The Grump and the Chef by Wendy Ashford

Author:Wendy Ashford [Ashford, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-12-13T00:00:00+00:00

It’s been fifteen days since the last earth-shattering kiss I shared with Noah. A kiss that still makes me dream of his lips on mine, his demanding tongue, and his possessive hands on my hips. And his massive erection pressed against my core? That is something I will never forget. That man is pure perfection, masculinity, and disarming sweetness.

The problem is that there’s been nothing after those two magnificent kisses. He hasn’t made one move to look for more. And I don’t get it. I mean, I know he liked it, so why not explore the attraction? He told me he’s no longer hung up on his ex, and I believe him. But why not have some fun?

I watch him while he washes the dishes, his muscles straining under that t-shirt, his perfect ass wrapped in those too-tight gray sweatpants. They shouldn’t sell that kind of pants to men. They should be illegal. Aren’t there women in the marketing departments going absolutely insane at the photos in the ad campaigns for these things? I mean, it’s pretty obvious when a man puts on gray sweatpants, every woman’s brain within a one-mile radius literally becomes possessed, a hostage of their own hormones.

“Are you checking me out?” Noah’s deep voice startles me.

I raise my gaze to his face and see a big fat smirk under that sexy beard. I imagine tickling it, and not just with my mouth but with a lot of other body parts.

“What? No!” I protest.

“Yes, you were. I caught you staring at my ass.” That damn smirk never leaves his face.

“You wish,” I scoff. “I was watching how carefully you wash those dishes. You’re particularly careful with the pans.” I have no idea what the heck I’m saying.

He crosses his arms and those spectacular biceps bulge. Please, don’t do that, Noah. I’m trying not to drool over here!

“From where you’re sitting on the counter, all you can see is my back, not how I’m doing the dishes. Oh, and clearly my ass.” Now he’s teasing me.

I stiffen my back and train my face into a neutral expression. “Well, it’s not my fault. It’s your sweatpants’ fault.”

He looks down at his pants, which clearly outline the bulge between his legs. “What’s wrong with my sweatpants?” He sounds genuinely puzzled.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Noah! Everyone knows that gray sweatpants are like kryptonite for every woman on earth. You can’t go around flaunting those pants and not expect me to drool all over you. I can’t even control my saliva when you wear those. I’m like a Great Dane in front of a food bowl!” I complain, and his eyes widen.

He stares at me for a long time, and then he shakes his head. “You know you’re crazy, right?”

“No, I’m not. Everyone knows that. Like, they teach it in college: The great threat of the gray sweatpants.”

He struggles not to laugh. “And by the way, you are not a Great Dane in this whole conspiracy story. Considering your size and attitude, you’re more of a Chihuahua.

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