Who knew prepping vegetables could be sensual? Or spicing meat? Or filling up a pot with water?
This was crazy.
Those things weren’t erotic.
They were just normal, everyday things that had no sexual connotation whatsoever.
I gripped the edge of the counter, digging my fingers into the hard edges of the lip. Yeah, no. It wasn’t working. Killian Quinn was sexy as sin in this kitchen. He could have been deboning a fish right now, and I’d want him deboning me.
See what I did there?
“He’s a prick.”
My thoughts were way too far in the gutter to have any context for his comment. “Who?”
“The critic. Noble. He hates Ezra, which means he hates me. The review was a setup to talk shit about Lilou. I should have known better.” He shook his head, giving the food at his fingertips all his attention. “But I’d been cocky. I thought I could outcook his opinion of me.” He lifted his head and met my gaze. “I was wrong.”
“Why does he hate Ezra?”
He chuckled darkly. “A lot of people hate Ezra. That doesn’t mean the review was less true.”
My chest squeezed with sympathy. “The review is tainted by a bully with an agenda. You can’t let it get to you.”
A bitter smirk lifted one side of his mouth, unamused and surprisingly self-deprecating. “Trite. Unimaginative. Formulaic. Those were the words he used. They’re the truth I’ve needed to hear for a while, but nobody has been brave enough to say them to me.”
He wasn’t any of those things. Not even a little bit. But his menu was, and there was nothing he could do about it. “What’s the deal with you and Ezra? Why are you so loyal?”
“He’s my brother.”
“Wait. What?”
Killian moved around in the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry. “Well, foster brother. But we might as well be blood. He’s the closest thing I have to family other than Jo.”
My eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t notice. “She raised you both?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” When he laughed this time, the sound was lighter, full of warmth. “She whipped us both into shape. Ezra and I were both products of the system. Me, because my parents were absolute degenerates. Drug dealers. Drug addicts. The state pulled me from their care when I was five. Ezra’s mom was a decent human; she died when he was ten and didn’t have family to take care of him.” He paused for a minute as he moved to the stove and started a sauce over hot flame. “Not surprisingly we turned into troubled teens. Ezra was smarter than me and got caught less, but both of us bounced around in the system never fitting in with the foster families that couldn’t handle us. He got to Jo first. By the time I showed up, Jo had her hands full with one rebellious teen; I had figured the last thing she wanted was another.”
“So, you pulled it together?” I guessed.
His smile was full of memories and nostalgia. “No. I got myself arrested for stealing her car. She called the cops on me, then made me sit there overnight and think about what I’d done wrong. The truth was Jo didn’t put up with shit. She’d already whipped Ezra into some shape, and he’d only been there for weeks. I knew she’d try to do the same thing to me. But I had never had an adult in my life that cared about me before. I mean, maybe my case worker. He seemed to care if I lived or died. But other than that, there was no one. I knew Ezra’s story because we’d housed together more than once, but never for long. I saw the way he looked at her like he trusted her. I watched him do what she asked and use manners. It was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. I didn’t want to turn into him.”
“But you did.”
“Well, I’d like to think I’m the better version. But yeah, there’s just something about Jo that crawls under your skin and makes you want to love her. She finally got me out of jail, but informed me immediately that I needed a job to pay all my court and legal fees off.
“I thought she was joking at first, but Jo doesn’t joke. She put me to work on her farm. I was only fourteen, and the only food I had ever eaten was what was put before me. Depending on the foster family, sometimes it was nutritious and tolerable. Sometimes it was a soggy TV dinner and a beer. Jo put real food in my hand and told me to grow it. She said I couldn’t count on anything, not even a steady meal. If I was tired of not knowing where my next meal was coming from, then I should learn to cook it myself. So, I did.
“She taught me how to grow food and judge it, pick out the best and recognize the not-good-enough. When I turned out to be decent at growing, she moved me into the kitchen and showed me how to turn my harvest into a meal. It was the first time I had ever loved something.”
“Jo?” I guessed where this was going. But I was wrong again.
He shook his head. “Cooking.”
The ache in my chest needed to hear he had a happy ending, though. I needed to hear him tell me she became a mother to him and gave him the life he’d always wanted. “But you did love Jo, didn’t you?”
He chuckled. “Later. Much later. For the most part, Jo was more of a drill sergeant than a mom. She didn’t tolerate disobedience or laziness. Ezra and I worked hard for her. We earned our room and board from the sweat off our backs. We hated her at first. Ezra still hates her sometimes, but then again, Ezra is prone to hating a lot of things. Anyway, she got the job done. She turned Ezra and me into functioning adults and encouraged us to go to college. In return, we helped her turn her garden into a farm and grow her business. To this day, it’s still a give and take relationship. She provides us with the best produce; we give her our exclusive business.”
He’d seared steak, made a sauce and poached eggs during his story. Now he plated them with grace and poise and precision. He was everything a great chef should be.
Everything a good man ought to be.
“Does she still take foster kids?” I asked out of sheer curiosity.
His affectionate smile lit up his face. “Who else would work her farm?” He lifted his gaze, revealing deep loyalty and sincerity. “I hope you know I mean that in the best way. She’s not a slave driver. She gives kids that have never loved or cherished anything the chance to have something of their own. It’s more about developing a strong work ethic and sense of accomplishment than her crops.”
I smiled reassuringly. “She’s like the Mr. Miyagi of farming.”
He nodded, turning back to the plate. “Exactly.”
“So you left her farm and went to culinary school? And Ezra?”
“Ezra’s real dad found him his senior year of high school. It’s a pretty messed up story, but basically, his dad was very wealthy and really sick. He’d always known Ezra existed but had trouble finding him because of something his birth mom did. Anyway, long story short, Ezra’s dad died two years later, leaving Ezra and his half-sister Dillon a pretty substantial inheritance. Ezra turned that money into more money. It turns out Jo taught me how to cook and Ezra how to work twenty hours of every day.”
We fell silent for a few minutes while he finished plating and I digested his story. My heart hurt for the child he’d been, for the troubled teen that had needed so much guidance, for the man that he was today that only loved two things—cooking and Jo. And at the same time, I marveled at how well he’d done for himself, at the man he’d become despite his circumstances.
He walked over, handing me a fork, a plate of food and a glass of wine he’d borrowed from the restaurant cellar. He’d sliced steak over crispy hash and nestled the poached egg in the middle. A creamy yellow sauce crisscrossed over the top. Hollandaise?
“I can do fancy Americana, too,” he said by way of explanation.
“Steak and eggs. Very creative.”
He nudged me with his elbow. “Smart ass.”
We dove into our food, and I tried not to have another orgasm. First, from the excellent Cabernet he’d picked out. Then from the meal he’d cooked for me. Oh, my God. The steak was probably one of the best I’d ever had. I didn’t nee
d fussy food, I just wanted it well-flavored and perfectly cooked. Killian accomplished both so effortlessly that it was hard not to be jealous of him.
“Ezra paid for culinary school.”
I looked over at him, surprised by his statement. “Is that why you stay at Lilou?”
He took another bite of steak without responding. “We have our differences, but he’s been there for me when I had nobody else.”
Reaching over to steal one of his strips of steak, I very casually said, “But there are other chefs out there. Chefs who would kill for this job. Maybe even murder you for it. Here’s the thing, when Ezra paid for you to go to school did he know he wanted to open restaurants?”
Killian shook his head. “No. That came much later.”
“He didn’t send you to school so he could have a personal chef, right?”
“Right.”
“And you’re paying him back?”
“I did. Years ago.”
“What do you have to feel guilty for? If you think it will destroy your relationship with Ezra, I mean maybe I understand your hesitation. But Killian, you can’t live your life for someone else. You hate it here.”
Setting his plate down next to him, he leaned back on one hand and stared at me. “I don’t hate it here. I’m just frustrated. And I feel… stagnant.”
“Then you have your answer. You’re too good at your job to feel stuck.”
“And what about you?” Those green eyes burned straight through me, obliterating whatever line of defense I’d still try to use against him. “We both know the food truck isn’t your end game. You want a kitchen, Vera. How are you going to get it?”
“Listen, I made my bed. I’m happy to lie in it. There are worse things than owning your own business and setting your own hours.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile, calling me on my bullshit. “We both know the truck isn’t big enough for you. And if you ever figure out how to set reasonable hours, let me know your trick.”
I didn’t want to get into this right now. My life was complicated enough without having the great Killian Quinn reminding me of everything I didn’t have. He was held back by loyalty to someone he considered a brother. I was trapped because of a series of bad, unfortunate decisions. They weren’t the same thing.
Just to get him off my back, I decided to suggest the most preposterous thing imaginable. “Fine. You want something bigger, I want something bigger, let’s just open a restaurant together. It can be all modern American and convenient hours. For us. Not our customers.”
He slid off the counter and took my glass of wine from me. Carefully setting it off to the side, he stepped between my legs again and rested his hands on my waist, beneath my t-shirt. Skin to hot, rough, glorious skin.
He tugged me forward so that my thighs wrapped firmly around his hips. He stood tall enough so that we were perfectly lined up, his chest pressed against my chest, his heart beating in rhythm with mine.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” he murmured, dropping slow kisses along the line of my jaw.
My mind was already swimming with lust, but not far enough gone to recognize how preposterous that was. “You have not.” I laughed, trying to play off his serious tone and the ridiculous idea.
His lips found mine, and he kissed me deeply, tangling our tongues, bringing our bodies as close together as possible with our clothes still on. “Since your lamb meatballs.”
I pulled back, stunned by the honesty in his tone and the timeline of events. That was so long ago.
He had to be lying.
This was a trick to get in my pants. But newsflash, Killian, I wasn’t exactly playing hard to get!
He didn’t let me dwell on it, though. He closed the distance between us, devouring my mouth like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
My fingers slid through his silky hair, holding him to me while we spent time getting to know each other in intimate ways. He removed my shirt completely, exposing me to the cool air and his sizzling gaze.
He laid me back on the stainless steel prep table, taking in every inch of my body in such an appreciative way that it was impossible to feel self-conscious. I wasn’t skinny. And while I had never been overly embarrassed of what I looked like, it was impossible not to be nervous. But the voracious hunger flashing through those deep green eyes took away whatever anxiety I had.
Killian liked what he saw. Every piece of me.
And then he showed me. Using his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, to taste every inch of my body. He started at my throat and worked his way down. My collarbone. My breasts. Especially my breasts. My stomach. My hips.
He spread my legs apart and spent a maddening amount of time at the apex of my thighs. By the time my panties disappeared, I was a panting mess of desire and need. He coaxed me to relax and whispered about wanting dessert.
My thoughts alternated between, Oh, my God! And Oh, my God, we’re at Lilou!
Then his head disappeared between my legs, and I stopped thinking altogether. He turned me into nothing but feeling and sensation and pleasure.
He was as relentless with my body as he was with everything else in his life. He demanded. He pushed. He took what he wanted. But he gave, too.
He gave so much.
By the time he walked me to my car, I was fully sated—and completely, utterly wrung dry. And so far gone for this man that I didn’t know if I would ever recover.
Derrek had convinced me to love him with tempting possibilities and groundless promises. They hadn’t lasted. They hadn’t been enough. Even without the abuse, Derrek and I wouldn’t have made it. He wasn’t what he said he was. He didn’t live up to everything he offered.
He was less than.
He was empty.
Killian was the opposite. He didn’t convince me to love him; he’d given me so much of himself that the only thing left to do was care about this man. He’d proven himself time and time again to be the man he said he was, the man he wanted to be.
The man I needed.
He hadn’t asked me to trust him; he’d just always been trustworthy. He hadn’t needed me to need him. He was just the man I needed every single day. He hadn’t manipulated me through sugar sweet lies and baseless compliments I wanted to hear. He told me what I needed to hear and left everything else up to me.
He kissed me goodbye one last time, and I drove home with a smile on my face and hope in my heart. For the first time in a long time, I knew who I was, and I knew who the man I loved was.
Love.
Maybe it was only the beginning of love. Maybe the roots were still shallow, and the feeling was still new and green, but it was love.
And it was love for a man I thought I would only ever hate. A man that was my complete opposite in every way and the opposite of everything I thought I wanted.
Thank God for that.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next three weeks passed in stolen make-out sessions behind Lilou and morning phone calls that lasted hours. For as much as I’d fought for a place in the food industry, I was starting to hate being a chef.
Or at least, having the hours of one. And Killian’s were worse.
We loved what we did,but officially hated working. I wanted a date. A real one that didn’t involve either of us cooking. I wanted to laugh over dinner and cuddle during a movie, and then I wanted hours and hours to explore his body and finally—finally—take our relationship to the next level.
I was ready. So. Ready.
Which honestly surprised me. Sex with Derrek had been an obligation I fulfilled because I was scared of the consequences if I didn’t. The intimate part of our relationship had been another aspect of my life to control, to assert dominance. It had been enough to scare me away from sex for eternity.
And yet with Killian, I couldn’t seem to hold onto those same skeletons. The ghosts of that traumatic time slipped through my fingers, bone turning to ash, tangible fear disappearing in the wake of trust. Act
ual trust.
I didn’t fear Killian. I didn’t fear what he would turn sex into or how I would just become another object to use.
It was hard to believe. Especially after so many years, convinced I didn’t need or want sex ever again. I had been happy to ignore that part of me, the part that wanted, desired and hoped. That was easier than imagining opening myself up to a man again. So much easier than letting myself be vulnerable not just physically, but emotionally as well.
Before Killian, the thought of intimacy with any man made me physically ill.
With Killian? With Killian, I couldn’t wait to discover what it would be like, what he would be like. When we kissed, I only wanted to keep kissing. When he touched me, I only wanted him to keep touching me—to never stop.
Because of trust. Because he had opened himself up to me first. Because he was honest and sincere and intentional with me and my heart. Because he had cultivated my confidence, gently at first, then deeper and deeper and deeper until I knew I trusted him. I could trust him in everything. Including a relationship.
He wasn’t Derrek.
He would never be Derrek.
And I would never be the girl that dated Derrek. Never again.
“Hey, V,” Molly greeted as she stepped inside Foodie. She brought a cool breeze with her, and I stood frozen still, trying to get the most of it.
The end of September had brought a change in the weather. The leaves on the trees had started changing color and began to crisp. The evening breeze now smelled like campfires and football. And I wasn’t drenched in sweat by the end of every night. Still sweaty of course, just not completely soaked with it.
“Hey, Molls.” I spun to face my best friend as she put her stuff down and pulled her hair into a high ponytail, fiddling with her bangs so they didn’t get swept up with the rest. “Guess what?”
“What?” she asked around the hair tie in her mouth.
I held up the money pouch for her. “I’m going to pay you tonight!”
She blinked at me. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Because you’re here practically every night and you deserve at least minimum wage.”