Chapter 21 #2
“Yes, Chef.” She smirked and carried it over to the floor-to-ceiling cupboards, one of which turned out to be a huge fridge-freezer.
“Did you make it?”
“Of course.”
“One of your menu ideas from Nantucket?”
“No.” He shifted on his feet. “Aaron decides the menus.” Pride swelled inside him. “But he said Felix used some of my ideas
once I’d left.”
“That’s great.” She popped the lasagna into what looked like an empty fridge. “But isn’t your boss using them in the bistro
too?”
Suddenly he couldn’t look her in the eye. “I’ve not mentioned them.”
“Why not?”
His neck felt hot. “He owns the place. He doesn’t need ideas from me.”
“How do you know if you don’t show him?”
Shit. He’d not planned on this conversation. “Look, Aaron’s . . .” He searched for a word that wouldn’t make him sound like
he worshipped the guy. “Hell, he’s a god, all right?” He marched over to the range cooker, crouched down, rummaged in the
cupboards next to it, and pulled out a set of gleaming steel pans with the stickers still on. “Now, let’s take these pans
and see what your titan of a range cooker can do.” His comment was met by silence, and when he turned, he found Olivia watching
him pensively. “What?”
“Aaron might be a god now, but he was once a guy learning his trade, just like you are. And no doubt without the responsibility
of being a single parent.” Her gaze locked onto his, steady, compelling.
He gave her a wry smile, set a pot of water on the range, and turned on the burner. “You’re saying I should man up and talk
to him.”
She smiled. “I’m saying you should do what any woman would do and talk to him. Now, can I help with anything?”
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken an interest in him, in what he was doing; it took him a moment to shift
gears. “You can get us both a drink and tell me about your day.”
She opened a bottle of red wine, filled two glasses, and slid onto one of her fancy white leather and chrome bar stools. “I
didn’t think we’d do this.” She waved between the two of them. “I thought we’d go straight to sex.”
“Oh, we’ll get to the sex. But first I need to make sure you have some healthy food inside you.” He put the pasta in the boiling
water, found a chopping board, and set to work on the garlic. “So, what happened today?”
She took a sip of her wine. “For the first time in years, I was distracted in a meeting. Simon called me out on it, and Stuart
was there to witness it.”
“Ouch. What distracted you?”
She gave him a measured look. “You know very well.”
He settled a frying pan on the range. “And you spent the rest of the day telling yourself you should never have agreed to
let me come round, huh?” He slid the garlic, tomatoes, and herbs into the pan and let the action of cooking calm him, give
him confidence to say the next words. “I guess it’s on me to convince you the temporary fall from grace was worth it so next
time you won’t be distracted, wondering whether seeing me is the right thing to do. You’ll know it is.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, found her eyes on him, her expression thoughtful. “So do we reckon it’s six–all
now with Stuart?”
“We?” She twirled her glass round and round on the island but didn’t call him out on the word. “Probably.”
“You’ll get back ahead.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Aside from the fact you’re sharp, fierce, and unshakable?” He drained the pasta, tossed it into the frying pan, and mixed.
“You want it too much to let anything get in the way of it. Now, let’s eat.”
He tried not to think how normal it felt, despite the luxury of the surroundings, sitting opposite her as they tucked into
the pasta.
“How’s Ellie?” she asked between forkfuls.
“I gave her a practice spelling test today. She aced it.” He was a proud dad, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it. “Don’t
know where she gets her brains from.”
Olivia smiled. “Anyone who can rustle up something that tastes this good in only five minutes is some kind of genius in my
book.”
Her eyes met his and his heart faltered. Didn’t she realize that if she started throwing praise around, he was done for?
When they’d eaten and cleared away, she led him through to the lounge, which was stunning: a low-slung velvet sofa surrounded
by walls of glass and the lights of London as a backdrop. The contrast to his lived-in two-bed terrace that overflowed with
his daughter’s toys couldn’t have been more stark.
Ignoring the feeling of trepidation, of being too close to a dangerous edge he was moments from falling over, he took her
hand, sat on the sofa, and pulled her down so she straddled him. With restless hands, he drew off her top and undid her bra;
his fingers traced up and down her spine as he fluttered kisses along the tops of her breasts. “How do you want it the first
time?” His tongue flicked across her nipple and she gasped, arching her back. “Cowgirl, so you get to see the view of London
and I get to watch while I sink into you?” Christ, just the thought of all the ways he wanted to take her sent him perilously
close to coming.
“Yes.” She planted featherlight kisses across his face. “But only because I’m rather partial to this view.”
And just like that, he tumbled over the edge of the precipice.
“Promise you won’t fall for me,” she whispered later when they finally made it to her bed.
Too late, he thought. Too damn late.