Holly didn’t care if everyone
thought she was crazy—she was going to get more than just an autograph from
Chef Burley.
She’d arrived hours before the book
signing, thinking she’d be first in line. She should have known better. Every
horny housewife in town was queued outside the yet-to-open restaurant, drooling
for a taste of the sexy celebrity chef.
“I can’t get enough of Chef Burley,”
said one woman in the line-up.
“I know what you mean,” another chimed
in. “Every time I watch his show, it gets me so worked up I pounce on my
hubby. Poor guy doesn’t know what hit him!”
Holly hugged Chef Burley’s cookbook
tight to her chest. As far as she knew, the sexy celebrity was single, just
like her. Those women didn’t know how lucky they were, having husbands to warm
their beds. If they realized their good fortune, they wouldn’t be hanging
around out here, discussing all the dirty things they’d like to do with the
chef.
When the line finally started to
move, Holly’s stomach dropped. No, she couldn’t do this. Come face to face
with the man whose presence, even on TV, made her ache with want? No. No way.
But she didn’t turn around. She
didn’t leave. As the line moved forward, so did she, step by step, until an
assistant asked her, “Who would you like your autograph made out to?”
“To Holly,” she said.
Without another word, the austere
assistant tore the cookbook from her arms.
She was still three side-steps away
from Chef Burley, but if she leaned forward and looked down the table, she
could see him. He was right there, in the flesh! They were breathing the same
air. Unbelievable!
Holly bit her lip to keep herself
from squealing. She always squealed when she watched his TV show—squealed, and
throbbed, and wished for just a few minutes alone with him.
When Holly’s turn came up, her knees
nearly buckled. She’d worn a push-up bra, just for him. Bending forward, she
let her low-cut blouse fall open. For Chef’s eyes only!
Chef Burley looked up, and his eyes
bulged. A playful smirk bled across his lips. “Have you been waiting long?”
Holly giggled like a schoolgirl.
Oh, his accent! He was so sophisticated, so unlike the blockheads in this
town. She wanted to grab his white chef’s jacket, pull him across the table,
and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe.
Instead, Holly tittered and chewed
her nail while Chef Burley scrawled his signature across the front page of his
book. Every day on her way to work, she rehearsed what she’d say if she ever
met him. Now he was right there, close enough to grab, and she didn’t know
what to do.
“Thanks for buying my book,” Chef
Burley said, looking her straight in the eye. Oh, those baby blues! They made
her feel faint. “I hope you enjoy it, Sally.”
She giggled and nodded as a second
assistant handed back her copy of the cookbook. Their gazes lingered while she
backed away. She was so besotted she just about walked into the drinks table.
Wait… had Chef Burley called her Sally ?
Taking a glass of white wine, Holly
sat at one of the tables and opened her book. Sure enough, the inscription was
made out to Sally , not Holly . That assistant must have given
Chef Burley the wrong name. She thought to go back, but she didn’t want to
make a fuss. She was embarrassed, even though the mistake wasn’t hers.
The afternoon passed in a haze.
Holly leaned her elbows against her lonely table and gazed meekly at the
celebrity. He was even more striking in person. His blondish hair was styled
haphazardly, his face clean shaven, his features somewhere between chiseled and
boyish. She wanted to see his arms, his chest, his whole body, naked. He was
right there, and yet worlds away.
“We’re closing up now,” one of the
assistants said, interrupting her hardcore
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