Episode 14: Melting Point
Sugar tilted her head. “Why did you get kicked out of that car?”
“All because of a poor decision on my part,” Chef answered. “My turn. What’s the one thing you love most in the entire world?”
Her brow scrunched at his vague answer. Yes, it met the terms of their agreement, but she expected more.
She wanted more.
Sugar clenched her jaw, considering his question. Then she gave him an equally vague answer:
“Music.”
A pleased look spread across his face as he nodded.
“Elaborate on what you mean by ‘poor decision,’” she requested.
He grinned, taking a sip of his liquor. “Not a question.”
Sugar rolled her eyes. “Can you elaborate on what you mean by ‘poor decision’?”
“I did a favor for a friend of a friend of a friend, but I should’ve known better,” he replied, once again vague. “What instrument do you play?”
She frowned, arching an eyebrow. “What makes you think I play an instrument?”
“Not an answer, honey.” Chef’s grin widened.
If it wasn’t for him having the sexiest smile Sugar had ever witnessed, she would’ve been much angrier, but she could only bring herself to be mildly annoyed by his slyness.
Sugar took a deep breath. “Piano.”
She saw a flash of pleasant surprise in his eyes before he looked down at the fingers she had laced together on the table. Chef cocked his head, studying them.
She then asked, “What was the favor this ‘friend of a friend of a friend’ asked of you?”
“I box as a side gig. A boxer bowed out from a scheduled match, and the arrangers needed a skilled replacement. They came across my name,” he answered, his eyes still on her manicured fingers.
She straightened up in her seat, completely taken aback.
Was everything she had witnessed that night related to boxing? The longer she gazed, the more she realized he was a man who could take a beating and give one. He was the epitome of power and strength.
Her skin flushed at the thought.
His gaze finally lifted to hers. “Will you dance with me?”
“No,” she answered hesitantly.
If she stepped onto that dance floor with Chef, she had a strong feeling he would sweep her off her feet, and she couldn’t let that happen.
She wouldn’t allow that.
Her rejection amused him.
Now, it was her turn.
“What happened next?” she asked.
“I got dropped off at the place without a clue as to the mess I was gonna find myself in. It wasn’t until I got there that I was told the match was rigged. Being new to their fights, they wanted me to take a fall for a cut of the earnin's. They expected me to do it, but they were sorely mistaken. It was a tough match, but I won it. Lots of folks bet on the other guy and lost big. I needed a ride home, and they gave me one,” he explained, swiping his tongue across his teeth. “I got a good beatin' along the way, and they tossed me out.”
A pause. “Will you dance with me?”
The story gripped Sugar’s mind so much that she pictured a fierce, bloody fight where Chef came out on top.
His question snapped her out of her thoughts.
She blinked at him, confused. “You already asked that.”
“Not an answer.”
Sugar regarded him for a long moment.
Now she knew the truth. It wasn’t as bad as she had imagined.
“Fine,” she huffed. “Just one dance.”
“One dance is all I need, darlin’,” he assured her.
Chef stood from his chair and rounded the table, pushing back her seat as the band transitioned to the jazz classic, “I’m a Fool to Want You.” He offered her his tattooed hand, and she reluctantly took it, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.
His muscular arm curled around her waist, and he rested his hand on the small of her back, making her regret wearing a plunging backless cocktail dress as there was nothing but skin-on-skin contact.
She settled her arm on his shoulder.
He gathered her other hand into his as they danced slowly to the music.
Sugar’s eyelids slid shut, and she held back a moan as his calloused thumb tenderly moved up and down a tiny, sensitive spot on her lower back. It had been so long since she had danced with someone like this, but it was hard to deny how much she enjoyed his warmth and closeness.
She pressed her cheek against his chest, inhaling his cologne. She drank in an earthy aroma with a touch of spice.
Fuck, he smelled good.
“You wanted to know how I felt in your arms while we danced,” she said. “Well, how do I feel?”
He dipped his head down, brushing his lips against her ear.
“Like a goddamn blessin’,” Chef admitted huskily. He then kissed her earlobe, making her shudder against him and sigh a little in response. He held her tighter, and she melted a little more against him.
“You’re making this real difficult for me, Chef,” she admitted weakly, frustration laced tightly within her confession.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, the rich, dark sound caressing her senses. “Then I must be doin’ somethin’ right.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I really should walk away from all this.”
He suddenly stepped back from their close embrace and led her into a quick, smooth twirl before guiding her back to him.
Back into his arms.
Back into his web.
“You can’t walk away if I’m holdin’ you like this, Sugar,” Chef said.
Sugar gazed up at him, desperation twinkling in her eyes. Her self-control crumbled. Her reliable backbone faltered as she fully let herself melt against him.
“Then let me go,” she whispered breathlessly.
He dipped his head down, his lips hovering bare millimeters from hers.
“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” he said.
