For sharp-tongued food critic Miranda Wake, the chance to
spend a month in Adam Templeβs kitchen to write an exposΓ©
is a journalistic dream come true. Surely Miranda can find
a way to cut the hotshot chef down to size once she learns
what really goes on at his trendy Manhattan restaurant.
Trouble is, she never expected Adam to uncover her most
embarrassing secret: she has no idea how to cook.
As for Adam, well, heβs not about to have his reputation
burned by a critic who doesnβt even know the difference
between poaching and paring. Heβll just have to give the
tempting redhead a few private lessons of his own . . .
teaching her what it means to cook with passion.
Excerpt Whatβs your name?β he asked her.
She tossed her head again, the motion making her sway
a little. Adam looked more closely. Her pupils were blown
wide and dark, and her cheeks were flushed in a lovely
contrast to her fair complexion.
βMiranda Wake, DΓ©licieux magazine,β she said
defiantly, as if expecting him to take issue with it.
Ah ha, he thought, somehow unsurprised, even though
heβd always pictured the New York food sceneβs most
notorious critic as being considerably older and more dried-
up looking than this fiery little piece.
Miranda Wake. You are blitzed out of your mind, on
cocktails I designed, mixed with liquor I steeped with my
own hands.
There was something weirdly erotic about it, and Adam
covered the momentary oddness by stepping down and coming
around the bar to shake her hand. The speech portion of the
evening seemed well and truly over, now that the food was
getting out.
βAdam Temple,β he said, taking her limp, warm
hand. βPleased to meet you.β
βAre you?β she asked, confused again, and Adam
smirked. Her fingers were impossibly slender, making him
notice the fine bones of her knuckles, the turn of her
wrist. He wanted to force feed her something rich and
decadent.
βAbsolutely,β he assured her.
βWell,β she said, frowning. βWell, Iβm not pleased to
meet you. I didnβt even want to come here tonight.
Restaurants that espouse a cause are trite and pretentious,
and your food is bound to be atrocious.β She slurred over
the twin shus sounds and wrinkled her nose, working her
mouth as if stretching the muscles around it would help get
it back under her control. βIβve reviewed lots of βlocal
produceβ restaurants, and itβs never been anything more
than a stupid gimmick to cover the fact that the chef has
no imagination.β
βIs that right?β Adam said, irritated beyond belief.
Why did she have to be so gorgeous and snotty? βDamn. If
thereβs one thing I hate to be accused of, itβs lack of
imagination.β
Incredibly, she blushed at that. Fantastic.
βYou know,β he said, βI donβt think I like the way
you talk about my food without ever having tried it. What
makes you the authority?β
Her cheeks pinked again, this time probably more due
to annoyance than booze. βIβll have you know Iβm the top
critic at DΓ©licieux. I get more fan mail than any other
columnist.β
βYeah, but I bet half of itβs hate mail,β he baited
her.
βSome,β she admitted with the careful dignity of the
drunk. βI have exacting standards which few restaurants can
meet.β
βDonβt your standards usually require you to at least
taste the food before passing judgment on it, sweetheart?β
βIβ¦β she paused, disconcerted. βYes, of course. But
itβs not my fault I havenβt had any of yours yet. And donβt
call me βsweetheartβ.β
βSure thing, doll,β he retorted. βAnd you couldβve
been sampling the wares for the last five minutes if you
werenβt so focused on giving me a hard time. But I
understand,β he went on. βThe hands-on approach isnβt
really your thing. You spend most of your time hunched over
a computer in a cramped little office, right? All alone in
your ivory tower, while the rest of the world struggles to
meet your βexacting standards.ββ
βIβ¦Iβ¦β Her eyes were wide and shocked, and her chest
heaved, giving tantalizing glimpses of the shadowy valley
between her breasts as she strained the fabric of her dress.
He sneered. βYou wouldnβt last a day in the real
world. You wouldnβt last ten minutes in my kitchen.β
That soft, round chin shot up, and she took a step
closer. Her eyes flashed with something, but at this point,
Adam was too ticked to decipher it.
βOh, wouldnβt I?β
He stepped in, too, until they were toe to toe. βNot
a chance,β he declared. βIn fact, I dare you. Spend one
day in the kitchen at Market, work with me and my crew. See
what itβs like from the other side. After that, review my
restaurant, rip my cooking to shreds, Iβll take it like a
man. Until then, sweetheart?β He leaned down close enough
to see just how long and thick her eyelashes were. She
smelled like raspberries and sugar, and something deeper,
more complex.
βKeep your opinions to yourself.β
Our Past Week of Fresh Picks
|
© 2003-2026