No. More likely, he wanted to bask in his success with whatever girl he had in his back pocket. How could he not? And she, whoever she was, probably wasn’t even a chef.
How could she think that one pasta exchange meant something more than a simple appreciation of food?
Sighing heavily, she felt her eyes grow heavy. Hopefully, Rodolfo would be done in the next hour or so. He would likely rouse her before he took off for the night, and she would take those moments to give the entire kitchen a once over. Michelle relished the idea of being alone with her thoughts in her artist’s space, and her lids fell shut.
How much time had gone by?
Michelle bolted upright in her chair at the sound of something crashing to the floor. She held her breath with wide eyes, expecting Rodolfo to call out his profuse apologies. When she failed to hear his voice, she tensed. If it wasn’t Rodolfo, then who else was in her kitchen?
Without the benefit of her butcher block and anything in the way of a real weapon, Michelle stood slowly, her eyes scanning the office. She spied a baseball bat gathering dust in the corner and dove for it. Curling her fingers around its maple handle, she tiptoed out of the office, ready to put up a fight when she gasped.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Enzo startled. What was most startling to her was the fact that the man was sans jacket and wearing an apron, his tie tucked into his shirt. He smiled sheepishly as their eyes locked.
“Did I wake you?” he asked innocently.
“How did you know I was asleep?” she challenged.
“Um… Rodolfo peeked in on you. Said you were out like a light.”
“And then what?” she continued. “You sent him away and started to commandeer my kitchen?”
“I thought I could make you dinner.”
He took a step back from the stove. Michelle crept forward and glanced into a pan of chicken in what looked like a savory sauce. Her largest pot was back in the sink.
“Uh huh. What’s going on here?” she asked as she pointed her finger.
“Pasta on the side. Water’s boiling.”
She said nothing as he set about completing the task. As the water boiled, Enzo tossed in a generous handful of angel hair pasta, before turning his attention back to the chicken. Michelle spied a few beads of sweat on his brow.
“You don’t look like you’ve done this before,” she said.
“I’ve made pasta,” he insisted.
“But chicken… whatever this is?”
He turned off both burners, looking defeated. She half-expected him to tear off his apron and declare that he had every right to the kitchen while his uncle held the purse strings. Michelle still had the bat in hand when Enzo ran one hand through his hair.
“Thought you might like someone cooking for you for a change.”
She was barely able to stifle a laugh as Enzo finally did remove the apron and started to turn on his heel.
“Wait, Enzo,” she said, reaching for his arm. “Don’t go.”
“Obviously, you would prefer to make the meal yourself. It was stupid.”
“I’m not even that hungry right now.”
“Then maybe you can just pack this all away for tomorrow’s dinner service.”
He was almost out the door when she rushed toward him, dropping the baseball bat, and grabbing his arm.
“So what? You’re just going to sulk off again?”
“What was that?”
Their eyes locked with the night air basking between them, and Michelle started to stretch to the tips of her toes, seeking his breath, his kiss…
Enzo looked away. “Your sous chef said that I needed to do better by you,” he admitted.
“Let me get this straight. You ran off but came back to boil water and mangle my chicken?”
“Yeah. I did some research. I mean, about the chicken. A recipe online.”
“I… would I… did you really do that?” she asked.
He nodded his head. “And I would have surprised you. If I wasn’t so clumsy.”
Clumsy.
It was the last word that she ever would have applied to him. Her heart fluttered at the thought that he had only taken off to come back again with something that she might enjoy.
“Come here.”
Enzo’s body tensed as she pulled it against hers. She was quick to claim his kiss and pull him out of the dark. Their lips remained locked as they made their way back under the kitchen’s dimmed lights, and Michelle broke away from his hold even as she still rubbed his arms.
“This whole time… have you been thinking about this?” She regretted it the second it came out of her mouth. Why couldn’t she just enjoy the moment? Maybe it was too great a leap. She steadied herself for what might be the cruelest of letdowns.
“Only this, Michelle.”
His voice was husky as he pulled her back into his arms again. Lifting her up, he set her on the countertop, and she met his lips once more. Their kiss was hungry as she started to claw at his shirt, releasing his tie from its cage. She used the paisley silk to bring him closer and cup the back of his neck in her hand.
“Can’t say I’m completely against your line of thinking,” she said. “But I have to ask. Are you playing a game with me?”
“Could ask you the same question,” he murmured, his lips moving back toward her face. This time, there was no kiss. His breath simply bathed her cheeks, and she sank into the heat as she loosened her hold on her tie to palm his chest through his shirt.
“No games here,” she said. “And I think it’s sweet that you’re trying to cook.”
“Maybe you’d like it if you gave it a try.”
She just sniffed in the direction of the food when the lure of his breath brought her back to his eyes.
“Maybe…”
Her voice trailed off as their lips locked. She briefly left his kiss as his hands reached under her skirt, and she tried to undo the buttons on his shirt. He dipped to his knees as his lips moved down her legs, and Michelle ran her fingers through his dark hair as he neared her lap.
Did he want a taste of her? The idea of his tongue trailing her essence caused her toes to curl, and she started to ease his face toward the apex of her thighs when he glanced up with a lascivious smile.
“No.”
“No?” she asked, panting, struggling and failing to catch her breath.
“I want to see you.”
“Here I am,” she said, as she spread her legs wider. She held her breath, waiting for his tongue to bathe her essence when he crawled up the length of her body, and touched her face.
“No,” he repeated. “I want to see your eyes.”
He reached under her skirt again and Michelle’s body buckled as he swirled one finger around her mound. The tantalizing tease of his touch caused her to shudder, and she grasped the smooth edge of the counter as he taunted her, his finger moving close to her nub before he resumed a series of swirls, never leaving her line of sight.
“I am trying to make nice with you,” he said in a husky voice.
“You… you’re doing a better job than you did with the food.”
He chuckled and kissed her thigh before looking up at her again.
“Let’s see if I can do better still.”
Michelle started to speak when he pushed his finger inside her and began to play with her clit. She arched her back and glanced up at the overhead lights, her eyelids fluttering.