His gaze trailed to my lips again. “It’s not my fault. Maybe you shouldn’t make me need you so badly.”
Butterflies exploded in my stomach, like surprise firecrackers thrown in a poor, unsuspecting mailbox. My body leaned towards him involuntarily, pulled in by the deep tone of his voice and the way his brown eyes had gone dark and hot and so utterly hypnotizing. My body was shaky and overly warm and practically liquid with lust. Good thing my brain still worked. I was able to throw back a sassy, “Maybe you should find someone else to fulfill your needs.”
His head dropped again, separating our mouths by only inches. If I wasn’t so short, our faces would be smashed against each other right now.
“We’ve already tried that and it hasn’t worked. It’s got to be you.”
I shook my head, trying to get a grip on reality. Did he mean in the kitchen? Or something else? Something else was crazy right?
This was Wyatt, my biggest problem. And if you asked him, he’d say the same thing about me. Our dislike was obvious by the way his body was leaned all the way over the counter toward me and the way I was pushing up on my tiptoes to get closer to him. It would be clear to anyone that saw us how much we couldn’t stand each other.
My body jerked awake with the keen awareness that I was enjoying every second of Wyatt’s attention. I pulled back and smoothed out my tank top, trying to find my equilibrium again.
I was reading too much into this. Wyatt meant he needed me here. In the kitchen. Because I was amazing at what I did. And I was his sous chef. Of course, he relied on me.
“You should probably figure that out then, Wyatt. I’m not always going to be around you know.”
The heat left his eyes as quickly as it had appeared, and he pulled back into standing, looking more pissed off than ever. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Hot and cold. Fire and ice. Blazing to glacial in seconds. That was Wyatt. He was the same way in the kitchen. He was never calm or even-keeled—his best attributes when he’d been sous chef for Killian. Now he was volatile. Like an active volcano buried under layers and layers of ice.
I’d noticed the change the minute he stepped into his new position. He wasn’t the same guy I’d cooked next to for years, the same kid that had a lot of growing up to do before his meteoric rise to fame. He was different. More intense, more focused, more… demanding.
I turned my back on him and started unrolling my knives. Shrugging to diffuse any remaining tension, I said nonchalantly, “It means that I won’t always work here as your number two, Wyatt. I want a kitchen of my own. I’m bound to move on eventually.” Sooner than that, hopefully. But he didn’t need to know all the dirty details. He could find out when I handed over my two weeks’ notice with undisguised glee.
“Yeah, eventually. Maybe. Until then… I mean, I thought we talked about this. I need you here, Kaya. You taking a bunch of days off isn’t working out for me.”
A scoffing laugh dislodged itself from the back of my throat. “Oh, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you, Shaw. I’ve taken one day off in more than a month, but if you need me to hold your hand that badly, forget I ever said anything. You say the word and I’ll be here. Every single night. And hell, why stop there. If you need me to babysit you, I could spoon-feed your meals too. And pick out your clothes every morning. Tuck you into bed at night. Whatever you need, chef. I live to please.”
He was behind me in the next second, his hard body pressing against mine, trapping me against the cool stainless-steel counter. I should have been outraged. I was a tiny female and he was a giant man. I should have been intimidated.
I should not have been turned on.
Holy hell. I shivered again, a violent tremble of nerves and lust rolling through my entire body.
His arm slid around my waist, his hand splaying over my hip bone, dipping beneath my chef’s coat and tank top. Skin to skin. Flesh to flesh. Wyatt against me. Wyatt versus me in a battle to see who could combust from sexual tension first.
I shivered again.
His mouth dropped to the curve of my neck, his lips brushing against my suddenly sensitive skin. “Say it again,” he ordered.
My hands gripped the counter, the edge biting into my tender fingertips as my muddled brain tried to make sense of his request. “Babysit you?” I couldn’t say it again without a breathy giggle.
His laugh rumbled through him. I felt it from my neck to my knees. “You know what I want, Ky. You know what I want to hear.”
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I hadn’t meant to call him chef. It slipped. It had been my one power play, the one thing I withheld to remind him that I was as good as him. Damn it!
He wasn’t supposed to know he had somehow earned my respect in his short time as executive chef. He wasn’t supposed to figure out that I admired him and looked up to him and wanted his approval. Those were my secrets. And they were supposed to go with me to the grave.
But with one, ill-timed slip of a title of respect, I’d ruined everything.
“Kaya,” he growled against my skin, sinking his teeth into my neck in the sexiest bite of all time. He was getting me back for the one time I’d bitten his finger. Only his was way worse. His was sex and fire and the fucking end of me.
I started to think maybe I’d ruined the power struggle between us in the very best way.
“Chef,” I whispered, unable to deny him with his mouth on me.
His entire body stiffened, hardened, springing into action. He spun me around and lifted me to the counter with an impressive display of power. My butt slammed against the surface and my legs instinctively opened for him. He shoved my roll of knives away without acknowledging that they were ridiculously sharp and could slice his fingers open. Or that usually he was meticulous with knives and handling them, taking care of them.
Under normal, sane circumstances, Wyatt would never treat his kitchen with such disrespect.
Not that I was complaining.
Because his disrespect felt too amazing for me to complain about. His touch felt too incredible for me to protest. His body between my legs felt surprisingly right and good and I didn’t want him to move away.
For as long as I’d known Wyatt, I’d been physically attracted to him. We’d clashed in the kitchen, two Titans with a hunger for perfection and little room for anyone else to get in our way. But when we weren’t cooking, I had always been unable to squash my carnal lust for the man.
I’d been intimate with a couple guys in the kitchen since Nolan, but never Wyatt. And it wasn’t just that when he’d been single, I’d been dating Nolan and when I became single, he had Trish. It was more than that.
I had never wanted anything serious from someone in this kitchen. I’d only ever wanted convenient and throwaway. But Wyatt didn’t feel throwaway. He felt very permanent. He felt solid and unflinching and like he would sink beneath my skin, wrap around my bones and never let go.
But my biggest problem with him was that I wasn’t sure if I would care. The scariest part was wanting him to stay and not knowing if I would be enough for him after all.
His fingers curled under my jaw and he tilted my head, so he could capture my gaze with his. “I like that.”
I tilted my chin higher, not letting him have his way. “Is that so, chef?”
“Fuck.” The curse ripped from his throat as if he’d lost all control. His forehead landed on mine and I watched in fascination as his eyes fluttered closed and his face scrunched in indecision. “Fucking hell, Kaya. You’re going to be the death of me.”
I felt possessed, scooting forward so that his waist was cradled more firmly between my legs. It was his turn to shiver and it was the hottest thing I had ever experienced. Instinct told me to back off, that I was playing with irreversible fire. But the demon inside me whispered, “Then I could have your job. Maybe that’s my plan.”
He pulled back and his eyes popped open, his expression all serious, professional Wyatt. “I fucking believ
e it.”
A slow smile spread my lips into a taunting expression. “Are you afraid?”
He moved closer so that our lips were actually touching. I stopped breathing in that second, stopped thinking… stopped being. It was only the two of us here at this moment. No kitchen. No competition. No world beyond us. “I’ve been afraid of you for as long as I can remember.”
And then he kissed me. No more than the slow brush of his lips against mine. It wasn’t anything earth shattering. Or it shouldn’t have been. It was the briefest taste of his mouth. His tongue was there only enough to remind me that it had the power to undo me. To totally upend me.
To ruin me for all other men.
His hands grasped my waist, forcing me to acknowledge their presence and the intense way I liked them on me. His teeth scraped my bottom lip, pulling a breathy sound from the back of my throat. His scent filled my senses, making me dizzy with the headiness of him.
I stopped caring about our rivalry and our history and the constant competition between us. I stopped worrying about my future and my life goals and just settled in this moment. This was what I wanted. This right here. Him.
Wyatt.
His touch and his taste and the wicked things I knew he would do to me.
It had been too long for me and I was tired of feeling like I’d thrown away my one good chance at a committed relationship when I’d walked away from Nolan. I wanted to feel wanted. I needed to feel needed. I desperately desired to feel desired.
Maybe Wyatt could make me feel all those good things and more.
The problem was I still needed to be able to walk away from him when it was over.
The back doorbell rang, snatching all my hasty, lust-filled choices out of my hands before I’d gotten the chance to make them. Because Wyatt was gone. The loud buzz broke the spell and he’d moved, striding across the kitchen like his feet were on fire.
And I was left to slide off the counter into a puddle of confusion and abandoned desire.
“What the hell was that?”
There was no one there to answer. Wyatt was already outside.
I knew he wouldn’t answer anyway. It was his mission in life to torture me. This was another level in our game.
Meaning I shouldn’t let him corner me like this again. Now that rational thought had reentered my sex-starved brain, I knew I couldn’t let him win. But more importantly, I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk away if this happened a second time. At least not with my dignity still intact. I wouldn’t be able to push him away. Or deny him what he wanted.
Or convince myself it wasn’t what I wanted.
Because it was.
Oh God, I wanted it badly.
Thankfully, I was saved from abandoning all my best laid plans and recklessly throwing myself at him when the rest of our coworkers started trickling into the kitchen. We quickly got to work prepping food for the night after we suffered through our morning meeting and Wyatt’s drill sergeant like pep talk. He might as well have looked us all in the eye and said, “Don’t fuck up.” I knew he thought he was being motivational, but he was only succeeding if he wanted us motivated by fear of him killing us for messing something up.
That was usually the impact he left after his hour-long power trip. But, I had his entire body plastered against mine only a little while ago and was too busy hyper-focusing on getting over that incredible feeling to worry about the consequences of well-done filet mignon. I felt bad for the rest of the crew though.
By the time Dillon and I snagged a break close to opening, I was a sweaty, frustrated, horny mess.
“You seem… out of it today. Are you okay?” she asked as we stepped outside into the cool spring breeze. The trees had just started to bud around the plaza, dotting the industrial brick and stone with brushstrokes of green and white. The sun was warm on my naked arms and my bandana covered head. It calmed some of my frantic nerves and soothed the riotous confusion inside me. I wanted to lay a blanket down and take a nap in the perfection of the day.
Most of all I wanted to forget about the weird energy between Wyatt and me. The barely there kiss. The feel of him.
The way I’d called him chef. Not like he was my boss. The word had spilled out of me as a gift. An offering. Worship.
I turned to Dillon and debated what to tell her. “Vera’s letting me cook with her at Sarita Sunday nights. She’s… training me to take over.”
Dillon’s mouth dropped open and I couldn’t help but laugh at her shocked expression. “No way!”
I nodded, a gleeful smile taking over my face. “I know! It’s crazy. And so kind of her.”
“How long has this been going on?”
I shrugged, remembering my inspiring night waiting tables. “I’ve only done it once so far. I’m going again this week.”
Some of our coworkers pushed through the door heading behind the building to smoke. Dillon leaned forward and dropped her voice. “Does Ezra know?”
“No,” I confessed. “This is totally Vera’s idea. I’m not even sure Killian knows.”
Her brows drew together. “He has to know. The whole staff at Sarita knows. I doubt they’d be able to keep that a secret.”
“I’m not sure what they know. Vera said they’re happy to keep our secret because they will do anything to avoid another Juan Carlo scenario. Also, I’m sure they’re all terrified of Killian.”
Dillon nodded. “As they should be.”
“I’m not worried about him finding out though. It’s Ezra that I’m hoping to hide this from until I can at least apply for the position with confidence. Vera has promised to whip my tail into shape. Last Sunday, she made me take orders to familiarize myself with the food. She’ll probably have me bus tables this week, so I can really get in touch with Sarita’s soul.”
Dillon laughed at my sarcasm. “No, she didn’t.”
“She did. I swear it.”
“You’re like the Karate Kid!”
I snorted. “That’s exactly what I said!”
“Still, that’s amazing. The job is for sure yours.” Her pretty face fell. “And then I’ll be stuck here. By myself. Working for the devil. While all my friends run restaurants of their very own.”
“Yeah, but not forever,” I reminded her. “Plus, there’s no guarantee that I’ll even get Sarita. Ezra has never hired a female chef before. I’m the first female sous chef in the harem and only by default thanks to seniority.”
“Not true,” she protested. “You deserved your position. Killian’s the one that appointed you in the first place. Not even Wyatt could deny you that accolade.” She folded her arms across her chest and hugged her body, staring at her feet. “I don’t think Ezra has intentionally only hired men. Unfortunately, I think there are more male candidates to choose from.”
That was true. Women were definitely the minority in fine dining kitchens and often left their positions to have families. Kitchen hours were the absolute worst where kids were involved. And because of that, women had to fight harder than anyone to make it in this already cutthroat industry.
“You’re probably right,” I agreed with her. “But that doesn’t make the interview any less daunting.” Her lips pressed into a frown. “I don’t think your brother is sexist by the way.” And I didn’t. Maybe naively unaware that his kitchens were dominated by men. But as far as I could tell, Ezra disdained all sexes and people equally. He was an equal opportunity snob.
“Vera!” Dillon blurted, pointing her finger in the air.
I blinked at my friend and her sudden emotional one-eighty. “What?”
“He offered Bianca to Vera!”
This was news to me—I only barely kept my jaw from dropping. “He did what?”
Dillon waved at the general area of where the food truck used to be. “When she had Foodie, and he was dealing with all the drama at Bianca, he offered her the position. But she turned him down because of Killian and Salt.”
Hope soared in my chest, creating more hope and new hope
and a light at the end of this tunnel. “That’s good news.”
“Right?”
We were silent for a few seconds before I said in genuine confusion, “I can’t believe she turned him down.”
Dillon’s eyes bugged. “Me either! I guess she only wanted to work with Killian.”
Neither of us could grasp a love like that. A love that inspired loyalty and the desire to work together.
I thought about Wyatt. Not that I loved him. Or would ever even like him. But the sexy kiss had put him in my head and it was impossible not to hold him up next to Killian.
Vera loved Killian enough to abandon her food truck and go into business with her boyfriend, now fiancé. I couldn’t help but cringe in anxiety for her. That could end so badly.
What if their restaurant ruined their marriage?
Or worse, what if their marriage ruined their restaurant?
Killian had a reputation that could save him. Maybe. But what about Vera? She was risking everything on the miniscule chance that her marriage wouldn’t end in divorce and her business partnership wouldn’t end in bitter hatred.
It was too much.
Wyatt was one of the best chefs I knew. We didn’t even have a friendship to jeopardize, but I still wouldn’t risk my future, my business… my reputation on him.
“It’s not my restaurant.” Vera’s words danced through my head and I partly understood her motivation.
Salt was hers. Salt was her home. Killian was worth the risk to have that feeling. And if I had to guess, she felt something similar for Killian.
Maybe I would never know something like that with a man, but I was bound and determined to have that with a kitchen.
“That girl is crazy,” I said, referring to Vera. Dillon made a sound that was half laugh, half agreeing. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and took a steading breath. “Do you think I have a chance with Ezra? Do you think it’s possible he’ll consider me?”
She dug her toe into the ground and kicked at a chunk of pavement. Burying her chin in her lifted shoulder, she made another noncommittal noise. “I don’t know my brother’s mind. As close as we are, he can still be a mystery. I think he’ll give you a chance though.” Her head lifted, and she met my gaze, braving the possibility of disappointing me. “He’s fair, Ky. And he wants the absolute best for his restaurants. To like a psychotic degree.” The door pushed open behind her and Wyatt stepped outside just as Dillon finished saying, “If you’re the best thing for him, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”