The soufflé was a big hit. It disappeared almost as quickly as the steaks had — I blinked, and there were only traces of chocolate in the ramekins, on their faces, on the spoons they licked clean. I managed to hide a smile but just barely; cooking for hungry men was usually rewarding work. And every part of me felt electrified from where Logan touched my hand when he pulled out my chair for the second time. Heat surged to my cheeks every time he moved and his clothes rustled, or his chair squeaked, or he sipped wine like he could taste me. My heart jumped to my throat and I tried to remember my professionalism. I was an employee, regardless of how hard he stared at my ass when I walked back to the kitchen. Just an employee. It became a mantra as I scrubbed the pans and my knives, not looking at him though I knew he followed me out of the dining room and took up his stance leaning against the island.
"I'll give you free rein with the restaurant," he said abruptly, and I dropped the risotto pan into a sink full of water.
I faced him, soaked. "What?"
Half his mouth curled in a smile as he handed me a dry towel. "You set the menu, the prices, hire and fire the staff, whatever. On one condition."
Hope rose in my heart as I patted my face dry. I could run the restaurant, nip all that corrupt shit in the bud and finally serve what I wanted to serve. No more catering to uninformed dilettantes. We could streamline donations, maybe set up a mobile food truck to go around to the homeless shelters. "What's the — what condition?"
He shrugged, brown eyes sparking with amusement and something else I couldn't quite identify. "Every now and then, you cook for us. For me. If I call, you come here."
My hands dropped to my sides and I deflated. The dream wisped away. Running at his beck and call was off-putting enough, but the thought of constantly being around him, those damn sexy eyes and the enormous hands that gripped the counter as if he could break off a chunk of quartz with only a little effort... My self-control wasn't strong enough to protect me from him, even that husky rumbly voice he had. Especially from that husky rumbly voice, so damn close to a purr I wanted to let him wrap himself around my legs. I shook myself out of it. "I appreciate the offer, but I can't. I'll stick around until you can find —"
"Wait." He straightened, took a stalking step towards me, and I jumped back out of instinct, jamming my back into the edge of the counter. He stopped short, expression unreadable. I flushed. At length, Logan went on, voice quiet and controlled. "You'd give up full creative and management control of the restaurant just so you won't have to cook for me? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Luckily, the damp towel and my still-dripping coat gave me a reason to look away from him, to convince myself what I said was true, and it was about the food rather than him. And his jeans. And maybe the t-shirt that stretched across the chest of a Greek god. "I don't like preparing bad food. And you — your taste is terrible. That's the worst steak I've ever served and it is a — professional embarrassment that I put it in front of you."
At least partially true, though the 'yummy' noises he made were gratifying enough. Even if they made me wonder if those were his sex noises, too. My cheeks caught fire and his head tilted as he studied me, as if he couldn't figure out why I blushed.
I bit my lip and turned away, shedding the chef's coat to toss over one of the stools to dry. At least the thin sweater I wore remained dry, though it clung more than I remembered. A strangled noise had me look back, and I froze; Logan looked as though he wanted to kiss me. His gaze lingered on my waist and breasts, more defined in the much smaller sweater, and after a long time, he looked at my lips. I held my breath.
"How about —" He cut off, cleared his throat. "When I want you to cook for me, you will choose the menu, and I will eat what you prepare. I may suggest a cuisine or general region — Italian or French, maybe. Will that suffice?"
It felt like a trap. Like too much remained unsaid. There had to be some other motivation.
I concentrated on drying my knives and putting them away. When nothing remained to distract me from him, I put my hands on my hips. "Why did you buy the restaurant?"
"Because I felt like it."
When I looked at him in silence, refusing to accept such a blithe answer, he laughed. Logan raised his hands in surrender. "I swear. You made me so mad I called my realtor and told him to make an offer on the restaurant. By the time I calmed down — well, by the time Edgar talked sense into me, we'd already made the offer and I didn't want to back out."
"You can't be serious." I rolled up my knives and shoved them into my shoulder bag. "No one spends that much money just because they're mad."
He shrugged. "I have a lot of money."
I shook my head and continued packing my things. It felt like lies, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what made me uneasy. By the looks of his house, he could buy whatever he wanted, including my restaurant. But he didn't look like the kind of man who made rash judgments, and I doubted very much he accumulated that much money by making stupid investment decisions. I massaged my temples as I faced him, trying to read the truth in his eyes without letting the defined muscles in his forearms distract me. "Restaurants are notorious money pits. Most fail in the first year. We're barely six months old. Why take the risk?"
His fingers drummed an even tattoo on the counter. He finally pointed at one of the stools at the island. "Sit, please." He waited until I perched on the stool before going on. "First, the real estate itself is valuable. You're on a trendy street, and if I wanted to get rid of the restaurant and put in a coffee shop or hip clothing store, I could and I would be able to recoup any losses. So that's a sound investment. Second, it took me two weeks to get a reservation. It doesn't take me more than two hours to get a reservation anywhere in this city."
When I snorted, he held up his phone, eyebrows raised in challenge. "Give me a restaurant, and I'll get a reservation right now. We can go get coffee."
I put a hand to my forehead, flabbergasted.
Logan put the phone on the island, still watching me. "So I knew the restaurant had a unique product, something that was worth that type of wait. Something that added immense value to the venue as it existed when I went in there. You."
"That's ridiculous, don't —"
"I'm not blowing smoke at you, darlin, it's the God's honest truth." He stumbled over 'darlin,' and so did my heart. Logan plowed on, though, as if neither of us heard it or the purr in his voice. "And third, the food was good. More than good. What I got to taste of it." He gave me a sideways look that made my skin prickle in anticipation. "So from where I sat, it wasn't much of a risk."
"Bob could barely pay his loans," I said, slow and careful so he wouldn't misunderstand. "I couldn't get the good suppliers because we never paid on time. Three weeks ago, they turned off the lights for four hours until Joey came up with the money to pay the electric bill. If it was so profitable and such a sure thing, why the hell were we losing money every night?"
"Because you kicked out paying customers?"
I scowled and he laughed, then reached for my shoulder. Lightning arced between us and I caught my breath. Every part of me warmed with the rough drag of his calloused fingers down my bicep. I couldn't breathe. Logan's voice went soft. "Not really, I promise. There's something else going on, like you said. I'll figure it out, don't worry about it. I won't let it interfere with your work or the soup kitchen. Just cook and run the kitchen for me. Everything else will work out."
He stood over me, close enough I could have slid my arms around him and pulled him close, could have kissed him if I wanted. He leaned closer, brown eyes searching my face for something, and the breath hiccuped in my throat. Logan touched my cheek. His thumb grazed my lower lip, and my heart started to pound. My brain short-circuited as he eased closer, his palm resting on my waist. His head tilted, lowered.
He wanted to kiss me. The thought filtered sluggish and slow through me as I looked up at him, lips parted in shock or anticipation or just plain necessity. Holy crap on a cracker. Logan smiled very slightly as his mouth descended towards mine, I could feel him smiling more as his lips brushed my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. I jerked away and turned on my heel, panic making my hands shake as I reached for a dry pan. Shit.
Logan cleared his throat. "Natalia —"
"I promised Hamilton a grilled cheese," I said, louder than I intended. The pan clanged against the cooktop but I didn't care, throwing open the fridge to search for cheese and butter and bread and anything so I wouldn't look at him. That giant, capable, unfortunately handsome man who made my lungs contract and my knees wobble. "I told him I'd —"
"Hamilton already ate dinner," Logan said, all slow and careful but with laughter in his voice. As if he knew how unsettled he'd made me. I wondered if that was his game — reduce a confident woman to a puddle of lust and uncertainty and then laugh at her when she couldn't string a thought together.
"Of course." It was easily nine o'clock, maybe later. I didn't dare take out my phone or look around for a clock, lest I peek at him accidentally and trigger whatever spell he'd worked. "I should go."
"Natalia."
God, I loved the way he said my name. Like the Russian way, not the mispronounced version of Natalie I usually heard. Na-tah-lee-uh. I closed my eyes and let it shiver through me. I picked up my wet chef's coat and shoved it in the bag as well, fumbling with my purse as I looked him in the chest. "I'll show myself out. Please give my regards to your brothers."
I fled like a coward and bolted for a door. For any door. After two turns I was hopelessly lost. Logan had trailed after me, far too silent for such a big dude, and at length he said, "This way," gesturing down a different hall.
He walked me to my car and even opened the door for me, waiting as I shoved everything in the backseat. He caught my arm before I could dive into the driver's seat. "You never answered me."
I stared up at him, every inch of me flushed from the feel of his enormous hand wrapped around my elbow. God help me if he tried to kiss me again, I didn't have the strength of will to run away a second time. "Wh-what?"
"About whether you would be my partner."
My jaw went slack. "P-partner?"
"At the restaurant." His smile grew to a grin, and my stomach wobbled and swerved to drop to my feet.
"Oh." I turned and pulled my arm free, ducking into the piece of shit sedan and pulling the door closed. Desperate for some space. I turned the key and prayed it would start; if the engine didn't turn over, he would invite me to wait inside and then I would kiss him. I just knew it. And if I kissed him, it was a very short walk to his bedroom and losing whatever integrity and dignity I had left.
Luckily — or unluckily — the engine chugged to life. I cranked the window down enough to say, "I'll give it a trial run. One month. Okay?"
"I want longer than that," he said. The skin around his eyes creased as he smiled. "But we can start with one month. Drive safely, Natalia."
I want longer than that. It kept repeating in my head, over and over, as I drove back to the city. As I parked the car at my favorite pub and went inside, hoping my best friend would be there. She was, thank God, standing behind the bar with her brother. I snagged a stool near the end of the bar, resting my elbows on the smooth wooden surface, and immediately covered my face with my hands.
Ruby laughed at me, sliding a gin and tonic into my line of vision. "What happened? Jake was in here looking for you. Said you had some kind of gig?"
"Oh my God." I collapsed against the bar and hid my face against my folded arms. "Ruby, you have got to help me."
She nudged me. "Sit up, chica." She squinted at me a little. "What's up?"
We'd met years ago when she tended bar at the only restaurant open late enough to feed the hungry cooks after the other kitchens closed. Now I had my own restaurant, and she and her brother, Rafe, owned their own bar just down the street from it. Her dark hair was cut in a super feminine bob, but everything else about her was tough as nails — the spike through her septum, the tattoos across her chest and arms, piercings up and down her ears, and the bold makeup around her eyes. She also wore steel-toed shit-kickers for when the bar patrons got a little too froggy.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and struggled for calm. "The gig tonight was some super rich dude. I kicked him out of the restaurant a couple days ago because he sent back his steak. Well, he paid Bob off to have me cook at his house and then tells me that he bought the restaurant. He bought it, Ruby. Because he was mad."
"Did he fire you?"
"No," I said, still a little incredulous. I drank half the gin and tonic and knew I would regret it the next morning, particularly after having put a dent in Logan's no doubt expensive wine collection. "He wants me to run everything. Set the menu, manage the staff. Everything."
Ruby glanced at her brother, who was eavesdropping rather than pulling beers for the handful of customers hanging out on a weekday night, then back at me. "So what's the problem? That sounds like a solid deal, as long as he's not some creep."
"That's the worst part." I sighed, shaking my head at the glass of gin. "He's not. He's a dick, but he's gorgeous. With a capital 'g.'"
Ruby laughed. "That doesn't sound like the worst part."
I groaned and slapped a hand over my eyes. "He almost kissed me. And I panicked. I ran."
"What are you, twelve?" She bumped my elbow. "You'll be fine. Just suck it up and keep your knives on you. Play hard to get."
"That's terrible advice. You should be —" I half-turned as the door to the bar opened and the bell jingled, distracting me from my own embarrassment. Until I saw the man who walked through — the giant bruiser who was Logan's youngest brother. Atticus. I swore under my breath, about to say something as I turned back to look at my best friend, but Ruby frowned at him as well.
She glanced at Rafe and he made eye contact with Atticus, gesturing for him to come around the bar. The two men disappeared into the back, and I looked at Ruby. "How do you know Atticus?"
She dropped the glass she held, jumping back as it shattered on the floor. She didn't look away from me. "How do you know Atticus?"
"He's Logan's little brother. The guy who bought the restaurant — Logan Chase."
Her eyebrows climbed slowly to her hairline. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The capital 'g' gorgeous guy who bought the restaurant," I repeated slowly. My heart sank, though, since the expression on her face did not inspire much confidence. "Was Logan Chase. Atticus is his little brother. Do you think he followed me here?"
Ruby took a breath, looking at where Rafe and Atticus disappeared, then shook her head. Offered a fake smile. "Doubt it. He and Rafe go way back. I wouldn't even worry about it." She fussed with the broom and dustpan, cleaning up the mess before she went on. "You should be careful around the Chase brothers, Nat. Especially Logan."
I braced my hands on the bar as I watched her. Exactly what I needed to know but the last thing I wanted to hear. "Why?"
"Just — be careful. They're used to getting what they want, and they don't always have good brakes. Sometimes people get hurt. It just comes with the territory of having that much power, I guess. Eventually, everything is a commodity to be purchased. Guard your heart, okay?"
"It's nothing," I said, heart sinking. Her words, at least, rang true. Truer than Logan's. "Just a silly crush. I'll be fine. And thanks for the warning."
"Sure." She focused on new glasses but slid me a side look. "But if you get the chance to fuck him, no strings attached, do it. Don't even hesitate."
I laughed, let the gin warm the dread from my stomach, and rested my head on my fist. "Noted. Anyway. What else is going on?"
She filled me in on her day, though she kept looking back at where Rafe and Atticus argued in the shadows of their office. I didn't mind, though, since I kept hearing Logan's gruff voice instead of her pixie-high one. I want longer than that. I shivered, trying to concentrate, but nothing could keep his face out of my mind. God help me, I was in trouble.