Inside the tiny powder room, I grip the edge of the marble sink and breathe deeply.
Get it together.
So what if the chef is devastatingly attractive? It’s harmless admiration, no different from drooling over a movie star.
Except movie stars don’t look at me likethat.
Shaking my head, I wash my hands, freshen my lipstick, and give myself one final look in the mirror. Cheeks flushed, eyes aglow, I hope the wine will take the blame.
5
SAM
The sexy brunette with long shapely legs strides past the doorway toward the restroom, head held high, confidence in every step. Despite the half dozen women crowding the kitchen window, she’s the only one I see.
I rarely do this. Actually, I’ve never done this. I’ve never looked twice at a guest or even thought of one in a personal way. Since becoming a celebrity chef—a title I still can’t stomach—my only rule has been clear: never cross the professional line. I’ve never even flirted with the idea, let alone been tempted to break it.
But now?
In this moment, I find myself juggling both.
Beautiful women orbit my world more often than I’d like. And I say this not because I don’t appreciate and respect women—I do. Rather because to most, I’m not a person, just another item on the menu to taste and toss aside.
But this woman?
Sure, she noticed me—kind of hard not to given all the patrons flocking to the kitchen. Yet, she didn’t have that freakish predatory gaze I’ve had nightmares about.
A fan’s craving can be a void—an appetite without soul. They want a piece of you, not the person, just the shimmer, the fantasy they’ve built. It’s admiration stripped of humanity. All hunger, no heart.
Not her though.
She’s temptation in motion.
Lovely, yes, but more than that. Alive, alluring, and real. And we certainly shared a brief moment, or more like several, where our gazes collided. But she was always quick to look away.
Even still, there’s something unguarded in her expression. Something genuine. That’s what had me looking twice, stealing glances whenever I could.
Her vibrancy, her warmth.
That smile of hers lights up her whole face, bright and effortless, like the flare of an unforgettable sunset or the soft rhythm of falling rain.
She’s captivating.
I want to talk to her.
Know her.
Touch her.
Taste her.
My fingers tightly grip the edge of the counter. I have to have my wits about me, or at the very least, clear out the temptation. Maybe I’m just horny. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, and the dry spell’s clearly messing with my head.
That has to be it. Still, I can’t stop imagining her beneath me, skin against skin, breath tangled with mine.
Shit.If I don’t cut it out, it’s going to be a long damn night.
Grin firmly in place, I snag the eager eyes and bright smiles of the two women waiting to meet me, clutching cookbooks as they stand patiently at the window.
