Page 71 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

“You’re close, though, aren’t you?”

He nods and continues to stroke his hand down my arm. “Very. What about you? You’ve been doing everything yourself.”

And that’s only the half of it.

“I won’t lie. It’s been rough. My finances won’t allow me to have my staff with me twenty-four-seven helping get things ready, so I’m doing it almost all myself except the construction stuff, obviously. But I’m determined to get it together, and I finally picked an opening date.”

“You did? That’s awesome. When?”

I grin against his warm skin underneath my cheek, the idea of finally having Grandma’s Kitchen open and running filling me with a warmth and pride I haven’t experienced in a long time. “Two weeks from Saturday. It’s my grandma’s birthday.”

* * *

JAMESON

All the air instantly rips from my lungs, and I cough and try to suck in another breath, but her weight on top of me and the panic setting in won’t seem to let me. “Um, did you say two weeks from Saturday?”

She nods and snuggles into me deeper, her arms wrapping around me tightly, like she’s searching for something stable to cling to and I’m it. “Yeah. I think Grams would have loved having the opening on her birthday. She would have been ninety-four this year. It just seemed fitting since I’m mostly cooking her recipes.”

Of all the days on the damn calendar…

It’s not her fault her grandmother’s birthday falls on the date Grant and I chose for the opening of FURY, not her fault we both chose to open restaurants next door at the same time, but it’s created one hell of a quagmire.

There has to be a way to avoid any bloodshed on this, though, some way around this that doesn’t lead to either of us hating the other.

I clear my throat and try to sound casual with my question. “Are you sure you’re going to be ready? Will you have enough time?”

Maybe it’s a dick move to try to nudge her in the direction of postponing, but it beats the alternative. If we open the same night as she does, her little restaurant will be crushed by the weight of Grant’s money, power, and influence coming down on FURY.

I don’t want her to suffer the embarrassment of seeing a line out our door, news media and celebrities, while she may only manage to get a handful of customers. Not because her food isn’t excellent. What I’ve smelled coming out of her kitchen would make even the most discerning palate dance. And not because she doesn’t absolutely deserve to have success. But simply because FURY will be the draw.

Celebrity chef teams with one of New York’s most powerful businessmen—Grant and I are a dream team. Ever since we announced the new venture in FURY, we’ve both been hounded for information and interviews. While Isabella has essentially no one behind her except her friend, Ashley.

Hearing her talk about the way she grew up with her Grams and knowing she had to set up her place all alone while I had as much help as I needed makes guilt over all the shit I did to her rise like acid up my throat.

Whatever calm I felt for those moments out in the living room with her has now fled the building, replaced by a deep, foreboding sense of dread.

She pushes up and offers me a half-smile that doesn’t quite hide the sadness. “I have to be ready. No other option.”

No other option.

That can’t be true. There has to be a way to make this all work, though no solution is presenting itself to me right now. It’s hard to concentrate on anything else when a beautiful woman is draped over you and your hard cock is brushing against her wet cunt every time she moves.

She yawns and stretches, the hem of her shirt rising slightly above her hips before she yanks it back into place. I promised her we would talk after we got done in the living room, and I’ve let her shift the conversation in the opposite direction.

Was that intentional on her part?

Isabella isn’t a deceptive person, but she’s been evasive about this. I grasp her chin and force her to meet my gaze. “You ready to tell me why you won’t let me take off your shirt?”

A thousand possibilities have swirled through my head—none of them warranting the reaction she seems to have whenever I try to remove it.

She doesn’t respond, just chews on her bottom lip like if she doesn’t answer, I’ll just let it go.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Scars? Stretch marks? Ugly tattoo of another dude’s name?”

She scowls and rolls off onto the mattress beside me, sending a chill through my now-exposed body. Wanting to get away from me physically isn’t a good sign. I was joking about it, but whatever it is clearly upsets her more than I thought.

I roll onto my side and pull her back against me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a joke about something that seems to really upset you. I just don’t understand. There’s literally nothing you can be hiding that would send me running or make me think you’re any less fucking beautiful than I already do.” I press a kiss to the back of her neck, and she relaxes back against me slightly. “Seriously, Iz. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that day in the rain. Even when we were arguing, all I wanted to do was pull you into my arms and kiss you to shut you the hell up.”

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