Undercover Lovers (2 page)

Occupational hazard, he
reassured himself while also straightening. The need to know every
diner left satisfied. Nothing else.

“
Tell me, August, are the
upcoming dishes also handled with such care? These scallops reflect
a lot of personality.” She looked at him beneath partially hooded
lids. “I really liked that.”

There was probably something
very wrong with knowing he’d be in her bed before the end of the
night, but damn if he was going to figure out what. Lowering his
voice, he said, “This
amouse-bouche
is nothing but a tease to go with the wine you’ve
selected. If you’ll continue to indulge me, I’m sure I could make
this night an experience you’ll never forget.”

“
Well, you’ve certainly
amused my mouth,” she said with a smile. A coy play on the
translated words.

She sat back, arms folded
across her chest. A long pause passed and he hoped what happened
during the break—the dilation of her pupils, the flush of her
cheeks, the parting of her lips—meant what he thought it
did.

Arousal.

“
Alright, you’ve convinced
me and I’m totally game. Show me what you’ve got, Chef. Show me
something that’ll make my toes curl.”

Oh, but the things he could
do with that mouth if given a chance. And the many, many ways he
could make her toes curl…

Spy
,
August reminded himself. She was probably doing her best to weasel
her way next to him, just for the purpose of pulling a few culinary
secrets out of him.

Better people had tried and
failed.

“
Sit right there while I go
check on how things are proceeding. But I will be back.” August
waited for her nod before exiting the nook to head for the line. A
quick double-check that the kitchen wouldn’t miss him if he
left.

Brooding over whether his
business mind or his cock’s eagerness ruled him, he steadied his
resolve on what to do with her.

He’d show her something to
take back to Francis. However, by the time Saffron left, there’d be
no doubt in her mind that August was the best chef in Denver. No
one—not even someone who resorted to thievery—would take that title
from him.

If, along the way, he
happened to prove to her he was the best lover she’d ever had, so
much the better.

It figured.

One of the few moments in
life when Saffron wanted to cut loose and actually flirt a little,
she couldn’t even enjoy it.

Four months of waiting and
she’d finally made it to the top of the reservation’s list. Four
months of her editor breathing down her neck about reviewing
August’s restaurant and the cuisine everyone else already raved
about.

Quite frankly, she didn’t
see the point in reviewing a restaurant already lauded as one of
the country’s best, but hey, that’s what she got paid for.
Reviewing Denver food.

With all the competition
from online food bloggers, it was getting harder to make her
reviews stand out in the newspaper. Here was her chance to do
something no one else could, namely review food pre-event, but her
libido decided to take notice instead of her taste buds.

She’d done good so far, she
figured. Only one or two other reviewers could claim they had met
the star chef in his element. His disdain for journalists preceded
him by a country mile. By some miracle, divine intervention or
sheer good luck, he’d stopped to talk to her. Not just talk. Now he
wanted to dine with her. Insert
squee
here!

Who knew August would be as
good looking in person as the photos she’d seen of him in culinary
magazines? She’d been sure a little Photoshop magic made his blue
eyes appear like something straight from a Bahamian beach. Even the
gelled blond hair, teased in sixty different directions, seemed too
coifed for a temperamental chef. But how many times had he run his
fingers through the strands in the few minutes they’d been
together, unintentionally styling it even further?

It was kind of
hot.

Correction.

August was definitely
hot.

Saffron drummed her fingers
against the stark white tablecloth, blowing out a sigh at the same
time. Regardless of his yeah-I’d-do-him-factor, she had a
journalistic obligation to remain unbiased when it came to
critiquing his food.

Nothing had prepared her for
the little taste of heaven he’d presented. The scallops intrigued
her taste buds. They weren’t off the regular menu, so what were
they? Perhaps one of the Restaurant Week choices? Her heart started
doing back flips.

She lifted one of the
spoons, intent on discovering what ingredients comprised the little
dish. Certainly there were peppers, but she couldn’t identify the
green herb.

She felt his presence
without having to see him. The man wielded confidence and command
like a sword. 

“
Chef?” she asked, still
studying the spoon’s contents. “I recognize the pepper, but is
there more than one kind on here? And what’s this herb?”

“
Trying to figure out my
secret recipe?” It was said with a light laugh, but the slight
undertone of something she couldn’t name made Saffron look
up.

And boy, did her heart pick
up speed.

August eased into the
opposite booth, seeming to draw all the light into his starched
chef’s jacket. Arms folded across his chest, he watched her with a
wariness she didn’t know how to process. His blue eyes somehow
managed to appear smoky and the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw
made him look severe. There was a man used to being obeyed when he
barked an order.

“
What?” she asked
softly.

“
I’m watching
you.”

“
I see that.” There was heat
between them. She couldn’t be imagining it. “The question is,
why?”

A pause.

“
You have a way of enjoying
your food that makes me want to feed you more,” he said with a
shrug.

“
Nah, it’s the name that’s
getting to you. Face it, someone named Saffron was destined to be
either a chef or a gourmand of some type.” Life had a way of
throwing curve balls and the dishes she imagined in her mind never
tasted quite right when cooked. So, as her exasperated cooking
instructor grumbled, those who couldn’t cook, critiqued.

“
It’s one of my favorite
spices. Expensive as all hell, but worth every blessed cent,”
August said. He nodded at the spoon in her hand. “That may or may
not have saffron in it, in fact.”

Saffron frowned. Were her
taste buds that muted? She should have surely tasted her namesake.
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “no…there’s no saffron in here.
There’s papaya and roasted peppers…”

August lifted a brow. “Go
on.”

“
It’s the herb I can’t
name.” It bugged the snot out of her not to know. She’d had it
before, but the distinct flavor escaped her recollection. “It’s not
one of the common ones…something a little more exotic. Not thyme,
although close, or marjoram. Damn. Give me a hint.”

“
I’m impressed by your
familiarity with spices. Are you in the business?”

Her heart fluttered, as if
trapped, trying to escape from a cage. Did he somehow know she was
a critic? She hoped not. Her review needed to be uninfluenced by a
chef trying to impress her with his best dishes.

Looking into his eyes,
finding only sincere curiosity, she breathed a sigh of relief. He
didn’t know.

Saffron shook her head.
Journalism was a far cry from cooking. “As much as I love to eat,
I’m afraid I don’t have the talent.”

“
Ah. Then you at least need
to keep someone around who does.”

“
Is that an offer?” Sounded
like one.

He leaned forward. “Do you
want it to be?”

“
What would you do if I said
yes?”

“
Make sure it
happened.”

Well damn.

“
When?” Her voice
quavered.

“
Now.”

Saffron went bug-eyed.
Surely she was reading more into this than he was implying. Her
eyes narrowed into a hard squint. “You’re going to cook for
me?”

“
Yes.”

“
And?”

His beautiful mouth curved
into a mischievous grin. “Is there something else you’re
expecting?”

“
Well...you kind of made it
seem…like maybe…”

“
Maybe?” August
asked.

Okay, was he teasing or was
he serious?

August graced the covers of
dining magazines and the few times she’d seen a more personal view
of him, there had never been someone standing at his side.
She
thought she was
cute—thank you very much—but who knew whether he found her the
least bit attractive?

Then again, she was sure
he’d been flirting earlier.

Sure of it.

“
We are talking about your
food, right?” Saffron fished. “What else could you have to
offer?”

Besides the gorgeous body.
The seductive voice. The amazing skill of his hands, if his food
was any testament.

“
Lots.” His voice dipped
low, the reverb sending a ripple of awareness up her
spine. 

Oh yeah. He was still
flirting.

Saffron feigned
indifference, never mind how her pulse surged. Her fingers toyed
with the tablecloth’s lace border, as if she found it more
interesting than the man in front of her or their conversation. As
if.

“
Like what?”

“
I’ll tell you if you tell
me something first.”

Already her heart raced, her
mouth parting of its own accord. Damp palms testified to nerves
singing their excitement. When August slid out of the booth and
crossed to her side, everything and everyone else in the restaurant
faded away from her consciousness.

Dropping to a knee beside
her, August slid one warm hand over hers. “Before we go any
further, I should let you know that my staff tells me that you may
be here under false pretenses.”

It took the power of the
universe to keep from jerking free of his grip. Throat tightening,
she pushed out a reply. “Really?”
Smooth
. The one-word response came out
in an octave designed to make dogs around the country start
howling.

“
Really.” He extended his
index finger and a slow, deliberate circling of his skin against
hers brought every ounce of concentration zeroing to that spot.
“Any idea why that might be?”

She swallowed. “Not a clue.
Wh-what did they say?”

A riot of goose bumps
traveled up her arm as his finger trailed higher. “Nothing in
particular. A little speculation here and there.” Back and forth.
Teasing. Lines of sensual heat etched into her skin.  “You
said earlier you weren’t in the business.”

“
I’m n-not.” So hard to
think!

“
One hundred percent
positive, you’re not?”

“
Certain.” A
whisper.

“
Work for a restaurant or a
chef in any capacity?”

“
N—” The word died when
August lifted her hand to his mouth, allowing his lips to continue
the blazing trail his finger had formed. Her bare knuckles had
never received so much attention before.

And she really,
really
liked
it.

His voice rumbled against
her skin. “Good.”

Clear blue eyes became too
intense to stare into, so Saffron shifted her own gaze away.
Nothing could stop her from enjoying the sensation of his mouth,
though. “So can I take it, Chef, that you have more than food to
show me?”

He pressed another kiss to
her fingers. When his mouth closed over the tip of one and he
applied gentle suction, Saffron whimpered. Certain she came a
hairbreadth’s away from melting into a puddle, she splayed her
other hand flat against the booth to keep her body from
collapsing.

The world around them came
back in a rush as someone cleared her throat loudly, depositing two
plates at the same time. August nipped the tip of her finger, but
stopped running his tongue over it. Damn it.

“
Your salads, Chef,” said
the waitress. Saffron glanced at her in time to catch the frowning,
tightly pressed lips and hands balled on hips. “Will you be dining
here or should I have a table a little more
intimate
prepared?”

Okay, ouch.

Saffron’s face must have lit
into a dozen different shades of red. Whether August took the
woman’s words for the barb they were probably meant to be, Saffron
couldn’t tell. A quick look at the rest of the dining room proved
they’d managed to catch the attention of a large number of people.
Some looked as disgusted as the waitress sounded; others,
thankfully, seemed more amused. If August noticed—or cared—she
couldn’t tell.

“
You know, Vicky, that’s
actually a pretty good idea.”