Insatiable

Chapter 1

Carina

Crap.

It’s already ten thirty?

No, no, no, no.

It can’t be.

I chop the mushrooms a little faster. “Hey, Nora, are you done with the green peppers?”

The brunette looks over at me. “Sweet peppers, habanero peppers, pepperoncini, and onions are chopped. I’ve already grated the sharp provolone and aged asiago.

And I tripled the number of hogie rolls I baked from yesterday.

Melanie is working on the tornado potatoes. Other than the mushrooms, we’re ready.”

Being a newly hired chef at Riley Carrington’s rebranded Happy Belly Eatery is a lot of pressure. Nora Mitchell and Melanie Slaton aren’t chefs, but without them, I’d be lost. There’s another bunch of helpers who come in later to make sure the afternoon and early evening crowds are taken care of.

“Okay. We’re almost there,” I say in an attempt to convince myself I have everything under control.

“You got this, Carina. Other than Riley, you’re our local superstar.” She winks.

I flash her a nervous smile.

It was just a suggestion.

I never thought Miranda would submit it to Riley.

And I sure as hell never thought my boss would go for it, but now my signature sandwiches are the stars at Riley’s eatery.

For the first time in my life, I’m not living in someone else’s shadow.

Out here, I don’t have to follow any generational rules from the old country. I’m free to be as creative as I want.

A little of this.

A little of that.

And I had re-created something I’ve been warned a million times not to mess with.

I didn’t expect it would catch on fire like it has.

Since introducing my Spitfire Philly Cheesesteak sandwiches with tornado potatoes on the side to the menu two weeks ago, it’s been pandemonium.

Every day, the word gets out of who is behind those sandwiches. It seems all of Summerville is flocking to Riley’s eatery to catch a glimpse of me and have a bite of my sandwiches.

In the past week, more and more people from neighboring zip codes are driving through town for a taste.

My stomach ties up in a knot.

It’s not only singers and live performers who suffer from performance anxiety. Chefs aren’t immune to those kinds of jitters.

The doors to the kitchen fly open, jolting me in the process.

Calm down.

Miranda Reddick heads towards me with a determined step. “Carina, it’s time for you to take a break before the lunch rush.”

I swing my eyes to our manager. “I’m still not done chopping.”

“Nora can take over.”

Gosh. “She’s already done so much, Miranda.”

“Just in case you haven’t noticed, this is a team sport,” the petite with reddish brown hair and amber eyes says.

“We’re in this together. Soon, you’ll be lassoed to a hot oven grilling God knows how many sandwiches.

I don’t want you to pass out from exhaustion.

Riley would kill me if I did a piss poor job at managing the staff. Take your break.”

“Are you sure?”

“See you in twenty minutes.” Miranda waves me off and busies herself away from me. “Nora, finish up, please.”

My eyes move to Nora’s brown ones, silently making sure it’s okay with her.

Nora smiles at me. “Get out of here.”

“Thank you.” I undo my apron, drop it on the counter, and head to the bathroom to lather my face with SPF.

A few minutes later, I step out the front door, momentarily blinded by the sun. I distance myself from the eatery and sit on a bench to rest my feet.

I swear asphalt could melt down here.

It’s not even midday and it’s scorching hot.

I look down at my clothes.

A black t-shirt and pants don’t help.

I can’t wait for my white chef jacket embroidered with Riley’s logo to arrive.

I close my eyes and let the wind brush over my skin as I inhale deeply.

I could get used to this.

For the past three weeks, Summerville, Texas is the place I now call home.

I can’t say it was love at first sight when I moved out here. I’m a New Yorker at heart. You’ll be hard pressed to find a specialty coffee shop, a pizza shop, or mani-pedi bars on every corner like in the Big Apple.

But, little by little, this small town is winning me over. I can’t get over the majestic beauty of the city. It’s scenic, relaxing, and peaceful.

I check the time on my phone to make sure I’m not late.

Ten more minutes.

The sound of a hiccupping vehicle draws my attention. I don’t know why, but I stand up, take a few steps closer to the curb, lean forward, and stare straight at the vehicle.

I may not know much about trucks, but this one looks like it’s from another era. It’s the kind of older model you only get to see parked on lawns as decorative items in upstate New York when you go apple picking. I guess around here, it might not be so uncommon.

The music blasting from its radio cuts off.

I squint, but the glare from the bright sun makes it hard to see who the driver is.

I can only see the mirrored reflection of the buildings and trees, but for some reason, I don’t look away.

It’s like a magnetic force is pulling me to this truck.

I watch fascinated as the driver’s door opens.

The driver gets out, and from my position I can only see a scuffed boot emerge. I blink when I take in its eye-popping size.

Whoa.

The second boot follows.

Dear Lord.

A buff guy gets out and turns around to lock up his truck. When he flashes me his taut ass, I nearly stumble backwards.

Sweet Jesus.

The guy then turns around and looks right at me. When he strides in my direction, I take a few steps back.

He’s big all over.

And strong.

And tall.

And muscular.

And the size of those boots…

His jeans fit him perfectly, showing off his masculinity—all of it.

Holy sex on legs.

His gray t-shirt is snug, showcasing the ridges of his six-pack. And that chest. Damn. I’m sure you could bounce quarters off it.

With each step, my belly clenches tight and every erogenous zone in my body tingles.

You’re being impolite. And a pervert.

Still, I can’t will my eyes to pull away from the most magnificent view I’ve ever seen. His hat hides his face, but I approve of the rest.

He walks with the distinctive duck-footed gait similar to other men I’ve seen in town.

I guess he must ride horses.

For some reason, I find that so manly.

As he approaches, I can take him all in. His biceps flex, and I almost faint. He’s rugged in a hardworking kind of way. This has nothing to do with hours spent pumping iron at the gym.

My God, Texas has never looked this good.

The closer he gets, the more I feel my face burn up—it’s probably as red as a tomato.

Mr. Sexy Stranger is standing right in front of me now. He takes his hat off and offers a pantie-melting smile.

Mother of God.

My eyes zoom in on his head.

Why do I want to run my hands through his shiny thick brown hair?

He clears his throat, forcing my attention to his face. The dark stubble dusting his chin does little to hide the deep dimples forming on either cheek. I watch, almost mesmerized as it happens.

His eyes capture mine, and I nearly faint all over again.

Who the hell has eyes that color?

What are they? Dark green with specs of gold?

His stubble beard gives him a badass look that accentuates the deep color of his eyes. Those babies stand out like crazy.

And then there are those lips.

I’ve never seen anything as tempting.

Is this a conspiracy, God?

Are all the hot men on this planet located in this radius? No wonder my love life is nothing to talk about. I was living in the wrong city.

I stare at him, awestruck.

“Hot damn.” The words spring forth before I catch them.

Holy crap.

That wasn’t my inner voice.

He arches an eyebrow and a wide grin stretches his lips.

Whoa. Bring it down or you’ll blind me with that dazzling smile.

How can his smile be brighter than the sun?

“If we’re exchanging compliments, little lady…” He sweeps the length of my body with those hypnotizing eyes of his. “Hot damn, yourself.”

Even his voice is sexy.

That drawl… Oh, so sexy.

I feel my cheeks—and other more private parts of me—heat up.

I avert my gaze before he notices the effect he has on me.

“I mean, hello.” I attempt to save face.

“If you’re gonna say hello, you need to look me in the eyes.”

I shift my gaze back to his. “Hello.”

A teasing glint hits his eyes.

Mr. Sexy Stranger steps closer to me and leans in. “Better… but I much preferred, hot damn.” He blesses me with another heart-palpitating smile.

A silly grin finds my lips.

My insides melt like a block of cheese under the grill.

I bite my lower lip to contain my giddiness.

Summerville men are so freaking charming.

“You wouldn’t be able to help me with somethin’?”

“It all depends on what,” I say.

“Word has it—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” A booming voice interrupts him. “Look who the devil rolled back into town. How’s it going?” The newcomer slaps Mr. Sexy Stranger on the shoulder.

“Hello, Mr. Devon,” he says never taking his eyes off me.

With a turn of my stomach, I stare right back at him.

This is so unlike me.

“You back on your feet?” The tall silver bearded man with steel blue eyes says.

Mr. Sexy Stranger breaks our gaze.

Darn.

“I am.”

Mr. Devon nods. “How you feelin’?”

Most people around here are unbearably polite. Mr. Devon is obviously the exception, since he doesn’t even acknowledge me. Then again, Mr. Sexy Stranger doesn’t introduce us either.

You’re being a creeper, Carina. He doesn’t even know you.

“Good.” Mr. Sexy Stranger grimaces. “Better, I guess. Thanks for asking.”

“Shame what happened,” Mr. Devon says. “We all were worried about you, boy.”

I wonder what that’s about.

“Thanks,” Mr. Sexy Stranger says again.

“Changing the subject, have I told you about my real good-lookin’ grandbaby?” Mr. Devon pulls out his phone. “Here’s a photo.” He points at his screen, calling for Mr. Sexy Stranger’s attention. “Look at how beautiful she is.”

Of course, grandfathers are throwing their granddaughters at him.

I need to get back to work instead of drooling all over this guy.

You’re in Summerville to make your mark as a chef, not to fall head over heels for a smoking hot Texan with emerald green eyes.

Time to go.

I take advantage of this distraction to walk away and pretend I haven’t made a complete fool out of myself.