“I’m insane,” he said aloud to the high ceiling.
He’d been disappointed when she didn’t remember him, though he’d been a solitary restaurant patron in Lord knew how many. That should have convinced him he was deluded. If they’d been soul mates or whatever nursery tale he was spinning, surely she’d recognize him too.
He let his head thunk forward onto his blotter. Maybe if her food hadn’t been so fracking amazing, maybe if he hadn’t watched her glow like a sun at his praise, he’d have been able to stop flirting with disaster. Unfortunately, Trey had eaten a lot of world-class meals, from Paris to Sonoma. Rebecca’s was right up there with the best of them.
She deserved this job. Hell, she’d be great at it. Worst of all, to go by what his research had uncovered about her leaving Wilde’s, Rebecca needed it.
It wasn’t fair to turn her down just because he found her treacherously attractive.
“Crap,” he said, caught in the quandary.
Unused to being indecisive, he sat up to absently rub the ache in his crotch. Too late he realized where his hand had gone. She’d done it to him again. He was as hard as a teenager, his horny cock a pole in his underwear.
Had it been like that when he ate her food, when he’d squeezed the knotted muscle at her shoulder?
He groaned at the memory of how it felt to touch her. He’d been so focused on her he couldn’t have sworn what his own body was doing.
What if she’d seen her effect on him?
Heat seemed to explode in his groin. Sometimes his kinks really were ridiculous. So what if she’d noticed his hard-on? Rebecca was a grown woman—and attractive. Men had to throw wood for her now and again.
Other men throwing wood for her wasn’t the most helpful topic to calm him. Giving in to what he couldn’t fight, he unzipped his trousers and shoved a hand inside. God, handling himself felt good, especially when—apparently—he’d needed to for a while. He didn’t bother with the jar of Albolene in his bottom drawer. He kept the infamous jack off aid there for Zane. Trey enjoyed the chafing of his bare palm, the sexual burn that edged on discomfort. Gritting his teeth, he pumped his erection quickly, concentrating the strokes toward the top where his nerve endings were thickest. He was too impatient to tease himself, besides which he had a conference call in ten minutes. He needed this release now.
She was here, he thought, his mind running a bit away with itself. I had her hand in mine. I could have bent down and tongue-kissed her.
He saw himself slamming her naked against the stainless steel walk-in door. She was so petite he’d have no trouble trapping her with his weight. Off her feet would be good, her thighs hugging his waist, her lush pink mouth pressed tight to and sucking his. She’d gasp when he slid his throbbing penis inside of her. Compared to her, he’d feel really big. Maybe he’d have to saw in and out to get in; maybe tease her clit so her wetness would ease his way. He wished he knew what her pussy looked like, wished he knew how she kissed.
Pressure built in his scrotum, balls jerking toward the base of his erection. He yanked his flesh harder from his body, abusing it, willing the tension that rose in him to crest.
She’d called him Mr. Hayworth. Maybe he could tie her to a worktop and force her to call him Trey.
The thought of her strong little wrists and ankles bound up in leather sent his excitement rocketing. Maybe he’d truss her all over, from thighs to waist to dark crisscrosses between her breasts. He pictured suckling her nipples, imagined rolling them on his tongue. His breath came from him in hard quick pants as he ground his ass cheeks into the office chair. The extra friction on his tailbone made all his sensations better; made him picture her in even more detail. Knowing he was nearly there, he tugged his cock faster. Though it wasn’t smart, the fantasy was so good he couldn’t let go of it.
I remember, she’d cry. I couldn’t forget you!
Then Zane would come up behind Trey and bugger him breathless.
He snapped so suddenly into climax he didn’t have a chance to grab a tissue. He spurted across his blotter, a long white arc that felt incredible shooting out. His cock blazed with pleasure at the contractions, then virtually melted with contentment. He wasn’t certain he’d ever felt as good before.
The good feelings couldn’t last, of course, not when he had so little chance of living out this scenario.
Hell, he thought. He was in big trouble.
CHAPTER FIVE
Temptation
THE line cooks of the world formed an effective spy network. They worked everywhere, knew everyone, and—most importantly—were bonded by a fellowship of incredibly grueling work. They were like cops in a way, only with knife rolls instead of badges. Nobody understood a cook as well as the guy who stood shoulder to shoulder with him at a blazing hot grill station.