Chapter One
“This is unacceptable.” Keegan Murphy shoved the drawing of the plain cake beneath the pretty nose of the caterer, not caring that he was interrupting her work. “You need to fix this.”
Liz Arnold snatched the drawing from his hand and slammed it onto the table. The metal reverberated with a tinny clang. Around them, work momentarily ceased, and Keegan was aware of several pairs of eyes focusing in their direction. After a heartbeat, they resumed working.
Liz’s nostrils flared a moment before a tight smile creased her lips. Keegan drifted his gaze over her and fought back the wave of desire. A pink bandanna held a riot of brown ringlets away from her heart-shaped face—a rather attractive face. Her smooth caramel complexion was devoid of makeup. Remorse chased his thoughts. He remembered a time when he’d have pulled the hair restraint free and combed his fingers through her tresses.
Somehow he’d missed his opportunity. He returned his attention to her face. Wire-rimmed glasses held specks of green and red, probably frosting splatter if the bowls on the table were any indication.
How had she kept her apron so pristine when her hands were covered in several colors? The fitted chef’s coat accentuated firm, round breasts and a narrow waist. He shifted his stance as lust simmered through his veins and rushed between his legs. LIZ was stitched in heavy lettering over her left breast. In that moment, he envied the bit of material caressing the curvy swell of her bosom. He longed to trace said breast, and he lifted a hand to touch her. Taken aback by his reaction, he recovered by combing his fingers through his hair. How could he be so attracted to her after all these months?
“Mr. Murphy, I appreciate your concern, but the design has already been approved by the bride, your sister. She’s happy with it, and you should be too.” She reached past him for a blob of red dough. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”
He stepped in her path, and she juggled the bright crimson ball to keep it from touching his clothes. “There’s no need to be so formal, Liz. We had some good times. We have a history.”
Their history was something he’d always regretted. For some reason, Keegan had believed she would wait for him no matter how long he took to get his act together, but he had been wrong. Now he lamented not making her his when he had the chance.
“Convenient how you want to bring that up now,” she scoffed. “Our past will not work in your favor. Whatever we had has nothing to do with your sister and her wedding. Now leave. You bother me.”
He stepped closer and was satisfied when her eyes widened and a quick inhale thrust her luscious breasts up. “Change the design. When they see the cake, everyone is going to know what it means.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Mr. Murphy, if you believe that nonsense, then you’re not as intelligent as you look. Now would you please get out of the kitchen and let me work?”
“What did you say?”
A ghost of a smile flirted at the corners of her mouth. “Go. Away.”
He lifted the drawing from where she’d slammed it earlier. “I’m going to speak to my sister about this design.”
“As long as you do it outside of my kitchen.” She plopped the dough on the stainless-steel table. A cloud of flour floated upward in its wake. She kneaded the crimson ball, pushing it forward with the heel of her hand and then folding and pulling it toward her body. Her movements were smooth and fluid, and he yearned to feel her hands work him in the same manner.
Keegan stepped into her space. Her scent—a hint of spiced vanilla—rose to greet him. Just as he remembered. He closed his eyes, savoring. With a sigh, he inched back and opened his eyes. Her jacket lifted, baring her back just above the waistband of her black, curve-hugging slacks. For a moment, he was rendered speechless as he fastened his gaze on the hint of smooth toffee skin that
“This is unacceptable.” Keegan Murphy shoved the drawing of the plain cake beneath the pretty nose of the caterer, not caring that he was interrupting her work. “You need to fix this.”
Liz Arnold snatched the drawing from his hand and slammed it onto the table. The metal reverberated with a tinny clang. Around them, work momentarily ceased, and Keegan was aware of several pairs of eyes focusing in their direction. After a heartbeat, they resumed working.
Liz’s nostrils flared a moment before a tight smile creased her lips. Keegan drifted his gaze over her and fought back the wave of desire. A pink bandanna held a riot of brown ringlets away from her heart-shaped face—a rather attractive face. Her smooth caramel complexion was devoid of makeup. Remorse chased his thoughts. He remembered a time when he’d have pulled the hair restraint free and combed his fingers through her tresses.
Somehow he’d missed his opportunity. He returned his attention to her face. Wire-rimmed glasses held specks of green and red, probably frosting splatter if the bowls on the table were any indication.
How had she kept her apron so pristine when her hands were covered in several colors? The fitted chef’s coat accentuated firm, round breasts and a narrow waist. He shifted his stance as lust simmered through his veins and rushed between his legs. LIZ was stitched in heavy lettering over her left breast. In that moment, he envied the bit of material caressing the curvy swell of her bosom. He longed to trace said breast, and he lifted a hand to touch her. Taken aback by his reaction, he recovered by combing his fingers through his hair. How could he be so attracted to her after all these months?
“Mr. Murphy, I appreciate your concern, but the design has already been approved by the bride, your sister. She’s happy with it, and you should be too.” She reached past him for a blob of red dough. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”
He stepped in her path, and she juggled the bright crimson ball to keep it from touching his clothes. “There’s no need to be so formal, Liz. We had some good times. We have a history.”
Their history was something he’d always regretted. For some reason, Keegan had believed she would wait for him no matter how long he took to get his act together, but he had been wrong. Now he lamented not making her his when he had the chance.
“Convenient how you want to bring that up now,” she scoffed. “Our past will not work in your favor. Whatever we had has nothing to do with your sister and her wedding. Now leave. You bother me.”
He stepped closer and was satisfied when her eyes widened and a quick inhale thrust her luscious breasts up. “Change the design. When they see the cake, everyone is going to know what it means.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Mr. Murphy, if you believe that nonsense, then you’re not as intelligent as you look. Now would you please get out of the kitchen and let me work?”
“What did you say?”
A ghost of a smile flirted at the corners of her mouth. “Go. Away.”
He lifted the drawing from where she’d slammed it earlier. “I’m going to speak to my sister about this design.”
“As long as you do it outside of my kitchen.” She plopped the dough on the stainless-steel table. A cloud of flour floated upward in its wake. She kneaded the crimson ball, pushing it forward with the heel of her hand and then folding and pulling it toward her body. Her movements were smooth and fluid, and he yearned to feel her hands work him in the same manner.
Keegan stepped into her space. Her scent—a hint of spiced vanilla—rose to greet him. Just as he remembered. He closed his eyes, savoring. With a sigh, he inched back and opened his eyes. Her jacket lifted, baring her back just above the waistband of her black, curve-hugging slacks. For a moment, he was rendered speechless as he fastened his gaze on the hint of smooth toffee skin that
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