Page 21 of Say Yes to the Chef

“I thoughtyouwould only want one night.”

Hands stilling on my back, his eyebrows rise slowly up his forehead.

“Because you’re young, and handsome, and…” I shrug, having to force myself through the words. “You could have any girl on this beach.” I turn slowly to motion toward the back door and the beach beyond.

He growls and settles his hands on my shoulders, cupping the sides of my throat. “Believe me when I tell you that I don’t do this. I don’t send notes to random women and I don’t have flings with guests.”

I swallow hard, unable to respond to that admission or the ferocity in his gaze.

“I saw you yesterday and, I don’t know, something just clicked inside of me.” He licks his lips, then leans down to brush a tender kiss over mine. “You mesmerized me, Adrienne. I had to touch you, taste you.” He emphasizes this by licked across the seam of my lips. “You are even better than I imagined, and I am nowhere near done with you.”

“Wow,” I breathe.

“You’re older than me. I know.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about that and I don’t think you should either. Spend the week with me and I’ll make you forget the years between us. Let me know you. Let me worship you.” He drops his hands down to my ass and squeezes, pressing my groin against his hard length. “Let me bury myself inside of you again and again.” He pauses, dropping his forehead against mine as he whispers, “Let me fuck you until you forget everything you came to this island to forget, Adrienne.”

My intake of air is shaky, and when he pulls back, his eyes zero in on my trembling bottom lip. His eyes darken then lift back up to mine, a spark of determination in their brown depths. “Give me the week and let me give you whatever you need.”

Chewing on my bottom lip to keep the tears at bay, I search his gaze. He’s so intense.

Part of me is terrified by that intensity, by how fiercely he wants me.

The other part of me wants to trust fall into this week with him and let him do what he promises. What have I got to lose?

“Say yes, Adrienne.”

I breathe deeply, then push up onto my toes and press a kiss to his lips. Against them, I murmur, “Yes.”

And before I’ve even gotten the full syllable out, his mouth has claimed mine, and with each stroke of his tongue, something inside me begins to unfurl.

Stress.

Pain.

Loneliness.

He kisses me like he means to make good on his promises.

And I kiss him back like I intend to let him.

Marco

Sunday night and all of Monday proved to be a test to my willpower. Adrienne is all I can think of—her body all I see when I close my eyes, and her voice all I hear in my thoughts. But I have responsibilities, a job I love, and a career I am still working hard to build. I am just getting started.

So I push thoughts of her aside and focus on my tasks, counting down the hours until I can see her again.

She agreed to spend the week with me, and the knowledge that I will see her as soon as I am able gets me through a demanding day of lists ad spreadsheets and shopping and so many tiny details my head feels like it might explode.

How I can already be so addicted to this woman after a mere twenty-four hours is a testament to how incredible she is. The desire to reallyknowher, to learn what makes her tick—her happiness, sadness, and all the things in between—is a new desire for me and one I intend to indulge.

What I will do when this week is up, however, I don’t want to think about.

Work helps with that; I’m busy from the start of my shift and long after. Spearheading the first tasting menu experience at a resort of this size is demanding and chaotic. I love every minute.

Yesterday, after I finally said goodbye to Adrienne and headed off to work, the second night of the new Chef’s Dining Table Experience was a success, with fewer hiccups than the first night, even with a chef who is far more distracted. The food turned out perfectly, the guests were pleased, and one of them was even, as fate would have it, a critic from the States who pulled me aside after the meal and gushed for over an hour about my cooking.

There’s no chef’s table event tonight, however, but that does not mean I am free of my responsibilities.

It’s Christmas Day, and I am Santa.

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