“It’s excellent,” I said, and watched her face light up.
That expression. That genuine pleasure at my approval. It did something to me, sending heat pooling low in my gut.
I took another bite, trying to focus on the food, on the flavors, on anything except the way Cate looked in the candlelight.
“I told you it was good!” Megan said through a mouthful of pasta.
“Megan, chew first,” I said automatically.
Cate laughed—a soft, genuine sound that made my chest tighten. “She’s excited. I’d be excited too if I’d helped make something this good.”
“You did more than help,” I said. “This is professional level.”
“I went to culinary school.” She twirled pasta onto her fork, and I watched the movement of her hands. Graceful. Confident. So different from her usual nervous energy. “In Boston. I was supposed to work at this restaurant downtown, but...” She trailed off, something flickering across her face. “It didn’t work out.”
There was a story there. Pain, maybe. Disappointment. I wanted to ask, wanted to know everything about her, but Megan was already launching into another story about lemon zesting, and the moment passed.
Cate took a bite of the chicken.
And made a sound.
Not loud. Barely audible. Just a soft “mmm” of satisfaction as she closed her eyes, savoring the flavors.
My entire body went rigid.
It was innocent. Completely innocent. The natural response to good food. But my brain—my traitorous, single-mindedbrain—immediately translated that sound into something else entirely.
That’s what she’d sound like in bed!
The thought hit me like a physical blow. Sudden. Visceral. Completely inappropriate with my five-year-old daughter sitting three feet away.
I shifted in my chair, trying to ignore the way my body was responding.
Professional.
This was professional.
She was my employee. My nanny. The woman I’d hired to care for my daughter.
The woman who was currently taking another bite, her lips closing around the fork, and—Another soft sound.
Pleasure. Enjoyment.
Christ.
I was getting hard at the dinner table.
At a family dinner.
With my daughter present.
This was a new low, even for me.
“Dad, are you okay?” Megan asked. “You look weird.”
“Fine,” I managed, my voice rougher than intended. “Just tired. Long day.”
Cate glanced up at me, concern in her eyes. “You should eat more. You probably haven’t had a proper meal all day.”
