Rock Hard (Rock Kiss #2)(38)

It wasn’t as if he needed to hunt for notches on his bedpost. As displayed by Tiffany, women hunted him down. “Doesn’t your girlfriend mind you flirting with other women?” she asked sharply before she forgot he was taken—as he clearly had.

“She’s not mine yet.” The last word was drawled out.

Wanting to slap herself for continuing to find the arrogant T-Rex attractive, she said, “I’ll show you how to make the pasta sauce.” Soon as that was done, she could go home and bake out her rage as she told Molly that T-Rex wasn’t only a carnivore, he was a man who didn’t value commitment when it came to a personal relationship.

Charlotte couldn’t be with someone like that, even if he wasn’t just messing with her for his own amusement.

Gabriel didn’t get out of the doorway. “Not before you answer my question.”

“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “I won’t sue you.” She’d also not take anything he said or did seriously. A man who made a move on one woman, whom he’d asked to help him learn how to cook something to impress another woman, wasn’t her idea of Prince Charming.

When his eyes glinted, lips curving in a slow and very male smile, she knew he intended to take full advantage of her acquiescence. “Come into my parlor, Ms. Baird.”

How could he make her name sound like an indecent proposition? The tiny hairs on her nape prickling in an alarm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with another emotion as visceral, she took a deep breath and stepped past him into the apartment.

The click of the door shutting behind her made her stomach knot, Gabriel’s presence at her back a heated wall that blocked escape. As if he knew, he walked past her with the groceries. Following him, she gaped. She knew this building, had seen it countless times from the road. Built on a hilltop, it had sweeping views of both the city and the waters of the Hauraki Gulf. Apartments here went for millions.

Gabriel, she belatedly realized, had the penthouse.

They’d entered on the lower floor—a sprawling space that flowed out onto a large balcony. While she couldn’t see it from here, she knew the second level opened out onto another, smaller balcony. Natural light came in via the generous use of glass as well as cleverly placed skylights. The view through the balcony doors, even from here, was spectacular.

“Just how rich are you?” she blurted out.

Gabriel had already put down the groceries and now paused in the act of removing his shoes. “If I use the word filthy in my answer, what’ll that get me?”

Charlotte slapped her hands over her face, mortified. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she’d been so rude, especially when she should’ve guessed at his wealth. No one played professional sports at the highest level, had major international endorsement deals—some of which were still in play—then became a sought-after business executive without accumulating wealth. In addition, she’d watched him buy property after property for his personal portfolio. Of course he was filthy rich.

Strong, warm hands tugging her own from her face, his smile so gorgeous that for a second, she almost gave in to the madness inside her and kissed the boss.

Then he said, “You can make it up to me by teaching me to be a maestro in the kitchen.”

Right. For another woman. That infuriating reminder poured ice water on her desire. “I’ll get set up if you want to…” She waved vaguely in the direction of his clothes; unlike his casual clothes most weekends when they worked together, he’d worn a suit today because he’d had to videoconference with the lawyers on the other side of the negotiation.

Charlotte was still in the jeans and mint-green cardigan she’d worn to cooking class. Below the cardigan was nothing but a white camisole with a lace edge. She hadn’t thought she’d be this hot when she’d chosen the outfit that morning, hadn’t thought she’d be all but pasted to Gabriel’s furnace of a body.

She wanted to rub up against him like a cat.

Other woman, Charlotte! You are teaching him to cook for her!

The mental slap made her head ring as Gabriel headed to the hanging spiral staircase that led upstairs.

“Kick off your shoes,” he said, “get comfortable.”

“If I kick off my shoes, I’ll need a megaphone to reach you,” she muttered under her breath, but did in fact slip off her wedge-heeled slides, loathe to accidentally damage the warm-toned wood of the floor. Shoving up the sleeves of her cardigan, she padded over to his kitchen—separated from the living area only by a gleaming breakfast bar—and just sighed. The things she could cook in this kitchen.

Stroking the black granite of the freestanding central island, the stone streaked with gray minerals that had a faint shimmer, she took in the cooktop that blended into the counter against the wall, the inbuilt oven below sleek silver. When she gave in to temptation and opened a cupboard, the premium cookware inside made her want to whimper.

“Finding everything you need?”

Jumping, she shut the cupboard and turned to find him heading toward her. He’d changed into faded jeans and a gray T-shirt bearing the logo of the school whose rugby team he coached, the soft, well-washed fabric hugging his pecs as he moved toward her.

Gripping the counter behind her, she said, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He looked up from taking the groceries out of the bag and the intricate ink on his left arm caught her eye. “Charlotte, knock yourself out. I have no idea what’s in half the cupboards.” She made a scandalized noise that had him laughing. “Yeah, it makes ísa—my sister-in-law—crazy too. She, my mom, and Jake bought all the kitchen stuff after taking my credit card. I think they were hoping to shame me into cooking more.”