Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Who is he?
So handsome.
Those eyes! Like dark honey.
Micah had oozed charisma during his speech, effortlessly commanding the crowd’s attention. Women around her had nudged each other and whispered the entire time.
She suspected every eligible ovary on the boat had exploded when he’d said he was a rabbi. Including hers.
Which is why Libby scuttled back to her cookie table the second he finished the last prayer.
The Hanukkah spirit that had been missing for her since she’d returned to Manhattan?
It was now blazing in her chest like the Eternal Flame.
Or a torch she should not be carrying for a man who had hidden his real name, his profession, and his Judaism from her.
They’d connected on so many levels. Physically, sure, but it had felt like more.
Their creative minds had worked together as easily as their bodies had found pleasure.
And he’d known she was Jewish. He had to know she’d have feelings about him being a rabbi.
Or was that why he’d kept it a secret? He’d wanted to get laid and thought she might feel weird about it? If so, he could not be more wrong.
The only thing hotter than M. Waterman painting her naked before rocking her world in bed was Rabbi Micah Wasserman rocking a gold kippah while leading the Matzo Ballers in prayer.
She still hadn’t gotten her breath back.
Hearing him pray and watching him light those candles had been a true religious experience in more ways than the obvious.
With his attention elsewhere, she’d been free to look her fill, and she was paying the price.
Her brain was still angry with him, but her nipples were like, “Hey, remember me?” Her skin was flushed and tingly, and yep, her panties were damp, wedging her thong exactly where she didn’t want it. And her heart?
Throbbing.
Because his speech had been moving, and he’d said the blessings like he meant every word. Because he’s a freaking rabbi, remember?
And he hadn’t told her.
She rubbed her sternum, trying to ease the ache that had set up residence when she’d learned his real name.
What possible explanation could he have for hiding M.
Waterman? There was no denying his paintings were sexy.
She could imagine the blatant eroticism of his work might raise a few eyebrows in the congregation, but she also got the sense it was more than that.
Micah had looked terrified when he’d held out his hand, so stricken that she’d instinctively continued his charade, despite her confusion.
And anger.
That had come hot on the heels of hurt, and it was now sharpened with hunger, never a good thing.
Her stomach growled, and she moved her hand lower to try to massage the ache out of it.
She hadn’t eaten anything since her bagel early this morning, and those drinks had gone straight to her head.
She’d planned to stockpile snacks before the candle lighting, but the cookie setup had taken longer than she’d planned, and then Reggie had jumped ship, stealing more time.
Now, a crowd was heading for her table, and she was going to have to tough it out.
“Rabbi, decorate cookies with us!” a high-pitched chorus rang out as a group of partiers descended on her table. She tensed as Micah circled to join her behind the table, like he belonged back here with her, instead of out front with the guests.
“I’d love to.” His charming smile had a noticeable effect on the mostly-female crowd that was jockeying for space and the rabbi’s attention, grabbing cookie kits as fast as she could hand them out.
She’d packed each kit with two base-iced cookies, three bags of colored frosting, and several containers of fancy sprinkles. Scissors, wet wipes, and tweezers waited on the tables.
She and Jay had been slammed last year, but this was three times as many people. Oy vey. At this rate, she was going to run out of kits and have to make more on the fly. The rabbi’s presence had delivered a mob to her table. Who was he? The freaking Pied Piper of Matzo Ballers?
“You look like you could use an assistant,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made her think about all of the things he could do for her—and with her.
Lust hit her so hard blood roared in her ears.
Her skin ached, and her heart clenched. She wanted to be closer to him, wrapped in his arms, breathing in his scent of pencil shavings, winter spice, and genius.
“Chef Libby?” A stunning redhead in a sequined midnight sheath stood in front of her table, empty-handed. Her tone gave Libby the impression she might have said her name more than once while Libby was staring at Micah and battling her rioting libido. “May I have a cookie kit?”
The woman was talking to Libby, but her gaze was on the rabbi. She wants a cookie all right, but not the kind packed in the kits.
“Of course,” Libby said smoothly, automatically reaching toward the pile of boxes.
Her fingers met air. The kits were gone, snatched by the horde of partiers Micah had brought with him. Last year, the pace had been slower, steadier, giving her time to reload her supplies. “I just need a minute to assemble one for you.”
Micah gave the stunner a warm smile. “How about you find a spot at the decorating tables, and I’ll bring one to you as soon as it’s ready?” he asked.
“Sounds great,” the woman responded, drifting away slowly, like she would have preferred to wait for the kit while shamelessly eye fucking Micah.
Libby’s temper snapped. She wouldn’t have run out of kits so quickly if he hadn’t dragged half the boat over here.
Now she looked like an under-prepared amateur who couldn’t even keep her mind on her job.
How dare he distract her? She might not have initially wanted to lead this activity, but she was invested now.
The success of the Matzo Baller cruise was important to her.
“This isn’t a good time to talk,” she said brusquely. “I’m working.”
“I see that.” He thrust a full plate of latkes, fried kugel ravioli, and knishes under her nose.
The scent of hot oil and onions further fractured her focus, making her want to hide under the table and stuff her mouth with delicious morsels.
He pulled a bottle of water from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her.
“I saw you from the top of the ladder. Thought you might be hungry—and thirsty.” His grin held a hint of wickedness.
Fire incinerated her cheeks. He’d seen her ogling him? Busted.
She was parched, but she didn’t open the water. Instead, she tucked it and the plate of goodies under the table. “Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I need to focus on the cookie activity right now.”
“Fine—put me to work. I really do want to help, but this isn’t my wheelhouse. How can I be of the most use?” he asked, surprising her.
She’d expected irrelevant questions, flirting, and more distractions. Instead, he focused on what needed to be done next, and he looked sincere in his offer of help.
Not only that, he seemed oblivious to the considering gazes of the mothers and grandmothers and the hopeful glances of the younger women who seemed to think he was the main event instead of the cookies. Maybe he’s just used to it, she thought snidely.
Whatever.
He wanted to help? She’d let him, but only because she couldn’t pack kits and assist the guests at the same time.
“Fine,” she said, her voice tight. “You brought this crowd over here. You can entertain them.” Quickly, she put together two kits.
“Here’s a cookie kit for you and one for your lovely new friend.
If you really want to help, circulate among the tables and offer encouragement, praise, and whatever else is needed to keep the crowd happy.
” She didn’t bother keeping the edge out of her voice.
At least if he was over there, she wouldn’t have to deal with him lobbing suggestive comments and sexy smiles at her.
“Perfect—let’s go show them how it’s done.” He caught her hand and pulled her behind him as he strode into the center of the tables, set up in a U-shape. The stunning redhead had saved him a seat. Of course.
“I need to make more kits—” she began, but Micah wasn’t listening. He was handing a kit to the redhead and opening his box. “What are we working with tonight, Chef?” He pulled out a pastry bag filled with yellow royal icing and squeezed it in the middle, making her wince.
“Not like that.” She plucked it out of his hand, automatically twisting the sealed end to force the icing to the tip. “Like this. Keep your hand at the end of the bag.” She snipped the tip with scissors and bent to the royal blue-iced cookie.
She used the index finger of her other hand to steady the bag and sketched a menorah, switching bags to pipe colorful candles and flames.
Great, now he’s got me showing off. “Use steady, even pressure. Stop squeezing before you lift the bag to keep your lines neat.” She handed Micah the bag, being careful not to touch him. “Now you try.”
He glanced around the tables, grinning. “You know that’s not as easy as she makes it look, right?
” he asked, getting a laugh. Then he copied the way she’d twisted the bag.
The sight of his capable hand wrapped around it sent a burst of arousal through her.
The confident way he touched the tip of the bag to the cookie reminded her of his sure strokes when he painted.
The look of concentration on his face was adorable, thick brows drawn together, lower lip caught between his teeth.
She would be perfectly happy to watch him pipe frosting all night.
The thought was irritating. Competence kink aside, she was the one running this event, not him.
“Now who’s making it look easy, Mike?” she said under the sound of kits opening and excited exclamations.