Something about that slightly unmade bed made my dick stir.
“Since no one but me is ever seeing the inside of my bedroom again, we can move on,” she said, closing the door.
“That brings up another question.” I cleared my throat. “Are you dating anyone?”
She tilted her head and the corner of her mouth lifted. “I don’t date employees.”
I held eye contact. “You haven’t hired me. And I don’t date clients.”
“Touché,” she said. “Although if this was all an elaborate ploy to get in my pants, I’d have to give you points for creativity.”
“If this was an elaborate ploy to get in your pants, I’d already be in them.”
“You’re very confident in your abilities.”
“When it’s warranted.”
Her lips twitched again, and she turned to walk back down the hallway. I followed.
“No, I’m not dating anyone,” she said. “Not for about six months. And probably never again.”
There was a hint of pain buried in her flippant tone. It made a coal of anger flare hot in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like the idea of someone hurting her.
“There’s another bathroom through there.” She gestured to a door, then to a large room on the other side of the hall. “There’s a TV and couches and that sort of thing in there. Nice for movie nights.”
At the far end of the hall, I could see another stairway leading down.
“This leads to the kitchen, which brings me to Nicholas. He’s my chef, and I’m warning you, whatever he’s doing in there, don’t interrupt. He makes magic in that kitchen and I don’t like to bother him when he’s working.”
“Understood.”
There was definitely something happening in the kitchen. A rhythmic thumping sound came from below. And was that someone breathing heavily? Maybe her chef was kneading bread dough.
“Nicholas is overqualified to be a personal chef, but he swears he likes the slower pace,” Cameron said as we headed down the enclosed spiral staircase. “The restaurant industry is brutal. And he works a few days a week as a pastry chef at the Bluewater Bakery, so really, we all win. I—”
She stopped in her tracks, her words cutting off like she’d just had the air knocked out of her.
“Oh my god!”
“Shit!”
“Cam!”
I hurried down the last few steps and got an eyeful of her expansive gourmet kitchen. And an eyeful of a tall bearded man with his pants around his ankles. He had an athletic-looking woman bent over in front of him, bracing herself on the island. Also with pants around her ankles.
They both scrambled to pull their pants up, blubbering with embarrassment. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or grab them both and haul them outside. He better have been her chef.
Cameron put a hand over her eyes. “Oh god, Nicholas, I just saw your ass.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, still trying to pull up his pants.
“Damn it, Nick,” the woman hissed, hauling a pair of tight workout leggings up her legs. She had a mild accent. Israeli if I wasn’t mistaken.
“Are you decent?” Cameron asked, still covering her eyes.
Nicholas groaned. “Cameron, I’m so sorry.”
“Okay, but am I going to see your junk if I open my eyes or can I look now?”
“You can look now,” the woman said, shooting Nicholas a glare.
Cameron lowered her hand. “Were you guys just having sex in the kitchen?”
The woman bit her lip and looked at the floor.
Nicholas ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, we… I didn’t think you’d be home for a while, and Inda kept bending over, and she looks so good in those pants, I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t blame me,” Inda said, her voice indignant. “I was just helping you get stuff out of the cupboards.”
Cameron blew out a breath. “Okay, we’re all adults here. I’m all for a happy marriage where you can’t wait to fuck the hell out of each other; it gives me hope for humanity. But you cook in here.”
“I always wash my hands,” Nicholas said.
“What?” The pitch of Cameron’s voice went up a notch. “Is this like your pre-cooking ritual? Do you do this often? Is this why your food is so orgasmic?”