Bachelor at Her Bidding (Bachelor Auction Book 2) (6 page)

He dished up within seconds, and slid the plate in front of her. “Be careful. The plates are hot.”

“This all looks beautiful,” she said. How had he managed to make the meal look this good, and so fast?

“Plating – well, presentation – is important. A good meal should be about the whole thing,” he said seriously. “The way the food looks and smells, as well as the texture and the taste.”

She tried her first mouthful of lamb, then potatoes, then spinach. And now she understood why he’d used nutmeg.

“I didn’t think anything could be better than the crab cakes, but I stand corrected. This is absolutely amazing.” She lifted her glass. “To you, Ryan Henderson, and the best meal I’ve ever eaten in my entire life. Thank you.”

He actually blushed. It was a faint wash of color, but enough to tell her that he was pleased by the compliment. “Pleasure.”

Taking advantage of the way he seemed to have warmed up, she dared to ask a question that verged on the personal. “So did you always know you wanted to be a chef?”

“Strictly speaking, I’m a pastry chef,” he said. “And I think I always did. My parents took me round Europe when I was about ten. We spent the whole summer there. I remember the
macarons
and the crepes in Paris, and amazing pasta in Rome, but most of all I remember the cakes in Vienna. Not just the rich chocolate Sachertorte they served with whipped cream, but going to a really old
Hofzuckerbäcker
where they had a glass wall at the back so you could see into the kitchens. One of the bakers was making this amazing cake shaped like a Lipizzaner horse. I stood on the stairs, just watching him add all these tiny touches and seeing the horse turn from plain white into something that looked almost real, even though it was all made of sugar. I knew then I wanted to do that – to make creations that amazed people as much as they’d amazed me when I was a boy.”

And yet he’d given it all up to work at Grey’s Saloon. Ryan Henderson wasn’t slumming it, exactly, but he was cooking the simpler food his clients enjoyed and obviously suppressing the fancier stuff he’d fallen in love with in Europe and had spent years training to make.

If only there was a way of helping him get the best of both worlds, she thought. Giving him time to spend with Phyllis, and yet also work with food the way he loved it.

*

Rachel Cassidy looked
as if she was thinking about his life and trying to fix things. Which was, Ryan guessed, exactly the sort of thing a doctor would do. But he didn’t need any help. Things were fine as they were.

OK, so Gram had put some milk in a pan on the stove on Monday morning while he’d taken a shower, and had forgotten about it; it had boiled over and the kitchen had smelled of burned milk by the time he’d come into the room. The main thing was that Gram hadn’t been hurt, and he’d made her promise never to use the stove again. And, just in case she forgot about that, he’d made sure to switch off the stove at the mains when he wasn’t using it.

He tried heading Rachel off. In his experience, people could always be distracted if you asked them something about themselves. And she’d already asked him the same kind of question, so it wasn’t as if he was being pushy. “Did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?”

“Yes, but I knew it was a bit of a pipe dream because nobody in my family ever went to college. Dad and my brother, Ricky, are both ranch hands, Susie works with horses and Mom’s a cleaner. I was the odd one out in the family, the one who always had her nose in a book, and everyone was expecting me to get some kind of office job in the town,” she explained. “Then Sharla Dickinson sat me down and told me to follow my dreams. She said that I was perfectly capable of studying to be a doctor if that was what I really wanted. And I’m so lucky, because my parents, my brother and my sister supported me all the way.”

“It’s good to have family support,” he agreed, remembering how Phyllis had stood up for him when he’d wanted to do something a little different from the rest of the boys in his school.

“Thank you. Dinner was perfect,” she said when she laid her knife and fork down on her empty plate. “Just perfect.”

“It’s not over yet.” He cleared their plates away, then plated up the desserts: a scoop of rich, decadent coffee ice cream, over which he grated a little dark chocolate; a ramekin of crème brûlée; and a couple of the tiny vanilla and chocolate
macarons
artfully arranged beside them.

He sprinkled brown sugar over the crème brûlée, then sprinkled a tiny bit of brandy over the sugar. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

“For what?” Rachel looked confused.

“A little bit of showing off.” This was one of his favorite tricks. He dimmed the lights again and brought out a tiny cook’s blowtorch, then put the trio of puddings in front of Rachel and set light to the brandy. Blue and yellow flames danced on top of the ramekin.

“Oh, my God – that’s so pretty!”

Just as he’d hoped, she was totally wowed by it. He smiled. “When the flames have died down, the sugar will be perfectly caramelized.” It was something he’d done many times before in the restaurant in Bozeman, but Rachel’s delight in it made it seem fresh and new to him.

She tried a taste from each dessert, and he watched her. Would she like this part of the meal – the bit he loved cooking the most?

She was silent. He watched her take another mouthful, and another.

And then she closed her eyes, as if she was letting herself concentrate on the contrasting tastes and textures: the darkness of the coffee and chocolate, the crunch of the sugar topping and the meringues with the softness of the set custard and the ganache.

Rachel Cassidy was definitely a hedonist.

And she liked his food.

He suppressed the memory of the way she’d smeared chocolate over his lower lip. The way she’d kissed him back, matching him hunger for hunger.

No, no and no. He’d drown out the temptations in dessert. Or at least try to.

He damped down the flickers of desire and ate his own dessert. Maybe the sugar hit would be enough to knock his libido out, at least until he was safely away from here.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh when she’d finished. “Lily was right.”

“About what?”

“What she said at the auction about your food. It’s better than sex.”

As soon as the words were out, she blushed. Deep, rich color bloomed through her cheeks.

So she’d been thinking about it, too – about what it would be like between them? She felt that same irresistible pull?

Oh, man. They were really going to have to be careful. It would be oh, so easy to give in to that attraction and make life way too complicated – for both of them.

He thought he’d gotten himself under control – and then she did the one thing to make Ryan’s control snap. She bit her lip. What could he do other than lean across the table and soothe the sting by kissing it better?

‡

I
t turned out
there was a better combination than man and chocolate, Rachel discovered.

Man, chocolate and champagne.

The champagne had definitely gone to her head. It felt as if the bubbles were running through her veins instead of blood, and Ryan’s mouth was sweet and tempting and coaxing, making the bubbles fizz faster.

How could she resist?

Even though Rachel knew this was a bad idea – neither of them was looking for a relationship – she couldn’t help kissing him back. Matching him kiss for kiss, touch for touch.

*

This really shouldn’t
be happening, Ryan thought. But he couldn’t stop kissing Rachel. He was drowning in the lushness of her mouth. And the warmth of her body against his was way too much temptation for him. He couldn’t resist her. He simply picked her up and carried her out of the kitchen through to the hallway. When he tried the first door, he discovered it was her living room; he tried the second door and was relieved to discover that it was her bedroom. Right where he needed them both to be.

He set her down on her feet, keeping her body pressed against his all the way so she’d be fully aware of how much he wanted her.

Still working on autopilot, he took the scarf from her hair so it tumbled down over her shoulders, then reached round to unzip her dress and let it slide down to the floor.

She looked suddenly nervous, and he had the strongest feeling that someone had been here at this point with her before and said something that had hurt her.

Wanting to reassure her, he whispered, “Rachel, you’re lovely.”

She looked as if she didn’t believe him, and he knew his hunch had been accurate. Someone had definitely hurt her.

He traced a fingertip along her collarbones. “Your skin’s so soft. So gorgeous.”

She still didn’t look as if she believed him.

He let his finger slide lower, to trace the lacy edge of her bra. “And I like this. It’s pretty.” And he really wanted to unclip her bra and let her small breasts spill into his hands, except she looked so worried that instead he kissed her again, wanting her to realize that he was serious about this. That he wanted her. That he really did think she was lovely.

She began to undo his chef’s tunic, but her fingers were clumsy with the fabric buttons. “I – I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking awkward and miserable. “I’m not very good at this.”

The buttons, or sex? he wondered. But this wasn’t meant to be about misery. It was meant to be about joy. About snatching an unexpected moment of shared pleasure. “French buttons aren’t the easiest things to deal with,” he said, and helped her. With every button that he undid, the excitement in his belly twisted up another notch. Right now he really needed to feel her hands on him.

Once the tunic was completely undone, she slid the material from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Her fingers were actually shaking when she undid the button of his trousers; he slid his hand across hers, gently squeezing it with encouragement, and she lowered the zip.

The anticipation was driving him crazy and he stepped out of his trousers, leaving them crumpled on the floor next to his tunic.

She spread her hands over his abdomen. “You’re beautiful,” she said softly. “A perfect six pack.”

“A combination of good genes and a daily five-mile run,” he said. “In my job it’s all too easy to be greedy, eat way too much and get out of shape.”

Though right now he was greedy for her. And he didn’t intend to deny himself.

She reached up and kissed her way along his collarbones, making him shiver with need. He just couldn’t wait anymore; so he dealt with the rest of their clothes and pushed the comforter aside on the bed. Then he picked her up, laid her down against the pillows and knelt between her thighs.

She traced his lower lip with a fingertip.

He caught her finger gently between his teeth and then sucked it. Hard.

Her eyes went wide, dark with arousal. “Ryan,” she whispered, her voice almost rusty with desire.

“I know. Me, too.” He bent his head and kissed her.

She arched back against the bed and he kissed the curve of her throat. He loved the way her hair flowed over the pillows. “You’re like a mermaid,” he said. “I’d love to take you to a secluded part of the lake and watch your hair spreading over the surface of the water.” And then, because he really couldn’t help himself, he added huskily, “As I slide deep inside you.”