Chapter 15
The retirement banquet was textbook—white linens, shrimp skewers, a jazz trio playing just loud enough to be annoying.
Emily moved through it all, drawing from her years of experience to stay composed, but her nerves were frayed.
Every brush of a shoulder made her flinch.
Every dropped tray or clatter of plates sent her heart racing.
Regina caught her near the dessert station, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You’re jumpy, Peterson. Did someone swap your decaf with a triple espresso?”
Emily forced a smile. “It’s been a long day.”
Regina didn’t want to hear excuses. One brow arched and her lips pursed, as she studied her as if she were a puzzle with a missing piece. Then someone signaled to her from across the room, and she pivoted away, heels clicking.
Relief washed over her, and she let out a long, shaky breath.
But then, Regina paused. “I nearly forgot. One of my prep chefs quit. I need you to fill in on Saturday. Be there at 8 a.m. sharp. You’ll be working with Benny under strict supervision. Don’t screw it up.”
Had she heard that right? After years of grinding, of being overlooked, of watching others get their shot while she poured coffee and cleared plates—Regina had just casually handed her one.
She forced herself to reply. “I won’t, ma’am. Thank you.”
Regina barely paused. “Talk to Benny. He’ll get you my book.” Then she hurried away, already absorbed in something else.
Emily stood frozen, the words, “my book,” repeating in her head.
She’d worked at Gold Coast for over a year and had never laid eyes on the infamous menu binder.
It was rumored to detail every dish—scaled quantities, prep instructions, plating diagrams, even cost breakdowns.
It was the holy grail of Regina’s kitchen. And now she was being trusted with it.
Her feet finally moved, carrying her toward the kitchen as if she were walking through a dream. Benny was there, sleeves rolled up, apron dusted with flour, plating mini quiches.
Emily cleared her throat, trying to sound normal. “Regina said I’m filling in on Saturday. She said you’d give me her book.”
Benny glanced up and stopped when he saw her. “She mentioned a fill-in but didn’t give me a name. You’re a chef?”
“In-training,” she clarified. “I graduate from the Institute in December.”
He snorted. “Didn’t peg you for one. You’re too quiet.”
“I’m efficient.”
He wiped his hands on a towel tucked into his apron then dug a thick binder out of a plastic milk crate. “Regina’s bible,” he said, handing it over. “Don’t mark it, don’t breathe too hard on it, and for fuck’s sake, don’t lose it.”
Emily took it carefully, like it might combust in her hands. “Got it.”
Benny leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You know how to break down a whole fish?”
“Yes.”
“Make a beurre blanc without curdling it?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” she quipped boldly.
“Truss a roast in under ninety seconds?”
“I’ve done it in eighty-five.”
He raised a brow, grudgingly impressed. “See you Saturday.”
Emily walked away, clutching the binder to her chest. She was beside herself with excitement. But it was one more thing to juggle, and she already had several flaming, spinning, tipping plates in the air.
***
When she stepped out of the service entrance, the parking lot was nearly empty, shadows stretching long across the pavement. Every sound seemed amplified—the overhead lights buzzing, the distant hum of traffic, the sharp crunch of gravel kicking up beneath her feet.
Emily hurried toward her car, Regina’s bible under one arm, her other hand fumbling for her keys.
Footsteps thudded quietly behind her.
Her heart leapt to her throat, hand flying to the panic button tucked into her waistband. Hoping for Rhys, she braced for the worst as she turned.
A figure stepped out of the darkness—tall, broad shouldered, familiar.
Relief slammed into her so fast, her knees nearly buckled.
“Alec,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You scared me half to death.”
“Didn’t mean to,” he murmured. “One-way communication makes certain things difficult.”
He crossed the distance in two strides, catching her before she could fall apart. One arm wrapped around her—tight, reassuring—as he took the keys from her shaking hand.
“What happened to Rhys?”
“He’s relieved. You’ve got me the rest of the night.”
She glanced up at him. They usually changed shift first thing in the morning. Did that mean—
“You’re trembling. Did something happen?”
“No. It was business as usual, actually I’m just on edge.”
“You don’t have to be. I’m here, baby.”
Then he kissed her. Claiming her panic, her breath, her night. She kissed him back, fingers curled into his jacket. Her body pressed against his, heat rising fast and sharp. His hand slid to her waist then lower, pulling her flush against him.
She moaned softly into his mouth.
He broke the kiss with a groan. “We can’t do this here. Someone might see us.”
“Right,” she murmured shakily, so caught up in his kiss she’d forgotten the role she played, had volunteered for.
Emily scrambled into the car on the driver’s side, too shaken to circle around. Her pant leg snagged on the emergency brake, nearly sending her sprawling across the console. She caught herself with one hand on the dash, breath hitching, adrenaline still humming through her veins.
Alec slid into the driver’s seat. Or tried to. At six-foot-three, his knees jammed against the steering wheel and his broad shoulders were an impossible fit.
He reached under the seat, fumbling for the manual adjustment. “Jesus, Em. This car’s a torture device. I think I just dislocated a hip.”
Any other time, Emily would have laughed, but her hands were shaking as she fumbled with her seat belt.
He reached over and clicked the buckle into place. His hand lingered, squeezing her fingers, until she finally exhaled.
Alec started the engine.
“Tell me that noise isn’t normal,” he said while it coughed and sputtered.
“It’s normal-ish for a fifteen-year-old hunk of junk.”
He shook his head but said nothing as he put it into gear and turned left out of the lot.
She frowned. “Shouldn’t we have turned right?”
“We’re not going to your place.”
“Where are we going, then?” she asked, pulse kicking up again.
“To mine,” he said. His tone left no room for debate.
And for once, the idea of arguing never even crossed her mind.
***
He didn’t remember the drive. Just the way she’d looked at him in the parking lot—shaken and still wired. He’d kissed her to ground her. Now, he was the one unraveling.
The door slammed behind them. She turned to speak, but he was already on her—mouth covering hers, hands in her hair, backing her into the wall.
Her blouse was still buttoned, but not for long.
He popped the first one open with his thumb and the next, until white lace and the rise and fall of her chest were exposed.
She gasped as he tugged it off her shoulders. “Alec—”
“Upstairs,” he growled.
She nodded, breathless. Before she could move, he hurried them along by scooping her into his arms. She didn’t protest—just wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers sinking into his hair again.
Her pants were still on, but he could feel the heat of her through them.
Halfway up the stairs, he stopped—pressed her against the wall, lips finding hers again as he ground the rigid length of him into her.
Her front-hook bra came off next and landed at the bottom of the stairs.
He cupped a breast and bent to it, licking and sucking the taut tip until she whimpered.
“You’ve been driving me insane.” He kissed a fiery path from her breast up her neck and found her lips again. “All night. All week,” he breathed into her mouth.
She arched into him. “Maybe we should do something about it.”
“There’s no maybe.” His hands gripped her ass, supporting her as he carried her the rest of the way up and down the hall, kicking the bedroom door closed behind them.
When he laid her on the bed in a shaft of moonlight, her skin shimmered silvery and flawless. He had to slow down. If she touched him, what he wanted to last for a long, long while would be over in seconds.
“Hands above your head,” he said, voice rough with need. “Grip the headboard. Keep them there.”
She obeyed, eyes locked with his.
He stripped while she watched, her gaze devouring every inch of him. Then he removed what remained of her clothes. Shoes thudded to the floor. Socks followed. He removed the panic button still clipped to her waistband and set it on the nightstand. “Don’t want to set this off.”
“The Devlin cavalry charging in might be awkward,” she said breathlessly.
Any other time, he would have laughed, but he was in the mood for only one thing.
He unzipped her pants and peeled them down, revealing more white lace.
He kissed his way up her thighs, across her stomach and the soft hollow of her hip.
When he pushed her legs apart and licked through her sweetness, she trembled, her grip on the headboard went white-knuckled, but she didn’t move.
He needed to be inside her. The condom was a necessary interruption, handled quickly. Then he moved above her, positioned himself, and sank in. Heat, tightness, and her glorious wetness surrounded him. Somehow, he managed to pause to savor it.
“Now, you’re driving me insane,” she whispered.
“Yes, but we’ve arrived together,” he said, withdrawing then filling her again. “And now we get to have our reward.”
“If I don’t die first. Can you speed up this slow torture just a bit?”
“Sorry, baby. I’m the dom. I decide the pace—among so many other things. You get to follow where I lead, but I promise you’ll enjoy the journey.”
He pulled almost all the way out, listening to her cry of frustration then the catch in her breath and the groan when he surged back in.