Page 40 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

I jerk up and whirl toward the door, knocking over the bowl with a loud clang. Jameson leans against the jamb again, shirtless, with a dark-blue apron stretched across his chest, exposing his hard, rippled biceps and impressive pecs.

My heart thunders against my ribs, and I press my hand against it and try to take a deep breath to calm myself. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He raises a plate I hadn’t even noticed was in his hand. “I went out to grab something from my car and noticed you were still here. Thought you might be hungry. I also wanted to warn you that it’s probably not safe for you to be here alone this late at night with your door unlocked. Quite dangerous, really, especially if you’re going to be waving your ass in the air like that. Some perv might come in and try to take advantage of the situation.”

“A perv, huh? That would explain you being half-naked already. Did your shirt spontaneously jump off?”

A panty-melting grin spreads across his face, and he shrugs nonchalantly before taking a step forward. “It was hot as hell in my kitchen. This is far more comfortable.” He waves the plate in front of me. “You hungry?”

My stomach growls in response, and I press my hand against it.

God, that’s embarrassing.

“I do work in a kitchen.” I wave a hand around. “I'm perfectly capable of cooking something for myself if I'm hungry.”

Which I am. I just haven’t had the time to do it yet.

“Oh, I have no doubt you're perfectly capable. I just already had all this delicious food made. But if you don't want it…”

I eye the plate in his hand, examining each item as carefully as I can from a few feet away.

He shifts closer. “Why are you looking at it like a venomous snake is going to uncurl from the center and lash out at you?”

Venomous snake. Quite the apt comparison.

I raise my focus up to meet his humored gaze. “Maybe because I don’t fully trust you.”

His dark eyebrows fly up. “You? Don’t trust me?” He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “That’s fucking rich coming from the woman who altered my menu and put salt in my sugar jar.”

Oh shit.

I was wondering how long it was going to take for him to discover that one.

He takes another step closer. “I had to throw away what would have been a pretty delicious, sweet and sticky Korean barbeque ribs this evening once I tried it and promptly spit it out.” His eyes dance with amusement. “Again…well played. I thought I was impressed with the menu thing, but that was really above and beyond. Makes me wish I had thought to do it when I had a few minutes alone in here. You got me twice.”

An unbridled sense of glee warms me from the inside out. I fight a grin and push some of the sweaty hair matted to my forehead and temples back from my face. “Don’t forget the chili.”

Crap. Where did that come from?

I’ve just admitted exactly what he accused me of—trying to mess with him yet again the other night with Grams’ altered, special recipe. And something tells me that won’t go unnoticed by him.

He narrows his eyes on me and holds up the plate. “Despite the fact that you embarrassed me, tricked me, and tried to burn my mouth off, I promise you, this plate is completely safe. I’ll take a bite of everything myself if it will ease your mind.”

Christ no…

The thought of watching him wrap his mouth around a fork or a spoon, or God forbid, lick it…brings up far too many fantasies I’ve been trying so hard to forget. If he were to do it right in front of me again, I’m not so sure I’d be in any position to deny him anything he asks of me.

I shake my head and grasp the plate. “That won’t be necessary.”

A grin pulls at his lips, and he grabs the fork resting across the various delectable looking items and stabs the tines into what looks like whipped potatoes with fresh herbs mixed in. I try to pull the plate from his hand, but he maintains a firm grip and lowers the fork until the bite is right in front of my mouth.

He doesn’t utter a word, just moves it forward to brush against my lips. I dart out my tongue and lick carefully, savoring the flavors of butter, garlic, parsley, and something deeply rich and funky that can only be black truffle.

The man probably put four hundred dollars of truffles on a dish he was only testing. But I can’t complain, especially not when he pushes the bite between my lips and into my mouth.

I swallow, watching his gaze drop down my neck before returning to meet mine.

“Well?”

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