I trailed Jack out of the bar. Well, there wasn’t much choice because he was still holding my hand. When was the last time anyone did that? Sometimes I tried to hold Gabe’s hand in public or even at home, but he always swore at me or said something mean and pulled back. Whatever. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type.

Apparently, Jack was though, and it took me by surprise because I didn’t know how to act or respond.

We stepped through the fateful doors where I had my fall and he smiled and winked. I sheepishly grinned and moseyed on through.

Silently, we walked down the hall, relieved to be away from the loud music. Never thought I’d say that. How old was I? The lights took a minute to get used to. When I looked over, Jack was staring at me.

“Why didn’t you eat?” he asked, looking almost worried. His voice echoed in the empty hallway.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gone out in a long time, and well, I was nervous. It feels weird to be starting over again,” I told him, deciding to lay it out.

“Oh, yeah, right. When was the last time you went out?” he asked.

“Uh, a year and a half ago?”

He frowned and tugged at his shirt collar. “You haven’t gone out in a year and a half?”

I didn’t respond, choosing instead to keep on the lookout for a vending machine. There had to be one around here somewhere.

“What are you looking for? The boogeyman?” He bumped his arm into mine.

“Only if the boogeyman has snacks. I don’t remember seeing a vending machine. Was there one at the front of the club entrance?”

“Vending machine? For what?” He scowled and squinted his eyes like he’d tasted something bitter.

“So I can scarf something down, silly.” I loved following this man and holding his hand, but even my arms felt weak from hunger. A chocolate bar and a bag of chips would do wonders right now.

He stopped me in the middle of the hallway and pulled me into him, chuckling, body shaking. “Oh, baby, I can do so much better than that, it’s not even funny.” The man’s smile nearly stopped my heart. Those dimples, combined with his perfect teeth and generous lips, were no match for me. He grabbed the back of my head toward him and placed a chaste kiss onto my forehead. His hot lips burned against my skin. I stood and reveled in the tingles he created again.

“Hey,” he whispered, and I looked up into his handsome brown eyes, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming. “I own the restaurant next door. Didn’t Vivienne tell you? I’ll whip something up for you. It won’t take long, promise.” What he said mostly computed, but to be frank, I was still under his spell. He could have said he was taking me to an alien autopsy, and I would have gone along, no questions asked.

Oh crap, I had already forgotten. “Oh yeah, she mentioned you owned Vine. I forgot.”

“You forgot?” he said, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Hmm, in that case, I must make this unforgettable.”

Around the corner and past the front station, the hostess said, “Hi, Chef.” A handful of menus were in her hands, ready for any newcomers.

Jack stopped. “Miranda, looks like a good turnout tonight?”

“It’s been crazy, but finally slowing down,” she said while observing our joined hands.

“Great. We’ll take the back booth. Can you do me a favor and not seat anyone there?” he asked, nodding his head toward the aisle.

“You bet, Chef. I’ll put out a reserved sign.”

“Excellent. Thanks.” He dismissed her and turned through the swinging kitchen doors.

Wow, I’d never been behind the scenes before. I mean, we followed all the cooking shows when I was married. What channels didn’t we have? Anyway, I’d seen kitchens on TV, but this was overwhelming. It was bright, and the stainless steel went on for miles.

“And this is where the magic happens.” He stretched his arm out and smirked at me.

“Jack, everyone is busy. Do you want me to wait outside?” I pointed to the entryway, feeling like an outsider.

Again, he pulled me into his hard body and again my brain scattered as his warmth seeped through me. “Harper, I want to cook for you, okay? I want to feed you. We’ll go where nobody else is,” he said, jerking his head to the back of the kitchen. “We won’t be in anyone’s way.”

I shrugged my shoulders and agreed, but I was still terrified to be in the way. To the left was a counter with two cooks working, preparing veggies. Everyone was wearing the same uniform—white jacket with black collar, cuffs, and buttons, and black and white houndstooth pants.

The middle workspace was bigger with billions of pots and frying pans in various stages of readiness. The aromas were fantastic, and that reminded my tummy to make more noise. Jack eyed me, then my stomach. God, how embarrassing.

As we strolled the aisle, they greeted Jack with, “Hi, Chef,” multiple times. The level of respect was clear in their demeanors.

“Miranda said it was a busy night?” he questioned one larger cook who was sweating profusely under his white hat.

“It was crazy, Chef. But everything went well,” he responded with plenty of enthusiasm and used his sleeve to wipe away the sweat that poured down his face.

“Glad to hear it, Tony.” Jack clapped him on the shoulder and we continued to the back.

“Wait here,” he said, so I watched the cooks as they moved around in a well-choreographed dance. I kept waiting for them to bump into each other, but that never happened. They were hustling, but yet hyper aware.

“Have a seat. I’ll do all the work,” Jack said, putting a stool next to me. I sat as he rolled up his sleeves, displaying his powerful toned arms. Gulp. Just as I suspected. His arms lived up to my imagination’s expectations. At the sink, he washed his hands and said, “Do you like chicken?” I liked chicken. I also liked hot restaurateurs washing their big, strong hands with lots of slippery soap.

Unwillingly, I tore my eyes away from the provocative water play and replied, “Sure, I’m easy.” I realized what I’d said and grinned.

Jack chuckled and walked farther back to a giant fridge. While he hunted and gathered, I concentrated on more pressing matters, like my drink. Sadly, it melted at an alarming rate with the heat in here. So, I resolved to guzzle it as fast as possible. Wasting such perfection had to be a crime.

Arms full of vegetables, meat, and cream, he returned and dumped them into the small cubby. When he started chopping, I remembered exactly why I sat and watched the Food Channel for hours. Chefs were hot. The way Jack’s muscles flexed and his body moved when he was chopping turned me on. Not to mention how mesmerizing it was to observe him cut everything with lightning speed. I barely saw the knife move.

In no time, he was frying and boiling and mixing, while I sat on my behind, watching him and getting increasingly turned on as I drank what was left of my girlie cocktail. This worked for me in a big way. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough so I got a good look at his drool-worthy chest underneath. I imagined running my fingers over his pecks, maybe even with my tongue. Mmm, now I was hungry for something else completely.

All too soon, the food was ready. “All right, let’s get you fed.” He led us back through the kitchen and to our seats.

The cozy round booth with bench seating was secluded from the rest of the tables. “After you,” Jack said as he settled our plates on the table. The smells emanating from our meal were incredible. My stomach loudly protested my hesitation and Jack smiled at me again.

“Dig in. Don’t be shy,” he said, picking up his utensils. I followed suit and dove in.

“This is heavenly.” I swear I wanted to swim in it and live in it forever.

“Nothing remarkable. Only a simple chicken fettuccine alfredo. I’ll make you something better next time,” he said and winked at me as he chewed. Who knew chewing could be so sexy?

Next time? He definitely said, “Next time”. I was too famished to think what that meant, so I ignored him and kept eating.

“Didn’t you have supper with Vivienne?” I suddenly recalled for reasons unknown as I grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite. Oh, warm, soft, buttery goodness. There must have been real garlic in that. I felt the heat on my tongue.

“Will you think less of me if I confess I was nervous at suppertime as well and didn’t eat much?” he said reluctantly, cutting into his chicken.

I was surprised by his admission and I told him so. “You? Nervous? I doubt it.” I snorted, but still concentrated on getting the fettuccine around my fork and not on my dress.

What he did next shocked the complete daylights out of me. He turned and put his hand on my thigh. Holy shit, that resulted in happy shocks shooting out to certain areas. “Harper, I take my business very seriously, and research the hell out of every decision I make.” His arresting eyes blazed into mine, rendering me speechless. The skin on my leg was about to burst into flames.

Now I wanted to kick myself for making light of his nervousness. It seemed contradictory to everything he’d shown me. “I believe you do, Jack. I didn’t think you took your dealings lightly. All I meant was that you don’t appear unsure of yourself,” I said and motioned at him.

He lowered his head, not taking his eyes off of me. “I work hard to get what I want.” Then he squeezed my thigh even harder, and my happy places heard him loud and clear. Abruptly, he tossed his fork onto the table, and with both hands, he cupped my face and ran his thumb back and forth on my lips before he leaned in and kissed me.

Never in my life had I felt so much in a simple kiss. It sent waves of desire throughout my body, and before I knew it, I fiercely gripped his neck with my hands, begging for more. His tongue licked my bottom lip, and I gasped. The man took full advantage of the opening and deepened the kiss with an urgency and forcefulness I was unfamiliar with. He tasted of the creamy garlic sauce we ate, and I moaned. The voices in the background faded out, and all I heard was my heart hammering in my ears. One hand moved lower down my back and yanked me closer to him. The other was buried in my hair and held me so tight to his mouth, I couldn’t have budged even if I’d tried.

“Do you guys want anything to drink? Oh, sorry, Chef,” Miranda interrupted, and Jack stopped and pulled back, but not all the way.

“You want anything to drink, honey?” He smiled at me, not moving his hands away just yet.

“Umm, a root beer maybe?” I asked.

“A root beer and a white wine. Water for me, please,” he said, and she scampered out of sight.

“We have a problem, Harper,” he announced with a seductive grin on his face.

“We do?” What was he talking about?

“Yes, I can’t seem to keep my hands off you for long.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I’ve never made out with anyone in a restaurant before.” We both chuckled at our actions.

“Oh good, I thought this was a normal thing for you to pick up chicks at the bar, bring them to your dining room, ply them with expert cooking, and grope them in your back nook. Very smooth.” I smirked and touched his warm cheek with my fingers. His five o’clock shadow bristled against my skin.

“Only the ones who fall on me in doorways. I have standards, you know,” he said teasingly and pressed his lips to mine, softly this time. Then he dazed me by doing the sweetest thing any man had ever done and kissed the tip of my nose.

“Eat, beautiful,” he said and picked up his runaway silverware.

Hesitantly, I resumed eating my meal. Everything tasted so good, but his lips were all I was craving.

“You’ve officially spoiled me, Jack. My generic mac and cheese will never be the same now,” I said and picked up my drink.

“I’m honored my food rates higher than your boxed processed noodles with neon cheese flavored sauce,” he replied, feigning annoyance. “Are you done? Ready for dessert?” Hope glinted in his eyes.

“Afraid I’m stuffed.” My hand covered my abdomen. “I couldn’t possibly.” But he waved his hand for Miranda.

“Anything else I can get you?” She plastered on a fake smile and fluttered her eyelashes at him, which was what she did every time she came over. She only acknowledged Jack. I didn’t exist.

“Bring us the Sachertorte I made today, please. Oh, and the apple pie.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he reached his arm around me, which pretty much shut me up.

“Just a taste. You don’t have to finish the whole thing,” he said, eyes pleading like a little kid. Far be it from me to take away a chance for him to show off. So what if my guts burst all over the walls? I’m sure he had people to clean it up.

We sat and chatted about his new restaurant, and he asked questions regarding my job. He seemed genuinely interested in my role at Brentford and paid close attention whenever I spoke.

A couple of rambunctious kids ran by, followed by their extremely irate mother. “Gosh, I can’t believe parents bring young kids to a restaurant like this.”

“Why not? We don’t mind. Their parents usually deal with any issues quickly. And kids need to be exposed to nice places and taught how to act appropriately.”

“I guess, but it annoys the other customers,” I told him and searched around for any more wild children on the loose.

Miranda arrived with the picture-perfect looking desserts. No joke, they could have been in a magazine. The ice cream beside the apple pie was placed just so. I would have dropped it on top and called it a day. Not a crumb was out of place on the cake either. The dark chocolate icing looked like lush brown silk.

As Jack picked up the tiny spoon and cut into the cake, I thought what a shame it was to ruin something so elegant. He held it up, and I instinctively opened.

“Oh. Yum.” I closed my eyes as the myriad of chocolate flavors exploded in my mouth. Never had I enjoyed something so decadent before. My assumptions were correct—the cake was moist and delicious, but the thick, creamy topping was glorious.

“Gimme,” I said, and our fingers grazed as I ripped the spoon out of his hand. An out-of-body experience was the only phrase that came to mind to describe what I felt.

“Jack, what in the world is this? It’s delicious,” I asked, savoring another bite.

“Essentially, an upscale chocolate cake,” he said as he leaned back to watch me ravage the rest.

“This icing, oh my God.” As I looked up at him, my finger accidentally brushed against the slice. “Dammit.” I lifted my hand to lick it off, but I was halted when a big, strong hand grasped my arm.

“It’s called ganache,” Jack said, eyes boring into me. Then he brought my finger to his mouth and licked it off. I nearly combusted, sensing the wet warmth of his tongue on my skin. What else would he lick frosting off of, I wondered.

Unable to move or breathe for fear I’d embarrass myself, I remained frozen and waited for him to break our trance. The constant ache he’d caused deep inside of me was foreign, something I’d never experienced before.

Finally, he suggested a plan. “Harper, I don’t know how to say this to you so you don’t take offense, but do you want to go home with me? I only live a few blocks away. I’ll make coffee and bring dessert?” he said cautiously as he tiptoed on metaphorical eggshells.

Of course, I desperately wanted to go. I longed to be alone with him and explore what we had started. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t that kind of girl. No way on Earth would I leave with a guy for a one-night stand. That was just not me. Nope. How did I break the news to him?

“Okay.”