main kitchen.
Several minutes later, she filled their orders. Matt and Mr. Stone dove into the braised short ribs she delivered to them. Her typical ease in the kitchen switched to uneven dicing, shaky cutting that almost sliced a couple fingers off, and jerky tossing, causing bits and pieces to fly out of the pan and into the flames on the gas stove. Unsettled, her upset stomach flared and heat from the oven made it feel like she had a hundred four temperature. In the middle of a busy lunch service, she tried to concentrate on each order and ignore, for the most part, the two men devouring their meals at the table over her shoulder. It wasn’t common for her to be so rude. She just couldn’t get what she needed done correctly if she spent one more moment with him. Any time those hazel eyes shot in her direction, they pierced her.
Whenever she got near him, his enticing sandalwood, lavender, and berries cologne wafted up her nose and caused her heart to thrum as if each scent pulsed through her veins, surged through the left and right ventricles, and flooded the rest of her organs.
At last, the time had come for their dessert, leaving her with no choice but to pay them a visit. She set two small plates with three pieces of Russian Torte on each in front of Matt and Mr. Stone. Instead of returning to her station, her feet remained glued to the wood floor. His opinion didn’t matter. It shouldn’t, she told herself. Yet she stayed and waited as Mr. Stone picked one up and inspected the layers.
“Meringue.” He shot a glance her way, waiting for confirmation.
She nodded.
“The orange stuff—tangerines, peaches, what?”
“Apricots,” she corrected.
“Nuts on the bottom? Please tell me they’re not prunes.”
Unable to contain her laughter, it rushed out, relieving some of the strain that had twisted her up earlier. “Oh, Mr. Stone, if I were a cruel person, I’d lie and tell you they’re the sweetest, most delectable plums, handpicked and dried especially for you.” The tease caught her by surprise. It sounded sensual in her ears and must have registered with him too, because his eyebrow rose to his hairline, challenging her.
As soon as her taunt had been uttered, his tongue darted out and slicked up the side of the four-tier, decadent morsel. “Mmm.” He murmured multiple times, along with a deep rumble along his throat and Adam’s apple. The side of his mouth curved up, right before he opened wide and plopped the entire thing inside. His cheek bulged from the fullness, and he hummed through each chomp. Those honey brown eyes with sparks of winter green, a shade that transformed depending on the lighting, remained stuck to her as he savored each bite.
“Rick, is that you?” A svelte, dressed-to-the-nines woman rested her hand on his shoulder and ducked down, brushing a kiss on his cheek and remaining on that spot a lot longer than a simple hello.
Mr. Stone rose from his seat, his lips dropping into a frown.
Maggie glanced toward Matt, but he just continued to eat, shoving the last piece in his mouth and removing the two from his friend’s plate, putting them on his own. He pressed a finger up to his lips in a silent “shh” and instead of being ashamed, he shrugged his shoulders and continued to gulp them down.
“I was wondering when we could get together again.” The hussy pressed a hand onto Mr. Stone’s chest, right on his heart, while the other cupped his cheek, swiping a thumb along the stubble. The fake blond bombshell stepped closer, not leaving a centimeter between them. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time. I’ve missed you.”
Mr. Stone grabbed her wrist and pushed her arm away from his face, returning it to her side. He scooted his chair with the backs of his legs and took several steps away from her. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Aw, Rick, don’t be like that.” She leaned up and uttered something in his ear.
He dropped his neck back and stared at the
Several minutes later, she filled their orders. Matt and Mr. Stone dove into the braised short ribs she delivered to them. Her typical ease in the kitchen switched to uneven dicing, shaky cutting that almost sliced a couple fingers off, and jerky tossing, causing bits and pieces to fly out of the pan and into the flames on the gas stove. Unsettled, her upset stomach flared and heat from the oven made it feel like she had a hundred four temperature. In the middle of a busy lunch service, she tried to concentrate on each order and ignore, for the most part, the two men devouring their meals at the table over her shoulder. It wasn’t common for her to be so rude. She just couldn’t get what she needed done correctly if she spent one more moment with him. Any time those hazel eyes shot in her direction, they pierced her.
Whenever she got near him, his enticing sandalwood, lavender, and berries cologne wafted up her nose and caused her heart to thrum as if each scent pulsed through her veins, surged through the left and right ventricles, and flooded the rest of her organs.
At last, the time had come for their dessert, leaving her with no choice but to pay them a visit. She set two small plates with three pieces of Russian Torte on each in front of Matt and Mr. Stone. Instead of returning to her station, her feet remained glued to the wood floor. His opinion didn’t matter. It shouldn’t, she told herself. Yet she stayed and waited as Mr. Stone picked one up and inspected the layers.
“Meringue.” He shot a glance her way, waiting for confirmation.
She nodded.
“The orange stuff—tangerines, peaches, what?”
“Apricots,” she corrected.
“Nuts on the bottom? Please tell me they’re not prunes.”
Unable to contain her laughter, it rushed out, relieving some of the strain that had twisted her up earlier. “Oh, Mr. Stone, if I were a cruel person, I’d lie and tell you they’re the sweetest, most delectable plums, handpicked and dried especially for you.” The tease caught her by surprise. It sounded sensual in her ears and must have registered with him too, because his eyebrow rose to his hairline, challenging her.
As soon as her taunt had been uttered, his tongue darted out and slicked up the side of the four-tier, decadent morsel. “Mmm.” He murmured multiple times, along with a deep rumble along his throat and Adam’s apple. The side of his mouth curved up, right before he opened wide and plopped the entire thing inside. His cheek bulged from the fullness, and he hummed through each chomp. Those honey brown eyes with sparks of winter green, a shade that transformed depending on the lighting, remained stuck to her as he savored each bite.
“Rick, is that you?” A svelte, dressed-to-the-nines woman rested her hand on his shoulder and ducked down, brushing a kiss on his cheek and remaining on that spot a lot longer than a simple hello.
Mr. Stone rose from his seat, his lips dropping into a frown.
Maggie glanced toward Matt, but he just continued to eat, shoving the last piece in his mouth and removing the two from his friend’s plate, putting them on his own. He pressed a finger up to his lips in a silent “shh” and instead of being ashamed, he shrugged his shoulders and continued to gulp them down.
“I was wondering when we could get together again.” The hussy pressed a hand onto Mr. Stone’s chest, right on his heart, while the other cupped his cheek, swiping a thumb along the stubble. The fake blond bombshell stepped closer, not leaving a centimeter between them. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time. I’ve missed you.”
Mr. Stone grabbed her wrist and pushed her arm away from his face, returning it to her side. He scooted his chair with the backs of his legs and took several steps away from her. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Aw, Rick, don’t be like that.” She leaned up and uttered something in his ear.
He dropped his neck back and stared at the
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