Walk On The Wild Side by Jami Alden

Author:Jami Alden [Alden, Jami]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Jami Alden
Published: 2015-01-07T23:00:00+00:00

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“Taste this,” Brady held a spoonful of butternut squash soup to Molly’s mouth. It was Thursday and they were prepping for lunch service.

He watched, mesmerized as she obediently parted her lips and he slid the spoon inside. She closed her eyes, swallowed, and licked her lips, sending his half hard on to full attention. Only the sound of Adele knocking around in the walk in cooler kept him from chasing her tongue back in her mouth with his own.

“Amazing,” she sighed, sending a warm glow of satisfaction through him. Feeding this woman was almost as satisfying as fucking her.

Almost.

He turned back to the big stainless steel pot simmering on the stove. “It tasted a little flat so I added some red curry paste. Gives it a little kick right at the back of your palate.”

She resumed chopping garlic for the marinade for the steak that would be used for today’s lunch special, a skirt steak and roasted green chile panini. “That’s so cool how you can do that, just know exactly what to add to make something taste better.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been cooking since I was a kid. You start to get a sense for what flavors go together.”

“Did your mom teach you?”

Brady barely held back a snort. If you called showing a five year old how to turn on a microwave and throw in a frozen dinner—assuming she and his dad hadn’t spent all the grocery money on booze and pills—teaching him how to cook.

“Mom wasn’t much of a cook,” he said, pausing to taste the soup before adding another dash of salt. “So I had to learn to fend for myself. Especially when I started playing football and realized I couldn’t play if I was eating nothing but crap.”

Molly gave a little laugh. “You’d think, growing up with a mom who ran a restaurant, I’d be better at this.”

“You’re doing great,” he protested. “That roasted chicken with artichokes you made yesterday was fantastic.”

She shot him a wry look. “Only because it was your recipe. Once, before you got back, I tried to improvise on your hot smoked salmon and it was a total disaster.” She dumped the garlic into a metal mixing bowl. “But I have to say,” she added as she carefully measured out a half cup of olive oil before pouring it into the bowl, “I enjoy it a lot more than I thought I would when you first left. I like the order of it, I think. It’s kind of like math.”

“Math?” he shot a questioning look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you have to have the right proportions of everything, and if you follow the steps of a recipe exactly, you know it will turn out right. Like an equation. Everything nice and orderly and turning out the way it’s supposed to.”

He shook his head and smiled. “Nerd.”

“I’ll never deny it.”

“I think I get what you’re saying though—the orderliness, the control.” God knew he’d had little of either growing up.

“Especially when I’ve realized so many things

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