“I’m pretty sure you’ve experienced that feeling much more than I have.” I occupy his spot on the counter, mimicking his former position. The scenery is nice up here.

Yes, he was most likely staring at your ass, because your eyes won’t leave his.

He opens a drawer and takes out a bag of chocolate.

My mouth opens in disbelief. “Cheater.”

“I asked you if you needed any special ingredients.” He places his hands up in the air. “This is my special ingredient.”

I playfully narrow my eyes. “I’ll still win, even with your fancy chocolate.”

I shrug, and he laughs.

He moves around the space with the ease of someone at home. Never giving it thought, he just shuffles around, reaching and grabbing the items he needs to do his job. His body is nice to look at, especially his ass, which is so perfectly outlined in his slacks. But hearing him hum to himself as he whisks—the sound of someone truly in his element, so happy to be doing what he loves—is what I find the most appealing about Davis at the moment.

He brings the pot over to the mug placed next to mine. “Last thing, whipped cream.” He places the pot back on the stove then snakes his arm into the fridge, revealing the can of whipped cream.

“Please,” he says, handing me the can.

Our fingers brush as I release it from his grip, and our eyes meet again. He has a way with me no one has had in quite some time. I want to get to know him, screw him, and run from him all at the same time. When he gazes into my eyes, like he is now, I yearn to love him. That’s the scariest part of this. Screwing, I can handle. I’d probably lose my job, but one day, I’d forget about Davis Morgan. But love . . . that’s a whole other game, and I’m not ready to put my heart out there again.

I’m not familiar with the nozzle, but being the stubborn person I am, I’m not going to ask for help. When I press my finger down on the can, white foam sprays everywhere. Davis laughs, and I imagine my face is as red as the cherries he has in a bowl on the counter.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I apologize, reaching over to grab a towel.

He stops me with his hand on my hip. My body stills, loving the firm grasp on me that’s heating my skin under his touch.

“We’ll clean it afterward,” he softly tells me. “We don’t want them to get cold.”

I twist back his way, and those alluring eyes are facing me again. I lick my lips and taste the sweetness of the sugary whipped cream.

“That’s so good,” I mention, swiping my finger across the edge of the mug with the cream on it.

“Homemade,” he informs me, taking a swipe himself. “Here,” he whispers as his finger inches toward me.

My mouth opens slightly. Is he expecting me to lick it off his finger? No, that would be terribly inappropriate. His eyes focus on my lips while his finger continues to inch closer to me. I close my eyes, waiting to feel the coldness of the white cream from the tip of his finger against the part of my lips.

Shivers run through my body when his finger lightly brushes across my neck. When I open my eyes, he’s sucking the cream he just swiped from my neck into his own mouth. My stomach flutters, and my heart races. His other hand still hasn’t left my hip as I’m fixated on his tongue swirling over his finger. When he pulls me against him, I swallow the dryness in my throat.

“Even sweeter,” he whispers.

I sway into him a little more.

“I would have much rather used my tongue, but I would’ve had to fire you first.”

He laughs, and I stare up at him like a damn idiot.

“Let’s go! Some of us have social lives outside of CHOPs!” Todd screams from the other room.

I quickly scramble out of Davis’s hold.

“Can’t forget the best part.”

Wasn’t that the whipped cream?

He pops a cherry into his mouth, and I watch it move from side to side as his tongue helps manipulate the small red circle. When he catches me staring, he smirks, assuming my thoughts. If he thinks I wish it weren’t a cherry his tongue was moving around on right now, he’d be right.

Finally, we escape the figuratively steamy and dangerous kitchen. This is the only time in my life when I’d be okay with losing a bet.

Davis ushers me to take the lead out to our panel of judges at the bar. This only makes me paranoid that he’s most likely checking out my huge ass. Guess when I debated between a thong and hip-huggers this morning, I made the wrong choice.

Should have wiggled my way into my Spanx.

Todd, Shawn, two waitresses, and a busboy are sitting around the bar, casually consuming their drink of choice. Todd brings his beer bottle up to his lips when I open the swinging bar top to venture behind the bar. His lips purse, and his eyes bore into mine. I wonder how much gossip is brewing among the staff about the boss and me. I guess I can convince myself it’s only Todd who senses the sexual tension between Davis and me, but I’d be kidding myself. I handed them the flint to start the wildfire by allowing myself to be alone in the kitchen with him.

“Help yourselves,” Davis says, placing the two mugs filled with hot chocolate on the lacquered wood top.

Todd steps up first, prodding others by hurriedly waving his hands in the air. His eagerness tonight is rare since he usually escorts me back to my apartment then sometimes comes in for a few drinks. Tonight, I notice he’s all dressed in nice jeans and a plaid button-down shirt.

Wait, is his hair damp? Did he take a shower? Is there a shower at CHOPs?

His hand grips the first mug and brings it to his lips. His head flips from side to side, giving me the impression that he thinks it’s okay. Then, he passes it down the line and tentatively sips from the other. His eyes widen, and he nods. Obviously, that’s the winner for him.

Damn it.

It’s Davis’s.

While the others take their respective sips, I direct my gaze to each reaction. I wouldn’t mind Davis cooking me a nice meal, but I’d still hate to lose. Other than when Todd whips up something for the two of us, my usual meals involve takeout and quick ones I pick up after long days. I practically drool over the things Todd cooks, so my mouth is salivating from the mere thought of what Davis could put together.

“Would you guys want to make it anonymous, or are you okay with straight-shooting?” Davis asks.

All their eyes turn in my direction. Great, they feel bad and don’t want to hurt me by saying I’ve lost.

“Whatever gets us out of here faster,” Todd says, drumming his fingers along the edge of the bar top.

Seriously, Todd, your date can’t be that hot.

Everyone points to the one they pick, and it’s four to one, in favor of Davis. Why I made this bet with a chef, I have no flippin’ clue. Todd releases a deep breath, and his eyes veer to me. Smirking, he points to mine, making him the only one to not pick Davis’s, which I know for sure he preferred.

I give him a big smile and mouth, Thank you.

He nods in response, but his eyes immediately cast down. I’ll prepare myself for a lecture tomorrow.

“Well . . . thank you all for staying late. You’ll be the first to leave tomorrow night, if you choose. Good night.” Davis dismisses everyone without divulging who the winner is.

I’m assuming he doesn’t want questions about wagers and who will be cashing in on what between us.

All of them quickly wave good-bye, and I notice my coat and purse lying across the bar. Todd motions toward it with his head, and I scrunch my eyebrows at him. He in turn widens his eyes, and his head points a little more exaggerated this time. I shake my head, and his lips form a tight line while his jaw juts out at me. Someone should remind him that he isn’t my father, and I don’t need his permission to stay.

The others file out, leaving me, Davis, and Todd.