Chapter 14
CLEMENTINE
Ihad seen Rhett work magic in the kitchen. Watched how he could turn the simplest ingredients into something extraordinary. But watching him on the dance floor was a revelation of an entirely different sort. He moved with the same fluid confidence he brought to cooking.
Didn’t dance, my ass.
His body responded to the music like he had been born to it. When he took my hand and led me onto the crowded floor, I had expected awkwardness, maybe some shuffling feet and apologetic grins. Instead, I found myself swept into something that felt effortless, natural.
It was impossible not to think about sex. The way he moved was pure sensuality. I was convinced he was one of those people that could control every single muscle in his body. When he managed to arch just one eyebrow, I suspected as much.
But he was like one of those dancers you watched in Vegas that could move like a snake. Every corded muscle under his absolute control.
It made me think about a certain other part of him. The control he wielded in the bedroom.
Shit. Get it together.
I was making myself wet just thinking about him naked and showing off all that muscle control. The club’s bass thrummed all around us. The vibration only made my current little problem more difficult to ignore. I wanted to writhe and rub against him like a cat in heat.
All I could focus on was how Rhett’s hand felt against the small of my back. The way he anticipated my movements before I even made them. The alcohol had loosened us both up. At least, it had loosened me up. I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t nervous.
“You’re full of surprises,” I said, having to lean close to his ear to be heard over the music. His cologne was spicy. When I smelled it before, I assumed it was some ingredient in the kitchen. Now I realized it was all him. Spicy and musky and dark.
Could you smell dark?
It was such an odd combination. And so damn good. Was it a natural scent? Or maybe it was pheromones.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he replied, his voice a velvety murmur against my ear.
A shiver raced down my spine. That voice could drop panties from a mile away.
I was about to do something stupid when I caught sight of the true entertainment for the evening.
About ten feet away, Conroy was attempting what could generously be called dancing with Simone.
It looked more like he was trying to wrestle an invisible opponent while she stood frozen in place staring at him.
The poor man moved like he’d never heard music before in his life.
His massive frame swayed awkwardly as he tried to find some semblance of rhythm.
Every few seconds, he tried to reach for Simone’s hands.
She looked like a deer caught in headlights.
I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting into laughter right there on the spot.
“Oh my God,” I whispered to Rhett, nodding toward the disaster unfolding nearby. “Look at them.”
Rhett followed my gaze and I felt his chest shake with suppressed laughter.
Simone’s eyes were wide with what could only be described as panic.
They darted around the room like she was calculating escape routes.
I was certain she might bolt at any second.
If she couldn’t get to a door, I had a feeling she might actually run straight through the sliding glass doors in her desperation to get away.
“We need to get closer,” Rhett said, mischief sparkling in his dark eyes. “This is too good to miss.”
He maneuvered us strategically across the dance floor, weaving between other couples until we had a perfect view of the trainwreck.
Conroy had apparently decided that spinning was the key to success and was attempting to twirl Simone, but his timing was so off that she nearly stumbled into another couple.
The look of mortification on her face was priceless.
“He’s going to give her whiplash,” I managed between giggles, trying to keep dancing while watching the show.
“Look at her face,” Rhett murmured back. “She’s plotting something.”
He was right. I could practically see the wheels turning in Simone’s head as she scanned the crowd. Her gaze landed on the bar, then the restrooms, then the exit. She was weighing her options, and from the increasingly desperate look in her eyes, she was about to make her move.
It happened faster than I expected. One moment Conroy was attempting some kind of one-armed dip and the next Simone had slipped from his grasp with surprising agility. She practically sprinted toward the exit, leaving Conroy standing in the middle of the dance floor like a statue.
The poor man just stood there staring after her retreating form with the most bewildered expression I had ever seen. Other dancers bumped into him as they moved around his motionless figure, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked like his puppy just ran away from him.
That was when Rhett and I completely lost it.
We tried to keep dancing, but it was hopeless.
The laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest. Conroy spotted us.
His bewildered expression morphed into something distinctly sour as he realized we witnessed the entire debacle.
If looks could kill, we would have been vaporized on the spot.
He shot us a glare that could have curdled milk before stalking off toward the exit, presumably to chase after his escaped dance partner.
“Poor Simone,” I gasped. “She’s probably halfway back to the hotel by now.”
“Poor Conroy,” Rhett countered, though he was still grinning. “The man’s got it bad, but he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.”
“Did you see the way he was trying to dip her? I thought he was going to drop her right on the floor.”
“And her face! She looked like she was being held hostage.”
We were both still laughing when the song ended and a slower ballad began.
“Think he’ll find her?” I asked as Rhett pulled me closer for the slow song.
“Oh, he’ll find her. Question is whether she’ll still be running when he does.”
The thought sent us into another fit of giggles. There was something about seeing the usually serious, intimidating Conroy so completely out of his element that was absolutely delicious. And Simone had shown some surprising survival instincts that made it even better.
“We’re terrible people,” I said, though I didn’t feel the least bit sorry about it.
“The worst,” Rhett agreed, spinning me slowly. “But at least we’re terrible people with good rhythm.”
By the time we finally escaped the club, we were both overheated. Whether it was from the dancing or the chemistry, I couldn’t say. The humid night air was only a little better than the stifling heat of the crowded dance floor.
“I need food,” Rhett announced, stretching his arms above his head. “All that laughing worked up an appetite.”
“There’s a pizza place down the block,” I suggested, pointing toward the neon sign that beckoned like a beacon. “Doesn’t look fancy, but it’s open late.”
“Perfect. Fancy is overrated anyway.”
The pizza joint was exactly the kind of place you would expect to find in this part of town. But the cheese was melted and the sauce was tangy. There was something perfectly satisfying about eating terrible pizza on a street corner at midnight.
“You know, I had you all wrong.”
“How so?” Rhett asked, trying to manage the strings of cheese dangling from his slice.
“I thought you were all serious all the time. Intense. Focused on work and nothing else.”
“I am focused on work,” he said.
“But you’re also…” I searched for the right word. “Fun. I didn’t expect fun.”
He laughed, and the sound sent warmth spreading through my chest. “I’m full of surprises, remember?”
We finished our pizza and began the walk back to the hotel, meandering through the quiet streets like we had all the time in the world. The alcohol had melted something between us. It felt different from our usual interactions. Real.
“Where did you get your love for cooking?” I asked.
“My mother,” he said. “She’s the heart of our family. We had this big, loud Italian household—cousins and aunts and uncles always coming and going, everyone talking over each other, total chaos. But Ma’s kitchen was like the eye of the storm. Peaceful but full of this incredible energy.”
“That’s where you learned to cook?”
“That’s where I learned everything that mattered.
She had me helping from the time I could reach the counter.
Stirring sauces, kneading dough, chopping vegetables.
I loved it more than anything else—more than sports, more than hanging out with friends.
I just wanted to be there with her, learning her secrets. ”
There was something beautiful about the way he talked about his mother. It wasn’t just a job for him or even just a passion. It was a connection to something deeper, something that had shaped who he was.
“What about the rest of your family? Your cousins?”
The warmth in his expression flickered, and I saw him pull back slightly. “They are… different. We don’t have much in common.”
“Different how?”
He shrugged. “Just different paths, you know? They were into things I wasn’t interested in. I preferred the kitchen to hanging out with the riffraff.”
“Riffraff?”
He shook his head. It was clear he was done sharing.
There was something he wasn’t telling me. The wall that had come down during our laughter was threatening to go back up, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to keep this version of Rhett.
“I get that,” I said, deciding to shift the focus to myself.
“I assume it was your dad who got you into cooking?”
“Yep. He loves food. Loves bringing people together around a table. Some of my best memories are of him teaching me to make his famous Sunday sauce or showing me how to tell when bread was perfectly baked just by the sound it made when you tapped the crust.”
He nodded like he knew exactly what I was talking about.
“I love my dad and the inspiration he gives me, but my number one goal is to prove I’m more than Desman Hartley’s daughter. There are some big expectations.”
“What kind of expectations?”
I sighed, feeling the familiar weight of it all. “The kind that come with having a certain last name.”
He nodded again. “I suppose I know a little something about that.”
“I can hold my own in the kitchen and I firmly believe in the connection food brings. It doesn’t matter who you are, rich or poor, young or old, or what culture you grew up in, food is the one thing people can find common ground on.”
I stopped walking, caught up in the emotion of what I was saying.
“I want to be part of something bigger. I want to feed people, really feed them. I want to create experiences that matter. Memories. Ten years down the road I want someone to smell something or taste something and remember that time they were with their aunt or parent or friend.”
When I looked up, Rhett had stopped too and was staring at me with an intensity that made my breath catch. There was something in his expression I couldn’t quite read. Like he was seeing me for the first time.
“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. Had I said too much? Gotten too personal?
He didn’t answer right away, just kept looking at me with those dark eyes that looked straight into my soul. I glanced down, wondering if I’d stepped in something or spilled pizza sauce on my dress. But when I looked back up, he was right there, closer than he’d been a moment before.
His hand came up to my face, one finger sliding under my chin to tilt it up toward him. The touch sent electricity racing through every nerve ending I possessed.
“What are you—” I started to say, but the words died as his lips met mine.