Bite Me (The Transfigured Ones Book 2) (2 page)

She narrowed her eyes, took the glass from him and sipped. “Dammit. You're right. Let me grab some.”

He watched as she slid off the stool, groaned and then wandered around the bar. A moment later she produced a small orange wedge and then came back around the bar. It was then that he spotted the slippers. He'd been right.

“Nice bunny slippers,” he said as he watched her squeeze the wedge into the glass.

She kicked a heel up, grinned, and then said, “I thought they went well with my work ensemble.”

He nodded and sipped the drink again. “Mm. That helped. This is really lovely.” Then he passed the glass to her.

She studied him for a moment and then took a sip, her eyes never leaving his face. Then she set the glass down, considered for a moment then grudgingly admitted, “The orange makes it better.”

“It does,” he agreed, writing furiously. “Orange glazed salmon would be nice with this. I think I've got enough to work with now. We can reconvene in a few days and you can sample the food.”

“Sounds good,” she said, sliding off the stool. “I can't wait to get out of here. I've got some Easy Mac and a hot bath with my name on it.”

He blinked at her, horrified.

“What,” she asked, alarmed.

“You said Easy Mac! That stuff is vile. Jesus. Come to the kitchen with me. I've got leftover from tonight's service.”

“Simmer down, Judgy McJudgerson. I'm fine with my microwave meal.”

“I swear to god. I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the kitchen if you don't come with me.”

“Whatever. My feet hurt. Be my guest,” she said, smirking at him from behind the bar. Clearly she thought he was bluffing.

He watched her wash the last glass and then said, “You're tying my hands here. I'm going to physically carry you to the kitchen if I have to. I have mushroom ravioli with smoked Gouda. It's a cheese sauce but not neon yellow.”

“Fine, fine. Christ. I'll come peacefully if you just stop nagging me. You sound like my mother.”

“Can't help it. You talked about a microwave meal and my heart broke a little. That's not food, love.”

He heard her following behind him as they cut through the dining room. She said, “You really don't have to feed me. I'll be fine on my own.”

“No. You clearly can't be trusted,” he accused.

“My feet hurt and I want to go home. You're killing me, here,” she complained.

“If you don't stop bitching, I swear to god I'm going to toss you over my shoulder. You're not eating microwave crap, Caroline. That's awful stuff. Filled with all kinds of chemicals and unnatural garbage.”

“Jesus. Who are you? Jamie fucking Oliver?”

“I'd like to think I'm better looking,” he admitted as they walked through the swinging doors.

“That may be the case, but I bet he's not entirely crazy,” Caroline complained.

“But you still think I'm more attractive,” he asked, grinning.

Caroline laughed and shook her head. “Yes but you're completely insane. Now, feed me so I can go home and soak. Is there a chair? I don't want to sit on the floor but I'm tempted.”

“No chairs in the kitchen,” he said apologetically.

He watched as she boosted herself up onto a stainless steel counter. “I'm breaking all kinds of health codes. I know.”

“Just don't put your feet on my butcher block and we're good,” he advised, his lips twitching.

Chapter Two

Caroline Lundquist slid herself onto the counter and let out a sigh of relief as the throbbing pain in her feet began to subside. She watched Magnus as he moved efficiently around the kitchen. Dammit. Why was he being so charming now? It would have been so much easier to write him off if he had just continued being an asshole.

She couldn't remember the last time anyone had bothered to make her food. Even if it was just reheating it. It was actually pretty sweet of him. The few times she'd seen him she had suspected he was built, but this was the first time she'd seen him without his chef's jacket on. Holy hell. Between the shaggy dark hair, the dark brooding eyes, and that body, it was a wonder that women didn't fall at his feet.

His skin was a creamy ivory, with the exception of the rough stubble that was beginning to grow in on his face. That proper British accent seeped through every so often and it was an absolute killer. When he'd been joking earlier, he'd asked if she found him more attractive than Jamie Oliver. Hell yes. Magnus Corbett was beautiful.

At that moment he spun around, two plates in hand. She caught sight of the sleeve tattoo underneath the cuff of his shirt and gestured at it, saying, “The colors are really vibrant against your skin.”

He set the plates down, then tugged the sleeve of his shirt up and said, “Yeah. I wanted something bright.”

“I think I'd be too much of a wuss to do the inside of my arm. I have three and they all hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Really? You don't strike me as the type.”

“I had pink hair before I worked at the casino,” she said in response. She watched as his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“No kidding?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“No kidding,” she confirmed. She pulled at the collar, displaying the pink and black stars on her collarbone.

Magnus grinned and pulled up his pant leg, showing off the whisk tattoo he had on his calf.

She unbuckled the cuff bracelet on her wrist and showed him the small tree she had there. She was startled when he took her hand and turned it toward the light.

“The detailing is amazing on that. You can even see the veins in some of the leaves. That's awesome for being so small,” he commented. Then he released her hand and pulled up his shirt to show her a phoenix that he had on his ribs.

She tried her hardest not to stare at his abs. Jesus. He was chiseled. Instead she focused on the thought of the needle tattooing over pure muscle and bone. “I bet that hurt like a bitch,” she said, wincing as she put her bracelet back on.

“By the end, I was ready to cry like a baby,” he agreed. “Where's your third? You said three.”

Caroline shook her head. Laughing, she said, “There's no way you're seeing my third.”

His eyebrows raised. Then he chewed on his lower lip and appraised her. Finally he asked, “What am I missing out on, then? At least tell me that?”

“Three birds in mid-flight, small, completely black.” Then, anticipating his next question, she pointed to the slope of her breast.

He frowned and eventually said, “That's a shame.”

“What? That I have a tattoo on my boob?”

“No. Not that,” he assured her, grinning. A moment later he admitted, “It's a shame I can't see it.”

              “Oh stop,” she scolded, laughing.

              “I'm a man, Caroline. It's my biological imperative, I'm afraid,” he informed her, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Holy shit. He was totally flirting with her.

Caroline gave him a mock frown and said, “Gee, and I thought my left breast was so special. Can you pass me a fork, please?”

He studied her for a moment and then just gave a little shake of his head before he grabbed two sets of silverware and brought them back. He passed her one and said, “I hope this is better than Easy Mac.”

“I didn't even have to put it in the microwave. Even if it sucks, this is going to be awesome.”

His voice was dry when he said, “Just eat.”

She cut into one of the squares and then smeared it liberally in the cheese sauce. Stabbing at it with her fork, she took a bite and then moaned. She quickly chewed and said, “So good.”

“And it's not even neon yellow,” he added, smugly.

She rolled her eyes and continued to eat. He was right though. This was so much better than Easy Mac. The ravioli was stuffed with mushrooms and they were perfectly done. The cheese sauce was rich and smoky. They ate in silence for the most part until both of their plates were clean.

She set her plate aside from where it been balanced on her lap and said, “You know what would have improved that?”

“What,” he asked cautiously.

“If I had been eating this in my bathrobe. Or, oh! Better yet, in a bubble bath,” she answered as she slid off the counter.

“That could absolutely be arranged,” he informed her with a wolfish grin.

Uncertain how to response, Caroline laughed and said, “But seriously. How many times a week do you think I could cry Easy Mac and get dinner out of you? That was one of the best meals I've ever had. Thank you.”

The grin on his face softened and he said, “As often as you'd like.”

“Are you really ready to make that kind of commitment, here, Magnus? We're talking three or four nights a week.”

“I'd be willing to suffer through that,” he admitted. A smirk played on his lips when he added, “I'm committed to your nutritional health, love.”

“Your sense of duty is admirable.”

“Thank you for recognizing that. Next time we'll shoot for something with actual vegetables in it,” Magnus teased.

She waved him off and said, “I'll just have some canned whatever when I get home.”

He gaped at her and said, “Caroline, this is much more serious than I thought.”

She giggled and then explained, “Kidding! Kidding! I don't even think I have any canned vegetables. I really do cook for myself. Real food. Just not after a twelve hour shift.”

“Not my favorite time to do it either,” he conceded. “Still. Don't toy with a man like that. I had these mental images of you eating creamed corn with a spoon right out of the can, Caroline.”

“Eww. Creamed corn is kind of gross. And for the record I
was
actually kidding about the canned vegetables. I don't think I've had them since I was a teenager. When I moved out, I realized that green beans were actually green. It was an exciting time in my life.”

Chuckling, he said, “I can relate. I grew up in the late 40's and 50's in the UK. I don't think I tasted anything with actual seasoning until I started at Le Cordon Bleu.”

She studied him for a moment, then asked, “Are you always going to do this, do you think? You have infinite time to reinvent yourself and try new things. Will it always be food?”

“Wow. Good question,” he responded. “No one's ever asked me that before. Forever is a really long time so I can't say for certain, but think so. There are new techniques and dishes being created every day. Culture is evolving and so everything has managed to stay really fresh for me. I feel like I could do this for several lifetimes and never really master it.”

“You're not what I expected,” she admitted as she snagged the plates and walked toward the large sink.

He snatched the plates from her and loaded them into the industrial dishwasher. “What did you expect, or dare I ask?”

“Based this morning's introduction? You really want to know?” she asked, laughing.

“Ouch.” Magnus had the good grace to look a little embarrassed when he asked her, “Could we start over, then?”

She stuck her hand out in response. “Caroline Lundquist. Bar Manager.”

When he took her hand in his, she felt a jolt of awareness flow between them. For a moment she was convinced that he was going to kiss her. Instead, he cleared his throat uncomfortably and replied, “Magnus Corbett. Executive Chef and kind of a jerk sometimes.”

“The ravioli redeemed you,” she admitted, grinning.

“I'm glad to hear it,” he said. “Let's reconvene here Thursday after work. I'll fiddle with some of the dishes and we can taste them. We'll have to figure out the rest at some other point.”

“Sounds good. I'm going to head out for the night. Thanks again for dinner.”

“You're welcome, Caroline,” he said, finally releasing her hand. “I can walk you out if you like.”

“Are you staying?” she asked, confused.

“No. I live here. A couple of the floors are designated for short term and corporate leases. I negotiated one of the units into my contract when I was hired on,” he admitted.

“I'm just going to walk to my car for my thirty minute commute and pretend that I'm not incredibly jealous,” she grumbled.

“We went back and forth for weeks,” he admitted. “The kitchen was tiny. I got them to remodel it. It's probably better than this one.”

“Now you're just bragging,” she accused, laughing.

“Too true,” he admitted, his grin unrepentant. “Let me walk you out. It's almost four in the morning.”

“Wow. I didn't realize it was so late. You don't have to see me out though. I usually get the security guard to do it.”

“Humor me.”

Caroline rolled her eyes and said, “Let me go get my shoes.”

A few minutes later they walked toward the exit together. Caroline shifted the bag on her shoulder and said, “You really don't need to walk me out.”

As they pushed through the exit door, he said, “I'm sorry. I feel bad that I've kept you here well past closing plying you with ravioli. It would make me feel better to see you to your car.”

He stood so close to her that she could feel the warmth radiating off of his body. She was very tempted to lean into him. Since he'd taken off his chef's coat, she had been itching to touch him. It was probably a fairly poor idea though, considering that he was a work colleague. Not to mention the whole Transfigured thing.

It didn't really bother her, the idea of dating someone who needed to drink human blood to survive. There were definitely some problems that went along with it, though. She couldn't imagine he'd want to get attached to anyone knowing that they were going to die someday and she was a bit past the whole 'one night stand' phase of her life. Still, she couldn't deny she was attracted to him.

As they approached her, she softly said, “No need to apologize. It was well worth the meal.”

“And the company, I hope?”

“That too,” she agreed, much to her own surprise.

When she reached her car, she turned to face him and said, “This is me. Thank you again for walking me out.”

“You're welcome,” he said, lingering for a moment.

“Good night,” she said softly, giving a small wave.

Caroline froze when he closed the small distance between them. Her heart was pounding when he leaned in to give her a hug. Perhaps it was the fact that he held her for just a moment longer than necessary or maybe it was the late hour. A part of her didn't want to leave.

Impulsively, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. When she pulled back his eyes were unreadable. Feeling a little awkward she said, “Thank you again for the dinner. It was so much better than E—”

“For the love of god, Caroline. Don't even say it,” he ordered, stepping back.

Grinning, she held her hands up in surrender. “As you wish,” she said, laughing.

“Drive carefully,” Magnus said, giving her an almost sheepish smile.  It was so at odds with his brash, cocky attitude that it left her at a loss. Then and there, she knew that he was going to be trouble.

***

When Caroline walked through the employee entrance to the restaurant on Thursday, she nearly ran directly into Lilly. She put her hand over her heart and said, “Jesus, Lilly.”

Lilly laughed and asked, “Scared you, did I?” as she rested a hand against her very pregnant belly. Then she added, “You're just who I wanted to see anyway. I know you sat down with Magnus the other night. Was he cooperative?”

Caroline nodded and said, “Absolutely. He was actually pretty nice once he wasn't in the middle of something. Helped me tweak a drink. We're supposed to sit down tonight after close so we can go over some of the pairings.”

“Ooh,” Lilly exclaimed. “Maybe I'll stop in. God knows I've been eating for three, it feels like.”

“I can mention it to Magnus so he can make enough for three,” Caroline offered. “My menu stays unchanged since you clearly can't have the booze.”

Lilly studied her face for a minute and said, “Yes. Do that. And I can still sip. I just can't drink any.”

“Are you seriously gonna make me get you a spit can, Lilly? Holy hell.”

“No,” she sighed. “I can count on you two not to kill each other if I let you handle it?”

“I can't speak for him, but I'm getting a free meal out of it, so I'll be a good girl,” Caroline promised. Not to mention the fact that she wanted to crawl all over him.

Lilly frowned and added, “My ankles are huge already today anyway. I'll head upstairs after service.”

“Are you sure?”