Page 7 of Good Taste (Mountain Men Crave Curves #6)

Chapter Seven

Taylor

I don’t care anymore. Not about keeping this job. Not about making my rent. Right now, all I want is Chef Nick. And I’m not lying about how good this sandwich is. “What about you?” I wipe my mouth with a cloth napkin. The dining room darkening as the day progresses.

“What about me?” Nick’s strong jaw flexes when he eats.

“What got you into this life?” I throw my arms wide. He smiles and pushes his plate to the side.

“Honestly? I was always more comfortable in the kitchen than anywhere else. My brothers—I have three, all older—were always these outdoorsy, strong extroverted types. My dad took them all under his wing. He owns a lumber business which later morphed into a supply business for most of the cabins you see around the lake.”

“Seriously?” I perk up. “Those are so beautiful. I’ve always dreamed of owning one.”

“Yeah, my family supplies the wood, and one of my brother’s company builds them.” Nick raises one brow. Clearly, this conversation strikes a nerve. I’ve never noticed until now that his nose is slightly crooked, which only enhances his insane good looks.

“So, the family business wasn’t in the cards for you, huh?”

“Nah.” He lets out a long exhale, causing his massive chest to rise and fall. “I guess you could say I was sort of a mama’s boy.”

“Aw.” I coo. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Well, mama kept me close in the kitchen. Fattening me up in the process.” My eyes widen at the thought.

“You don’t look very fat to me.”

“Not now.” His giant hands fuss with the edge of his napkin. “But I definitely was, and trust me. The bullying eventually had me splitting my time between the kitchen and the gym.”

“I can see that.” I take in his strong physique, unable to believe he was anything but action movie star hot. There’s probably a six-pack hiding below that t-shirt, the perfect accompaniment to his tapered waist. “So your mom taught you to cook?”

“Yeah. I’m the baby of the family and she was more than happy to have me around, tugging on her apron. She had me cracking eggs by the time I could kneel on a chair and reach the counter.”

“Wow.”

“What about you?”

“Yeah, I can’t cook. Not really.”

“You were pretty straightforward about your grilled cheese.” He teases, a half smile playing on his kissable lips.

“That’s where it starts and ends, I’m afraid.”

“It’s a teachable skill.” His eyes are focused solely on me. “Anyone can do it if they have the right teacher.”

My pussy clenches imagining Nick behind me, his hardness pressing into me as he teaches me how to do—I don’t care. Anything.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’ll prove it to you.”

“yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re going to make dessert.”

I nearly fall out of my chair. “Me? No.” He’s up, hand extended. “Come on. I’m not embarrassing myself in front of a professional.”

“I cook, Taylor. I’m not a pastry chef.” He wags his fingers. “Trust me.”

The waning light outside hits him perfectly, a ray of illumination across his tanned biceps, crossing over his chest. Jesus. He’s the most perfect man I’ve ever fucking seen.

“Fine.” I slide my hand into his, playfully rolling my eyes and trying not to soak through the seat of my jeans. “But if it sucks, I’m blaming my teacher.” He smiles, releases my hand, and leads me back to the kitchen.

Nick disappears into the walk-in freezer, leaving me standing in the artificially lit kitchen. Thank God for these lanterns. It’d be super creepy without them. He reappears with a carton of ice cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup.

My hand flies to my mouth, but I can’t stop the laughter from slipping out. “Are you serious?”

“I’ll talk you through it.” He winks, then rinses out two bowls that somehow survived the fall. I can’t take my eyes off of his perfect ass in those destroyed jeans. He returns, sets the bowls down, and hands me the ice cream scooper.

“You’re a mess.” I can’t stop smiling.

“This whole fucking place is.” Nick smiles back—it may be his best feature. Which is really saying something.

I dive into the carton, piercing semi-melted ice cream. Vanilla bean. Classic. “One scoop or two?”

“One for me.” he watches me intently. His piercing eyes roaming up and down my torso.

“I’ll have one then, too.” My voice shakes, but my hand remains steady as I prep our dessert, scooping the sugary cream into two bowls.

“Nice technique.” Nick teases.

“I do my best.” I’m about to burst. This strange foreplay has my body reacting in a way I wasn’t expecting. Even my nipples are hard. Who knew ice cream could do that?

“Now for the best part.” I reach for the chocolate sauce, but Nick grabs my hand. I raise my eyes to meet his and my knees go weak. Without a word, he moves closer, gently pulling me toward him.

“I don’t wan’t the ice cream, Taylor.” His low, baritone voice reverberates through me. “I want you. From the minute you nearly knocked me out with the bathroom door.” I let out a nervous laugh. “I haven’t stopped thinking about how much I want you.”

“Nick.” I swallow, trying to find my voice. “You’ve got me.” I lick my lips and raise my chin. Chef Nick’s mouth comes crashing down on mine.