Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“I googled you,” I blurted.
Kane merely blinked in response. To be fair, I didn’t give him much of an opportunity to respond since I launched into my next sentence within seconds.
“It is kind of a douchey thing to do,” I clasped the back of my neck. “Googling someone. But I did it. And I figured it may make me somewhat less douchey if I informed you that I googled you.”
I wiped my palms on my pants. They were sweating. I did not get sweaty palms. Sweaty palms meant nerves. Nerves meant you were second-guessing yourself. Your ability. There was no room for that in my kitchen.
Yet there I was. Sweating.
Nervous.
Kane, the handsome prick, did not seem nervous in the slightest. His body was relaxed, his expression lazy yet aware at the same time, his eyes sparkling as the side of his lip turned up in a smirk that made my panties damp.
Not from sweat.
“What did you find out?” he asked, seemingly unbothered about my googling.
I studied my fingernails for a moment, scrambling to find my cool. “That you have two Olympic medals.”
He shrugged. Shrugged at the mention of Olympic medals.
“One, technically,” he corrected.
I frowned. My brain might not have been firing on all cylinders right then, but I’d eaten up any and all information about this man with ravenous hunger and good recall. I was sure it was two. I’d even fact-checked my original source. One couldn’t always trust Wikipedia.
“Silver doesn’t count.” He casually thrummed his fingers against the stainless steel.
I regarded him. Though he still had a mischievous glint in his eye, he was being serious about the medal thing.
I pursed my lips. Most people would try to argue with him on the point. Merely getting to the Olympics was kind of a big deal, let alone coming in second. At least that’s what most people would think.
But most people hadn’t competed at the utmost levels. Only the 1 percent of the 1 percent had. Most people didn’t do that because you had to drive yourself half crazy to get there. You had to sacrifice a lot. You had to be brutal with yourself. And you had to have one pursuit: to get to the top.
If you got second to the top, you weren’t satisfied. Because what you turned yourself into to come in second meant you only mattered if you came in first.
Or maybe that wasn’t everyone.
I, at least, understood the sentiment of what Kane said, so I didn’t argue with him.
His lips quirked ever so slightly in response to my silence, and I wondered if he’d received the predictable response when he’d said similar things to people in the past.
“What else did you find out?”
I sank my teeth into my bottom lip. “More accolades and wins for various extreme sports, along with multiple disciplines, which I understand isn’t common.”
He shrugged. “I learn fast and get bored easily.”
There was no arrogance in his tone. But there was a confidence. One that was supremely sexy instead of annoying.
“Anything else?” He slid off the stool then stepped toward me. Prowled toward me would be a better description. “Because if not, I’m gonna do something in this kitchen that none of your staff are gonna do. Ever.”
My heart was now in my throat.
“Gonna fuck you on that counter you just polished so good.”
“That’s a health violation,” I informed him lamely after realizing my mouth had dropped open. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Well, there were plenty of things to say. There were people in the front of the house, finishing up. They could come through the door at any moment. They weren’t likely to, but it was a possibility. I was a professional. This restaurant was my life. Doing something like fucking a patron, a celebrity, in my kitchen could ruin everything.
I could’ve said any of those things. Instead, I mentioned a health violation.
“I don’t give a fuck.” Kane bared his teeth.
Then he kissed me.
I melted into the kiss. Immediately. Every single reservation I had about his plans drifted away. It was right, impossibly right, for him to take me right here in the place I held most sacred.
He worked at my chefs’ whites. Tore at them.
I helped him get off my shirt, giving him access to my bra, my nipples.
I gasped as his lip fastened around one, my hands tangling in his hair.
“You okay with this, Chef?” he paused to look up at me. His voice was thick and guttural.
“Yes,” I panted down at him without hesitation.
His hand went below the waistband of my pants, inside my panties. “You okay with this?” His fingers worked at where I was wet. Soaking.
“Fuck yes.” My eyes rolled to the back of my head.
He leaned in to nibble on my ear while he rubbed at my clit. “You okay if I bend you over that same counter you were so carefully using tweezers to garnish an hour ago?”