Page 72 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

Her body vibrates with laughter, and she turns slightly to look back at me. “The wanting to shut me the hell up part I believe.”

I feather my lips over hers and feel her melt into me. “Believe all of it. Nothing you’re hiding can be that bad.”

She shakes her head, and tears shimmer in her eyes, a real dampener on the mood when my cock is still hard and pressing into her ass. “You can’t say that when you don’t know.”

“So, tell me.”

Her eyes drift closed, and when she reopens them, the fear there makes my chest tighten. “Can we just…not tonight. I promise I will. Some time. Soon. Just not now.”

I want to argue with her, to push her to tell me whatever she’s holding back, to get her to open up to me the way she just made me open to her, but I don’t want to see this look in her eyes anymore. The pain and the fear. She’s already had to fight with me for what feels like forever over the restaurant bullshit. I definitely don’t want her to be fighting with me now over something that’s ultimately so inconsequential to how I feel about her.

If she needs more time, I’ll give her more time. “Okay. But soon, Iz.”

She nods, and I lower my head and kiss her deeply, rolling on top of her. A moan slips from her mouth into mine, and she opens her lips and her legs for me, letting my tongue and cock settle right where they belong.

For now.

Hopefully, for the foreseeable future, too.

This thing between us is so much more than the hate fuck it started out as. It’s become something new and addictive. I don’t want to live without this or her. But this opening thing could be what drives us apart.

If I let it.

18

JAMESON

Grant’s eyes harden more the longer he looks at me. “What do you mean move the opening date?”

Since the moment I arrived at his office unannounced this morning, he’s been on edge. Surprise visits from business partners will do that, apparently.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair under his scrutiny. There’s a reason Grant Mason has gotten so far in life, and it isn’t because he’s a pushover. The man is a force to be reckoned with and won’t just roll over without knowing exactly why I’m asking for something and why it’s completely necessary.

Like moving the date of the opening that he’s been waiting not-so-patiently for, costing him not only time but also money.

He raises a brow at me. “Is there something wrong? Did the inspector not approve us?”

Christ, I wish it were that simple.

I could handle Grant's anger over having to change the date if it were because the contractor fucked up something and we couldn't get approval, but this…the reason I’m actually asking for it…this could spell a major problem for our working partnership.

“No. The inspector had a cancellation and was able to come today. We got the approvals this afternoon.”

“So…the staff isn't available? I thought you said you got everyone hired we would need.”

“I did. One of the servers knew a sommelier who just moved back to town, so we’re good there.”

Grant steeples his fingers under his chin and raises an eyebrow at me. “So, what's the problem? What's the hold-up? Why the hell would we want to postpone the opening when we've already made a press release that’s been sent to every news outlet in the area and will be announced today, and I've already paid to rush expensive formal invitations and have them sent to half of fucking Manhattan?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There goes any hope of catching Grant before he set things in motion. It’s amazing what the man can accomplish in only twenty-four hours. Though, with his connections, it shouldn’t be surprising.

I rub the back of my neck and glance at my shoes to avoid his annoyed gaze. There isn't any way to say this that isn't going to draw his ire, so I just need to go for it. Ripping off the Band-Aid is going to hurt like a motherfucker, but here it goes.

Tapping my foot on his expensive tile floors, I keep my focus on his tie rather than meeting his angry glare. “Isabella already chose her opening date.”

“And?”

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