Guilty Pleasures Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Poached pear in spiced honey sauce, huh?”
    She had to stop herself from gaping at him. “You can read that?”
    He nodded, not looking at her. “Have you considered going with more Moroccan flavors, rather than just cinnamon and nutmeg?”
    Before she could stop him, he picked up a pencil and started drawing what he had in mind, listing off various ingredients: cardamon, cloves, and paprika. “It’ll be a little spicy for a dessert,” he mused. “Maybe something cool…and creamy, to counterbalance? I’m thinking maybe whipped cream with a hint of sherry, or possibly a cool sorbet. What do you think?”
    She looked over his sketch, imagining what he had in mind. “That’s not bad,” she said, glancing up at him, and then caught her breath at the sexy, confident grin on his face.
    â€œI’m not bad either,” he said in a low voice. “Why don’t you give me a try?”
    Her heart started pounding in her chest. Suddenly, she wanted very badly to give him a try.
    â€œLet me cook for you,” he said. “You seem very fond of trial runs. Let me see if I can impress you enough to help out.”
    She blinked. Of course he wasn’t offering anythingelse. So why was her body reacting with such disappointment?
    She heard the bustling of the crew coming in…the morning shift was here. She took one last peek at the sketch.
    â€œOkay,” she said grudgingly. After all, she was going to be creating a whole new menu. Maybe she was being unreasonable. At the very least, she could let him think he was getting a fair trial, before telling him that, as always, she’d be coming up with the menu on her own.
    â€œGreat.” He leaned toward her, and she hoped nobody had come into the kitchen yet. “How does tonight sound?”
    Her mouth went dry. “Tonight? For what?”
    â€œI’ll cook for you.”
    That shouldn’t have sounded sexy, but from his mouth, it sounded downright sinful.
    â€œJust give me a chance. You’ll be hungry, so I’ll whip up something for dinner for you.”
    â€œAll right,” she said, slowly. “But it’ll have to be quick…I’m going to have a night crew doing a thorough cleaning of the kitchen.”
    â€œWhy don’t I cook it at your place, then?” Although his voice sounded reasonable, the heat coming from his eyes was intense. “Just cook,” he assured her. “And then we won’t be…rushed.”
    She took a deep breath. The crew would be in any second.
    â€œAll right,” she heard herself say. “After work tonight. Although after a twelve-hour shift, I doubtyou’re going to feel up to anything really challenging.”
    He grinned at her. “You’d be surprised at my stamina,” he murmured. “See you tonight.”
    â€œHey, boss,” Tiny, her grill man for the morning shift, said in a gravelly voice. “You got last night’s logs?”
    â€œI’ll go get them,” she said, hurrying for the back room. She shot one last quick look at Nick.
    His eyes never left her. She turned back to the makeshift office, grabbing the log books.
    What the hell have I agreed to?
    Â 
    N ICK WALKED THROUGH the inventory and supplies with Tiny, the ill-named grill man. At six foot one and easily two hundred and fifty pounds, Tiny was an enormous black man with a flopping chef’s “toque” or hat, and a glinting gold earring. He grinned widely and spoke in a slow, deep bass voice. Still, Nick noted what the man said, absently checking things off on his own makeshift list. If he were at Le Chapeau, he’d be coming up with specials, noting what needed to be tossed, thinking of how to improve cost and maybe kicking around a few new recipe ideas.
    Now, he could just think of tonight—cooking for Mari.
    What the hell was I thinking?
    He looked over, between the moving bodies of chefs, to