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One dark eyebrow lifted above the box lid, followed by the chef’s narrowing eyes. “Why should I give in? I know I’ll figure it out-”
“Someday?” Stephen’s laughter was warm like his famous berry compote. “We could all die in the meantime.”
“I’m not so easy to best.”
Caroline bit into her bottom lip as she felt his crisp, clipped tone tingle down her spine.
Sure, she found him attractive. She’d have to be dead not to.
Chef Lucas Brierly had ended up on the cover of Bon Appetite three times in three years and each month she’d spent entirely too much time staring at his picture and looking down at the man’s forearms.
He had amazing forearms.
Correction.
He had orgasmic forearms.
His relatively pale skin never seemed to tan, mainly because he spent much of his life inside one kind of kitchen or another, but his arms were a work of art.
And it wasn’t from going to the gym. No, Lucas Brierly worked out in the kitchen. The hours he spent doing kitchen prep when he was at his restaurant hadn’t endeared him to his staff. No, it earned him their loyalty and respect.
He never asked or demanded something of an employee that he wasn’t willing to do himself.
And all of that work, had apparently turned him into some kind of culinary god, because the banded muscle just beneath his skin looked really strong.
Strong enough that when she’d dreamed of him holding her, she’d always found a way to run her hands up and down his forearms before she would inevitably take hold of his wrists and bring his hands up to her breasts and-
“Carolina?”
Startled from her less than professional thought about her boss, she shook herself awake and smiled at the men. “Sorry. What did I miss?”
Stephen set a kind hand on her shoulder. “See, Luca? You have worn the lady out. Surely, you can concede now. You could even make her dinner another day.”
She bounced her focus between the two men. “No, I’m fine. I was just rethinking a new recipe in my head.”
Lucas turned his watchful gaze on her. “Maybe I should demand that you share your thoughts with me, Miss Franzen.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
Stephen set his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer. He pressed a kiss on each cheek before he wrapped her in his arms for an embrace and nearly dragged her off her feet. “One day,” he whispered into her ear, “I will visit you in your kitchen and see you passing on all that you have learned to the next generation of chefs. Until then, Carolina, keep your knives sharp and your skills sharper.”
By the time she’d recovered from his words and the strength of his embrace, he was long gone, and she was alone in the kitchen with Lucas.
And the room, which arguably was the largest kitchen in the city was eerily silent. She hoped that the soft vibrations in the room from the cooling system would be enough to hide the beating of her heart as it thundered in her chest.
Lucas Brierly was known for his temper as much as his talent. He was loud, he was brash, and he was freakishly talented. He had a pure palette and a distinctive way of turning humble ingredients into dishes that would satisfy the most discerning tastes.
That wasn’t just her opinion. With nearly a dozen restaurants on three different continents, totaling over fifteen Michelin Stars across the whole Brierly Universe, Lucas wasn’t just a name… he was a singular talent.
And he frustrated her like no other. When Stephen had suggested that she stage in Bulldog, learning at Lucas’ elbow, she had laughed out loud. Until she realized that her mentor was serious.
Seriously demented.
Lucas had come into their classes at the culinary school and tasted their dishes, giving them his feedback. Her ego still ached from the numerous take downs.
Still, she knew that if she wanted to be good, she had to face up to men like Lucas. And so, she did.
She’d spent the better part of two months working in his kitchen, the unpaid drudge, learning to hate the English accent. Well, not the whole country full of people, but just the one that had the worst habit of staring at her through the crowd of people in the kitchen. The first few times she’d cringed or looked down to see what she was messing up. After that she’d just lifted her chin and stared right back at him, a challenge in her eyes.
