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  I turned halfway and glared at him. “I don’t care what you think, Cade.”

  He didn’t bother to try to stop himself from chuckling. “Oh, it’s Cade now, is it? Not Caden? If you didn’t care about what I thought, you wouldn’t have taken the time to bake me a cake and deliver it to my doorstep, Darla. You know you want to know.”

  I did want to know, damn his sexy face! Not because I thought he could make or break me, but because I always want to know what people think of the food I make. It’s an obsession of mine. I love to watch someone try my creations for the first time, that orgasmic moan they make when they’ve taken their first bite, the closing of the eyes, and the need to speak with their mouths full. On the rare occasions that my food isn’t liked, I want to know why and how I can change it to make them fall in love.

  I let out an irritated sigh and marched back over to him.

  “Fine. Taste it.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I need a place to put the cake down, a knife to cut it, a fork to eat it with…”

  Impatiently, I waved him inside. “Fine. Inside. Hurry up.”

  He bit back a smile and held the door open with his body. “After you.”

  I walked past him into the restaurant and waited close by as he locked the door and closed the blinds. I followed him into the kitchen where he put the box down on a prep table.

  “I’ll be right back.” He walked to the back of the kitchen and through a door. He returned a minute later with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “What is that?” I asked flatly.

  “Can’t have dessert without a dessert wine.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Pinot Grigio isn’t a dessert wine.”

  His eyes widened in mock surprise as he brandished a corkscrew. “You’re right. I should make something to go with the wine.”

  “Or, you can just taste the cake and let me go on with my life.”

  “Can’t fucking have dessert before dinner.” He tapped my nose. “That’s just silly, Darla.”

  He handed me a glass of wine and walked back to the enormous walk-in.

  “You’re trying to hold me hostage with dinner,” I called after him, my voice high with aggravation.

  “Sounds about right,” he called back.

  A moment later he walked out with his arms full. He carefully put the items down on the prep table and glanced over at me.

  “Do me a favor, Darla. Grab an apron and start cleaning those shrimp.”

  “Clean them yourself!” I shook my head and turned my back on him. “I’m going home, Caden. You can send me a postcard after you’ve eaten the cake.”

  He moved in front of me, blocking my way. “It’s not fair for me to eat your food when you won’t eat mine.”’

  “That’s ridiculous! I just ate your food earlier tonight, and I ate your food before I wasted an hour of my life to come talk to you that day.”

  “But I was just making the food on the fucking ticket. I was just making what was on the menu. I didn’t make it just for you. This time, it will be just for you. Your own personal menu. Besides, I won’t touch your cake if you don’t stay for dinner first.”

  I growled and was very close to stomping my foot like a three-year-old, but I kept my leg still as I crossed my arms.

  “Fine!”

  He grinned. I scowled. He handed me an apron and put me to work.

  Chapter Five

  I was pissed off, but after a while, I became focused on the tasks Caden gave me and I began to relax. I loved to bake, but I enjoyed cooking very much as well. Doing either one of them was the equivalent of popping a couple of Xanax for me.

  Besides, once I realized that I was cooking alone in the kitchen with a master chef, I didn’t think I had anything to complain about. When he critiqued and corrected me, I accepted it willingly…even when he put his hand over mine to show me the best techniques.

  “Are you happy now? You’re cooking in my kitchen.”

  I kept a straight face as I shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t ask to cook with you. I wanted to bake with Chef Kaylon.”

  He laughed. “You’re hard to please.”

  “Not at all. I just don’t appreciate being insulted. I can take critique fine, but what you did…that wasn’t critiquing.”

  Some of the humor faded from his face as he glanced at me. He was quiet for a moment, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod his head a few times.

  “You’re right, but you have to see it from my point of view.”

  “I do,” I said honestly. “I get it. You can’t put just anyone back here, and I had no background that you were aware of. But…what wasn’t on my resume, and what I didn’t tell you then is that I did all of the baking for that restaurant for three years. People loved it so much that they started calling me at home to ask for birthday cakes and the like. By the time I was seventeen, I was practically running a bakery out of my daddy’s kitchen. I didn’t use my good looks to move three-hundred miles from home you know. I earned most of that money baking and making desserts.”

  He openly gazed at my body with a smirk. “You probably could have fucking gone three-thousand miles with that body.”

  I felt the blood rush to my face as I avoided his eyes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me all of that when you met me?” he asked.

  “Because then it would have seemed like I was groveling. I don’t grovel. My daddy taught me to have some self-respect and dignity.”

  He nodded again. “He taught you well. What did your parents say when they realized you wanted to bake for a living?”

  I laughed humorlessly. “My dad told me to ‘stop dinking around’ and to ‘find a sensible job’ that pays the bills. My mom wanted me to go work with her at Tilda’s Grocery, and work my way up into a management position, or to stay at the one restaurant in town and serve the same old people the same old shit day after day. It’s been almost two years, and they’re still waiting for me to say ‘Oh, it’s been a big mistake!’ and to go back home to stay.”

  “There are still Tilda's stores in existence?” Caden asked. His mouth hung open in disbelief.

  I laughed again, but with real humor. “I think the same people that worked there when the store first opened are still there. Most of the staff are old as dirt. What about you? What did your parents say when they realized you wanted to cook for a living?”

  His smile was warm. “They were fucking awesome about it. They knew that this was what I was meant to do. When I was only ten years old, my dad helped me get a job at a place in Northeast Philly. You know what I did there for three years?”

  He gave me a sidelong look.

  I sighed heavily. “Busing tables?”

  “That’s right,” he pointed at me. “Then I was allowed to wash dishes, and then wait tables after that. By the time I was sixteen, I was a line cook. By the time I was eighteen, I was running the kitchen on the lunch shift a few times a week. I had to work really hard without any promise of anything but my fucking paycheck.”

  I was quiet for several moments and assessed him with quick glances as I worked on cleaning the branzino at my workstation. He allowed me those moments of silence without his usual arrogance and abrasiveness.

  “So, you…you weren't just being an asshole before,” I finally murmured.

  He snorted. “Yeah, I was being a fucking asshole, but I wasn't an asshole just to be an asshole. Sometimes you get lucky and get in a lucky spot, but most of the time, there’s grunt work, and in my opinion, you can’t truly appreciate where you end up if you can’t look back and see all the shit you did to get there. I personally hire every chef that works back here. Most of them don’t even have a culinary school background, just good, old-fashioned, hard-as-fuck work.”

  I nodded slowly. “Well, now you know that I did do some good, old fashioned, hard-as-fuck work.”

  “Now I know. Do you want to come work in my kitchen?”

  I laughed. “Too late, asshole. I am working at The Swe
et Bite across the river. You missed out on my awesomeness.”

  When his eyes met mine, a thrill went through my body. His voice was soft for a change when he spoke. “No, I don’t think that I have.”

  Chapter Six

  He brought stools into the kitchen and put them at the prep table with our wine. He was going to continue to cook as we ate our appetizers, so that by the time we finished, our dinner would be hot and ready to eat. I loved the idea. It seemed whimsical and fun, and maybe a little romantic.

  “Do you want me to go get appetizer and dinner plates?” I asked Caden as he placed a dish of shrimp scampi on the table.

  “Fuck the plates.”

  He picked up a shrimp between his fingers and quickly rid it of it’s shell before dipping it into the buttery wine sauce. To my surprise, he held it to my lips. When I didn’t immediately open my mouth, he raised an eyebrow. His eyes dropped to my lips as I hesitantly parted them. I watched him draw in a breath as he slowly pushed the shrimp into my mouth. I bit down, and a beautiful flavor exploded on my taste buds.

  I wished I could have seen my own face as my eyes closed and I let out that foodgasmic moan. I could feel the sauce dripping down my chin, but I didn’t care. I’m pretty sure my toes curled.

  When I opened my eyes, Caden was inches from my face, gazing heavily at me. I could feel the heat of his eyes and his body.

  “More?” he whispered.

  I don’t know how I found my voice. “Please.”

  He fed me another, and more sauce dribbled down my chin. We both laughed as he wiped it away with his fingers. My breath caught when he put those fingers in his mouth and sucked.

  “So, how many other girls have you had in this kitchen?” I asked teasingly after he gave me another. I reached for my wine and paused while he topped off my glass.

  I wasn’t old enough to drink. We both knew that.

  He stepped over to the stove to tend to a pan of muscles, the fish, and some vegetables.

  “I’ve never, ever asked a woman to eat here.”

  I stared dubiously at his back. “I don’t believe it.”

  “I’ve cooked for women,” he admitted with a small shrug. “Obviously, but not here in the kitchen. Not like this.”

  I took another sip of my wine and continued to gaze at him over the rim until he glanced back at me.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Interestingly enough, I do. I just don’t know why.”

  He glanced at me again. “How many people do you let in your kitchen when you’re baking?”

  “None. I become a monster and chase everyone out who doesn’t belong there.”

  “Exactly. It’s your personal space, you know? It’s like your home. You don’t invite just anyone into your home.”

  “Why did you invite me?”

  He didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure that he’d heard me, or maybe he had and didn’t want to answer. The silence was getting awkward, so I opened my mouth to change the subject, but he started to speak again.

  “You’re beautiful, fucking feisty as hell, and confident in yourself, and you seem to have a pretty good head on your shoulders. Your accent is also fucking sexy as hell.”

  I knew I was blushing, but I laughed and said, “Oh, is that it?”

  “No,” he answered gravely. “I wanted to impress you.” He looked back at me again. “I wanted to impress you like I’ve never wanted to impress anyone in my whole fucking life.”

  “Oh,” I responded stupidly.

  We were silent for a couple minutes until he returned to the table. He sat on the stool across from me and put his foot on the rung of my stool, placing his leg between my slightly open legs.

  “More scampi?” he asked quietly.

  I cleared my throat. “Aren’t you going to have any?”

  He grinned. “Are you going to give me any?”

  I smiled nervously as I reached for the tail of a shrimp. I dragged it through the sauce, and with a trembling hand, I held it close to his mouth. His eyes locked with mine. Neither of us looked away as I pushed the shrimp into his mouth. When I discarded the tail and reached for a napkin, he grabbed my hand and brought my fingers to his lips. I let out an audible gasp as he sucked the sauce off my fingers.

  He laughed and stood up to go back to the stove. I tried not to fall off my stool.

  We ate like that for the rest of the night. No utensils and no napkins. We used our fingers to feed each other muscles, bits of flaky fish, and kale. It was a big fucking mess, but we laughed and smashed food on each other’s faces. By the time we opened the cake box, we were both wearing some of the dinner on our clothes.

  Caden insisted that I feed him his first bite of cake, his first taste of anything I’d ever made.

  I used a knife to slice one big chunk and placed it on a plate.

  “It looks really fucking good, Darla,” he said, staring at it.

  His hands were on my thighs, and I could barely concentrate on what I was doing as I carefully pinched a piece off in my fingers.

  “What kind of cake is it?”

  “A Cherry Cheesecake Brownie Cake.”

  He gave me a skeptical look. “How is that even possible?”

  I raised an eyebrow as I held the piece near his mouth with my other hand under it to catch anything that might fall.

  “You’ve made some impossible dishes yourself, Chef Hanes. Now shut up and eat my cake.”

  His fingers lightly squeezed my thighs. “That’s probably the sexiest fucking thing any woman has ever said to me.”

  I laughed and shoved the cake into his mouth. Then I watched carefully as he began to chew. I held my breath as I waited for his reaction. He didn’t moan, and his eyes didn’t close, but they did widen with surprise.

  “Oh shit,” he said after he swallowed. “That—” he pointed at the cake. “—is one of the best things I’ve ever had in my fucking mouth!”

  I felt a little disappointed that he hadn’t said that it was the best thing he’d ever had in his mouth, but I remembered that he had traveled the world and eaten the food of some of the world’s most famous chefs.

  My disappointment must have shown on my face because he rubbed my thighs. “Why do you look disappointed, Dar? I loved it.”

  I shook my head dismissively and forced a laugh as I settled my gaze on the cake instead of his intense eyes. “I’m not.”

  “Darla, will you fucking look at me?” he asked after a moment.

  Slowly, I brought my eyes up to his, but that wasn’t enough. He grasped my chin between his fingers and forced me to turn my head to face him properly.

  “Darla,” he said my name in just above a whisper. “I really fucking loved your cake. You are very talented. I’m honestly fucking blown away. So, stop fucking looking all gloomy and shit and feed me more cake.”

  Reluctantly, I found a smile for him and fed him another piece of cake. I let him feed me a bite, too. When I automatically reached to wipe some away from the corner of my mouth, Caden leaned forward and slowly kissed me there. I felt his tongue lick away the morsels and my heart damn near exploded in my chest.

  He didn’t draw back, but gently pressed his cheek against mine so he could speak close to my ear.

  “What would your parents say if you brought a man like me home to that small Virginia town?”

  I swallowed hard and spoke what I suspected would be the truth.

  “They would think I was on drugs.”

  He chuckled softly. His breath washed over my ear and neck and made me shiver.

  His cheek slid along mine, lightly scratching me with his stubble. When we were face to face again, his mouth was almost touching mine. Our gazes collided as one hand moved behind me and curved around my neck. His other hand pressed against the small of my back.

  My heart was beating harder than it ever had in my whole life. I felt his breath on my lips as he spoke, his voice husky.

  “I’m going to kiss you, but if you don’t wan
t me to, you better stop me now, Darla. Because once I start, I’m not going to want to fucking stop.”

  I pushed my trembling hands over his hard stomach to his chest. I wrapped my fingers in the fabric of his shirt and tugged gently. It was all the encouragement he needed. He kissed me so hard, it almost hurt. The lip ring was a little distracting at first, but when I felt the stud of his tongue ring flick over my tongue, I moaned and forgot all about the lip jewelry.

  I forgot about everything as he lifted me onto his lap and I wrapped my arms and legs around him. I forgot my name, about the cake on the table beside us—about everything.

  I loved him at that moment. Maybe I didn’t know it then, but I knew it later. Whenever I thought about the first time I realized that I loved Caden, I always thought of that night in his kitchen, when we did almost everything with our hands. Cooked, feasted. Touched. Wow, did we touch.

  What we didn’t do with our hands, we did with our mouths. Ate. Laughed. Kissed. Licked. Sucked…

  We had our first big fight only a month later. We screamed and threw things at each other, and Caden literally pushed me out of his house. I stumbled and fell hard on my knee, and was damn lucky I didn’t fall down the steps. He came to me immediately, lifted me in his arms and apologized. My knee was only bruised, but it should have been the first indication that we didn’t belong together, even though he did seem genuinely repentant. We made up with scorching hot sex that left me feeling so sore in other places, that I forgot about my knee.

  Our first breakup came six months after that. Cade grabbed my arm so hard that night that he left bruises in the shape of his fingers as a parting gift. We got back together five months later, but we were off and on like that for a long time.

  “And nothing has changed,” I whispered to myself as I pulled into my dad’s driveway.

  I tried to blink away the tears and the flood of memories before going inside. I thought about Cade for almost the entire drive home to Virginia, but I needed to get him out of my head. My family would see the pain all over my face if I wasn’t careful.