I finally arrive at her station, stopping close enough for my arm to brush hers. Did I do it on purpose? Maybe. As for the frisson of awareness which runs up my spine, that’s completely unplanned. When she shivers, I know she feels the jolt of electricity too.
I step away, reach for the red wine reduction and taste it. The flavors bounce off my tongue. Complex, umami and tangy. Almost perfect. Almost. "The acidity is too high. You reduced it too fast."
Her jaw tightens. "I followed the recipe exactly?—"
“Precision applies to discipline and technique, not rigidity of flavor.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “Yes, Chef.”
"Add a knob of butter. Whisk it in off the heat. It'll round out the acidity and give it body."
She reaches for the butter. I'm already there, knife in hand.
I cut a precise portion and drop it into her pan. My knuckles brush the edge of her wrist as I pull back.
The contact sends heat skimming beneath my skin. Every muscle tightens, my body instantly alert to the warmth of her hand, the faintbrush of her fingers against mine. I lock my jaw, forcing myself not to react.
I need to control my lust.
I watch her whisk the butter in. The sauce transforms. Glossy. Smooth. Exactly as it should be.
I reach for a clean spoon. Dip it. Then hold it to her mouth.
"Open."
Her eyes fly to mine. Startled.
Around us, the kitchen moves in controlled chaos. No one's watching. They're too focused on their own stations, their own timing, keeping the line moving.
She hesitates.
I step closer into her space. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to hold my gaze.
"I said open, Ember."
Her lips part.
I bring the spoon to her mouth. Watch her tongue dart out to taste.
Fuck.
The sight of that pink tongue against silver sends heat straight through me. The crotch of my pants feels too tight.
I need to step back. Put distance between us before I do something spectacularly inappropriate in the middle of service.
I don't move.
"Better?" My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
Her eyes lock on mine. Something flashes there. Heat. Challenge. Defiance.
"Yes, sir." She peeks up from under her eyelashes.
Fuck. The playful way she calls me ‘Sir’ makes me realize she knows exactly what kind of effect that has on me.
The little minx!
Her eyes gleam. "Thank you, Chef."
