Bachelor at Her Bidding (Bachelor Auction Book 2)(8)

“My kitchen’s very basic. I don’t have fancy equipment,” she said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I, um, don’t cook much beyond the odd omelet. I tend to eat at the hospital if I’m not seeing my family or my friends.”

“That makes sense. Cooking for one can be…” Lonely. No. He wasn’t lonely. Anyway he cooked for Gram, too, not just for himself. “…not so much fun,” he finished. And now he was on sure ground again. Talking about his job. “You don’t need any fancy equipment. I’ll bring whatever I need to use outside the basics. You have a stove top and an oven, right?”

“Right.”

“Good. Then I guess all I really need to know is if you’re vegetarian, if you have any allergies, or if there’s any food you really hate.”

“That’s a no to all three,” she said.

“Which makes my job very much easier.” And he needed to think about this as a job. Not as pleasure. Not as seducing her tastebuds and then maybe seducing the rest of her. “So – two weeks today at your place. Six o’clock?”

“Six o’clock is fine.” She paused. “I guess I need to give you my address.”

“And your phone number – because there is one thing. I live with my grandmother and she’s not in the best of health. If she needs me on that Saturday, I’ll have to reschedule.”

“That’s totally fine.” She took her cell from her purse. “Tell me your number, and I’ll text you the details.”

A minute later, it was all done.

He held out his hand to shake hers. To seal the deal.

And his skin actually tingled where she touched him. Like a hotwire going straight to his groin. He hadn’t been this physically attracted to a woman for years – not even Lucille.

Ryan had the strongest feeling that their dinner date was going to spell trouble with a capital T, unless he could give his mouth and his libido a good talking-to and get them on side. Because Rachel Cassidy could seriously tempt him to break all his rules. And he really, really couldn’t afford to do that.





Chapter Three




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When a man was coming to you to cook dinner, what did you wear? Rachel stared at the rack of clothes in her wardrobe. Would a little black dress be over the top? Then again, would jeans be too casual? Yet a formal suit like the one she usually wore for work wouldn’t be appropriate, either.

She shook herself. How ridiculous to be worrying about this. It wasn’t even a proper date; it was a birthday dinner cooked for her by a Parisian-trained chef, bought by her sister and her best friends, with the money going to an important local fundraiser. So she could wear whatever she wanted. It didn’t matter.

But she remembered the way her skin had felt when Ryan had shaken her hand. The tingle that had gone all the way down her spine. The way her lower lip had suddenly felt sensitive and aching. The way her libido had practically sat up and begged.

Not good.

OK, so he wasn’t Nick. And not all men cheated. But making herself vulnerable again, trusting someone with her heart… She wasn’t in the right place to do that. And the attraction was probably one-sided in any case. Women must be queuing up round the block to date someone as gorgeous as Ryan Henderson. Why would he bother looking twice at a woman who had a distinct lack of curves?

“This is platonic,” she reminded herself, and chose her plainest dress before tying her hair back at the nape with a chiffon scarf.

There was a knock at her door at five minutes to six. Ryan? Adrenalin fizzed through her veins, but she damped it down and opened the door.

Ryan was carrying two large lidded plastic boxes; resting on the top of them was a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, a mix of roses and gerberas and carnations. He balanced the boxes on one knee, retrieved the flowers and handed them to her with a smile. “Happy birthday, Miz Cassidy.”

The unexpected gesture warmed her all through. “Thank you. That’s really kind of you.” Guilt made her add, “Though you didn’t need to do that.” It hadn’t been part of the deal.

“It’s your birthday,” he said, “and all beautiful women should have flowers on their birthday.”

The warmth was replaced with a sinking feeling. Rachel knew she wasn’t beautiful – Nick had made that very clear – so it seemed that Ryan Henderson was just another charmer. And besides, weren’t chefs always supposed to schmooze their clients? So this was just patter. He hadn’t meant a single word of it. And she wasn’t going to let herself be taken in by sweet words, ever, ever again.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Come in. I need to find a vase and put these lovely flowers in water.” She noticed that he was wearing the white chef’s tunic and pinstriped trousers again, teamed with highly polished shoes and the tall chef’s hat. “Do you wear that in the kitchen at Grey’s?” she asked, suddenly curious. It seemed out of place with the saloon’s rustic air.

“No. It’s a little more casual there, so I wear a skullcap rather than a toque, and a slightly plainer jacket.” He smiled. “This is what I used to wear in Paris.”

Obviously he was wearing his Parisian uniform as part of the dating deal. “You don’t have to stand on formality if you’d rather not wear the hat,” she said.