Page 32 of Bitten By the Basilisk

“Growing up, my education was always the priority. I spent most of my waking hours studying or training. But a growing boy’s gotta eat. Cooking felt like the only way I could get a break. A chance to be creative rather than strategic.”

By “training,” she assumed he meant that he’d been learning his role at his family’s company, so he could step into it as soon as he’d completed some sort of professional degree. More than one of her college classmates had been on a similar path, their future careers already laid out for them.

Silas expertly sliced an apple into wedges, pausing at regular intervals to stir the melting chocolate. “Once I had the confidence, I prepared a five-course dinner for my two closest friends. They loved it so much they nearly got it into my head that I should open a restaurant.”

She smiled, happy for him while also recalling the time she had presented her koi painting to her mom a few months after Dad had passed. Art had been a hobby up to that point, but her mom’s encouragement had inspired her to pursue it as a career. At least until reality had set in.

“I hear the restaurant business is pretty tough,” she said with sympathy.

“It is,” he concurred, now dipping individual apple slices into the melted chocolate. Her stomach actually grumbled. “Regardless, my future went in another direction.”

The resignation in his voice was instantly familiar, as was pragmatically putting aside one’s personal passion for the sake of stability. Too bad she was still another eight years away from paying off her student loans—five, if she got her promotion. After that, she would have the breathing room to return to what truly fulfilled her.

“You still have this amazing kitchen,” she pointed out, attempting to bring a little optimism. “And even better”—she jabbed her thumbs at herself—“you have an increasingly hungry customer.”

Silas twisted to look back at her, his lips quirked in wry amusement. “Does that mean you’ll be paying for this meal?”

Not quite holding back a grin, she made a show of patting her body for a wallet. “Shoot, I don’t seem to have any money on me.”

He turned to face her, his golden gaze turning molten, his breaths deepening. “I’m sure we can work out something. What are you offering?”

Heat bloomed low in her belly, his teasing tone quickening her heart rate. She braced her hands on the seat and squeezed her thighs together, already aching for him again.

“How about…a kiss for one of those apple slices?”

His smile stretched a little wider as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter behind him. “Is that all you’ll be having?”

“For now,” she quipped back. “Do you accept my offer?”

He regarded her without responding, his chest and shoulders shifting as he breathed in deeply. Then he turned back to the counter, switched off the heat under the chocolate with one hand, and picked up a dipped apple slice in the other, its chocolate coating already hardened and lightly sprinkled with kosher salt.

As he approached, rounding one end of the island counter, she licked her lips, more out of nervousness than actual hunger. She leaned in his direction when he neared, expecting to meet his lips for the promised kiss before receiving her appetizer.

Instead, he tugged the seat of her barstool away from the counter and spun it, pointing her knees toward him, making her gasp, her heart leap. He then insinuated one his legs between hers as he leaned over her until the low back of the barstool pressed against her spine, his chest lightly touching hers, his lips hovering so close she could feel the warm current of air as he exhaled.

“Well?” he whispered, his voice deep and close, his hand on her hip sliding into the small gap between the top of her ass and the back of the barstool. “Do you still want it, kitten?”

She swallowed, her eyes darting to the apple slice he held in his other hand, the heel of it braced on the island counter. “C-can I try it first?”

After a brief moment of contemplation, he withdrew just enough to feed her the chocolate-dipped end of the apple. She opened her mouth, allowing him to slide the treat between her lips, mesmerized by his indulgent expression. She took a small bite, sweet juice and even sweeter chocolate spreading across her tongue, both enhanced by a hint of salt.

She chewed, humming her approval, then swallowed. “I would say five out of five stars, but the presentation deserves much more.” She flattened her palms on his chest, which the apron did not fully cover. His heart thumped steadily beneath her right palm, perhaps a bit faster than normal.

Her hands drifted upward, over his bare shoulders, brushing the stiff strap of his apron, until her fingers sank into the longer strands of his hair at the back of his head. She pulled him closer, her eyelashes lowering, but not all the way. His eyes did the same, the heat in them stoking the fire burning in her core.

“You should have a taste, too,” she whispered before bringing their mouths together, her eyes falling shut. She kissed his lips once, then dipped her tongue between them, inviting him to do the same.

His hand against her lower back tensed, his fingers curling, grasping the material of her borrowed shirt. He deepened their kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, panting against her lips every time he prepared to do it again. And again and again.

The heat in her core spread outward, down her thighs, wrapping around her hips, seeping up the taut curve of her spine. She felt seconds away from leaking her desire onto his shirt.

A beep from a timer he’d set drew their attention, pausing their kiss with their parted lips still clinging together, their quick, shallow breaths escaping in puffs. He pulled back slowly, a hint of red tinging his cheeks.

“Payment accepted,” he uttered, the words coming from deep in his chest. He withdrew from her hold upon him, standing straight, and offered the rest of the apple slice to her. She took it carefully, her fingers brushing his, her body trembling as it released the tension he so easily induced in her.

Silas pushed her seat back where it had been and returned to the other side of the island counter, though not before she spied a bulge behind his apron. She ate her treat silently, devouring the sight of his muscular back and round, taut buttocks beneath his sweats, need still thrumming in her veins.

It continued to simmer as he placed two plates of food on the island counter and slid them toward her side, one for her and one for him. The French bread pizza had been sliced into planks and plated alongside a mound of salad tossed with the vinaigrette he had made. A third plate appeared in between that contained two precise rows of chocolate-coated apple slices.