“You’re leaving so soon?” Tessa watched Grace hand her bag to Mark. The owner of the Seven Winds Resort gave his general manager a besotted smile before putting it in the trunk of the waiting car.

“I wish I wasn’t.” Grace cocked her head in Mark’s direction. “But he’s insistent. And so ridiculously stubborn. At this point it’s just easier to go along with him than waste any more time arguing.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Mark muttered, coming up behind Grace and banding a strong arm around her waist. Grace rolled her eyes and Mark pulled her tighter against his chest.  He gave Tessa a smile over Grace’s shoulder. “We know the timing is all wrong, Tessa, but it can’t be helped. After what happened…” Mark trailed off and Tessa saw his fingers reflexively tighten against Grace’s hip, his knuckles whitening to match the bandage on his hand.

Her friend stroked Mark’s arm, relaxing him with the simple gesture.

“What he’s trying to explain,” Grace continued, “is that after Marcus attacked us in the villa, Mark insists on taking me with him wherever he goes. Unnecessarily, I might add.”

“It is absolutely necessary,” Mark overruled. “As much as we’d both love to be here while you get settled into your new position, Tessa, I have to go up to D.C. to meet with Jack, and I’m not leaving Grace behind. Not now that it’s likely my uncle considers her as much of a target as he does me.”

“He’s being melodramatic,” Grace interjected, her irritation in no way dimming the warmth in her eyes.

“I think you’ll find, Ms. Fitzgerald,” Mark retorted, “I’m just keeping my promise.”

“Oh?” Grace looked skeptical until Mark whispered something in her ear. Tessa bit back a grin as a blush spread across the other woman’s face.

Grace blinked once, twice, before the color receded and she smiled at Tessa. “You know it pains me to agree with him, especially on this, but Mark’s right. This is something we have to do together. Which means I’ll be missing your first few weeks as executive pastry chef. I’m so sorry.”

Tessa swallowed her disappointment before returning Grace’s smile. “I understand, really. Please don’t stress about it. I know you’d stay if you could. Besides, I was able to get my bearings when I was here three weeks ago for the tasting.”

“You mean our almost food fight?” Mark joked. Grace jabbed him with an elbow. Tessa laughed.

“I was going to pretend that part didn’t happen.”

“Me too,” Grace agreed.

“But why?” Mark chuckled into Grace’s ear. “We have such fun with Tessa’s desserts.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Grace’s entire upper torso was beet red as she pulled away from Mark. Grace drew Tessa to the side of the driveway. “Sorry about that. He can be very—”

“Charming?” Tessa supplied.

“Huh? No, I was going to say irritating.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” Tessa said with a laugh.

“Fine.” Grace crossed her arms in exaggerated protest as her lips quirked. The GM considered her friend before continuing. “This isn’t how I wanted your first weeks here to go, but as I said, it can’t be avoided. At least the restaurant is still closed for renovation, so you won’t be dealing with dinner service while you’re getting settled. Chef doesn’t come in until later in the day, so you’ll have the kitchen all to yourself in the mornings.”

Tessa nodded, excitement building as she thought of the glorious kitchen she’d be working in day after day. Of the sleek steel and smooth counters and limitless possibilities that filled her new sanctuary. “I’ve already been. Last night.” And that morning, but Grace didn’t need to know how eager she was.

“Didn’t you get in on the late flight?”

Tessa shrugged. “I wanted to make sure it was as beautiful as I remembered.”

“And?”

Tessa grinned. “It’s even better, actually.”

Grace’s smile was just as bright. “I’m so glad. Hopefully that helps you forgive me for abandoning you.”

“Hmmm, we’ll see…” Tessa teased before catching the crease forming between Grace’s eyes. “Stop worrying, Grace. I’ve run the gauntlet of temperamental chefs and gluten-averse customers from the Upper West Side all the way down to TriBeCa. A kitchen all to myself every morning for weeks, without a guest in sight, at a luxury resort on a tropical island? I’ll survive. Promise.”

“Okay, okay.” Grace sighed, her brows still tight. “But if anything comes up and Chef isn’t able to point you in the right direction, ask Peter, our head concierge. He’s been here way longer than any of us and he knows this place inside and out. He’ll be happy to help.”

“Peter. Gotcha.” Tessa nodded. From the corner of her eye she could see Mark studying them, his fingers strumming the roof of the car. “I think your boss is getting antsy.”

“For the love of God, don’t call him that,” Grace choked out.

“Isn’t he?” Tessa laughed as Grace glared.

“Only in the technical sense. Besides, he’s dictatorial enough. He doesn’t need any encouragement.”

Tessa watched Mark watch Grace, his eyes tracking every step she took towards the car, his fingers restless until she was within reach. As his hand slid to Grace’s lower back, Tessa thought “dictatorial” wasn’t the right description at all.

“Oh, and of course, Tristan.” Grace was halfway into the car, one foot still touching the driveway, preventing Mark from closing the door. “Tristan Hurst, Mark’s cousin. He was supposed to be here so I could introduce you, but he hasn’t returned to the island yet. He got delayed handling some business back home. But he should be here soon.”

Tessa shook her head, confused.

“Tristan,” Mark explained, “will be overseeing things while we’re away. He’s still relatively new to the hotel world, but he’s run his fair share of companies and has undergone Grace’s crash course in hotel management. I have no doubt he’ll be getting calls from our fearless leader morning, noon, and night. But I also don’t have any concerns about leaving you in his capable hands.”

“Leaving me?”

“He means the hotel,” Grace amended. “Tristan will come find you when he’s back, make sure you’re settling in okay.”

“I look forward to meeting him,” Tessa answered, her mind already focused on her kitchen, itching to get started.

“And don’t worry,” Grace said, lowering the window as Mark shut the car door. “You’ll get used to him.”

Get used to him? Tessa was about to ask what she meant, but Mark was tugging her towards him in the back seat and the driver was pulling away.

Tessa’s question went unspoken, the tips of Grace’s fingers visible as her friend waved and the car disappeared down the drive.

* * *

Tessa held her hand an inch above the pan, keeping it there a second longer than necessary. Her palm crackled before she pulled it away.

It wouldn’t work if the pan wasn’t hot enough.

She moved quickly, pouring a thin layer of batter and watching the edges turn crisp before carefully flipping it with the wooden spatula.

Minutes passed, her attention fixed on the butter, the heat, the turn. Batter in, crêpe out. It was repetitive, calming. Her hands took over, the movement practiced, while her mind jumped ahead, envisioning the finished cake. She could see the layers stacked one on top of another. Crêpe, then cream, then crêpe—over and over until she’d constructed a delicate tower entirely out of flour and eggs, sugar and cocoa.

Tessa was so focused she didn’t realize someone else was in the kitchen. Not until she heard the fridge open and glimpsed legs sticking out below the stainless steel door.

“Hi.” With a crêpe finishing in the pan, she didn’t have time to step away. But she was new, on the island less than twenty-four hours, and didn’t want her colleagues thinking she was in the habit of ignoring people.

The legs on the other side of the door didn’t move, their owner oblivious. Or deaf.

“Umm, hello?”

Still nothing. Tessa heard the contents of the fridge shift around.

Flipping the final crêpe out of the pan, Tessa flicked off the burner just as the door shut.

Tessa stepped back in surprise. She’d expected Chef, or another member of the kitchen staff. She’d met most of them on her first visit. This man wasn’t one of them.

Tall, his head coming close to the top of the industrial-sized fridge, he looked around the room while rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. His jet-black hair shielded most of his face, but Tessa could see the furrow forming between his eyes. Despite standing only feet from each other, the unexpected visitor didn’t look her way.

Tessa covered her stack of crêpes with a kitchen towel then waved. “Hey. Looking for something?”

He turned towards her, hand still on his neck. His eyes hit her face.

They were wary, almost hesitant. But oh, so blue. Not deep and dark, but bright and icy. And watchful.

“Yes.” His voice came out scratchy. Unused.

“Okay….” She scanned the kitchen, checking to see if there was anything out of place. Or something that could possibly belong to him.

Tessa was about to ask what he was looking for when his eyes landed on something behind her. He came forward and, without thought, she stepped out of his way. “Did you find what—” Tessa turned and stopped. And watched in horror as he stuck one long finger into the bowl of whipped cream.

Her cream. For her cake.

“Excuse me!” She yanked the bowl away and hugged it to her chest. And told herself not to stare when he casually pushed that finger into his mouth and sucked it clean, his eyes narrowing as he watched her hands flex.

“Give it back.”

Tessa turned, shielding it from him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Those black brows dropped, the line between them deepening. “Eating.”

“Not this, you’re not.” Tessa swallowed back a crazy laugh. This guy was nuts. Coming into her kitchen, taking her food. Sucking on his finger while looking at her like that.

With his attention on the whipped cream, the intruder took one step forward. Just one. And it practically had Tessa pinned to the counter. Her head fell almost all the way back as she watched, astonished, as he reached around her and dipped his finger—the same finger—back in, scooping up a huge dollop.

Tessa closed her eyes on a gasp. What the fuck!? She couldn’t believe he’d actually done it again. And she definitely couldn’t watch him lick it off.

“Stop,” she squeaked. Tessa glared at the black-haired giant and summoned all of the command she was used to wielding in a kitchen.

“That’s enough. You need to leave.” She looked pointedly at the door.

He didn’t pay any attention. Instead, he just wiped a drop of cream from the corner of his mouth and propped his hip against the opposite counter. “You really should share.” He wasn’t looking at the bowl anymore. Those hypnotic eyes were on her.

Tessa wasn’t getting into a staring contest. Not with him, not on her first day. Not in her kitchen.

“You really should ask permission before taking things that don’t belong to you.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, shoving both fists into the pockets of his dark jeans.

Tessa dropped the bowl on the counter and looked at the deep tracks left behind by his fingers. She puffed out a breath, blowing wisps of dark hair off her forehead. It was unusable. She’d have to start again.

“You’ve ruined it, you know.” Blindly, Tessa held the bowl out to him as she returned to the stove. She’d have to wrap and store the crêpes in the fridge until the next batch of filling was ready. “I can’t use it now. Not after you put your fingers in it.”

She heard a choking sound. Was he laughing? Tessa glanced at him over her shoulder. No, no laugh. His face was nothing but severe, beautiful lines, his brows still furrowed over those icy eyes.

Without a word, he took the bowl. Tessa returned to her task, grabbing the heavy cream from the fridge, leaving the stack of crêpes in its place.

Bowl, beaters, cream, confectioners sugar, vanilla extract. She laid them out on the counter before retrieving a darker bottle from the kitchen’s liquor cabinet.

Focused, Tessa jumped a little when the deep voice interrupted her. Again.

“That’s why it is so good.”

“Hmm?” She was pouring each ingredient in succession, her eyes measuring as she went.

“The liquor. That’s why it is so good.”

“It would be good without. But, yes. The Baileys makes it even better.”

He didn’t say anything else, but Tessa could practically hear the scrape of his tongue across his skin as he licked off another helping.

“Oh, for the love of God, just use a spoon.”

Her attention was focused on the beaters, but she already knew her way around the kitchen and reached into the silverware drawer without looking. Eyes averted, Tessa pushed a spoon his way.

She shouldn’t have been surprised when she missed her mark and met his chest instead of his hand. A chest that stopped her short, her knuckles barely making a dent as they met warm, hard man covered in smooth, soft cotton.  

“Thanks,” he rumbled. The vibrations beneath her fingers startled Tessa and she almost dropped the spoon. His hand covered hers, catching it.

That hand was strong, the palm rough against her skin, his index finger still wet from the last lick.

Eww, gross. Tessa squirmed, releasing the spoon. Oh, I don’t know, her not-so-focused brain whispered, you’d be wet too if he’d licked you like that.

Her blush was instantaneous. Tessa jumped back fast, as if she’d been burned, the beaters she held in her other hand hitting the side of the bowl, whipped cream splatting the counter. She muttered some variation of “you’re welcome” and let her hair fall to hide her face.

Calm down. He didn’t notice. I’m sure he’s not even looking.

Not that she was going to check. Tessa could hear the spoon hitting the bowl in a repetitive rhythm. Scoop, up to his mouth, between his lips, across his tongue, back down to the bowl. Scoop. Mouth, lips, tongue. Repeat.

Nope, that wasn’t helping.

Tessa really needed him, whoever he was, to leave. She needed to get back to work, to focus. She did not need this mystery man distracting her from the job that had brought her to the island. That had gotten her away from things at home. At least for a little while.

“You can take it with you,” she muttered over one shoulder.

“Hmm?” He must have said it with the spoon still in his mouth, the sound low and muffled.

“I have a lot of work to do. There’s no reason for you to be here. Please go. And take the bowl with you.” Tessa’s nerves were shot and she’d barely been in his mostly-silent presence for thirty minutes.

“Okay.”

Tessa’s head popped up. He had the bowl balanced in one hand while he took another bite of whipped cream. He wasn’t looking at her, clueless of the havoc he was causing in her carefully planned morning.

Tessa shut off the beaters, beyond irritated. “Okay. Great. Bye.”

The man shifted on his feet, and Tessa relaxed her shoulders, expecting him to leave. But his mouth twitched and Tessa realized her mistake. Just because he wasn’t watching didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention.

Those blue eyes lifted, black lashes framing their distinctive beauty. “I want more.”

Tessa’s mouth fell open. She almost expected him to laugh at her ridiculous expression, but his eyes just sharpened, like he was committing it to memory.

“I…I don’t…” Pull it together, Tessa! “What?” she finally managed.

“What you’re making. Whatever this”—he held up the almost empty bowl of cream—“goes into, I want to try it.”

“But….” Tessa didn’t know which argument to throw out first. She wasn’t making it for him? He didn’t have any right to ask? She didn’t know who he was? She didn’t know how to find him once the cake was done?

No, definitely not the last one.

“Don’t worry,” he answered her silence. “I’ll come back. Later. When it’s ready.”

Tessa was taken aback, thrown off-guard by this towering stranger who’d wandered into her kitchen, eaten her food, and demanded more without even introducing himself. She stared as he dropped the spoon into the bowl, put the bowl on the counter and, eyes never leaving hers, he dipped his finger once more, his tongue catching the cream before retreating into his mouth.

He left her like that. Thoughts of cake and a new life and troubles temporarily escaped replaced by memories of severe lines, searing eyes, and wet lips.