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Sean and I had taken over the entire kitchen island with our prep and I’d already heard Felicia fretting that the open floor plan made the catering entirely too visible to arriving guests. She had floated the idea of adding a catering kitchen in the future past her husband. I hadn’t heard his response, but I had to give her props. She was pregnant with his baby girl. This was the golden opportunity to ask for anything and everything she wanted. Other people might think a catering kitchen was over-the-top but as a chef, I appreciated the separation.
It wasn’t that I disliked the idea of working where guests could see me, it was just that it was distracting. But we still had almost an hour until anyone was due to arrive, at which point Felicia and Michael had hired serving staff to take over.
“Taste this,” I said to Sean, lifting a spoon of horseradish sauce to his lips. “More pepper?” I trusted my seasoning just fine, I just wanted to touch him.
I know. I know. I was asking for trouble, but something about Sean being vulnerable in the cooler had made me see him in a different light. He also hadn’t made me regret telling him about my parents. The anger I’d felt for him now seemed to simmer more as a sexual tension, a desire to tease him. A competitive energy between us.
He opened his mouth dutifully and stared me down as he swallowed. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice low, leg brushing mine.
It felt like he was talking about me. “Thanks.”
“It comes in with a bite and mellows at the end.” He gave me a wink.
Yep. He was talking about me. I didn’t hate that description of me either. I reached out and used the back of my thumb to wipe his lip where a little bit of the white sauce clung.
I would have pulled my finger away and wiped it on a towel, but he pulled it between his lips and sucked the tip. His eyes darkened. I felt the answering tug between my thighs. Damn, I wanted him. And not on impulse. I wanted a deliberate, slow, exploration of what kind of pleasure we could bring to each other.
“The mushroom duxelle, on the other hand, needs some help,” he said, giving me a smile.
“Shut up,” I said, good-naturedly, yanking my finger away.
Sean laughed. “Touchy, diva chef. I knew that’s how you would be.”
I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t know anything about me.”
“I knew you were passionate that very first night in the elevator. And irrational.”
He was enjoying teasing me. I waved a knife at him. “Be careful what you say when I have a very sharp weapon in my hand.”
“You don’t scare me. Then or now, Isla the Intimidator.”
The memory of our first meeting amused me. “I can’t believe I called you an asshole five minutes after we met.”
“You’re very mean.”
That made me laugh. “Please. You called me a man hater.”
“I didn’t realize at the time that you don’t hate men in general, you just hated me. I stand corrected.”
The bartender was milling around, having set up the elaborate champagne station already. I offered him an appetizer. “What is it?” he asked, looking suspiciously at all the trays.
“Fish and chips.” I didn’t tell him it was actually a sardine on a mash of English peas, with razor thin fried potato slices.
He made a face. “No, thanks.”
That was what I had worried about. Felicia’s guests weren’t exactly going to be wild for sardines, no matter what I called them. But the mini Yorkshire puddings would go over better. That was just beef in a puff pastry with horseradish and watercress.
I ate one of the tiny appetizers myself, just to prove to the bartender it was delicious. Sean did the same, then asked him, “Can you get us a bottle of champagne?”
He easily handed one over, which surprised me. Clearly no stickler for the bottle count. Or maybe he knew Sean was Michael’s brother. At any rate, I eyed Sean as I stirred my pan sauce for our beef Wellington. “What are you doing with that?”
“Drinking it. With you.” He popped the cork handily and took two coup glasses from the bartender. “Here.” He poured and then handed me a glass.
I took it, a thought entering my head that was not appropriate for a baby shower. I’d heard something about champagne heightening the sensation of a blowjob. All those bubbles. My cheeks went warm.
Sean poured a glass for himself and raised it. He eyed me, his expression unexpectedly serious. “To us. A partnership.”
It wasn’t clear to me what exactly he meant by that, but I liked the sound of it. We had turned a corner. One that didn’t really have anything to do with sex. Though I definitely wanted more of that. “To us getting along.” I gently tapped my glass against his. “Cheers.” I took a sip, then set my glass down. “Shoot, the sauce!”
