“I don’t allow fragile little girls in my kitchen.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not one of those,” I retort, resisting the urge to kick the kitchen worker who is still laughing under his breath at me. “Now, if you’re done yelling at me for no reason, I’m going to go clean some dishes.”
That shuts everyone up.
Draven slowly hoists a black brow. “You think you’re tough?”
“No. IknowI’m tough.”
His upper lip curls. “Stay out of my way while I’m cooking.”
I sniff. “Unless you’re cooking in the sink, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
The barest trace of humor teases up one corner of that sculpted mouth. His gaze tracks down my body, but unlike the men who’ve been interviewing me all day, he doesn’t leer like a goon. It’s a sharp accounting of my figure. A reluctant awareness.
I really wish my nipples didn’t bead in response.
“What is your name?” Draven asks, striding through his riveted staff, the throng parting to allow him through, like Moses strolling through the Red Sea.
“Claire,” I say, forcing my chin to stay up, even though the closer he gets to me, the more I feel urged to bow my head, as if in prayer. This man is dynamic and teeming with raw energy. A sort of giddiness rides along my limbs and tickles my nerve endings when he stops in front of me, his golden eyes narrowing on my face.
“My brother hired you, Claire?”
“Yes,” I whisper, wondering how it’s possible that my tummy is quivering. It has never done that before. “I was hired just this afternoon.”
“Chef.”
A line forms between my brows. “I’m sorry?”
“I was hired just this afternoon,chef.”
Right.
Haven’t I learned everything from watchingThe Bear?
“I was hired this afternoon, chef,” I whisper, looking up at him and feeling a silky shift in my panties. A greeting of wetness that I don’t expect and have never experienced before. But instinctively, I know it’s my body’s first kiss of arousal. Does it come from acknowledging that he’s in charge of me? Does it come from having to tilt my head all the way back to maintain our eye contact, because he’s over a foot taller and so much larger than me?
“That’s much better, Claire. Maybe you’ll make it through the night after all.”
I swallow hard. “I plan on it, chef.”
Without warning, he takes my right hand and holds it up, examining my fingers. Based on his smirk, I think he’s expecting to find a delicate hand that has never scrubbed dishes a day in their life. Instead, he finds nails cut down to the nub. Little scars on my fingers from accidental knife cuts while I cooked and cleaned for my whole family, a veritable servant. Slight calluses from all the fetching and carrying of firewood.
Draven’s jaw stiffens more the longer he looks.
He considers my face next, his expression curious and steadily growing angry.
“You’ve been mistreated,” he rasps for my ears alone.
Horrifyingly, tears smart in my eyes, I’m so caught off guard by his observation.
By the unexpected tenderness in his voice.
I want to run. I also…want to be held.
I don’tknowwhat I want, but I’m laid so bare under his scrutiny, all these desires seem to bubble to the surface after a lifetime of being kept at bay. Like he’s coaxing them out of me.
“May I go clean the dishes now, chef?” I say, struggling to keep my voice even.