Chapter 17
RHETT
It had to be close to three in the morning, maybe four.
I stopped checking the time hours ago when I’d realized that nothing about this evening was following any reasonable schedule.
But sitting here on my balcony, watching Clementine settle into my hot tub wearing nothing but black lace that left very little to the imagination, time felt like an abstract concept anyway.
Are you only brave in the kitchen?
The challenge hung in the warm Miami air between us.
I had a choice to make. I could make some excuse about needing to get to sleep.
That would allow me to maintain the professional distance that had served me well for years.
I could be the responsible adult in the situation and recognize that we were both tipsy and making decisions we would probably regret in the morning.
Or I could stop overthinking everything and join the most fascinating woman I had met in years in a hot tub at four in the morning. It wasn’t like she had offered sex. I had sat in plenty of hot tubs with plenty of women and not fucked them.
Well, not all of them.
The champagne made the choice for me.
I stood up, my hands going to the buttons of my shirt.
Clementine’s eyes tracked the movement. I could see the satisfaction in her expression as I shrugged out of it and tossed it onto my chair.
My pants and socks followed, leaving me in just my boxer briefs.
Because she had been so generous to give me a good ten seconds to look my fill, I did the same for her.
And the way she was looking at me made me feel like I was on the menu.
I stepped into the bubbling water. The heat was immediately overwhelming, or maybe that was just the effect of being this close to Clementine with so little between us.
I took the seat across from her, but the hot tub wasn’t exactly spacious.
Our legs brushed under the water. Even that small contact sent electricity shooting through my system.
“See?” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “That wasn’t so hard.”
“The jury’s still out,” I replied, though I had to admit the hot water felt incredible after the long day and evening of dancing.
She laughed. “You know, for someone who takes so many risks in the kitchen, you’re surprisingly cautious everywhere else.”
“Calculated risks,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re afraid to take any risks that really matter.”
The champagne had definitely gone to her head.
There was a boldness to her words, a directness that probably wouldn’t have been there if she’d been completely sober.
But then again, I wasn’t exactly sober either, and the combination of alcohol and her proximity was making it very difficult to remember why maintaining professional boundaries had seemed so important.
“Maybe I just know the difference between risks worth taking and mistakes waiting to happen,” I said.
I watched water droplets slide down her collarbone. And fuck me, I wanted to lick them off.
She leaned forward, closing some of the distance between us. “And which category do I fall into?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Because looking at her now, I honestly couldn’t say. All I knew was that every instinct I had was telling me to close the remaining distance between us and find out what would happen.
We had already kissed earlier. Wouldn’t it be okay to do a little more kissing? It was all the same sin. It didn’t get more sinful.
“I’m still deciding,” I said, my voice coming out rough.
She smiled at that, a slow curve of her lips that made my chest tighten. “Well, let me know when you figure it out.”
She sat back in her seat. Her toes grazed across my shin and then my calf. She was playing with fire.
The next hour passed in a haze of champagne and conversation.
The chemistry was electric. Sitting together in our underwear felt risky.
We talked about everything and nothing. But underneath every word was the awareness of how little we were wearing.
It would be so easy to let this evening take its natural course.
At some point, she moved closer. Her thigh pressed against mine. “Rhett.”
The way she said my name felt like she had physically stroked me.
“Yeah?”
“I had a really good time tonight.”
“So did I.”
“I don’t want it to end.”
That was when I knew I was in real trouble. Because I didn’t want it to end either.
When she kissed me, I was ready for it. My hands found her waist under the water, pulling her around to straddle me. Her arms came up around my neck. This kiss was different from the one on the street corner. It was urgent. Desperate.
She tasted like champagne and that amazing dessert she’d made.
When she made a small sound against my lips, I lost what remained of my self-control.
My hands moved up her back, tracing the line of her spine.
She arched into the touch, pushing her breasts against my chest through the lacy fabric covering those amazing tits.
The hot tub suddenly felt like the most dangerous place in the world. Her skin rubbed against mine. When her hands tangled in my hair and she pressed closer, I forgot every reason why this was a bad idea.
I trailed kisses down her neck and then ran my tongue across over her earlobe. She shivered at the contact, her breath catching in a way that made me want to explore every sensitive spot on her body.
I could feel her pulse racing beneath my lips as I kissed along her throat, tasting chlorine and that familiar vanilla and cherry scent that clung to her. Her hands roamed across my chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle and the tattoos that decorated my torso.
Every touch sent fire through my veins. When her nails lightly scraped across my skin, I groaned against her neck.
“You’re going to drive me insane,” I murmured, my voice barely recognizable.
She pulled back to look at me, her green eyes dark with desire. “Good,” she whispered, before claiming my mouth again.
This kiss was hungrier than before, all pretense abandoned. Her tongue swept against mine as she pressed closer. She rubbed herself against my aching cock.
It would be so easy to jerk her panties off and bury myself inside her. Two seconds tops. One flick of the wrist.
But then reality came crashing back in.
What the hell was I doing?
I pulled back, my hands falling away from her body like I had been burned. “We can’t do this.”
“What?”
“This.” I gestured between us, hating how her expression was already shifting from desire to hurt. “We can’t. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I gently removed her from my lap and moved away from her.
“It wouldn’t be a good look,” I said finally, settling on the explanation that felt most true. “An older chef hooking up with the young woman on his tour? I would be just like Hwan.”
“You are nothing like Hwan. Nothing. He’s a predator who uses his position to manipulate young women. This isn’t manipulation, Rhett. This is two adults who want each other.”
“Two adults with a significant power imbalance,” I countered. “Two adults where one is considerably older and more experienced than the other.”
“I’m not some naive little girl who doesn’t know her own mind,” she said. I heard the anger in her tone. And dammit, it was hot. I liked her angry. “I’m twenty-four years old, I have a culinary degree, and I’ve been working in kitchens since I was sixteen. Don’t you dare patronize me.”
Twenty-four. Ten years younger than me. It was still complicated.
“It’s not about patronizing you,” I said. “It’s about being smart. About protecting both our careers.”
“Protecting our careers, or protecting yourself?”
“I think we’ve both had too much to drink tonight. We should call it an evening.”
I climbed out of the hot tub without waiting for her response.
“You’re right,” she said quietly from behind me. “We have had too much to drink. Clearly I was mistaken about what was happening here.”
“Clem—”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand to stop me. “Just don’t. I get it. Message received.”
I wanted to explain, but the words stuck in my throat.
I walked inside and went to get her a towel. I quickly wrapped one around my waist and returned to the balcony. She was still in the hot tub, though she had moved back to her original position on the far side. She didn’t look at me as I approached.
“The room is ready,” I said, setting a clean towel on the chair next to her dress.
She nodded but didn’t move to get out. “Thank you.”
I stood there for a moment, waiting for her to say something else. I hoped she was going to tell me I was right. It was a mistake. But she kept her eyes fixed on the bubbling water. I realized she was waiting for me to leave.
Duh.
She was basically naked and I had rejected her. She wasn’t about to give me another show.
Part of me wanted to apologize, but I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d be apologizing for. For kissing her? For stopping? For doing the smart thing instead of being reckless?
But apologizing wasn’t something I did. And what did I have to be sorry for, anyway? I was looking out for both of us. I turned and went back inside, giving her privacy to get out and get dressed.
A few minutes later, I heard the sliding door open and close. I stayed in my bedroom.
“Goodnight, Rhett,” she called out.
“Goodnight,” I replied, though I wasn’t sure if she heard me.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I had made the right choice. I was in a position of authority on this tour, however informal that authority might be. Getting involved with her would be a disaster waiting to happen.
And it felt like I was disrespecting Desman in some way. He’d trusted me with his baby girl, the most precious thing in his whole world. The least I could do was keep my dick away from her.
There was the media to consider as well.
If anyone found out about this, if there were photos or rumors, it would be exactly the kind of scandal that could destroy everything I worked for.
I had seen it happen to other chefs and celebrities.
One inappropriate relationship, one bad headline, and suddenly you were persona non grata.
If it was a slow news cycle, it would take even longer to recover.
Not to mention my family history. The last thing I needed was to give anyone more ammunition to use against me. My cousins had made enough mistakes over the years. I couldn’t afford to add my own to the list.
I was protecting her. I was protecting both of us. It was the smart thing to do, the responsible thing.
So why did it feel like I had just made the biggest mistake of my life?
I rolled over, punched my pillow, and tried to get comfortable. It had nothing to do with being afraid of catching feelings. This was purely practical.
The fact that I could still feel the ghost of her lips against mine and my cock was hard as a rock was completely irrelevant.
I did the right thing.
No more touching. Definitely no more kissing.