The Ultimate Playboy(37)

                ‘You own a restaurant?’ he asked.

                She concluded her survey of the appliances and faced him. ‘Not yet. I would’ve been on my way to opening Dolce Italia by now if NMC had honoured its commitments.’

                ‘Ah, the sins of imaginary corporate sharks.’

                The coffee machine finished going through its wake-up motions. He pressed a button and the beans started to churn.

                ‘Not imaginary.’ Ruby stepped forward when she realised what he was doing. ‘Wait, you’re doing it wrong. We’re in a warm climate. The coffee beans expand in warm weather so you need to grind them looser to extract the maximum taste. Here let me do it.’ Even though stepping closer would bring her dangerously close to his sleek frame, she seized the opportunity to make herself useful and not just stare at his broad, naked back. A back she could suddenly picture herself clawing in the heat of desire.

                Just as she tried not to stare when he leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his bare chest.

                ‘How are you at multitasking?’ he asked.

                ‘It’s essential in my line of business.’ Content with the setting, she pressed the button to resume the grinding and went to the fridge. She grabbed the creamer, and forced herself not to gape at the mouth-watering ingredients in there.

                ‘Good, then you can talk while you prepare the coffee. Tell me everything I need to know.’ His brisk tone was all business.

                Quickly, she summarised the events of the past two months.

                ‘So you entered this competition as a chef?’ he asked.

                ‘Yes, I have a degree in hospitality management and a diploma in gourmet cuisine and I’m an approved board-certified mixologist.’

                He grinned. ‘You have to go to college to mix drinks?’

                ‘You have to go to school to wash dishes right these days or someone will sue your ass.’ She started to grin, then stopped herself. ‘I mean...if you don’t want to be sued for accidentally poisoning someone. Besides, I plan to make my cocktail bar accessible to allergy-sufferers, too, so I need to know what I’m doing.’

                ‘Which of your drinks is your favourite?’ he fired back.

                The question threw her for a second. Then she shrugged. ‘They’re all my favourite.’

                ‘Describe the taste of your signature drink,’ he pressed.

                She went in search of coffee cups, opening several cabinets before she located them. She had to reach up to grab them and the cool air that passed over the backs of her legs reminded her how exposed she was.

                ‘Umm, I don’t actually like cocktails that much,’ she blurted to distract herself from her state of undress.

                ‘You’re a mixologist who doesn’t like her own creations? How do you know you’re not poisoning the general population?’

                ‘Because nobody’s died yet sampling my drinks. And as to how I know my drinks rock? I try them out on my roommate.’

                ‘You want me to invest...how much does my company owe you?’

                ‘Two hundred thousand dollars to help towards construction and advertising costs for Dolce Italia.’