Page 14 of The Perfect Ingredient
“You want to use it as an ingredient, don’t you?”
“I do.”
He kisses me, lips dragging against mine gently.
“You’re so smart,” he murmurs when he pulls back, hand cupping my jaw now, his thumb brushing beneath my lip.
I chuckle, biting his thumb.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Afterthatfeast last night?”
He kisses me again and then pulls away with a grin.
“Well,I’mstarving.”
He swings his legs out of bed, all effortless grace, and picks a silk robe from a chair. He tosses a pale cream one at me, and I let it drape over my shoulders without tying it, still sticky between the thighs.
He offers me a hand, and leads me down the wide hallway, past tall glass doors and framed etchings, his bare feet silent against the floor. I half expect the house to be asleep, but we step into a sunlit dining room heavy with the scent of coffee, and the table already made.
Freshly baked brioche, slices of duck prosciutto folded into tiny crescents, glistening jam jars, glass bowls full of figs and almonds and deep purple grapes. Coffee already poured. Orange juice freshly squeezed. Eggs still steaming under their cloche. And three members of staff ghosting around the room in silence.
I don’t feel embarrassed, but they obviously do.
The butler glances up andimmediatelydrops his gaze, and the girl setting out a tray flushes so hard her ears go pink. The third—a cook, I believe—stands frozen at the far side, clutching a folded napkin like it might shield him from the veryconceptof Hessou’s personal life.
I lean forward and murmur under my breath, “You haven’t lived here long, have you?”
He raises a brow, smirking as he pulls out my chair.
“Why?”
“Because they’re clearly not used to yourinclinations.”
Hessou laughs and takes the seat beside mine.
“Give it time.”
I reach for a slice of toast, then pause, scanning the spread. My nose twitches.
Hessou watches me with that lazy fondness.
“To your taste?”
I squint, tilt my head, poke at a dish of pâté with my spoon.
“Mm… good enough tofill.”
Hessou barks a laugh.
“You’re such a snob.”
“Moi? After last night’s culinary masterpiece?”
“Oh, pardon.” He grins, nudging a plate toward me. “Please, do enlighten me.”
I pick up a wedge of brioche and bring it to my mouth. I take one long, slow bite—then sigh, licking a crumb off my lip.
