Chapter 1
Gabriel Hunter understood women’s bodies. He’d studied them, touched them, decorated them with art, delighted in them, lusted over them. He viewed breasts and asses and thighs on a daily basis.
He shouldn’t be fazed by a single inch of flesh. The human body should hold no mystery for him any longer.
And yet, here he was, salivating over a woman’s bare arms.
Gabe rested his hand on the pristine linen of the tablecloth, his fingers itching. Her skin was so pure and luminous. What color was it? Not pale, not brown, not tan. Some people might call it olive, but he’d never been able to visualize that as a color properly.
“The dulce-de-leche cake is one of our bestsellers, with ribbons of golden-brown caramel threaded through the—”
Golden-brown, yes, that was a good description. Creamy, lit from underneath with a golden-brown light. There was a scar on her upper arm, disrupting the smoothness, but a good artist didn’t expect any work of art to be flawless. Imperfections were what made a piece unique. Impossible to replicate.
Fuck me.
Gabe hid his grimace. Barely a foot separated them, but she might as well be on Mars for all he could touch her.
She was Evangeline Chandler. Roughly a dozen years younger than him, the sister of a man he called friend. Sweet and shy and innocent. Oh, and the daughter of one of the richest families in the country.
Him? He was a tattoo artist. The son of a housekeeper. A guardian of a secret that made any union between them complicated as fuck. Too friendly and respectful of women to be a player, but definitely not any kind of good long-term bet.
Mars, son.
Eve raised her gaze to his, and he snapped to attention, ensuring she only saw bland interest. She cocked her head, her straight, expensively cut dark hair slipping over her shoulder. The overhead light reflected on the strands, bringing out shades of mahogany, cherry, burnt umber.
“What do you think of this one?”
“It’s perfect,” he said without thinking.
Her brow furrowed. “It doesn’t look like you’ve even tried it.”
Oh. He looked down at the row of cake slices assembled in front of him. Cake. She was talking about cake.
Dutifully, he took a bite of the presented confection and swallowed. He had to fight not to screw his face up in distaste at the overly sweet explosion of flavor on his tongue. He took a giant sip of water. “It’s... fine.”
The man standing next to their table released a small sniff. Gabe had been around rich people enough to know exactly what that sniff meant.Get the fuck out of here, you uncultured swine.
Eve, being a rich person, could also undoubtedly read the waiter’s sniff, but she didn’t acknowledge it. “Livvy, neither of us like it very much.”
“Oh, that was my first choice,” came the feminine voice from the speaker of the phone set on the table. Only, with the speaker’s cold, the words came out more likeDoh dat was by first choice.
“It’s very sweet.”
“Ugh. I wish I was there.”
Jacques linked his hands in front of his waist. “Once again, Ms. Kane, we would be happy to have the tasting at your home.”
“She can’t really taste anything right now,” Eve explained.
“It’s the saddest.” Livvy sniffed.
“And the groom?” Jacques asked delicately.
Gabe suppressed an eye roll. The guy was digging for gossip, which was pretty standard amongst town people. Kane and Chandler drama was a favorite topic.
“My brother is busy today.” Eve cast the waiter an inquiring look. “What’s the next flavor, Jacques?”
Jacques placed a dish with a slice of light yellow cake in front of each of them. The small, exclusive restaurant was closed to the public for this tasting. A tasting Gabe was sure had been granted due to the Chandler name. “A delicate lemon-thyme, Ms. Chandler. You’ll find alternating layers of lemon curd and a rich vanilla buttercream, garnished with sprigs of thyme and candied lemons.”
