Page 41 of Sensuous

God, even his voice is pleasing. Deep, it seems to roll over me like silk. I swear there isn’t a fault I can find in this man now that I’m looking at him through eyes not clouded over with resentment.

“I wish I could say I’m an exciting person, but all I do is work. That was one of the biggest reasons why I wanted to try outfor Chef on Chef. Well, time away from the restaurant and the million dollars. I’d be lying if I didn’t mention the prize.”

He listens to me as I talk, his eyes intently focused on me as if every word coming out of my mouth is meaningful. “What will you do if you win the million dollars?”

That answer comes as naturally as my being a shrew does to me. “I’ll open my own restaurant. I’ve always dreamed of owning my own place. I’d still work in the kitchen, though. That’s where I’m happiest. What about you?”

He shrugs before answering, “I don’t know. I already have my own restaurant. I mean, it’s my family’s, but someday it will be mine since none of my cousins or my brother have any interest in running it. But I’ll still cook too when that day comes. I love it too much to give it up to deal with the things my father and uncle handle on a day-to-day basis.”

“You’re so lucky, Alex. Not lucky like you’ve gotten everything handed to you. That’s not what I mean. You’re lucky because you work in a place you love. It’s so obvious that you care about your family’s restaurant. I wish I felt that way about my workplace.”

That makes him sit up straight, and then he says, “You should come work at CK. And not merely as a chef either.”

“CK already has a head chef, Alex.”

He nods, understanding what I mean. “A head chef who has to deal with planning meals more than making them on too many days. We’re going to be down a chef on the line next month when one leaves to get married and move to Miami. You’re as good or better than he is, I bet.”

“I’m flattered, but you’ve never really seen me cook, other than my pesto meal that didn’t wow Maria and Shane at all compared to yours and today’s dish, which I admit turned out pretty well. How do you know I’d be any good at your restaurant?”

Alex has no idea how much I’d love to work at a place like CK. It’s the best restaurant in town, but even more, I would be working with someone who loves his job, not like Deidre who seems to love only using her position as a cudgel to beat her underlings into submission.

With a chuckle, he says, “I think that was Maria’s way of hitting on me that day, to be honest. My pesto dish was no better than yours. In fact, I think that thing you do with the pine nuts probably makes yours more flavorful.”

Most men would look like egotistical asses if they said something like that, but the way Alex mentions Maria’s behavior makes it seem like just a natural fact. Of course, she’d be flirting with him and want to hit on him. Why wouldn’t any woman?

“Thank you. I learned that from my father,” I say, remembering the day he shared his secret with the pine nuts, the first thing he ever shared with me about cooking once I graduated from culinary school.

A timer rings, interrupting my happy memory, and Alex stands up to go to the oven. “It’s time for the salad since the chicken is nearly ready. If you want to grab it from the refrigerator, that would be great.”

I do as he asks and find a white bowl full of broccoli and sun-dried tomatoes on the middle shelf. The vivid green and red colors make it look delicious, and the scent of lemon and mustard and something sweet fills my nose and makes my mouth water.

As I set the salad down in the middle of the table, I ask, “What’s that sweetness in the salad?”

Alex turns his head as he attends to the chicken in the oven and says, “Honey. The recipe gives a choice between that and maple syrup, so I chose honey.”

“That’s good because I’m not a fan of maple anything, other than on pancakes. I don’t know what it is about maple, but it’sdefinitely not one of my favorite flavors. You know what I think it is? My mother used to get these chocolate candy samplers for me for Valentine’s Day, and there was always one or two that were filled with maple. I haven’t liked it since then.”

When he finishes with the entrée that still needs a little more time in the oven, he returns to the table and begins to serve the salad. As he places mine on my plate, he says, “I bet I can change your mind about maple syrup.”

Intrigued, I look up to see a sparkle in his eyes. “Oh yeah? How?”

“I’ll come up with something. Now give this a taste and tell me what you think.”

The way he says that—I’ll come up with something—with his voice deep and flowing over me like silk makes an ache form between my legs. This man is the most sensual creature I’ve ever met. He hides that sensuality in public, but here in his apartment, it’s on full display and thrilling me more than I know what to do with.

I take a forkful of broccoli salad in my mouth and immediately taste all the flavors I’d smelled a moment ago. In addition, the tang of the tomatoes melds with the sweetness of the honey and the tartness of the lemon juice and mustard to create an explosion of flavor in my mouth.

“That’s delicious, Alex! I don’t even like broccoli, but if it always tasted like this, I’d eat it every day.”

He beams a smile at my compliment and sits down to enjoy some salad for himself. “You know what I don’t usually like? Sun-dried tomatoes. There’s something about them I can’t stand, but in this salad, they work. Have you hit a red pepper flake yet? This dressing has it all, doesn’t it? Sweet, sour, spice, the whole nine yards.”

We continue to talk about food and what we like and don’t like all the way through dinner. The bourbon pecan chickenturns out to be as wonderful as I imagined it would this morning, and for the first time in my life, I truly enjoy talking about what I do for a living. His enthusiasm for cooking is contagious, and I want to be around it and him.

A buzzing sound interrupts our dinner just before we’re finished, and as much as I hate checking my phone, I have to stop the sound so I might as well see who’s calling. “Excuse me. I’m sorry, but I can’t stand a ringing phone.”

He smiles, so I don’t feel too rude when I reach into my bag and see it’s not Sadie or anyone in my family but Emma. “This is strange. I hope everything’s okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

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