basically said no. The first time he’d ever even considered more than a night or a short fling, and he’d been turned down flat.
“And you want me.” The silk in her voice conquered his resistance.
The torridity of her body melted into him. Her scent of cinnamon infiltrated his defenses. His hard cock pulsed and pushed into her flesh. His good intentions to tell the truth evaporated like his willpower. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. His lips latched onto hers and his tongue sunk into her mouth—a heat-seeking missile.
She tasted so sweet
. Smelled so intoxicating. Felt so soft and perfect.
When she found out the truth, nothing would be perfect. And he’d be the jerk who’d tricked her. He broke off the kiss. “The noise you heard in the kitchen.”
“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” She arched into him and pulled his head down to hers. Her lips moved against his mouth. “We were having problems with the Bonnet. I called the repair guy. He’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
He forced his head up, taking his lips away from temptation. Before this went any further and she made one of the biggest mistakes of her life, he needed to be honest and tell her everything. She might yell and vent and never kiss him again, still she needed to know. He didn’t want to sleep with her if she regretted making love when he told her the truth.
Sucking in a stinging breath, he prepared to spit out the truth. “The noise you heard was a camera. A video camera.”
* * *
Isabel’s body twitched and her blood charged through her veins with Michael’s admission. The rushing pressurized in her head making her dizzy. The pressure exploded in her brain. She dropped her arms from around his neck and stumbled back. “You’re filming in the kitchen?”
His guilt reddened his cheeks.
Her heart stumbled, matching her feet. Then, it beat harder and faster, rapping out a furious tattoo. “Filming us while we made out?” Her voice screeched as her mind unwound the possibilities. “Filming the kitchen staff?”
He pulled his head back and his gray eyes rounded to the size of saucepans. “I’m not.”
So easily he shifted the blame. And yet he’d known.
She sank onto the bed, not trusting her shaky knees to keep her standing. Rage made her muscles tight and hot.
“If you’re not, who is?” The nicely-appointed suite closed in on her, the walls swerving and the bed spinning. Dizziness swirled in her mind and sucked the air from her lungs. She’d never felt so betrayed. The kitchen staff were professionals. Each one of them had gone through training on the new equipment. “Doesn’t Parker trust us?”
With his cheeks getting pale, Michael shook his head slowly, as if he didn’t want the conversation to move forward. Except, he was the one who’d wanted to talk. “It’s not about trust.”
