"Then we'll keep looking. I won't give up, Billy."
"Thanks. I can't imagine why Erin hates you so much."
"Boggles the mind, right?"
Billy left, and I let myself acknowledge the heat that I'd begun to associate with all things Reyes Farrow. I tucked the bowl I'd used to confiscate a sample of his posole against my side and hurried to the kitchen sink.
I rinsed it out, hiding the evidence, then turned toward him. "You're here again."
"You're here again," he said. He was leaning against the prep table, watching me.
I was busy thinking, My God, that man defines the word "smoldering," when he asked, "What'd you think of it?"
With a snort, I said, "It was freaking awesome. Seriously. Like, mind-blowing. What are we talking about?"
Humor deepened the dimples he sported whenever he wanted any woman within a fifty-foot radius to melt into a quivering puddle of girl jelly. His dimples were just too sexy, too delicious, not to have an ulterior motive.
"The posole," he said.
"What? I didn't take any of your posole. I have my own posole at home. Like, a gallon."
"Ah. So, that hint of red chile on your blouse?"
I gasped and checked out the front of my shirt.
A breathy laugh escaped him. "Busted."
After closing my lids, I said, "For the record, it was incredible. You should become a chef. Or buy a restaurant. You'd make a killing. And only partly because you draw crowds of ovulating women."
He sobered and dropped his gaze. "I don't mean to."
I'd meant it as a compliment. Apparently it wasn't one. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It doesn't suit you."
Having no idea what he meant by that, I went back to my earlier thoughts of all the words in the English language that he defined. Beautiful. Alluring. Provocative. Captivating. Charming. Sensuous. Dark. Brooding. And somewhere in there, as always, the word bad popped up. I got the feeling that when Reyes Farrow wanted to be, he could be very, very bad.
I realized he was letting me take him in. Giving me a moment, as it were. I dropped my gaze and asked, "Want to go for round two?"
I felt the tension in the air tighten like a bowstring being pulled between us.
"With the same rules?" I added.
"And what rules were those again?"
"Can I have you? For fifteen minutes?" Humiliation surged through me. He was a tad angry the last time we did this. It would serve me right for him to say no.
"Right," he said softly. "I remember now. I can't touch you for fifteen minutes."
"Yes."
He was in front of me. I felt his heat but could not bring myself to look at him. "And what happens after fifteen minutes?"
The arrogance I'd used to my advantage last time had fled me. I had no clever comeback. No promise of what I could do to him in that fifteen minutes. I just knew that I wanted him. Plain and simple.
"After fifteen minutes, all bets are off."
"And I can touch you?"
A warmth washed over me. The prospect of him touching me caused both excitement and anxiety. The mere thought made me feel vulnerable. Exposed. At his mercy. But a deal was a deal.
"Yes."
"And no thoughts of running a blade across your throat while I'm tied up?"
I looked up at him at last. "Like it would do me any good."
"Exactly."
He reached behind himself, took off his apron, and ripped off its strap. "If we do this, will you finish what you start?"
He asked it while holding the strap out to me, giving me permission to tie him up. For some reason, the thought of him tied up gave me a hit of confidence, even though I knew it would do absolutely nothing to stop him should he want out.
"And if I don't?" I asked. I wasn't a tease. I was pretty sure about that, but if something happened … I wanted a guarantee of some kind that he would not become the bad boy I knew he could be.
"Like I said before, Dutch, I'm not pubescent. I'll survive if you want to stop, but just barely. I might need CPR."
I let out a soft laugh.
He showed me those dimples again, then fetched the chair, sliding it to the center of the room. He sat down and crossed his wrists at his back, a challenge glittering in his eyes. The width of his shoulders became all the more evident in that position, and I had to take in his form for a moment before walking around to the back of him.
I knelt down and wrapped the strap over his wrists. He let his fingers slide over my hands as I tied. The movement, so small and seemingly inconsequential, sent tiny shivers up my arms. When I finished, I bent forward and kissed his palms. His long fingers glided over my cheek and neck.