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“Did I get what?”
“More, you know…” His cheeks flushed brick red and his gaze fell to a fascinating threadbare patch of carpet.
“Out with it, Shanester.”
He huffed a breath. “More interested in sex the further along you got?”
Oh, not what she had been expecting at all. They were friendly but notthisfriendly. Had he not heard of the Internet?
“Look, forget I asked.” His uncomfortable gaze sought out Vegas. “Come on, fur-bag, time to go.”
“No, Shane, it’s okay,” she said, regrouping. She had a certain level of experience here that she could expound on knowledgeably. “So Cara’s insatiable appetites aren’t restricted to pickles and Cherry Garcia?”
His grin was shy. “She wants it all the time and while I have no problems giving her what she wants, I’m just worried it’ll be harmful for the babies.”
There had been moments in the latter stages of Jules’s pregnancy when her body was on fire with want, mostly with her inappropriate desire for Tad.
“Hormones can be tricky,” she said honestly. “There’s an alien being inside sucking the life out of you. There are days you want to eat everything in sight or punch whoever’s standing in the way of you eating everything in sight. Then there are other days when other urges take over.”
Shane stared, leading Jules to realize her dirty wants were plain to see on her face.
Did everybody but Jules have to be having sex?
Time to wrap this up.
“I’m sure it’s fine. Cara’s a lot tougher than she appears.”
Jules knew Tad could give her what she needed. That one night to lose herself in ecstasy and pleasure, and with a man who would know a thing or two about how to please a woman.
“Shane, honey, I need you.” Cara’s sex-starved voice drifted out into the hallway.
“Looks like you’re on deck, stud.”
He couldn’t help his devilish, Irish smile as he scooped Vegas into his arms. “It’s a dirty job…” he murmured. Turning to leave, he threw a parting shot over his shoulder. “You could do worse than Tad, Jules.”
He closed his door, leaving Jules to ponder just how much worse it could get.
Fourteen
“You’re saving my ass big time, man. I can’t thank you enough.”
Tad liked to think he wasn’t scared of anyone but he was fairly sure if he found himself walking down an alley late one night and Derry Jones was coming his way, he might find the side of a Dumpster mesmerizing. Big and burly, with fists that could probably punch through stainless steel, Sarriette’s sous chef looked like he’d been hatched from a dragon’s egg. His thick arms were covered in wine and cheese label tattoos; his age ranked somewhere between twenty and forty. But the guy was a genius in the kitchen. And Tad needed all the kitchen smarts he could get.
Derry ran a hand over his close-shaved head and stared at the sample menu Tad had come up with. And stared. And stared some more…
“Lamb Merguez and feta sliders, pear and gorgonzola flat bread, duck rilettes…” Tad recited a few of his suggested favorites, all of which he knew would be child’s play for any chef with an ounce of talent. The man before him had pounds to spare.
Derry grunted something unintelligible.
“You could add dishes of your own, of course. I don’t want to stifle your creativity. Also, Jules will be making one of the special appetizers each day—”
“Juliet Kilroy?” His expression was pained. The poor guy probably thought his sabbatical from the high-pressure of Sarriette’s kitchen meant he was getting a vacation from the family Kilroy.
“Yeah, she’s actually good at this,” Tad said. Not to mention a few other things. Kissing him senseless, haunting his dreams, driving him wild. Derry’s arched eyebrow said he’d be the judge of that. “So I can leave it with you?”
The hulk shrugged, extracted a pen from his pocket, and dismissed Tad with a turn of his broad back.
Tad spent the rest of the afternoon performing cellar inventory and trying to parse last night’s events.
