Page 16 of Midnight Snack

Damn it! Why is his sudden shift from flirty to serious even hotter than that wink?

I clear my throat, nodding. “Huh, Manchego? Who would have thought?”

“But it’s really all in the technique.”

He grins again and, for the first time, I feel like I’m seeing his real smile. Not the practiced seductive smirk of a master, but an actual smile.

And if those practiced smirks were dangerous, they are nothing compared to the real deal.

For a second the tension stretches between us and I have to fight the temptation to toss the plate aside and climb his body like … well, like he’s the Damien of my dreams.

But then he clears his throat and says, his tone teasing and gentle, “I thought you were the big shot who went to culinary school.”

I shove another bite into my mouth to hide my embarrassment. Only answering once I’ve swallowed. “Pastry chef.” I hold up my hand. “I got only the bare basics on everything else. Besides, everyone knows how hard eggs are.”

“They aren’t that hard,” he protests and then blushes.

Wait.

He blushes?

I wouldn’t have thought that possible!

Over the use of the word hard? No. That can’t be it. He must just not be used to getting genuine compliments. About his food, at least. Obviously he gets compliments about those pecs and lush hair all the damn time.

He ducks his head and says, “I can teach you my technique if you want.”

“Sure.” I blow out a breath, glad that we really are talking about cooking and not about other hard things. “I’d like that.” I gesture with the plate. “And thank you for the eggs and toast. Truly.”

I stare into those pale green eyes of his.

“Of course, cher, anytime.”

That Cajun accent does funny things to my girl parts. Things that remind me of that dream I was having.

“I should probably apologize for being so tart last night.” I hold out my hand to him.

He stands to his full height and grips my hand.

“Truce?” I ask.

“Yeah, Sweetness, we’re good.”

chapter

nine

Damien

It’s been three days since I first met Caroline, and we’ve settled into a routine. We get up, I make breakfast, she makes coffee. And she even knows how I like it: no cream and too much sugar.

Then we drive into the studio together and work on whatever the challenges are for that day. The evenings we spend playing with the recipes in the kitchen at the cabin. It’s a comfortable rhythm that has me, once again, certain this woman is my perfect match.

When I’m with her, my restless energy disappears. Something I’ve only ever experienced after running my body ragged—literally.

But this evening, she’s the one who seems keyed up. She’s been shooting nervous looks at me ever since filming ended today and one of the production assistants pulled her aside for “notes.”

Personally, I’m not sure I trust any of these people farther than I can throw them, so I hope no one was mean to her or is pushing her to do something she’s not comfortable with.