After the Storm

by Katy Ames

  With his attention on the whipped cream, the intruder took one step forward. Just one. And it practically had Tessa pinned to the counter. Her head fell almost all the way back as she watched, astonished, as he reached around her and dipped his finger—the same finger—back in, scooping up a huge dollop.

  Tessa closed her eyes on a gasp. What the fuck!? She couldn’t believe he’d actually done it again. And she definitely couldn’t watch him lick it off.

  “Stop,” she squeaked. Tessa glared at the black-haired giant and summoned all of the command she was used to wielding in a kitchen.

  “That’s enough. You need to leave.” She looked pointedly at the door.

  He didn’t pay any attention. Instead, he just wiped a drop of cream from the corner of his mouth and propped his hip against the opposite counter. “You really should share.” He wasn’t looking at the bowl anymore. Those hypnotic eyes were on her.

  Tessa wasn’t getting into a staring contest. Not with him, not on her first day. Not in her kitchen.

  “You really should ask permission before taking things that don’t belong to you.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he said, shoving both fists into the pockets of his dark jeans.

  Tessa dropped the bowl on the counter and looked at the deep tracks left behind by his fingers. She puffed out a breath, blowing wisps of dark hair off her forehead. It was unusable. She’d have to start again.

  “You’ve ruined it, you know.” Blindly, Tessa held the bowl out to him as she returned to the stove. She’d have to wrap and store the crêpes in the fridge until the next batch of filling was ready. “I can’t use it now. Not after you put your fingers in it.”

  She heard a choking sound. Was he laughing? Tessa glanced at him over her shoulder. No, no laugh. His face was nothing but severe, beautiful lines, his brows still furrowed over those icy eyes.

  Without a word, he took the bowl. Tessa returned to her task, grabbing the heavy cream from the fridge, leaving the stack of crêpes in its place.

  Bowl, beaters, cream, confectioners sugar, vanilla extract. She laid them out on the counter before retrieving a darker bottle from the kitchen’s liquor cabinet.

  Focused, Tessa jumped a little when the deep voice interrupted her. Again.

  “That’s why it is so good.”

  “Hmm?” She was pouring each ingredient in succession, her eyes measuring as she went.

  “The liquor. That’s why it is so good.”

  “It would be good without. But, yes. The Baileys makes it even better.”

  He didn’t say anything else, but Tessa could practically hear the scrape of his tongue across his skin as he licked off another helping.

  “Oh, for the love of God, just use a spoon.”

  Her attention was focused on the beaters, but she already knew her way around the kitchen and reached into the silverware drawer without looking. Eyes averted, Tessa pushed a spoon his way.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised when she missed her mark and met his chest instead of his hand. A chest that stopped her short, her knuckles barely making a dent as they met warm, hard man covered in smooth, soft cotton.

  “Thanks,” he rumbled. The vibrations beneath her fingers startled Tessa and she almost dropped the spoon. His hand covered hers, catching it.

  That hand was strong, the palm rough against her skin, his index finger still wet from the last lick.

  Eww, gross. Tessa squirmed, releasing the spoon. Oh, I don’t know, her not-so-focused brain whispered, you’d be wet too if he’d licked you like that.

  Her blush was instantaneous. Tessa jumped back fast, as if she’d been burned, the beaters she held in her other hand hitting the side of the bowl, whipped cream splatting the counter. She muttered some variation of “you’re welcome” and let her hair fall to hide her face.

  Calm down. He didn’t notice. I’m sure he’s not even looking.

  Not that she was going to check. Tessa could hear the spoon hitting the bowl in a repetitive rhythm. Scoop, up to his mouth, between his lips, across his tongue, back down to the bowl. Scoop. Mouth, lips, tongue. Repeat.

  Nope, that wasn’t helping.

  Tessa really needed him, whoever he was, to leave. She needed to get back to work, to focus. She did not need this mystery man distracting her from the job that had brought her to the island. That had gotten her away from things at home. At least for a little while.

  “You can take it with you,” she muttered over one shoulder.

  “Hmm?” He must have said it with the spoon still in his mouth, the sound low and muffled.

  “I have a lot of work to do. There’s no reason for you to be here. Please go. And take the bowl with you.” Tessa’s nerves were shot and she’d barely been in his mostly-silent presence for thirty minutes.

  “Okay.”

  Tessa’s head popped up. He had the bowl balanced in one hand while he took another bite of whipped cream. He wasn’t looking at her, clueless of the havoc he was causing in her carefully planned morning.

  Tessa shut off the beaters, beyond irritated. “Okay. Great. Bye.”

  The man shifted on his feet, and Tessa relaxed her shoulders, expecting him to leave. But his mouth twitched and Tessa realized her mistake. Just because he wasn’t watching didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention.

  Those blue eyes lifted, black lashes framing their distinctive beauty. “I want more.”

  Tessa’s mouth fell open. She almost expected him to laugh at her ridiculous expression, but his eyes just sharpened, like he was committing it to memory.

  “I…I don’t…” Pull it together, Tessa! “What?” she finally managed.

  “What you’re making. Whatever this”—he held up the almost empty bowl of cream—“goes into, I want to try it.”

  “But….” Tessa didn’t know which argument to throw out first. She wasn’t making it for him? He didn’t have any right to ask? She didn’t know who he was? She didn’t know how to find him once the cake was done?

  No, definitely not the last one.

  “Don’t worry,” he answered her silence. “I’ll come back. Later. When it’s ready.”

  Tessa was taken aback, thrown off-guard by this towering stranger who’d wandered into her kitchen, eaten her food, and demanded more without even introducing himself. She stared as he dropped the spoon into the bowl, put the bowl on the counter and, eyes never leaving hers, he dipped his finger once more, his tongue catching the cream before retreating into his mouth.

  He left her like that. Thoughts of cake and a new life and troubles temporarily escaped replaced by memories of severe lines, searing eyes, and wet lips.

  2

  Tristan was starving.

  He’d finally managed to get back to the island late the night before. He’d been forced to take a flight onto neighboring St. Kitts and had hitched a ride to Nevis on a fisherman’s boat. It had been almost dawn when he’d finally arrived at the resort and, after a quick pass through the kitchen for a late-night snack, he’d crashed hard. When Tristan had gotten up later that morning, Mark and Grace had already left.

  Tristan made a mental note to text his cousin, confirming he was back. He didn’t want Mark and Grace thinking he was already neglecting his management duties, however temporary. Checking his watch, Tristan’s mood plummeted when he realized he had hours before he could take a break. A fact his stomach protested. Loudly.

  Sonya, the spa director, always had snacks in her office. Awful, bland, healthy snacks. Nothing like the whipped cream he’d discovered in the kitchen that he’d happily eat for days. But, at this point, anything was better than nothing.

  Tristan caught the foreman’s attention, letting him know he’d be back. They were behind on the spa renovation. Of course. There wasn’t a construction project on the face of the planet that finished on time, regardless of how much money was thrown at it. A water pipe had burst only days ago, flooding two treatment rooms before they’d been able to turn the main off.

 
; That was only the most recent setback. Expanding the foundation was their current problem. What should have been an easy expansion was currently on hold after their recent discovery that the land directly behind the spa wasn’t so much solid ground as an unsteady mixture of hardened lava and sand.

  “Damn.” The back of Tristan’s neck was raw from rubbing. He dug his fingers into the tendons, hoping the pressure would drain some of his stress.

  The headache that had been building over the course of the morning pounded with increased intensity. Tristan really needed food.

  “Sonya?” Sticking his head into the office, he looked for the spa manager. She wasn’t around, but Tristan found the bowl of almonds on her desk, grabbed a fistful, and dumped them into his mouth all at once. He groaned as his jaw cracked against the nuts. Definitely unsatisfying.

  He worked hard not to choke on the dry mouthful as he trudged back to where the men were digging out the grotto.

  If—no, when—it was complete, it would be beautiful. The grotto would contain a large heated pool with jets running along both sides and a waterfall pouring into one end.. The rear wall would be one enormous floor-to-ceiling window, showcasing the beach outside and the waves crashing just beyond. They’d done the math carefully. At high tide, the ocean water would be only feet away.

  The heated floor of the underground room would be made of stone, the same pinks and soft creams that would form the smooth bottom of the pool. Lanterns tucked in the wall would give the hideaway the feel of twilight, and strategically placed pin lights in the ceiling would mimic the night sky.

  It would be stunning. Relaxing. A place every guest would return to again and again.

  If they could just get it built.

  Tristan grabbed the coffee he’d abandoned earlier and grimaced as he swallowed the cold, dark sludge.

  Bitter the whole way down. But Tristan wouldn’t let it break his stride. This problem—and all the rest—wouldn’t stop him from getting Mark’s vision built. As he waved the foreman over, Tristan re-ordered the construction details in his brain. Sorting, processing. There had to be a solution they hadn’t landed on yet.

  By the time Grant reached him, Tristan had buried his concerns and gnawing hunger beneath resigned determination. He had confronted problems far worse than this. He wasn’t going to crack now. Certainly not where anyone would notice.

  * * *

  Tessa closed her apartment door just as her pocket vibrated. She accepted the video call and smiled when Grace’s face popped up on the screen.

  “How are things going?”

  Tessa laughed. “You realize you’ve been gone less than ten hours, right?”

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t check in. I still feel awful for leaving you all alone.”

  “I’m in a hotel surrounded by people. I’m hardly alone.”

  “Surrounded by people you don’t know,” Grace countered.

  “But that won’t last long. Besides, I’ve already met some of the kitchen staff. And Chef will be in tomorrow. I’ll be making friends in no time.”

  “Hmm.” Grace frowned through the tiny screen and Tessa laughed.

  “Seriously. Don’t worry about me. I’m already getting into the swing of things.”

  “Really?” Grace perked up.

  “Yes. The kitchen is a dream. I’m already testing out recipes. Chef and I are going to discuss which ones work best with the overhauled dinner menu in a few days. Really, other than the strange guy this morning, everything’s been great.”

  Grace’s smile vanished. “What do you mean, strange guy?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it.” Tessa backpedaled, hating Grace’s expression and the tone that came with it. She didn’t need to worry her friend, and she really didn’t need Grace rushing back to the hotel so soon. Talk about the fastest way to get on Mark Donovan’s shit list.

  “Nuh-uh,” Grace countered. “I’m definitely going to worry about strange men who wander into any part of my hotel, including your kitchen. Especially when you’re there by yourself. Spit it out.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. He wasn’t that strange. Just really determined to eat my whipped cream.”

  Grace’s mouth fell so far open Tessa could practically see down her throat. Horror quickly replaced her astonishment and Tessa blushed, realizing how it must have sounded.

  “NO! No. Like, actual whipped cream. For a cake I was making. He must have discovered it in the fridge earlier. Maybe he was looking for something to eat? I don’t know. I made it last night and he must have found it sometime between then and this morning, and came back for more. That’s all. No harm done.”

  “Tessa.” Grace’s voice was stern. “First, I don’t ever want to hear you talking about men eating your whipped cream in our restaurant’s kitchen, gotcha? That is an image I will not be able to get out of my head.”

  “No, no, no—” Tessa waved her finger, about to point out how hypocritical it was for Grace to frown on sexy shenanigans in parts of the hotel that do not have beds—God, the stories Grace could tell! But her friend kept talking.

  “Second, staff know better than to root around in kitchen fridges. Chef would have their ass if he caught anyone stealing snacks.”

  Tessa shrugged, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “Unless…” Grace’s frown softened as her eyes brightened. “Tessa, what did he look like?”

  “Uhhh.” Tessa quickly edited the details she’d catalogued about the man. Stranger or not, she didn’t really think “fuckable” was a helpful answer. “Tall.”

  “Tall? That’s all you got?”

  “Yes.” Tessa hoped Grace couldn’t see her blushing through the video connection. “He was very tall.”

  “That’s like the least helpful detail possible.”

  Tessa shrugged again. “What can I say, I was distracted. And trying to keep him from sticking his fingers in the cream.”

  “Uggg!” Grace slapped her palm to her forehead.

  Tessa laughed, drowning out Grace’s groan. “Okay, he had blue eyes, black hair.”

  Grace looked at her through the phone, a smile spreading. “See, now that I can work with.”

  “So you know who it was?”

  “Yes.” Grace nodded. “It had to be—”

  Tessa watched the name stop on the tip of Grace’s tongue as her body swayed and a dark blonde head burrowed into the side of her neck.

  “Mark!” Tessa barely made out Grace’s muffled shout as her friend’s boyfriend—and Tessa’s new boss—angled her away from the phone. Tessa could just make out his mouth settling against Grace’s jawline in the corner of the screen.

  “Okay!” she shouted, pushing the phone away quickly. “I’ll talk to you later!” Tessa thought she heard Grace protest from somewhere below the speaker, but she wasn’t going to wait to find out.

  Hitting the “end” button as fast as she could, Tessa dropped her phone on the bed and quickly followed after it. She couldn’t help but smile. Seeing Grace and Mark together was like watching an intricate, occasionally dangerous dance. She was never sure who was going to step on whose toes, but she knew it would happen. Just as she knew that whatever they did to make up, it would be way better than the fight.

  Tessa’s smile faded as she stared up at the ceiling.

  She wanted what they had. Maybe not something quite so volatile, but something just as passionate. Absolutely.

  She’d envisioned having it, once. A life that she’d worked so hard to create for herself. Executive pastry chef at one of Manhattan’s best restaurants. A husband, a partner to build her life with. Even kids someday.

  A familiar sense of longing and loss curled in the base of Tessa’s stomach.

  The dreams she’d kept hidden, safe. The sacrifices she’d made. The punishing hours she’d worked year after year to climb the daunting and male-dominated ladder of professional kitchens. Tessa had been on the brink of having everything she’d always wanted when life had interfere
d. When it had all just become too much.

  She hadn’t spoken to her father in weeks, but she knew he’d get in touch eventually. That he’d tell her the same pathetic story. The one that had her funneling most of her paycheck into his bank account. The same one that had sent her thousands of miles away from home.

  Tessa’s phone vibrated against the bed, probably Grace calling her back. Or maybe the overdue call from her dad. She looked at the phone and shot up when she saw the message on the screen.

  Get settled. Will be calling soon.

  The sender came up as “Unknown,” but Tessa knew who it was. Just as she knew what he wanted. What he expected. He’d made sure of that.

  Tessa drew in a shaky breath, not bothering to respond. She may have escaped New York, but there was no escaping the trouble she’d left behind.

  3

  Caleb Winters, or Chef as he was referred to by everyone at the hotel, studied the cake before taking a bite.

  Tessa watched his expression, waiting for his reaction.

  “It’s very light.” He stabbed the slice with his fork, cutting off another bite.

  “I used a génoise base. Heavily whipping the egg whites keeps the cake light.”

  “The pistachio flavor really comes through.”

  Tessa nodded, hopeful he’d be on board with adding it to the menu. “It requires balance. Too many nuts, the cake gets heavy.”

  Caleb nodded. “But not enough and you can’t taste them at all.” He licked his lips. “Not a problem here. You pulled it off perfectly, Tessa.”

  Tessa finally cracked a smile, her nerves settling. She didn’t report directly to Chef, but a good working relationship would make both of their lives easier. She wanted her half of the kitchen to be up and running as soon as possible and consensus on the dessert menu was the first hurdle.

  “The icing…” Caleb continued, dipping the tines into the cake’s thin glaze. “I taste the lemon, but there’s something else. A spice…”

  “Cardamom. Just a hint. I didn’t want to overwhelm the other flavors, but I like the contrast.”