The restaurant was humming. Declan couldn’t remember it being so busy, even over the holiday weekend. He had every table full, a line out the door, and people jostling for space just to perch at the bar. They were already sold out of two of the specials and running low on two more, and it wasn’t even eight p.m.

“Three fish, two sirloin on five!” One of his servers slammed down another ticket and wiped his sweaty brow with a dish towel. “And the party on six wants two of everything.”

“Everything?” Declan repeated. He had a truffled lobster dish on the menu that went for over $100 a plate.

“Yes, boss. They wanted to taste it all.”

Declan scowled. He had no time for assholes like that. Sure, he’d make the cover price, but that meant a bite or two—and then the rest of the dish in the trash, going to waste.

“What’s going on tonight?” he demanded. “Did every other kitchen on the Cape close with E. coli breakouts?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Jenny bustled past, trading a wine-splattered apron for a clean one. “You got a write up in Nosh Town.”

Declan stared blankly.

“The food blog? It’s the biggest thing around right now,” Jenny tutted at him. “Anyway, Alvin Nosh flipped over your stuff, and said you were as tasty as your dishes,” she added with a smirk.

“I won’t argue with that,” Declan sighed, relaxing. “But couldn’t they have given me a heads up?”

“Oh, the toil of popularity! But at least the tips tonight are insane.” Jenny sailed away, leaving Declan to coral the chaos in the kitchen.

“Fire three fish, two sirloin, and the full enchilada!” he called out, to where his line cooks were already working at warp speed. Nights like this made him remember his own days as culinary cannon fodder, sweating in a steamy kitchen while the executive chef sipped wine out front with his biggest fans. But there was no time for sipping, not with the orders flying in, so Declan put his head down and cooked like his life depended on it, turning around plate after plate of delicious food until finally, hours later, things began to empty out.

“Remind me to order double from the wholesalers, if it’s going to be like this for the rest of the week,” he said with an exhausted sigh.

“Will do. And table six wants a word, when you get a chance,” Hector said, swinging past with an armful of empty dishes.

The high rollers. 

Declan stripped off his stained apron and pushed through the swinging doors into the dining room. It was late now, so the noise had faded out to cozy conversation, as people lingered over their dessert and the last of their bottles of wine. He took his time, greeting guests and chatting with familiar faces as he made his way back to where table six sat, private and nestled back behind the old fireplace, ready to give them a piece of his mind.

“Declan, buddy, exceptional service. But I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Declan paused. “Rich Crawford,” he said, greeting the portly man presiding over the table. “When did you get in? You should have called, had a private tasting, instead of adding to the crush.”

“And miss the chance to catch you in your natural habitat? Never.” Rich grinned. “Have you met Alvin here? The newest food blogger on the scene.”

“Nosh Town, I wouldn’t miss it,” Declan said, sending silent thanks to Jenny for filling him in. “Thanks for the mention. As you can see, you had me run off my feet tonight.”

“You flatter me.” Alvin was as thin and reedy as Rich was large. They made quite the double act, surrounded by dessert plates that had barely a bite missing. “Exquisite cooking, as ever. I look forward to seeing what you do next. Rich has been telling me all about your plans.”

“Oh, has he now?” Declan chuckled. “Maybe he’ll fill me in too, one of these days.”

He pulled up a chair and nodded to Kellan, behind the bar. “Whiskey?”

“Why not?” Rich smiled.

“So what brings you to town?” Declan asked, when they were all sipping on twenty-year-old scotch. He pulled over the plate of his famous cardamom and caramel soufflé. If it was going to waste, he might as well make use of it before the whole thing sunk.

“I wondered if you’ve given any more thought to my proposal,” Rich replied.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Sure,” Rich chuckled. “All that surfing and chasing skirt takes up a lot of time.”

Declan slowly sipped his whiskey. Rich was a character, but when it came to making superstar chefs, there was nobody better. With Rich’s backing, he’d seen mid-level guys with a couple of good dishes opening 10,000-square-foot destination restaurants on the Vegas Strip, franchise locations nationwide, even go international. Rich knew how to package up a menu and a chef’s personality and make an icon. 

And now he was sitting in Declan’s dining room, dangling who knew what on the table.

So, the guy could get a little annoying. He’d earned that right with his first hundred million.

“What did you have in mind?” Declan asked, playing it cool.

“How big do you want to go?” Rich shot back. “I could sit here and pitch you a New York location, or an LA pop-up, but come on. I know Declan Nash, and he goes big, and then he goes home with the hottest girl in the room.”

They laughed, and Declan gave a wry grin. “So, you don’t want to take Sage nationwide?”

“No, I want to take you global.” Rich leaned forward. “It’s time for a new generation of celebrity chefs. Bobby Flay, Giada, they’re old news. You’re where the future lies. You’re young, hot, a social media star—”

“Even though you don’t even have a twitter account,” Alvin added, glancing up from his phone.

“And my cooking?” Declan asked, amused.

“Well, that doesn’t suck, either.”

“We’d launch on three levels,” Rich added, leaning in. “New Sage outlets in five major markets, a flagship Vegas experience, and a retail line.”

“Of what?” Declan blinked.

“Anything you like.” Rich shrugged. “Sauces, pasta, dessert. The point is, we build the Declan Nash brand. Cookbooks, TV segments . . .”

“A web series and 360 social media presence,” Alvin added.

Rich nodded. “That’s where he comes in,” he said, nodding to Alvin. 

“Our data shows you have big name recognition among millennials. Likeability across the board, that’s money right there.”

Declan took another gulp of his whiskey. He didn’t understand half the things this blogger was saying, but it seemed to have Rich excited, alright. 

“We would build an empire,” Rich said, totally serious. “I’m telling you, in five years, you won’t be able to walk down the street without getting mobbed.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Declan asked wryly.

“Whichever you want it to be.” Rich grinned. “And you’re the guy to make it happen.”

Declan paused, thoughtful. It was the offer of a lifetime. The kind of opportunity he couldn’t have imagined as a kid starting out—sweeping the kitchen floors and peeling potatoes, crashing on friends’ couches to get by. For a moment, he thought of his father, and wished the old man was sitting at that table right now, hearing just how far Declan had come. “When do you want an answer?”

“I didn’t think it was a question,” Rich chuckled. Declan gave a smile.

“It’s a big commitment, what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, but you’d be calling the shots—with my expert advice, of course.”

“Of course,” Declan echoed.

“So what do you say?” Rich looked at him expectantly. “Is it worth nailing down some details? Or should I go to the next guy on my list?”

Of course he had a list. Declan wasn’t arrogant enough to think he was the only young chef who could spearhead a game plan like this. 

But still, he was top choice, and that felt pretty damn good.

“Let’s keep talking.” He nodded with a smile. “It has potential.”

“Damn straight, it does.” Rich emptied his glass and gestured for another. “I’m telling you, Nash. This is the next step for you. Coast to coast, the big leagues. Sure, this place is charming and all, but I know guys like you, and you don’t settle for a small-fry operation like this. You want to own something, get your name up in lights. And we’re going to do just that.”

---

Declan finished his drink with Rich and headed back to the kitchen to close out for the night, thinking about his offer. From anyone else, it would be hot air and bluster, but Rich knew the score. He may not be on the covers of any magazines or have his name above the door, but anyone who worked in the restaurant trade for five minutes knew that Rich was a force to be reckoned with. Power broker. King-maker.

And now he was offering Declan the crown.

It was definitely a tempting proposition; hell, it was the kind of thing any chef dreamed about, if they wanted to make it big. So why wasn’t he leaping in head first?

Declan pondered it, his initial excitement over the offer tempered with a healthy dose of caution now. Maybe he was just being smart, waiting for all the details before he got carried away, or maybe he was getting sentimental about his “small-fry operation,” after all. Sage would stay open, of course, but he’d be stepping down from the day-to-day operations—hand off to a different head chef, and just check in to approve menus and make sure everything was running smoothly.

He’d be busy, bouncing between half a dozen different cities, doing press and openings, living out of hotel rooms while this empire Rich was promising got off the ground. It would be nothing new to Declan, after ten years living out of a duffel bag—but he was guessing the suites would be a hell of a lot nicer than the dodgy hostels he’d seen, from Bangkok to Belarus.

It would be challenging, exciting, something new. And it would mean leaving Sweetbriar Cove behind for good.

If you’d asked him a couple of months ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice. But now? The place was growing on him. Cal had settled down, he had some good buddies in town, and the constant shenanigans had their charm . . .

So did Paige.

Declan shook off the thought. She had nothing to do with this. And since when did he let a woman affect his thinking?

He finished up at the restaurant after midnight and drove the short distance back to his condo, ready to jump in the shower and call it a night. He’d just stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, when his phone buzzed.

Are you home?

It was her. Declan ignored the way his blood surged, just at the few words on his screen. He tapped out a quick reply. Just got back, ready to crash.

So I shouldn’t ring the buzzer?

He was at the door in three seconds flat. Declan flung it open, and there she was, just approaching down the hallway, wearing a light trench coat belted at her waist and a flirty smile.

And suddenly, he wasn’t tired at all.

---

“Hey.”

Paige took a deep breath and tried to look casual. Carefree. It wasn’t easy when she was practically naked under her trench coat. The whole drive down, she’d been struck with panic, imagining getting into a freak car wreck and greeting the ambulance drivers in all her trussed-up, lingerie-wearing glory.

But one look at Declan—even more naked than she was, dripping wet in that towel—and her nerves melted away.

He was magnificent.

“It’s not too late to come by?” she asked, noticing the shadows under his eyes.

He shook his head immediately and tugged her against him. “It’s never too late for this,” he said, lowering his lips to hers.

Paige melted into the kiss, hot and slow and damp, there in his arms. He drew away and playfully tugged at the belt on her coat.

“Are you wearing what I think you’re wearing?” he asked, mischief lighting his blue eyes.

“That depends . . .” Paige gave a flirty smile and walked past him into the apartment. “It’s more what I’m not wearing.”

She paused, looking around. The condo was shockingly neat and clean, with modern furniture looking like something out of a magazine, not a real home. Someone like Declan, she’d expected things to be a little rough around the edges—OK, messy—but this looked like he barely set foot here at all. “Wow,” she said, taken aback. “It’s so . . . clean.”

“Well, thank you. I think.” Declan smiled and followed her to the windows, where there was an incredible view of the dark bay, lights glittering on the curve of the horizon. “It’s just a crash pad, really. I like to keep things simple, less hassle.”

“No strings, no fuss,” Paige said slowly, echoing his comments about how he liked to keep his relationships. Not just them, either, by the looks of things. Declan’s life was the definition of low-maintenance, and if she hadn’t seen him in the kitchen—obsessing over every detail—she would think he liked to keep everything frictionless and stress-free.

Easy to leave.

Paige shook her head. What was she doing? She’d come over to have fun tonight, another bold, reckless adventure, not to stew over deep thoughts about the future.

The plan was not to think at all.

She reached for the belt tie and sent Declan a saucy grin. “I was working on something new, and I thought you might want a special preview.”

“Always,” he said immediately. “By the way, have I told you how much I love your job? Because I love your job.”

Paige laughed, relaxing again. “A client wanted something a little . . . wilder than usual. I figured I should road-test the design first. Just to be sure it had the desired effect.”

“And what effect is that?” Declan asked, moving closer.

Paige unknotted the belt and let her trench coat slip to the floor.

Declan’s jaw dropped.

“That one,” she said, her heart already racing faster. She felt his gaze on her like it was fire: his eyes sweeping slowly over every inch of her as she stood before him in deep violet silk, and daring, wicked lace.

“I . . .” Declan stopped. He looked lost for words, and Paige felt a thrill of victory. For years, men had looked at her kindly, adoring, even. But none of them had watched her with the raw, naked desire she saw in Declan’s eyes.

It made her bold. It made her feel invincible.

“I mean . . .” Declan was still struggling to speak, so Paige cut him off with a kiss, coming up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. This time, she was the one setting the pace: breathless and eager, slipping her tongue deep to taste and tease him, as her body arched closer and Declan groaned into her mouth.

“Paige . . .” He made a sound that was halfway between agony and delight, and she took that as her cue: gently tracing her fingertips over his bare torso and resting them at the top of his towel. She tugged.

“You’re overdressed,” she whispered, and Declan smiled against her.

“My bad.”

He took her waist and walked them back towards the bedroom, kissing her the whole way. His mouth caressed her neck, her chest, and Paige moaned aloud at the sensation.

This was too good to spoil with thoughts of the future. This was too good to do anything except surrender to the pleasure, drumming hot in her veins.

She pulled his towel away as they stumbled back into the bedroom, landing on his bed. She touched him hungrily, recklessly, wanting to feel and taste every inch. Paige kissed her way across the bronzed planes of his body, loving the way his skin leapt to her touch.

She closed her mouth around him and lost herself in the rush. The power and precious thrill, how her body was a livewire now, electric and taut. Declan groaned with pleasure beneath her, but it wasn’t long before he was hauling her to meet his mouth again, kissing her hard and hot until they both were gasping. He stripped off her bra and panties, covering her skin with searing kisses as he went.

She couldn’t get enough of him, not if she had a hundred nights just like this to savor.

Declan rolled away for a moment, reaching for the nightstand, but then he was back, covering her body with the broad, thick weight of him, slipping his hands between them and making her gasp, pleasure white-hot in his fingertips.

“Declan . . .” she moaned his name aloud, and she felt how his breath hitched to hear it. “I need you.”

“God, Paige . . .”

His voice was ragged, and he quickly took the condom and sheathed himself. “Fuck, I don’t think I can hold back,” he said, bracing himself above her.

“So don’t.” Paige slid her hands over his back, urging him on. “Don’t hold back. I want it all.”

He thrust inside her, and Paige forgot her own name.

Oh my God.

It was heat, and fire, and sweet, thick friction. It was a need like nothing she’d ever known. She arched up against him, driving to meet every stroke as he thrust into her again, and the world contracted to just their bodies, and labored breath, and the sound of him groaning her name.

Paige couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but hold on for dear life, chasing the ache that twisted brighter, burned higher, sending her hurtling to the edge. Declan rolled them suddenly, bringing her down hard astride his lap, and Paige cried out as the pleasure took on a new angle, a new sweet, deep stroke. He guided her into the wild rhythm, his mouth finding one breast as Paige took over, rocking into him as her world began to shift and splinter, almost too good to bear. She was shuddering there on the precipice, ready to fall.

And then Declan glanced up, his eyes searching. Paige was caught in his gaze. It felt like he could see right to the heart of her, every last breath. The parts of herself she’d never been brave enough to show. The secrets she kept, that restless voice in the back of her head, wanting more. He saw them all, and he wanted her all the more for it. She couldn’t hide, and she didn’t want to.

With him, she was free.

Declan reached to brush back a strand of hair from her face, and the tenderness of that one gesture broke her wide open. She came apart with a cry, collapsing against him as the pleasure took her over. But Declan held her fast, pinning her in place, thrusting over and over until she couldn’t help but break again, feeling his body arch and roar against her, as he exploded in her arms, pulling her under, weightless in his arms.

Paige gasped for air, reeling from the pleasure, her body bright and alive with the vivid hum. But even as she clung to him, she knew there was no going back.

Now that she’d tasted what true release felt like, how would she ever settle for anything less?