Page 3 of Whisking It All

She considered the question. “A little of column A, little of column B. I’m in the area to spend some time with family. The pop-up thing is kind of a family business.”

“Ah. And where is your family tonight?”

She grinned. “Not here. I caught an earlier flight, and thought I’d give myself a night in the city to mentally prepare… I’m not expected until the morning.” Her eyes dropped to his lips and all the blood in his body rushed to his groin.

Jamie let his eyes roam over her face, the dark almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and a pouty mouth. She was even more beautiful up close where it was clear she wore hardly any makeup, the glow in her cheeks just pure her. His gaze snagged on her lips. He took a deep breath and shifted in his seat, trying to subtly adjust himself without giving away that he was already half-hard for a woman he’d only just met.

She wrinkled her nose. “That was too forward, right? I’m sorry, I—”

“Not too forward. Just forward enough.” Her smile was like a gift, dazzling white against her olive skin. “How old are you, Tessa?”

“Does it matter?”

“If we’re going to be that forward, then yeah, I’d say it does.”

“Twenty-five.”

He sucked in a breath. Definitely way too fucking young for me. Jesus, I’m probably as old as her father.

“You alright there?” she asked with a laugh.

“I’m too old for you,” he said, regret lacing every word.

“Says who?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

His eyes dropped to her lips again, mesmerized by the way they tilted up with repressed laughter. Something reckless sputtered to life in his chest, something that very much did not care that he was sixteen years older than the woman sitting across from him. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

If she didn’t care about the age difference, maybe he shouldn’t either.

He wouldn’t usually entertain the idea of seeing where the night would take them without knowing there was the possibility of a future, but there was something about Tessa… She was far too young for him and only in town for a short while, but he wasn’t ready to walk away from her just yet.

“Should we get another drink?” he asked, tilting his chin towards her nearly empty wine glass.

Her smile widened as she picked up her glass and drained the last of her wine. She set the glass down, her fingers lingering on the stem. “Yes, Chef.”

Hot damn, he could get addicted to that word on this woman’s lips. He had a feeling he could get addicted to her lips in general. His mind was already compiling a mental list of all the things he wanted to hear her say—things like “yes” and “more” and “harder.”

When was the last time he’d felt the thrill of meeting a woman and being so instantly attracted to her? How long had it been since he’d found himself doing this particular dance with someone, feeling out the boundaries, testing the limits, wondering if she would gasp or scream when she came? Only a few minutes after meeting this woman and he was already praying he’d get the chance to find out.

“Not here,” she said. For a minute he wondered if he’d somehow said that last part out loud. Her eyes danced, lips turning up at the corners like she knew what he was thinking. “Come on, you must know a better place around here to grab a drink and something that’s actually edible.”

Was it his imagination or did she skim her eyes over his body on that last word?

“It’s not fancy,” he warned.

“I like rough around the edges,” she said. He chuckled. “Show me.”

Chapter 2

Jamie took Tessa to a food truck parked a few blocks from her hotel in a small park, Christmas lights strung between the open window of the truck and the edges of nearby picnic tables. They ate fish tacos made with locally caught fish and drank vinho verde out of red solo cups while sitting on the grass watching headlights fly by on the highway below the embankment. The lights glinted off the silver at his temples, shadows playing in the creases at the edges of his eyes when he laughed.

“Most ridiculous order customization,” she said, taking another bite of her taco. A bit of the tangy pink sauce clung to the corner of her mouth. She licked it away, awareness prickling at the back of her neck as his eyes tracked the movement.

“Last summer I had a candied ginger salmon and citrus risotto on the menu. A tourist came in and requested the dish without any ginger. Or citrus.”

She laughed, nearly spitting out her mouthful of wine.

“Holy shit, that’s a good one,” she said.

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