Read Last Bite: A Novel of Culinary Romance for Free Online Page B

stooped down to retrieve the ones that had landed on the top of the pile. He was wearing faded jeans and a tight-fitting black polo shirt and I could see that his backside was not all that was toned. He looked to be about six feet two inches, and every inch was lean and hard.
    I grabbed a tray and stooped down to help reassemble breakfast. “Chef O’Shea. I—”
    “Danny.”
    “Chef Danny—”
    “Just Danny, or Tony if you prefer.” He was licking cream filling off his fingers and looking at me as though I was next.
    “Cute.” I picked up the tray and stood quickly and rigidly, hoping he would get the idea that I was immune to his bold flirtation. He slowly rose to his feet and I said, “Look, I
am
sorry about the mistake and the comments. I got caught in the rain, I’m soaked, and I’ve ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes. Trust me, I’m not always such a witch.”
    His eyes moved down but didn’t make it as far as my shoes. They stopped briefly at my wet shirt and returned to my face. “I’m sure you’re not. A bit flustered perhaps . . .” His eyes went south again and then returned, amused, to my face. “But perfectly lovely.”
    Was I blushing? I had no idea how transparent Chloé silk was when it was wet, so I lifted the tray breast-high to hide well, whatever.
    “Would you like one?”
    “Love one.” He took a bite of a broken cannoli and looked into my eyes with lust written all over his face.
    I was positively blushing, and it was flustering me. Caught off guard, I was behaving like an absolute dingus, and this man was outrageously bold with a libido that seemed to be in overdrive; he was also drop-dead gorgeous. His short black hair had a slight wave to it, and a few stands fell forward over a square face with well-defined features and a strong chin. His eyes were the killer. They were a deep blue outlined by dark eyelashes and they had a sensuous, suggestive glint that had probably gotten him kicked out of Ireland.
    I was still wondering how much of me was actually showing when Mae walked in and answered my question by immediately handing me a chef’s coat from her backpack. I neededto get control and take charge. I turned authoritatively to Danny and used my best executive chef’s voice. “Do you know you’re here two weeks early?”
    “Not really. Sonya said I should come in this week to have a look around and discuss my recipes with you. I’ve never been on the telly before and I don’t watch food shows, so I didn’t know what kind of things you were looking for. I was on my way to the fish market anyway and thought this would be a good time.”
    “Well, we don’t have a food spot this morning, so you can’t see what actually happens. But since you’re already here, we can discuss what you’re going to make for yours.”
    “Brilliant.”
    I told him to sit down at Romeo, cautiously referring to it as “the island” while I gave Mae instructions for tomorrow’s prep. The Tonys came in and I put them to work helping Mae but first asked them to clean up the residue of powdered sugar on the floor. I was giving orders a mile a minute and beginning to feel executive again. I took a legal pad and a pen from the drawer and sat down at Romeo, across from him. “Okay. What are your thoughts about what you’d like to demonstrate? You’ll only have about three and a half minutes.”
    “Whoa! That’s not a lot of time.”
    I explained about swaps and backups and asked if he had some signature recipes that he’d like to highlight. “You know, something you serve at the restaurant that is really outstanding.”
    “It’s all outstanding.”
    Add nauseatingly arrogant to outrageously bold. “Did you by any chance bring a menu with you?” I was feeling totally executive again when Jonathan came in to complain about tomorrow’s brown chocolate cheesecake and the brown tempeh fajitas. “Nice hair. What’s with the eyes?”
    I touched my head; my hair was still soaking wet, and