Page 50 of Clinically Delicious
Something in my tone must have conveyed urgency, because she went without further argument.
Leaving me alone with Cate in the candlelit dining room.
The air felt heavier. Thicker.
Dangerous.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said, my voice rough. “It was extraordinary.”
“You’re welcome.” She was gathering plates, not looking at me. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“I did.” I moved closer and took the plates from her hands. Our fingers brushed.
Electricity.
She gasped softly—barely audible, but I heard it.
Felt it.
Knew she was as affected as I was.
“Gabriel—”
“You should go,” I said, cutting her off. Because if she stayed, if we kept standing here in the candlelight with that sound still echoing in my ears, I was going to do something we’d both regret.
Or something we wouldn’t regret at all.
Which was worse.
She nodded, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door.
I watched her go, every muscle in my body tense with want.
The door closed behind her.
I stood alone in my dining room, surrounded by the remnants of the best meal I’d had in years, hard and aching and completely undone. By my nanny. By a woman I couldn’t have. By someone who’d somehow managed to crack every defense I’d built.
I looked at the table. The candles. The empty plates, and I imagined, just for a moment, what it would have been like if Megan hadn’t been here. If I’d been free to act on every impulse. If I’d laid Cate across this table and made her mine.
The fantasy was so vivid I could almost taste it.
Almost feel it.
Almost believed it was possible.
But it wasn’t.
She was my employee. My daughter’s nanny. Off-limits in every way that mattered.
I blew out the candles, gathered the dishes, and tried to ignore the way my hands shook. This was going to be a very long night. And an even longer week. Because now I knew what she could do in a kitchen.
Now I’d heard those sounds. Now I’d seen that look in her eyes, and there was no going back from that. No pretending Ididn’t want her. No maintaining the professional distance I’d tried so hard to keep.
She’d cooked me dinner, and I wanted to devour her.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Neither was the impossibility of the situation.
But as I stood in my kitchen, loading the dishwasher, still hard and aching and completely wrecked, I knew one thing for certain: Something had shifted tonight. Something fundamental and I had no idea how to put it back.
