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A slow grin unfurled on my face. Crashing another one of Amara’s meetingsandgetting an entire meal from Ezra out of it, plus sweets from Brie?
“I like the way you think, Jeff,” I said, rising to my feet.
He gave me a mock salute. “See you later.”
Whistling a peppy little tune, I exited my office and made my way toward the restaurant.
I found Amara, Brie, and Ezra in the kitchen, an impressive array of sample dishes spread on the massive prep island. Amara had perched herself on a stool on one side, one of her long, silky legs crossed over the other, the smooth material of her flowy skirt having ridden dangerously high on her thighs. Her arms were bare, one elbow resting on the counter, her chin propped in it as she watched her sister and Ezra move around the industrial kitchen in a well-practiced dance.
But I only had eyes for her.
God, she was stunning. It was truly a shame we absolutely could never be together, because we could have a lot of fun together.
All those thoughts immediately dissipated like smoke on the wind when I cleared my throat and Amara turned those golden eyes on me, the joy in them instantly dimming to wariness.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is the tasting meeting for the summer menu, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Great!” I said, cutting her off and pulling out the stool next to her. Sure, I could’ve put some distance between us—and the moment her intoxicating perfume hit my nose, I wished I had—but I’d never pass up an opportunity to make her squirm. I looked at Ezra and Brie, both of whom wore amused expressions, and said, “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all,” Ezra said graciously. “There’s plenty here for both of you.”
The moment they turned their backs on us, and Amara hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Eating dinner,” I said, my point punctuated by a low grumble from my stomach.
“How did you even know this was happening today?”
“I have my ways,” I said with a smirk.
“I’m firing Cindy,” she groused.
“I would have to advise against that.”
“Leave my assistant alone,” she said. “Matter of fact, leavemealone.”
“No can do, Princess.”
Her eye twitched at my use of her nickname, and I bit back a full on grin. Before she could retort, Ezra turned and plated a dollop of mashed potatoes, topped it with three healthy-sized medallions of some sort of meat, drizzled it all with sauce, and sprinkled fried onions on top.
That was one thing I loved about Ezra’s cooking—not only that he was an insanely talented chef and I’d eat whatever he put in front of me, but also because, despite having earned a Michelin star at his former restaurant in New York City, his food wasn’t flashy. He used high-quality ingredients and put his own spin on classic comfort-food staples. In New York, I’m sure he’d experimented a bit more, but when a tragedy in his personal life had him re-evaluating his career and his role as a father, he’d decided to seek out a job somewhere quieter and slower-paced.
New York’s loss was surely our gain.
“Alright, Ez” Amara said to Ezra, leaning forward to stick her nose dangerously close to a plate of some pasta dish in front of her. “What’ve we got?”
Our first dish turned out to be a cold pasta, which surprised me when I shoveled a bite into my mouth. The cavatappi were tossed in a cheese sauce that I couldn’t even begin to guess the components of, and the noodles were topped with an array of colorful grape tomatoes that burst deliciously in my mouth, the sweet acidity the perfect balance for the heavier noodles and cheese.
Next to me, Amara groaned deeply, and my entire body froze.
I’ve heard that sound before—when I was sucking on her tongue and grinding her against my cock in the wine cellar last week.
No no no no, I silently pleaded with my body, but naturally, my dick didn’t listen. I shifted uncomfortably on my stool, reaching down to adjust myself while Amara’s eyes were still closed as she savored her food.
“Fuck, that’s good,” she said quietly.
