Bachelor at Her Bidding (Bachelor Auction Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

whirl of thoughts in her head, he said, “I’m cooking crab cakes with arugula and mayonnaise, griddled lamb with rosemary potatoes and buttered spinach, then a trio of desserts.”
    Which all sounded wonderful. “What’s a trio of desserts?” she asked.
    He gave her an enigmatic smile. “Let’s just say they’re little tastes of things that go together very well.”
    “And that’s how they do desserts in Paris?”
    He inclined his head. “Absolutely.”
    “The menu sounds fabulous. Sorry, I should’ve asked you what wine to buy.” She hadn’t even thought about it. How stupid.
    “No need. The wine’s already sorted,” he said with a smile.
    The first box turned out to contain food. “I made two of the desserts this morning, otherwise there wouldn’t be enough time for one of them to freeze and the other one to cool,” he explained. “Is it OK to put things in your freezer and fridge?”
    “Sure. Help yourself.” Belatedly, she remembered her manners. “Can I make you a coffee?”
    “That would be nice. Thanks. No milk or sugar for me, please – I like my coffee just as it is.”
    She wondered if his taste for black coffee came from his time in Europe. Given the wistfulness in his eyes when he’d spoken about Europe, she knew it wouldn’t be tactful to ask. But she was glad she’d spent the time tidying and cleaning the kitchen that morning, as he looked approvingly at the empty workspaces.
    She quickly made him a coffee. She was sure that she saw a flicker of a grimace when he took a sip, but then it was hidden behind a polite smile. Just as his hair was hidden behind a skullcap which he’d clearly donned while she was making the coffee. Terrible coffee, she suspected; it looked as if her coffee-making skills were on a par with her culinary skills. And her equally terrible dating skills, she thought with a sigh.
    Not that she or Ryan was interested in a date.
    Though, if someone applied thumbscrews, she might just admit that Ryan Henderson intrigued her. There was just something about him. Something haunted behind his dark eyes. Something that made her want to know more about the man behind the chef’s tunic.
    “I’m going to start with dessert,” he said.
    “That sounds good.” A fabulous idea struck her. “So does this mean we get to eat dessert first?” she asked hopefully.
    “No, it means that dessert takes longer to prepare than the other courses, plus I’m using garlic and don’t want it to taint the rest of the food.”
    “Right. That makes sense,” she said, and perched on one of the kitchen chairs to watch him.
    His second box contained kitchen equipment, some of which Rachel couldn’t even identify, much less guess what it was for. He weighed ground almonds and confectioner’s sugar into the bowl of his small food processor, whizzed it round, then tipped the crumb-like mixture into another bowl and added egg whites to make it into a paste.
    “That’s the base for the macarons . I’m making a sugar syrup now,” he said.
    She noticed what he’d placed beside the pan on her stove top. “And you’re actually using a thermometer to check the temperature?”
    “A sugar thermometer. It’s a little more precise than the soft-ball test,” he said.
    She frowned. “Soft-ball?”
    “I mean the stage of sugar cookery,” he said, “not the game.”
    “Right – and you learned this in Paris?”
    “When they taught me to make macarons ,” he confirmed. “The first time I saw macarons was in Paris, in a shop window. They were displayed on this incredibly tall cone, all the different colors shading into each other like a rainbow. I remember pressing my nose against the window and being spellbound, and then my parents taking me in to the shop to choose one.” His smile grew wistful. “I always think of that when I make macarons. ”
    She knew that his parents had died when he was young, so clearly this was a precious memory. Rachel was touched that he’d shared it