Page 34 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

I grin at her and reach out to tug the spoon out of her hand. Her mouth drops open slightly, and she watches me expectantly. I meet her gaze and hold it while I lick the remnants off each side slowly, making sure to swirl my tongue over every little bit of the surface before darting it out across my lips.

Isabella swallows thickly, and her tongue darts out across her lips, mimicking my own action. My eyes can’t help but follow the motion, and my cock twitches, imagining what it would feel like being the focus of that attention.

Fuck.

That is a dangerous road to go down, but something about Izzy and her fiery responses to everything I’ve thrown at her has left me more frazzled than I was even looking down at that menu this morning. She’s stood her ground since the moment I showed up and punched right back at me—refusing to apologize, tossing things back in my face that prove her points.

She’s pretty fucking incredible.

And watching her react to me flirting with her is only spurring on something that is a very bad idea for both of us. Because I’m going to have to crush her—or her restaurant, at least.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun until that time comes.

Or a lot of fun.

I take a step closer to her until I can feel each breath floating from her slightly open mouth.

Her eyes lock with mine, and her bottom lip trembles slightly. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Asking myself the same question here, Iz.

I place the spoon on the edge of the stove and reach out to brush a stray strand of blond hair from her face. “Just putting the spoon back.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Uh-huh.”

Her eyes drop to my lips, and almost of its own volition, my hand moves to cup her cheek. Smooth, buttery-soft skin touches my palm, and a tiny little gasp slips from her lips.

I lean in slightly until I can smell the spice coming from her, proof that she’s been testing her own food. She freezes, and I wet my lips to try to numb the tingling still there from the chili.

“That was very good chili, Ms. Baldwin. Spicy. But I like things that way.” I gently drag my thumb across her cheek, making her quiver under my touch, then drop my head down until my lips brush her ear. “I know what you were trying to do by giving that to me. But you failed, Iz. Because you see, I love all things hot and live for a challenge. Besides, you know what they say, ‘if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.’”

I take a step back from her, and she almost falls forward following me. She stands in front of me dazed, her eyes glassy, her body practically vibrating.

Maybe fucking with her isn’t nice. But I’m paying for it, too.

This hard-on isn’t going to take care of itself, and I have a lot of work still to get done today. That won’t happen if I stay in her domain any longer.

I turn and make my way out of her kitchen without looking back. If I do, I’ll be too tempted to stalk back over to her, kiss her, and fuck her on the damn counter.

Jerking off in the bathroom of my place like some perv is going to have to do.

At least…for now.

9

IZZY

“Wow! This is not how I pictured it at all.”

I jerk up my head from where I had it buried in a stack of paperwork spread out across one of the tables. Considering how jumpy I've been ever since my little incident with Jameson the other day, I can't believe I didn't hear the door open.

I’ve been working the last week with my heart in my throat, waiting for another run-in with Jameson. But the man has remained elusive—whether intentional or not—leaving me a bundle of frazzled nerves.

At least I knew I was safe last night since he always seems to disappear on Wednesdays. I’ve noticed him sneaking off several times in the early evening and not returning when other nights he’s here burning the midnight oil. He’s definitely up to something, though what it is—on those nights or with me the other night in my kitchen—remains a mystery.

And it’s all left me out of sorts, especially when unexpected visitors arrive. Only it isn’t my enigmatic neighbor standing just inside the door. A stunning woman with bright-red hair who looks vaguely familiar stands just to the left of the door, shrewd gaze assessing every inch of my restaurant.

Unease creeps over my skin. “Can I help you?”

---