“Let’s keep it simple.” He smiled. His full, perfect lips filled with sincerity, relaxing the lines of his face.
She almost regretted the meal she’d cooked. Her stomach knotted, but for the hundredth time that day she reminded herself of his arrogant laugh and the one-sided conversation she’d eavesdropped on that morning, where he’d joked about his three uses for women.
“Okay, starting tomorrow I won’t polish the silver unless you’re having guests.”
“Great. Have you eaten yet?” Hair, still damp from his swim, curled loosely at the tips. He brushed one hand through it, causing a small riot of curls to rebound from his fingers.
“Don’t worry about me. Take a seat, I’ll be right in.”
“I’m starved.”
“Good.” As she bent over the warming oven, she glanced at him, increasing her smile. She slid her hands around the dishcloth draped across her shoulder and pulled her own dinner from the heated compartment.
“It smells wonderful.” He licked his lips, backing out the door toward the dining room.
“That it does.”
He disappeared and she placed her plate—filled with a braised lamb shoulder chop, grilled baby red potatoes, and slender spears of tender asparagus—on the counter. Her stomach growled when she inhaled the spiced aroma. A crock of squash soup already on the counter steamed its lid, and she considered letting him have a small bowl. After all, it was one of her signature dishes.
Nope. Maybe another night.
She brushed damp palms down the front of her turquoise half apron, tugging at the wide white frill that lined the sides. She squared her shoulders, then grabbed his covered plate and headed toward the dining area.
Though she’d always favored the sleek lines and styles from the fifties, it didn’t mean she wanted to be treated with the narrow-minded attitude of that era. Ever since she’d been tossed from her job at Creations, Chef Arnaud seemed to have gone out of his way to make sure word traveled. Yes, Jill Adgate had been caught in the arms of—kissing—a guest in the kitchen. Amid a ruin of cake. He’d gone out of his way to let it be known he’d fired her on the spot—or as soon as he guided the guest from the kitchen, leaving Jill behind to handle her emotions, and the mess.
At each job she’d taken afterward, she’d had to deal with arrogant men who couldn’t look past the fact she was a woman, instantly throwing her into the sexual plaything category. No more. This woman is strong, capable, and smart. And she definitely had more than three uses.
Before she pushed through the swinging door, she sucked in a breath and glued on her game face. Whatever happened after this, she felt justified. She needed to set the ground rules now, or she’d be setting herself up for the same sexual innuendos that had plagued her since that kiss. If he kicked her out and she had to build her catering business without his help, so be it. This would be more than worth it. After she filled a frosted glass with the iced tea she’d brought to the buffet earlier, she placed the glass, along with the covered dish, on the table.
“What’s my pleasure?” He lifted the silverware she’d rolled in a thick linen napkin.
“I like to call it Bachelor’s Special.”
Chet glanced at her with one lifted brow while he unfolded his napkin, placing it on his lap. “Mmm, well, it smelled spectacular in the kitchen.”
He smiled and she released the air burning her throat.
“Enjoy.” With quick steps she made her way to the kitchen. Her heart pounded, and she ran her shaky palms down her apron before settling herself at the counter in front of her dinner. In less than a minute, a loud clatter echoed from the dining area, intruding on the peaceful warmth of the kitchen. She forked a tender piece of lamb into her mouth and controlled her smile while she chewed.
Footsteps grew in force as they neared. Tension filled her shoulders when the door flung open and hit the wall, but she didn’t look up. She flaked off another slice of lamb with her fork and put it in her mouth.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” Chet boomed across the room.
“No, it’s my idea of dinner.” She jammed the tines of her fork into a buttery spear of asparagus.
Chet eyed her plate as he tossed his onto the counter. The delicate china slid across the smooth surface and stopped when it clinked against hers. One of his eyebrows rose and the lines around the edge of his mouth deepened. “Whatever you’re having is what I want.”
“Sorry, only made enough for one,” she said around another bite, this time a delicate red potato, cooked to perfection.
“I’m not interested in having a chef that eats better than royalty while I’m served chunky peanut butter with grape jelly spread between two slices of day-old bread.”
“I made you chips, too.”
“Lucky me, homemade chips.” He plucked one off the plate and crumbled it between long fingers.
She smiled, then lifted the lid of her covered soup bowl and took a heaping spoonful into her mouth. As he watched, she swirled her eyes around in exaggeration and smacked her lips together.
“Must be good.”
“Damn good. I’ve outdone myself.” She sighed and took another spoonful.
His Adam’s apple bobbed overtime when he swallowed, and she hoped he’d choke on it.
“Try a bite?” She dipped her spoon into the soup again and held it out toward him. “It’ll rival a romp between the sheets any day. Not that a gentleman would ever kiss and tell.” The sarcastic lilt of her voice wasn’t lost on him as his eyes narrowed. Even angry, he sent fissions of heat through her body.
Chet recovered quickly and pasted on a grin. He leaned in to take the taste she offered. Just before his lips hit the spoon, she pulled back and slurped it between her parted lips. “Damn good it is.”
His face tightened when she made a show of licking the spoon clean. That might have been pushing things too far.
An inner voice reminded her that she hardly knew this man. After all, they were alone in his gi-normous home, set back off the road on a private country drive, far away from civilization. She forced herself to swallow the soup that hardened in her throat on the way down.
“So, your little eavesdropping session at my office door this morning garnered more than I imagined.”
His low tone alerted her flight response, and she stood so fast her stool fell over. She looked for the nearest point of exit, then darted around the counter. Not quick enough. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, sending sparks across her skin and pulling her flight up short. She tugged, spun around, and looked up to see Chet’s hand dangling the ceramic bowl containing her mouth-watering soup over her head.
Heart pounding, she lowered her gaze to meet his. “You wouldn’t.”
“What’s the saying about the best way to serve revenge?” He tilted the bowl, while his thumb massaged circles on her inner wrist.
A warm drop of soup plopped on her forehead, then rolled down the bridge of her nose, tickling a path across her skin. She flicked out her tongue when it reached the corner of her mouth.
“It’s best served cold.” She challenged him with the sternest voice she could manage under the circumstances.
“Oh, it’s no gazpacho. At best, this is lukewarm by now, but it’ll have to do.” Though his voice sounded as contrite as a choirboy in catechism, she knew what lay behind that innocent smile.
“N-no. That’s breaking the rules.” She snaked her free hand up his muscular arm with plans to dislodge the bowl from his grip, nearly forgetting the idea when the warmth of his skin penetrated her fingertips and filled her with a sensual flame.
“You mean the saying?” His eyes glowed with a brightness she’d never noticed before. In that moment, he was undeniably hot.
“Yes, the saying.” Confusion ruled her as sexual awareness zipped through the air around them. “Since the soup isn’t cold, you can’t serve it up as revenge.”
“Hmmm, you’re pulling at straws. Plus, I’m not big on following rules. I like to make m
y own.” His voice lowered to a husky timber. He tilted the bowl further and several more thick drops scattered across her forehead, nose, and the crown of her head.
“Truce. I call a truce.” Her fingers wrapped around his wrist so tightly the beat of his pulse penetrated the tips of her fingers.
He puckered his lips and relief spilled into her lungs, but it was short-lived. With a cocky tilt of his chin, he blew out a breath. “No truce.”
“Damn.” She tucked her fingers over the rim of the bowl. Tepid liquid soaked her fingertips.
He leaned in, his breath fanning her skin in featherlike caresses. Unable to control her own senses, she licked her lips…waiting, feeling something was about to happen. She blinked, transfixed on his softening features, her heart thudding against her ribs…
A woman knew when she was about to be kissed.
Not sure if it was her doing or his, the bowl tipped all the way over and a large dollop of her award-winning soup oozed across the top of her head. A gloppy, gooey mess slid over the smooth tresses of her hair. She pressed her eyes shut, lowering her hand. Where was that bar towel? Her plans to wipe away the mess ended when her free wrist was gripped in a viselike hold.
“How’s that soup taste now?” Waves of his laughter jolted through her, his fingers around her wrist acting as a conductor. Thousands of tiny goose bumps danced up her arm.
Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, she smiled blindly, licked the soup that settled around her mouth, and smacked her lips together. “Better than ever.”
Chapter Five
Laughter swelled Chet’s chest. He stopped short when he looked into Jill’s upturned face, enjoying the fact he could inspect her so closely and she didn’t know. Blinded by the soup, she was at his mercy.
Thick, yellowish-orange liquid covered her skin, hiding the sprinkle of fine freckles dotting her nose. Black eyelashes spiked from the moisture, and her parted lips revealed the whiteness of her teeth. The apron she wore reminded him of something a housewife would wear on a fifties sitcom. Undeniably cute and damn sexy. All she needed was a set of pearls.
She’d be the type of girl he’d bring home to his mother.
Hold up, Castle! You don’t play the girlfriend game. His blood raced as her tongue darted out and she licked her lips again. The twinge of his groin reminded him once more that a fling with the lovely Jill would be on his list, but nothing more.
Still holding her wrists, he leaned forward and flicked his tongue out to taste the drop of soup forming on the tip of her chin.
Jill’s body went quiet at his touch. The pulse beating against the soft skin of her inner wrist burst forward at a quick tempo. Her button-down shirt pulled with each quick breath she took.
“Damn, you’re right. Tastes great.” A salty quality mingled with the rich flavor of the soup. A dash of Jill mixed in to add a more potent flavor.
“I told you I’m an awesome cook.” Her husky voice lowered further.
“I particularly like your presentation.” He matched her tone, his heartbeat erratic.
She tried to step back, but her butt connected with the counter. If she took a half step forward she’d be pushed against his chest. Not that he minded.
“Let me loose. I’d like to wipe my eyes.” A giggle slipped past her lips.
“Not yet. I’m not sure you’ve learned your lesson.”
“I guarantee you I have.”
Her struggled swallow caught his attention. “Nervous?”
Jill shook her head as if trying to clear away the thick soup. “Never.”
He laughed. “I’m going to have more soup.”
“Can’t, it’s all on my…” She stiffened in his arms and a soft sigh, almost a whimper, caught in her throat.
His attraction grew tenfold. He lowered his head, brushing her lips with his own before pulling back. His heart pounded against his chest, bongo drums in a heady rhythm. This situation had escalated into a major turn on.
Although he planned a seduction, he didn’t think he’d get this far this soon.
Softly, he touched his lips to hers again. He ran his tongue over her lips, catching her gasp in his mouth. “Delicious.”
At first her lips remained taut, but when he licked the corner of her mouth, then released her wrists to settle his fingers against the nape of her neck, she surrendered.
No other way to describe it. Her breasts pushed into him, and the hardening peaks of her nipples thrust through the thin material of her shirt to press into his own cotton pullover.
A chill shot up his spine. She trembled in his arms and he tugged her closer, crushing her mouth with his, deepening their union. She tasted of savory spices and butter, along with another flavor he recognized as her own unique sweetness.
She felt perfect in his arms, as if she were made to be in them. Made? No. Attracted for sure, but nothing more.
He fanned his hand across her nape, then buried his fingers deep into the silky thickness of her loose hair as it cascaded down her back. Her lips parted, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. Heat coiled from his center to encompass every individual nerve pulsing through his body.
Her palms found their way to rest against his chest, and she balled them into the material of his shirt. Her body relaxed beneath his touch, and she slid her hands down his front, then moved them around his back to cup his rear. She groaned, pulling him in so close that his arousal pressed into her belly.
Heat circled them, drawing the oxygen from between their bodies. With one arm, he hoisted her onto the stainless-steel workstation. The movement deepened their kiss, and she nibbled his tongue while her fingers pressed firmly up the bunched muscles of his back to dig into his shoulders.
…
Something this good shouldn’t be so wrong. It’d been—forever—since her fingers kneaded the heated flesh of a man. Not just any man, but a very sexual, off-limits man—which made this entire situation potentially dangerous. All the more so because this was her boss. Damn the rules of society. She indulged just a bit more. He tasted so good, like…like—sex. No other way to describe it. She swirled her tongue against his for a better sample.
Jill licked the outer edge of his lips, and his soft moan spiraled her heart out of control. His clean-cotton smell sent a rush of heat through her body. The tingling sensation that followed torpedoed to the hidden spot between her legs.
No. This wasn’t right. Her actions would only confirm his belief that women were good for only two things—well, three in her case. She’d play right into his hands if she let this kiss grow any more intimate.
Jill pushed aside the hypnotic sensation of his fingers trailing over her highly sensitized skin. With force, she suppressed the wants and needs swirling around the throbbing ache between her thighs.
Oh. Her thighs. She had wrapped them around him, pulling him in tight as he pressed his hips against her, telling her without words how she affected him.
Jill shoved him away, wiping her fingers down her face to clear it of soup. A swipe over the top of her head dislodged a large portion of goop. She discarded the remains in the bar sink, the sloppy wet sound punctuating her decision. She met his heated gaze, orange smeared across his cheeks, mouth, and nose. Soup fingerprints dotted the front of his shirt where she’d grabbed to drag him close. Evidence of her loss of control.
She brushed the clammy skin of her forearm across her lips in an attempt to remove his taste, which she doubted she’d ever be able to do.
“What?” The sex-filled throb of his voice shook her knees.
“This is so not going to happen.” She grabbed the dish towel lying on the counter and cleaned off her face as best she could without a mirror.
“Why? We’re both adults, and from where I stand I’d say we were both enjoying it.”
She ignored his remark. Although he stated the obvious, she wasn’t about to agree. When she flung the towel onto the smooth countertop, he snagged it and wiped it across his face.
; The idea that his face touched where hers had been moments ago sent flares of awareness shooting through her veins. She couldn’t tell whether his actions or her own treacherous thoughts turned her on.
“You’re my boss, and this crosses a very fine line.” Her stomach lurched at the thought of the men she’d worked for in the past. They’d tried for weeks, without success, to get her to do what Chet managed in seconds the first time and less than twenty-four hours the second.
He tossed the towel on the counter. “I’m attracted to you, and after that zipper-popping kiss, I’m going to assume the feeling’s mutual.”
“That’s neither here nor there. I don’t mess around with someone I work with and definitely not someone I work for.” Jill jumped off the counter and pushed past him. She feared she’d combust from the friction of her heartbeat working against the rush of heated blood in her veins.
“I really don’t fall into either category. We don’t work together, and I’m far from your boss.” His voice held a tinge of humor laced with steel. “This is strictly a business arrangement.”
“That might be worse.”
He moved toward her. “Jill—”
“I’m tired of men assuming because I’m a woman, because of the way I look, that I’m open to a sexual relationship with them to get ahead.”
“What are you talking about? Who said anything about getting ahead?” He brushed his hand through his hair, confusion littering his face.
“Is this the payback you’re expecting? You offer to help me with my catering business, even so far as co-signing for a loan, and all I have to do is lay back, close my eyes, and grit my teeth while you have your way with me?”
A vein hammered along the side of his neck. “I seriously doubt you’ll be gritting your teeth, unless it’s to stop yourself from screaming my name.”
“Oh—” She fought to fill her lungs. “You pig.”
“Hardly. I’m just not sugarcoating it. Don’t act like I’m your first kiss, Jill. With your looks and the way you react to my touch and move against me, you’re no wallflower.”
Bachelor's Special Page 4
