Page 153 of Kitchen Gods: The Complete Series

They froze like that, Kian nearly bent towards him, their gazes locked, and Bastian couldn’t help but think, fuck, hell, shit, this is never going to work. And Bastian, despite his temper, usually considered himself an optimist.

There was the shock reflected in those blue eyes, and then sparks of heat, lighting them both on fire.

It would be so easy to just lean down and discover what that mouth tasted like.

Like the bitter coffee Kian liked. Maybe a piece of chocolate that Miles, one of the pastry assistants, had slipped him during this morning’s prep.

Dark and dangerous, that’s how Kian would taste, even though he looked like sunshine, his hair bright even in the dim light.

“Sorry,” Kian mumbled, flushing, and objectively Bastian knew he should take his hand off his shoulder, and let him move away, to a respectable distance—at least a distance that didn’t have their thighs pressed together, so he couldn’t feel the heat of Kian’s body next to his.

He might be slender, but it was clear to him now that it wasn’t just his determination that was strong, he had a body to back that up.

His fingers spasmed over a surprisingly firm shoulder, and then slipped down to Kian’s bicep.

Kian’s eyes watched him the whole way, the wonder in that blue gaze leaving him more breathless than he’d ever admit to anyone. Bastian could only imagine what his own dark eyes looked like, pupils dilated, his fingers gripping Kian’s arm like he couldn’t bear to let him go.

It wasn’t impossible—Bastian was renowned in the culinary world for his legendary determination—but it damn near felt like it.

“Don’t be sorry,” Bastian said, and immediately regretted it, because that was admitting something he couldn’t take back.

It was admitting to something that could never, ever happen between them.

Bastian dropped his hand, and thankfully Kian took a step back, and then another.

“I was . . . I was going to ask why the mascarpone is on the shelf, but not listed here,” Kian said, voice high and stunned. Like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Bastian, unfortunately, could believe it. There’d been a reason he’d been avoiding being alone with Kian.

Unfortunately there was no way to truly train Kian and not end up alone occasionally.

Maybe it was time to address the elephant in the room, make it clear that no matter what anyone’s personal feelings were, this was professional, and this was Kian’s career, which somehow had become more important to Bastian than his own need.

And that was so momentous that Bastian refused to look any further into it.

“It would be good, wouldn’t it?” Bastian asked, trying for casual, ending up nowhere near that tone. “Between us?”

Kian nearly dropped the clipboard again. He looked shocked, and Bastian reminded himself of American sensibilities. Maybe he should have framed the conversation in a subtler way—but then there was the risk that Kian wouldn’t understand, and then they’d have to do this again.

“Excuse me?” Kian squeaked.

“It would be good between us,” Bastian repeated, this time making sure it wasn’t a question, but a statement.

Of fact. Because it would be. Nobody was denying that.

“It would, and it would happen more than once, and we’d enjoy ourselves.

But it can’t happen, because we’re doing something more important.

We’re preparing you for a career that I know could be spectacular. ”

But Kian was still stuck on the first thing Bastian had said. “It would be good if we slept together?”

Bastian shot him a look that was trying very hard to be bored, but sex with Kian wouldn’t ever be boring. He was insatiably curious. He would want to discover. He would turn Bastian’s world upside down during the expedition, and probably ruin his own in the process.

“Don’t you think so?” Bastian asked.

“Uh,” Kian said, sounding truly unsure for the first time since his first day.

“This is . . .” Bastian gestured between them, “just an excess of hormones. It won’t last. We have more important things to do.”

Kian still looked shell-shocked, like Bastian confirming the attraction between them was mutual was enough to blow his mind.

“So you’re saying,” he finally spoke up, “that it might feel good now, but that it would waste this opportunity.”

Bastian nodded sharply. “And be an impossible distraction. You have a future. It would be a crime to waste it.”

“And . . . doing that, would be wasting it?” Kian sounded like he didn’t quite believe Bastian, and that made sense. He was young. Romantic, no doubt. And Bastian was probably a romantic figure to him. All that hero worship.

“Trading a brilliant career for a few fleeting moments of pleasure?” Bastian didn’t bother considering this. “It’s not even a question. I just want to make that clear because this . . . hormone surge is going to happen, occasionally, between us. And I want to make sure that we’re on the same page.”

“Same page,” Kian echoed. “Okay. Yes. Same page. I can do that.”

“Good,” Bastian said, and focused his attention on the clipboard. “Ah, yes, the mascarpone cheese. It’s because it was a special request from the pastry chef, René. I’ll have to add it to the inventory sheets. Just notate on the side for now.”

Later, Bastian felt guilty for springing such an important conversation on Kian unprepared, but they’d needed to clear away any uncertainty and erase the distraction of maybe, someday, from the conversation completely.

It had been the right thing to do, to bring it up and to pack the attraction away in a box with no lid.