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I swallowed the lump that was in my throat and forced a timid smile. “Mr. Jenner? I’m Maggie Dean. I’m here to interview for the chef’s job.”
“Awesome,” he said with a big smile. “I’m starving, so
you’re right on time.”
* * *
I couldn’t keep my eyes off Tyler Jenner’s ass as he guided me through the massive house toward the kitchen. He was pointing out the game room and the media room and the living room and telling me about this animal head on the wall and that one.
All I could focus on was his broad, muscled back, and the little towel that barely covered his ass cheeks, like the miniskirts Jackie wore to work sometimes that were cut too short on purpose so the customers could see the bottom of her ass.
As much as I enjoyed the view, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was being pranked. I had to hide my school girl grin behind my scarf.
“And this is the kitchen,” Tyler said, holding out his hands to present the most amazing kitchen I’d ever seen. Holy mother! It literally looked like something from a magazine and it was bigger than my entire house. There were two commercial-grade refrigerators, two commercial ovens, and two six-burner gas stove tops. The countertops were expensive granite and the floor was Italian marble. A large island bar with a concrete counter top separated the kitchen from the living room, and on it was a coffee machine that cost more than my car. It was all very rustic, very manly, and very expensive.
“Take off your jacket and have a seat at the bar,” Tyler said with a smile. “I’ll get us a cup of coffee and we can talk.”
“Great, thank you,” I said, trying to keep my eyes from the bulge that was pressing against the front of his towel. I swear, if the towel was half an inch shorter I would have been able to see his balls dangling between his legs.
I took off the parka and unwrapped the scarf from around my head. I slid onto a stool and blew warm air into my hands as I watched him fiddle with the coffee maker.
I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his presence. He seemed larger than life, like a guy you’d see in a magazine ad or on a TV show about surviving in the wilderness.
I’d never seen a man so handsome with so much facial hair. His dark hair was cut short on the sides and left longer on top. His moustache was trimmed neatly above his mouth, but the corners were long and blended in with the whiskers on his cheeks and chin. The beard was dark and luxuriously-thick.
My eyes drifted across his thick chest to his nipples, which were dark and hard like little thimbles. My eyes drifted lower, following the little trail of dark hair down his abs and across his belly button. I could see just a hint of black pubic curls peeping at me from the top of the towel.
“So, tell me about yourself, Maggie Dean,” Tyler said as he measured out coffee beans and scooped them into the top of the coffee maker. “Your cousin said you were a chef at a local restaurant?”
“Yes, I work at Robert’s Steakhouse on West and Main.” I didn’t mention that I was just a chef-in-training because he probably would have laughed me out of the house. I tried to ply him with other details hoping he wouldn’t dig too deeply in to my background. “It’s a family-run restaurant, Carl and Doris Roberts are the owners. It’s been there like thirty years. The best steaks in town. Do you know it?”
“I know of it,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ve ever eaten there.”
“You should. The food is really good.”
“I’m sure it is,” he said. He pressed a button and the coffee maker started grinding the beans. He looked at me and smiled. “This shouldn’t take long. Honestly, I miss the good old days when all you had to do was dump in a spoon of coffee into a cup of hot water.”
He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. He stretched out his long legs and smiled at me. I tried to focus on his eyes and not the bulge that seemed to be getting bigger behind the towel.
“Your cousin said you had taken culinary classes in Denver,” he said. “That’s my home town, you know.”
“I do, yes,” I said, licking my chapped lips. “I was taking classes at the Culinary Institute on Grand Avenue. Then my mom passed away and I had to move back home to look after my brothers.”
“How many brothers do you have?” he asked.
I was a little taken aback by his ability to carry on a casual conversation while wearing a loincloth that was starting to protrude from his body. Oh my God, was this guy getting a boner?
“Two younger brothers,” I managed to say, trying desperately to keep my eyes from wandering south. “Jimmy and Robbie. Fifteen and seventeen. I’m their legal guardian.”
“Teenage boys can be tough,” he said, shaking his head. He turned toward the coffee maker and pulled two cups down from the cupboard. He filled them both to the rim and brought them to the island.
“Cream or sugar?” he asked as he reached across to set my cup in front of me.
“No, black is fine,” I said, inhaling his scent along with the coffee’s. He smelled like soap and pine. I picked up the cup and warmed my fingers around it. I blew a cooling breath into the steaming liquid, then took a careful sip. It tasted amazing! So this is what real coffee tastes like.
“It must be hard,” he said. “Raising two teenagers all by yourself.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You can’t be too much older than them.”
“I’m twenty-four,” I said. I felt my cheeks flush. Jesus, I was blushing like a silly schoolgirl. “And yes, it’s hard sometimes, and they hate me most of the time.”
