The Ultimate Playboy

His head tilted. ‘That means the same thing.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Destroy and annihilate—same meaning.’

‘Really? That’s all you have to contribute to this conversation?’

His jaw tightened. ‘I told you I was good at adapting, cara. So why are you surprised that I’m adapting to the situation I find myself in? And seriously, screwing my brains out does not entitle you to weigh in on this.’ He waved to his desk.

‘Then why did you share it with me?’ she replied.

For a moment he floundered. The clear vulnerability in his eyes made her breath catch. ‘A misjudgment on my part.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Shock widened his eyes. It occurred to her that she was probably the only person who’d dared challenge him this way.

Slowly, his face transformed into an inscrutable mask. Hell, he was so expert at hiding his feelings, he didn’t need a mask at his next ball, she thought vaguely.

‘I don’t care whether you believe me or not. All I care about, what you should care about, is whether you can deliver on our agreement. I can easily find a replacement for you if you wish to terminate it when we get back to New York. Believe that.’

‘Oh, I believe you. I also believe you think you can hide behind hatred and revenge to find the closeness you seek.’

‘Madre di Dio. When I suggested you tell me every thought that came into your head, I had no idea you were a closet pop psychologist or I’d have thought twice. I unequivocally revoke that request, by the way.’

Listening to him denigrate what had been a perfect few hours in her life made anger and pain rock through her. Stepping back from the desk, she glanced at the picture, pain slashing her insides.

‘I’ll leave you to your machinations.’ She rushed out and hurried up the stairs, swiping at the foolish tears clouding her vision.

If Narciso wanted to bury himself in the past, he was welcome to do so.

CHAPTER TEN

‘THERE’S A NEW recipe I want to try. Care to join me?’

Ruby looked up as Michel approached the counter she’d been working at for the last two hours.

Her mood had vacillated between anger and hurt, undecided on which emotion had the upper hand. Certainly, the piece of meat she’d been hammering was plenty tenderised.

She set it to one side, went to the sink to wash her hands, and rested her hip against the granite trim. ‘As long as it’s nothing Sicilian. I’ve had my fill of Sicilians for the foreseeable future.’

Michel cast her a curious glance, then gave a sly smile. ‘No, what I’m thinking of is unapologetically French.’

She wiped her hand on her apron. ‘Then count me in.’

‘Excellent! It’s a sauce au chocolat with a twist. You’re making croquembouche for monsieur’s dinner party in New York, oui?’

‘Yes.’ Although right now the thought of monsieur himself sautéed in a hot sizzling pan sounded equally satisfying.

‘Bien, I thought instead of the caramel you could try using chillies.’

‘Chilli chocolate? I love the idea. I always convince myself the heat burns away half the calories.’

He gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘In my opinion, you do not need to worry about calories, ’moiselle.’

The compliment took her by surprise. ‘Umm, thanks, Michel.’

He shrugged again and started grabbing ingredients off the shelves. They worked in harmony, measuring, chopping, straining until the scent of the rich chocolate sauce bubbling away in the pan filled the kitchen.

On a whim, she asked, ‘Do you have any fresh vanilla pods? I want to try something.’

He nodded. Opening his spice cabinet, he grabbed the one long pod and handed it to her. Ruby cut it open and scraped out the innards. Then, slicing a few strips, she dropped them into the sauce. ‘Let that infuse for a few minutes, and we’ll try it.’

He rubbed his hands together with a childlike glee that made her laugh. After two minutes he grabbed a clean spoon and scooped a drop of the sauce. ‘As the last ingredient was your idea, you sample it first.’ He blew on it and held it to her lips.

She tasted it, shut her eyes to better feel the flavours exploding on her tongue. The decadent taste made her groan long and deeply.

‘Ruby.’

Her name was a crack of thunder that had her spinning round.

Narciso stood in the doorway, the look on his face as dark and stormy as the tension thickening the air. For several seconds, everyone remained frozen.

Then silver eyes flicked to the Frenchman. ‘Leave.’

Michel’s eyes widened at the stark dismissal. Narciso took a single step forward to allow the chef to sidle past before he slammed the door shut behind him.