I listened carefully as the rest of them moved away from the kitchen, their conversation getting softer and softer.
When it felt like it was safe to emerge, I carefully opened the door and peered out. The coast was clear, so I darted into the kitchen.
The timer was for the Brussel’s sprouts, so I grabbed an oven mitt, and when I turned back towards the oven nearly ran smack into Zane.
We both froze, standing a foot apart with nine years of distance between us.
For all that I’d thought about him and seen him all over magazines and TV, seeing him up close was different. The power of his presence came through the screen, but not like it did when you were standing in front of him.
“Were you hiding?” he said, nodding to the pantry, laughter twinkling in his eyes.
I ignored him because I couldn’t think what to say and focused instead on pulling the tray from the oven, but the spot where I needed to put it down was on the other side of Zane, so I picked up a tray of bruschetta and set the hot tray in its place.
And just stood there holding a platter of food like a dumbass.
He looked me up and down slowly, then lifted a piece of bruschetta from my tray and took a bite, like I was standing there purely to serve him.
That should not turn you on, Maia. WTF?
Some olive oil dripped onto his bottom lip and he swiped at it with his thumb before grabbing a napkin from the counter. Fuck, he was even hotter than I remembered with his stupid broad shoulders and long hair.
I would not let this man make me flustered.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” I used my impersonal voice, the pleasant, calm one reserved for restaurant patrons.
He blinked at me in surprise. “You’re going to pretend...” He stopped talking and shook his head, looking genuinely hurt.
I took a step to move around him and he blocked my way. I took a step in the other direction and he shifted to block that path as well. It was a juvenile move intended to provoke a juvenile response.
I swallowed all the things I wanted to yell at him and forced myself to look him in the eye and smile blandly.
“Sorry about that, sir,” I said, like it had been my fault. “May I scoot past you?”
He moved the bare minimum amount to let me past, and as I edged around his big body (had he always been this imposing?), he leaned closer. He wasn’t quite touching me, but he was close enough I thought he was going to kiss my neck for a second. And I didn’t run away.
In a gravelly whisper, he said, “Keep calling me ‘sir’ and I might get ideas,Maia.”
I shivered, goosebumps spreading across my skin like wildfire. I could pretend to be unaffected by him, but there was an inexplicable chemistry between us that evidently still existed. My body practically vibrated with awareness, yearning for possibilities I wouldn’t entertain.
I wanted to slap him. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to grab his face and kiss him senseless. But most of all, I wanted to not make a fool of myself and lose Alex as a client.
Don’t quote his lyrics back at him. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you even notice his songs.
“I’m sorry, sir. I think you’ve got me confused with one of your groupies. I can have a staff member show you to the patio if you’re confused about where you’re supposed to be.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re the one who—”
“Then see yourself out,” I cut him off and moved on with my business.
He was going to start bickering with me in his brother’s kitchen and I’d completely lose control of the situation.
I left the room in the wrong direction without so much as a backward glance, fleeing the volcano of feelings he stirred in me.
Fuck that.
I wasn’t running away. I was a busy, successful, professional adult. Who needed to serve this dinner and get the fuck out of here before I lost my favorite client by going off on his dickhead brother in front of the rest of his family.
4
