Page 2 of Santa's Pretty Helper

I keep my eyes trained on the pan, stirring and tossing the bananas. “Oh, is she?” I ask, feigning the mildest hint of interest. I’ve known since I saw her name on the reservations list earlier today. I watched her come in, take her coat off, sit down, sip her wine, talk with her friend. I’ve been acutely aware of her presence ever since she stepped inside Haute Maison. “I’ll do my level best,” I say dryly, and Eric laughs. “In fact, I’ll personally prepare whatever she orders and take it to her table myself.” I’d always planned on doing exactly that, but better if Eric thinks it’s some kind of professional posturing instead of an unhealthy obsession with a girl almost half my age.

Eric laughs again, returning to his station, and I try to shrug off the tension lingering around my neck and shoulders. Knowing Bella is here has me wound up tight.

I hear Bella’s order come through the pass, the table and seat numbers she and Madison are in practically seared into my brain. I snatch the order before anyone else can grab it and set to work preparing her dinner. She’s ordered the beef tenderloin with truffle butter, roasted fingerling potatoes, and the sauteed broccolini with garlic. It’s exactly what I would’ve chosen from the menu tonight.

Preparing her food—along with Madison’s order of mushroom ravioli with cream sauce and a warm squash salad with a balsamic glaze—becomes my sole focus. I sear the tenderloin until it has a perfect crust, basting it repeatedly with the truffle butter. I toss the potatoes with garlic, rosemary and gorgeously flaky sea salt until their skins are crisp and their insides creamy. The broccolini gets a quick sauté in olive oil, garlic, and lemon, just enough to brighten its vibrant green color.

I plate everything carefully, eyeing it all with a critical gaze. I need it to be perfect. Bella eating food I’ve made is the closest I’ll ever get to any kind of intimacy with her, so I need to make it count. I need to make it memorable.

With the two plates in my hands, I make my way out of the heat and noise of the kitchen and into the soothing calm of the dining room. A fire glows merrily in the large hearth in the center of the room, soft candlelight flickering from all of the tables. A large Christmas tree stands proudly beside the hearth, decorated flawlessly in red and gold ornaments and warm twinkle lights. Jazz music floats on the air, the sounds mingling with the low conversations and scrape of cutlery on plates.

Bella’s back is to me, and for a second, I stop and drink in the sight of her. Those long, blond curls spilling down her back, theteasing swath of pale, creamy skin where her sweater has slipped down her shoulder. She’s otherworldly, she’s so damn beautiful. I can’t think of another way to describe her. She’s so achingly lovely that it’s almost inhuman.

I swallow hard as I make my way to her table, knowing I need to push all of these thoughts down. She’s far too young for me, and she’s Eric’s sister. It can never happen. Ever. No matter how much I want her.

I’m a few steps away when Bella turns, glancing at me over her shoulder. Her bright green eyes meet mine and it’s a miracle that my steps don’t falter. Heat courses through me and it feels as though my lungs are locked in a vise. I wink at her, and a blush creeps up her cheeks.

Bastard that I am, I love seeing that blush on her cheeks, even though I shouldn’t.

“Good evening ladies,” I say, carefully setting their plates down in front of them. “The mushroom ravioli and warmed squash salad, and the beef tenderloin with potatoes and broccolini.”

Bella leans forward and inhales deeply. “Thank you, Chef,” she says, glancing up at me and smiling before ducking away shyly. Christ, she’s sweet. There’s something about that shyness that makes me want her even more. Makes me want to corrupt her, bastard that I am.

She surveys her plate and inhales again, and I’m rapt at the way her curls fall forward, how her lashes cast shadows over her softly rounded cheeks.

“You’re welcome. Please don’t hesitate to let me or my staff know if there’s anything else you need,” I say, mentally patting myself on the back for how professional that sounded.

I know I should head back to the kitchen, but I linger, not quite able to tear myself away from her table yet. I need to see her take that first bite. Need to watch as her lips wrap aroundfood I made just for her. I want to see her eyes flutter closed in bliss as the flavors burst over her tongue.

She looks up at me, blushing again, and then cuts into the tenderloin, slicing through the perfectly pink center. Bella lifts the bite to her lips, pausing for the briefest of moments. Her tongue darts out, swiping over her full bottom lip. My cock twitches in response. I curl my hands into fists, trying to anchor myself against the lust coursing through my veins, hot and thick.

But then she takes that first bite, closing her lips around her fork, and I feel it in my body. In the heat crackling down my spine, in the dull ache in my balls. Her eyes drift shut as she savors my food. A soft moan escapes her, and my cock thickens.

Fuck, that moan. I want to hear it over and over again, but not here. I want to hear it as she’s splayed naked in my bed, my face buried between her thighs. I’ve lost track of how much time I’ve spent considering the flavor profile of her pussy. Would she taste sweet, like honey and cream? Or more musky, with a citrus tang that lingers on my tongue?

My cock pulses, just as eager as I am for the answer, even though I know it’s a curiosity that will never be satisfied.

Bella chews slowly and then swallows, her delicate throat working. When her eyes open, they immediately find mine.

Fuck, I’m being such a perv right now.

“Gabe,” she says, her voice so light and sweet that it makes my balls throb again, “this is beyond delicious.”

I bow my head slightly in thanks. “Thank you, Bella,” I say, clearing my throat when my voice comes out all rusty. For a moment, our gazes hold. Tension radiates through my entire body. For a fraction of a second, I forget where I am, I’m so lost in the spring green of her eyes.

Bella’s tongue slips out again, catching a stray drop of truffle butter at the corner of her mouth. It takes everything I have notto groan. Not to reach out and run my thumb over her lower lip before kissing her so that I can taste my food on her tongue.

“It’s perfect,” she says, blushing so prettily that I might have a heart attack.

I swallow hard, my mouth dry, my skin hot and tight. “Enjoy the rest of your meal,” I say, and take a step back from her table before I lose all control.

Two

Gabe

With a herculean effort, I turn on my heel and head back to the kitchen. The noise and heat hit me like a slap to the face after the peace and serenity of the dining room. After the utter thrall Bella just held me in. I lean against the wall by the door, just for a moment, trying to get my heart to calm the hell down. It’s jolting around in my chest almost painfully, my breathing erratic. It’s like this every single time I’m around her. Five minutes in her presence and I feel like I’ve been electrocuted.

A part of me wonders if Bella has any idea what she does to me, but I know that’s a question better left unexamined. Because if I thought she wanted me even a fraction as much as I want her, I don’t know that I’d be able to hold myself back, and that’s a road I can’t go down. With a sigh, I stomp across the kitchen and set about chopping onions at lightning speed just for something to do with my hands.

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