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)
When I asked him where he went while I was working, he shrugged his shoulders, saying the gym or doing whatever publicity shit his publicist had organized for his ‘break’ before he went on tour in preparation for the X Games. He rode in tracks and entered events all over the country.
That hung over my head, the looming date of Kane’s departure. Sure, he owned an apartment in New York, but from what I could tell, he was usually on the move. Always competing somewhere, if not jumping out of planes, off bridges, riding motorcycles through South America, driving Jeeps on two wheels in the Middle East.
Somehow, I’d caught him on a rare occasion when he wasn’t defying death but living the semblance of a normal life.
Well, whatever normal looked like for a famous daredevil.
He was obviously used to people taking photos in his presence, hence his question as to why none of the staff did it.
“Well, we have rules about doing such things in the restaurant. We do have many clients more famous than you,” I teased.
“Don’t hurt my precious ego,” he teased back, a hand splayed over his chest. “But I’m not a client. And I’m pretty sure that not everyone here is such a militant rule follower like you, Chef.”
I stiffened at his words. That’s what I was, wasn’t it? Type A, a rule follower who lived by schedules, by the clock. It had worked for me most of my life; it had been what kept me sane, that control. Now Kane seeing me that way had me suddenly uncomfortable.
I shook that feeling off.
“I’m sure they break rules sometimes, but not with you.” I looked down at the filet I was seasoning. “They’re far too afraid of me to snap a picture, considering I’d know it came from this kitchen when it came out.” I didn’t add that the position in my restaurant was too precious to risk a photo of him for. It sounded a little arrogant, even to me.
Kane’s eyes danced with amusement. “Scared? Of you?” He pulled me into his arms, kissing my head. “I like that,” he murmured against my hair.
“Are you scared of me?” I asked, teasing once more.
Kane pushed me back to meet my eyes, all amusement gone from his. “I’m fuckin’ terrified of you, Chef.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling like all the air had gone from my lungs. This … thing between us had been all about feeling alive. About animal instincts, wanting each other. Though I had fleeting thoughts of just how deep I was in in such a short time, I quickly pushed them away.
Yet here was Kane, bringing it to the forefront, making these issues impossible to ignore. This thing between us was moving past infatuation and turning into something else, something more permanent. Something that would mark my insides like scars when it was done.
“You overly tired, Chef, or you want to come out with me tonight?” Thankfully, his question broke the seriousness of the moment.
I should’ve been tired. My work schedule was as grueling as it always had been, I was used to that. But I was also used to falling into bed as soon as I got home. Not riding around the city on the back of a motorcycle then getting fucked into oblivion for hours every night.
“I’m not tired,” I replied honestly. When I was with Kane, it was the same feeling as when I was in the kitchen, like my body was electrified, like nothing else existed.
Except the kitchen was orderly, it had rules, structure. I was in control.
Kane was chaos. There were no rules with him, and I most certainly wasn’t in control.
“Want to go out with me?” he asked.
The control freak in me wanted to first ask where we were going, especially because I was only wearing the jeans I’d taken to change into for the ride and a leather jacket Kane had unceremoniously bought me a few days ago. The leather was buttery-soft, but it was also warm, chasing away the bite of the autumn air. It fit me perfectly and was exactly my style—classic, understated. A thoughtful, powerful gesture from Kane that only added to the proof this was more than a thing.
Though the leather jacket was undoubtedly nice, I worried about my attire if we were going to be around people in cocktail dresses.
Kane always wore a variation of his all-black clothing, usually motorcycle boots and a band tee, a jacket of his own. But even I could recognize everything he wore was expensive. I could tell you exactly how much black truffles were going for at any given moment, but not those kinds of things.
I bit my tongue, swallowing all the questions on it and looked up at Kane.
“Let’s go.”
“This is where we’re going?” I looked at the exterior of the bar. I tried to hide my distaste, but it didn’t quite work. Not that I was a snob. Or I supposed I was, by occupational hazard more than upbringing. We didn’t grow up rich, but I was never aware of money worries. My father, ever the practical man, had a healthy life insurance policy, and both my sister and I had college funds.