So I’d been right. He did live close. Really close. I licked lips suddenly dry with excitement and said, “And he allows you to cook in his kitchen when they’re preparing for the evening sitting?”
He pushed open the metal swing door, guiding me into a kitchen that was small, neat, and extremely clean. Even the huge exhaust hood sparkled, and I knew from experience how hard those were to keep spotless.
It was also very empty.
“The restaurant is closed Monday through Wednesday, so as long as I clean my mess, Robert has no problems with me using his kitchen. Would you like a drink of some kind?”
“Just a Coke would be fine.”
He peered at me. “You wouldn’t prefer something alcoholic? There are some very drinkable whites in the cooler.”
“I prefer not to drink during the day.” I shrugged. “A habit left over from the days when our restaurant was new and we often had to fill in at a moment’s notice.”
“So what is the name of your restaurant?”
He walked across the kitchen, and I found my gaze drawn by the way his faded jeans fit his butt. Nice didn’t even begin to do it justice.
“RYT’s,” I said, suddenly remembering he’d asked a question.
He opened the door of the huge commercial fridge and cold air rushed out, swirling around his boots. He glanced at me before he stepped inside, and the amusement so evident in his bright eyes suggested he knew exactly what had been distracting me.
“Your restaurant has been creating some buzz recently,” he commented as he reemerged. He kicked the door closed, then strode back, two bottles of Coke in his hand. “Glass or bottle?”
“Why create more dishes?”
“A girl after my own heart.” He opened the Cokes, then handed one to me, his fingers brushing mine then pulling away. But the heat of that all-too-brief caress lingered and burned.
“We’ve been lucky,” I commented. “We hit the market at the right time, and we managed to employ some great staff.”
“Timing and staff are both very important, but management also plays its part. A restaurant is only ever as good as the people who run her.”
He stopped in front of me, filling my senses with his intoxicating presence. It wasn’t just the scent of him, wasn’t just the heat of him, but rather an overwhelming sensation of danger and desire and man. As if the three had combined in this one being, creating something that was far beyond the norm.
Which he was. He was an Aedh, after all—and from what Mom had said, this burn was designed purely to get me into bed.
And I wasn’t about to fight it.
But that meant I had better ask my questions now, because I had a suspicion my brain wouldn’t be capable of thinking in another few minutes. Not if the look in his eyes was anything to go by.
“You told me last night that your friend wasn’t Aedh,” I commented, leaning my butt against the steel of a counter. The coolness of the under-counter refrigerator played across the backs of my legs, but did little to ease the fire burning through my body. “Does that mean you don’t actually know any Aedh in Melbourne?”
He reached out, catching the stray strand of hair resting against my cheek and gently tucking it back behind my ear. His fingers lingered against my neck, sending a delighted shiver through my limbs.
“Not many,” he said, his green eyes slightly distracted as his fingertips traveled from the base of my ear down to my collarbone. “Aedh are solitary beings as a rule. Few of them even live fully in the flesh.”
My gaze involuntarily dropped, and the anticipation of getting his flesh inside me sizzled. I licked my lips and tried to control the urge to tell him to just get on with it as fingers slid over the collar of my cotton sweater and continued their slow, sweet journey toward my breasts.
“Then what do they do?”
He shrugged, his gaze following the progress of his fingers. When he brushed—ever so slightly—the edge of my areola, a groan of pleasure rolled up my throat. I held it in check, wanting to delay the moment of complete surrender a little longer.
“I have not been capable of attaining my full shape for eons. I have forgotten what it is like to be truly Aedh.”
I reached out, resting my hand against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the cotton shirt. Feeling the pounding of his heart, as rapid as my own. “It must be hard for you, existing only on this plane.”
“At times like this,” he murmured, his fingers sliding up under my chin and drawing it forward, until his lips were a hairbreadth away from mine and our br
eaths mingled, “it does not seem so bad.”