Free Devour Me (Master Chefs Series #1) by Kailin Gow

restaurant,” Taryn said as they later walked
along the darkened streets below la Tour Eiffel .
    Paris came alive at night.  The lights, music and aromas all there to tempt the senses.
    “I
would have thought your aspirations ran higher,” Errol said. “Like owning a
restaurant such as Le Jules Verne.”
    She
chuckled and leaned playfully into him.  “You're right. I do dream of owning
such a restaurant… of turning the restaurant back home into the kind of place
people dream of dining at.”
    For
a brief moment he put his arm around her and pulled her in tight before
releasing her.  “Do I hear a hint of doubt in that dream?”
    Surprised,
she looked up at him. “Do you?”
    He
shrugged. “There was a definite lack of conviction.”
    “Hmmm.” 
She considered her words.  Did she really have any doubt she’d succeed in
building the reputation of her little family-owned restaurant into something
like Le Jules Verne ?  “I know I have talent,” she finally said.  “I know
my way around the kitchen.  I know how to bring out the flavors in food without
overdoing it.  I know many of the techniques that make for great haute
cuisine.  I certainly have the passion to go on learning what I don’t already
know.”
    “But…?”
    She
stopped and turned to face him. “After eating something as divinely perfect as
what I ate tonight… I don’t know.  I guess I just really wonder if I have what
it takes to make it that far.”
    Taking
her hand in his he led her onto the paved path that ran along the Seine. “A little doubt can be good… keeps you on your toes… keeps you hungry and eager to
learn… keeps you fighting for perfection.  There’s nothing worse than
complacency; than sitting on your laurels.  Some of the best chefs lose their
way because they allow themselves to think they know everything.  We never know
everything.  Cooking is a constantly changing art.  Just don’t let that little
taste of doubt get the best of you.  It can demolish you faster than you can
collapse a soufflé.”
    Hand
in hand they walked along the river.  Quaint streetlamps offered a minimal glow
on the water, just enough to make for a romantic stroll.  Taryn basked in the
pleasant silence that enveloped them.  Occasionally they crossed paths with
other couples; couples who were obviously in love.
    Taryn
involuntarily squeezed Errol’s hand and wondered.
     
    *****
     
    While
the dinner had been all and more than Errol had expected of his greatest
competition, a regrettable little voice at the back of his head persisted in
reminding him that it was because of her. 
    Taryn
delighted him, more than he cared to admit.
    As
they strolled along the Seine, he knew they were surrounded by the romance Paris promised.  Repeatedly, he told himself to let go of her hand, to shove his hands
deep into his pockets and simply walked along the famed river as two friends,
as two associates.
    But
her hand was soft and warm… and that little squeeze. What had caused her to
spontaneously squeeze his hand like that?
    You're
getting in too deep, his heart warned.
    No,
the depth of his loin reminded him.  Women love to be romanced, to be wooed. 
He’d seen it in her eyes; despite his anti-marriage monologue, she still had
dreams of a white dress and fairytale ending. 
    How
mistaken she was if she thought her time with him would end happily ever
after.  No, tonight… this evening… it was the perfect prerequisite for a heated
night of sexually tantalizing games… nothing more.

 
    Chapter 8
     
     
    “ T he idea behind this is I want the outside to
be crispy without being crunchy while inside we find a warm… goo,”  Errol said.
    Leaning
into the kitchen counter, Taryn let out an amused chuckle.  “Goo?  Is that the
official term for it?”
    Errol
looked sidelong at her, his face a mask of professionalism.  “As a matter of
fact, I had considered giving the term some validity.”
    “Errol
King’s goo… sounds like