Page 20 of Minions and Magic
“So what should I ask for when I win this challenge?” I asked him, not quite teasing. Of course I’d win. I always won when it came to food. Always.
“Anything you want.”
I shivered at the suggestion in his voice. “And you said you wanted sex?”
His head lowered as he sliced his sandwich. “Maybe I want your soul as well as your body.”
My hand froze over the pineapple. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”
He laughed. “I thought you were confident that you’d win? That there was no doubt at all in your mind that you’d beat a demon at making sandwiches.”
I shivered again, but this time for a different reason. Of course I’d win. I always won. There was no way some crossroads demon was going to beat me at something I’d devoted my entire life to. No way.
And yet…
“I’m not wagering my soul over a sandwich. Pick something else.”
“Scared?”
There was an odd note to his voice that I didn’t like.
“Of course not, but you’re not getting my soul if you win. Or my ginger cake recipe.” It was a sad state of affairs when I was giving equal value to both my soul and my ginger cake recipe.
I looked over to see him pouting. It was so adorable, so sexy, that all my misgivings over the “I want your soul” thing vanished. My shoulders relaxed, and I shot him a quick smile.
“Can’t have my soul. But you absolutely can have my body.”
Crap. I’d said that? How embarrassing.
“Hmm, I think I want that more than your soul.”
My breath caught at his response, and a mixture of giddy delight and relief flooded me. He wanted me. And that was one thing I’d be more than willing to give if the unbelievable happened and I actually lost.
We both sat across from each other on the tall stools, sliding plates across the table. I looked down and blinked in surprise to see what he’d made. I’d expected meat and a load of hot sauce between two pieces of bread, but instead I was looking at an open-faced vegan sandwich with endive, alfalfa sprouts, tomato, avocado, and hummus.
Hummus. That’s what he’d been doing with the food processor. He’d made hummus from scratch. I swiped my finger across the edge of the sandwich and tasted, making an involuntary “mmm” noise as the flavors hit my tongue.
“Ras El Hanout,” I murmured, instantly recognizing the spice blend.
He nodded. “I spent a century in what is now Morocco.”
“I love Moroccan food.” Had he known that? How could he have known that? For all my baking and traditional American cuisine, I adored the flavors of northern Africa and the near east. Suddenly my panini seemed pale and bland in comparison.
“Take a bite,” he urged, his voice pure temptation.
I did as he said, and made appreciative noises as I chewed. This sandwich clearly should have been one of the seven deadly sins. For once in my entire life, I was about to lose a cooking contest. And I wasn’t all that sad about it, even though my pride was a bit bruised.
He took a bite of mine. Then another. Then another. “This is amazing,” he said with his mouth full. “Is this chicken grilled? Roasted?”
I wiped a smear of hummus off my lip. “Roasted. There’s a farm on the other side of the wards that raises organic, free-range chicken. They’re not traditional meat birds, so they take a while to mature and they have a lot of dark meat, but they’re full of flavor. I think the farmer might add some saffron into their feed because the meat color and flavor is really unique.”
We eyed each other for a moment, chewing.
“I hate to admit this, but I think you may have won.” He slid the plate over to me. “Here. Try a bite. But don’t eat it all because I want the rest of it.”
We swapped sandwiches, and as soon as I tasted the one I’d made, I knew what he meant. The perfectly cooked, flavorful chicken, the pesto I’d whipped together, the fresh vegetables I’d gotten from a roadside stand, the red pepper I’d roasted myself and stored in olive oil…it was an amazing combination and the crunch of the ciabatta bread wrapped it all up in a delicious package.
“Mine’s good, but yours is better,” he admitted, taking a second bite of his sandwich and passing it over to me as he snatched the panini back.
