I nod. “Sounds impressive.”
“He was also the one who told me to get fit. He told me I had to understand that while people want to be fed, they don’t want to be fattened up. If I was going to open my own restaurant, I had to convince my customers that I was feeding them, not fattening them up. And the best way to convince them was for me to get fit myself.”
“Makes sense.”
The best way to give an example is to be an example, right?
“I went to the gym and started a rigorous workout program. I started to eat healthy. Actually, I got some tips from my nutritionist, too, which helped me make my food healthier just in time for the opening of my first restaurant. And that’s pretty much it. I got this body, liked it and kept it ever since.”
“So basically, you got depressed and got fat, then started exercising and eating healthy, which is how you got fit,” I sum it up. “Cliche.”
He lifts a finger. “But with a great story.”
I smile. Well, I guess it is.
“Well, it suits you,” I blurt out. “This body, I mean.”
“Yeah.” Jackson glances down. “I’ve noticed you’ve been staring at me.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks and I sit up. “Have not.”
He laughs. “Just messing with you.”
I frown.
He turns his back to me. “I think the pork’s ready. Here. Why don’t you try it?”
He walks over to me with a slice of pork and a bowl of gravy.
“Wow,” I say as I take the pork from the tip of his fork. “I can’t believe I’m eating food cooked by a Michelin-starred chef.”
Since becoming an intern at Jackson’s restaurant, I’ve done my research. I’ve found out that he has nine restaurants across the globe and a total of five Michelin stars. Totally awesome.
“I have made you dinner before, remember?” he says.
“Nothing this special.”
Just stir-fries, salads, pasta.
“It’s just roast pork,” he points out.
“Roast pork prepared by a Michelin-starred chef. Not too many people get to eat that.”
Jackson shrugs. “Well, I wanted to make something nice for you as my way of thanking you for taking care of Maisie today. And doing such a great job of it, too.”
“It was my pleasure.”
I dip the slice of pork into the gravy, making sure to coat it generously. Then I put the piece inside my mouth. As the flavor explodes on my tongue, I close my eyes. The meat is tender, melting in my mouth, and perfectly seasoned. The skin cracks beneath my teeth and shatters, its taste and texture sending chills down my spine. And that’s just the pork. The gravy has hints of beef stock, mushrooms, wine and herbs. Its rich flavor complements the pork perfectly, its smoothness highlighting the crispness of the crackling.
A moan escapes my throat.
If this were a concert, everything would be in perfect harmony inside my mouth, every note hit with utter sublimity.
Divine.
When I open my eyes, I have a compliment ready for the chef, but that vanishes as I meet Jackson’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed, studying me intently. And they’re smoldering like the glowing metal inside the oven.
Surely, that’s not the way someone looks at his little sister.
My heart stops. This time, something more intense travels down my spine.
Why is he looking at me like that? And why, why can’t I look away?
With his gaze still holding mine, his hand goes to my face. His thumb lands on the corner of my mouth. My heart begins to race. My feet would like to go with it, but they seem firmly planted on the floor. I can’t move a muscle. I can barely breathe as my eyes focus on Jackson’s face so close to mine, on his parted lips.
He’s not going to kiss me, is he?
Suddenly, he steps back. He brings his thumb between his lips and licks it. The gesture causes my pulse to spike even more.
“It’s good,” Jackson says. “The gravy’s good.”
My eyebrows furrow as I try to make sense of what just happened. So he was just wiping the gravy from my face? But why do it so… sensually? Is he teasing me?
Frustration washes over me, made worse by the fact that I don’t even fully understand why I’m feeling it. If he’s trying to mess with me again, this time, he’s succeeded. I feel an utter mess, every cell in my body out of place.
I frown. “Actually, I don’t like the taste.”
Jackson’s eyebrows arch.
“And I think I’m not that hungry after all. I’m going to my room.”
With that, I turn on my heel and walk out of the kitchen.
“Cathy,” he calls after me.
I ignore him. Trisha was right. I should stay away from her brother.
Chapter 6
Jackson
I should have stayed away.
I set down my cup of coffee and slap my forehead as I remember how Cathy stomped out of my kitchen last night. She didn’t say much to me this morning either. And all because I couldn’t control myself.