Lust strikes as their eyes meet over a basket of overpriced Roquefort.
Surprised to meet chef Kit Parker at the grocery store, Emily goes undercover to Kit's restaurant that very night, only to crave more than her cooking. As a food critic, Emily finds it hard to resist the delectable cuisine or the busty, punky chef who created it.
Kit believes she's met the woman of her dreams, but her new lover is hiding something. When a scathing review hits right before grand opening, all blame points to Emily. Will their relationship fizzle before it sizzles?
No one expects a chef to stand in line. And Kit Parker wouldn’t have been if Maurice hadn’t fucked up—a crime for which she was currently enumerating multiple punishments. Most of them involved extensive pain, but when the five-year-old behind her put a couple of grimy paws on her fresh white coat, she upped it to unnatural death.
Maurice was going to pay her dry-cleaning bill. And get the damned orders right next time.
Kit re-examined her basket, making sure she parsed out the servings and recipes in her head to a satisfactory extent. One hundred and seventy-one dollars of top-shelf Roquefort. Could have been half that if Maurice wasn’t such a moron.
She checked her watch. Twenty minutes to service.
Kit was going to have Maurice’s head on a skewer. Maybe serve it with some of this ridiculously over-priced Roquefort.
Another tiny hand on her ass.
“I am so sorry.” The soft voice behind her ended Kit’s violent fantasies. A hint of an accent, a throaty depth. Kit knew she shouldn’t turn around.
Repeat after me, Katrina: I am not a straight-chaser. I am not a straight-chaser.