Cooking up a Storm Read Online Free PDF Page B

priorities. Remembering the woman’s soft pink cheeks and rounded build, he suspected the latter.
    The dining room had cleared by the time he finished, which suited his purposes perfectly.
    ‘I’d like to speak to the owner,’ he said when the waitress arrived with his bill.
    She immediately crossed her arms beneath her pointy, high-slung breasts. ‘Why do you want to talk to the owner?’
    He smiled reassuringly. Perhaps she thought he had a complaint. ‘I’m a chef. I’ve come to apply for the position she advertised.’
    ‘Oh,’ said the waitress. Her arms uncrossed but she did not relax. ‘You might have called ahead, you know. I’ll have to see if she’s got time to talk.’
    Protective, aren’t we? he mused, and made a note to watch his step around this young female Cerberus.
    *   *   *
    Abby ran the damp, soapy cloth down the counter, so lost in her thoughts she wasn’t aware that she was lost. The stranger was more exotic than handsome. His jaw was too long, for one thing, and his mouth was unusually shaped. She touched her own, trying to recreate it in her mind. Yes, his upper lip was almost triangular. It looked temptingly soft. His nose was on the large side. It matched his jaw, but not his pretty blue-grey eyes. His clothes were expensive, but his hair was shaggy — shiny, though, so he must care for it.
    He was a misassembled puzzle, she thought. His face made one want to stare, to figure out what made it so appealing. Of course, it didn’t hurt that from the neck down he was drop-dead perfect.
    She ran the cloth the other way, heedless of the soapy drips trickling to the floor. Out in the lobby, she’d caught him staring at Jack’s photo as if he wanted to crawl inside. The expression of naked yearning disappeared the moment he caught sight of her, but it lasted long enough to brand itself on her memory. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn’t suppress the urge to soothe him, as if he were an injured puppy rather than a full-grown man who probably ate women like her for breakfast.
    He had that heartbreaker’s look; that ‘I can have any woman I want and I’ve proved it’ look. Was he ever sexy, though! Just holding his elbow, she’d marked the heat of him, the sexual electricity. Her pussy felt swollen even now. Every so often it gave a little twitch of longing.
    Ridiculous, she thought, crouching down to swipe a soapy puddle off the floor. Bill hadn’t been gone a week. Her body ought to be in mourning, not panting after a man who probably wouldn’t give her a second look. He probably went for fashion-model types who wore designer gowns to the grocer’s, women who read the New Yorker and never got grease under their nails. If she had the least bit of sense, she’d keep her interest hidden and save herself some embarrassment.
    Marissa’s unexpected entrance made her gasp and jolt to her feet.
    ‘One of the customers wants to talk to you about the chef’s position,’ she said.
    A little shiver tickled the back of Abby’s neck. She just knew it was him, Mr Sexy in the linen jacket. Heart thudding in her chest, she asked Marissa which customer she meant.
    Marissa studied her fingernails. ‘Shortish guy. Long hair.’
    Abby pressed her lips together to hide her smile. The man had been of average height and his shaggy brown hair did hang to his shoulders, but Marissa had to be blind to think that description did him justice.
    ‘Bedroom eyes?’ she added, succumbing to her urge to tease.
    Marissa shrugged. ‘He didn’t make an appointment. Want me to show him the door?’
    ‘Of course not.’ Abby pulled the soiled apron over her head and tossed it on to a stool. ‘I’ll talk to anyone who’ll get me out of this kitchen.’ She peered at her reflection in the door to the microwave. ‘Lord, look at my hair!’
    Marissa’s disapproving stare seemed to follow her to the dining room, but she forgot it as soon as she saw him standing by the corner table, waiting for her.