Dark Legacy (House of Winterborne Book 1) by Luanne Bennett

Author:Luanne Bennett [Bennett, Luanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Edward took me home at seven o’clock. My feet were on fire, and all I wanted to do was get out of my shoes and have a glass of wine before settling in with the journal.

After I’d apologized profusely to my best friend for snapping at her like a lunatic at lunch, we’d dropped her off at her shop and I’d gone back to work. I don’t know why, but I wanted that bracelet off my wrist as soon as possible, and the clasp wouldn’t budge. I thought I’d have to break it, but it mysteriously dropped from my wrist when I pulled a pair of pliers from my desk drawer, a handy tool in my profession.

“Michael is looking for you.” Jakob said, glancing up from his book when I walked into the lobby.

“I know. He left me a couple of messages.” He’d called me twice while I was in a meeting that afternoon. “I’ll call him later.”

The elevator door opened, and Michael was standing inside.

“Perfect timing,” he said, grabbing my arm to pull me in. “You weren’t ignoring me, were you?”

“I was in a meeting when you called.” I stepped inside and reached for the penthouse button, but he beat me to it and pushed the button for his floor instead. “You’re coming to my place for a little chat.”

“Michael, please,” I groaned, knowing we’d end up discussing his latest boyfriend problems for half the night.

“We need to talk, Morgan.” By the look on his face, I could tell it wasn’t his love life. Something was seriously wrong for him to sport such a grave expression. “And don’t argue with me.”

We got off the elevator and headed inside his apartment. As a bachelor, Michael had one of the smaller units in the building, without four extra bedrooms and all the unnecessary space. His walls were covered with overpriced contemporary art mingled with his own paintings, which often bordered on the bizarre, reminiscent of Salvador Dalí or Leonora Carrington. But as a former culinary student, he did have a large kitchen with all the tools any chef would die for—a professional range, an enormous refrigerator built into the wall, and stainless steel countertops. He even had a marble-slabbed work area for his obsession with confections that required quick cooling of chocolate and spun sugar creations.

I followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the island while he grabbed a box from the counter.

“Try this,” he said, handing me a chocolate ball. “I’ve been experimenting with chipotle.”

When I bit into it, the soft filling spread across my tongue like silk. The pepper ignited in my mouth in a burst of heat that quickly melded with the sweetness of the dark chocolate before I could run to the sink for water. “Wow,” I said, licking my lips to capture every drop. “That was amazing.”

“Good, isn’t it? I was thinking of selling the recipe.”

Not that he needed the money, but Michael had found a way to capitalize on his culinary training without having to set foot in a commercial kitchen.

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