Page 5 of Possessive Greek Chef

“You say you’d like to own a house like this someday. If you were an American trust fund baby, you wouldn’t be so worried about losing your job with that blowhard Bedros. So, how do you plan to pay for a house like this? What are your aspirations?”

She looks at me and I see a light in her eyes. It’s a look that’s reserved for the blissfully innocent who haven’t had the hope beaten out of them by the ugliness of the world. On a scale of one to ten, that expression raises my attraction to her to a thousand and I feel it in my pants.

“Ever since I was tall enough to reach the stove, I’ve loved to cook. I had scholarships to some very good colleges but I turned them all down to go to culinary school. My dream is to be head chef in one of the finest restaurants in the world. Once I get there, I’ll buy a house like this,” she looks like a little girl who was just given the key to her favorite doll shop.

“Come with me,” I hold out my hand and she hesitates before taking it.

“I’m not taking you to my bedroom, little girl. We’re going to the kitchen. Let’s see if you have what it takes to satisfy me.”

“We just cooked together at Andromeda,” she retorts.

“And now we’re going to cook here,” I answer, pulling her to my fully stocked kitchen.

I flip on the light and she stops in her tracks. She runs her fingers across my marble work surface and says, “This is amazing. Was this kitchen here when you bought the place?”

“I had it remodeled to suit my tastes. Same with the master bedroom and bath,” I wink and she responds with a nervous giggle.

“Why did you take me to Andromeda to cook if you were going to have me do it again here?” she asks me.

“At Andromeda, I was checking to see how well you knew your way around a restaurant. Here, just the two of us, I want to test our rhythm. Let’s see if you and I make a better team than you and Bedros did.” I take her by the hand and add, ”If you want to be more than a line cook, you and I will have to be compatible. Cooking together is like dancing or making love. It should leave us satisfied but wanting to do it again.”

Her cheeks redden as I put my hands on her wrist.

“What are we cooking?” she asks as I feel her pulse quicken.

“Wellington with mushrooms and Jamon,” I reply.

She takes off her white coat, revealing the tight tank top underneath, and my mouth waters at the sight of her fit arms and full breasts. How the fuck can I focus now? My pants feel tight, blood is rushing down south, and my muscles tense at her nearness.

“Alright. If you’re serious about this, let’s do it,” she nods.

“I wasn’t planning to take no for an answer,” I reply and begin collecting the necessary ingredients, needing the distraction to calm down the swelling.

She whips together the puff pastry in record time but with a noticeable lack of passion so I step behind her and reach around to grasp her hands. She jumps a bit when she feels my chest against her back but settles back down when I place her hands back into the mixing bowl.

“You need to use your hands. The heat from your skin helps with the texture. You have to massage the dough like it’s your lover,” I whisper in her ear and watch as goose bumps rise on her arms.

“This isn’t exactly a sanitary practice,” she says.

“In the restaurant, you’ll wear gloves. At my house you’ll be dirty,” her reaction makes me grin. I can see my words permeating her flesh and stoking a flame of curiosity hidden beneath her tough surface. I can almost feel her disappointment when I retract my arms and step away.

I lean against the counter and watch as she prepares a near-perfect Wellington. It’s impressive at her age and with so little experience, but she forgot about the mushrooms and they’ve passed the point of no return.

“Your beef is spot-on but you’ve burned my mushrooms. Do you have any idea what that pan of Portobellos costs?”

Her face turns white and she rushes to the cooktop. “Fuck,” she whispers as she inspects the blackened fungus.

I move in behind her and slap her on the ass. She nearly jumps out of her skin and covers her assaulted bum. “What the hell was that for?”

“I’m sure you don’t have the money to pay for those mushrooms. I have to get some kind of reparation,” I say, pulling her hands from her ass and spinning her around.

I hold her hands tightly and pull her body against mine. “Let me spank you for misbehaving and all will be forgiven.”

She searches my eyes for any sign of levity. Not finding any, her mouth hangs open. “Are you serious? You want to spank me? Like what? A naughty little girl?”

“Exactly like the naughty little girl that you are,” I reply.

She considers my demands and raises a brow, “Pants on?”

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