through me.
We’re two halves, Maggie and I, and we fit perfectly together. Her skills complement mine, and vice versa. Same with our love. After my father’s death, I didn’t have to ask her to step up. I never would have done that. But she did. She stepped up in the best way, picking up my slack in the kitchen, and running the business while I tried to adjust to a new normal.
What’s better? She’s fallen in love with the kitchen almost as much as she’s fallen in love with me which just makes me love her even more.
I growl low in my throat, hating that I have to tear my mouth away from hers, but we have an audience that is probably disgusted with us by now. Maggie and I have managed to get through all our shoots like true professionals, but as soon as Franklin calls “Cut,” we don’t hold back. Like now.
Maggie is the first to pull away, leaving me with a flirtatious smile and flushed cheeks, before she opens the refrigerator to grab the champagne we purchased this morning. As she’s pouring glasses for everyone, I’m making my rounds, thanking each crew member for their time and dedication to the show.
There was a time when I was nervous about what this show could turn into if I let go of the reigns, but Faye came through with her promises intact.
“So what happens next?” I ask Franklin, who is snacking on leftovers from the meal Maggie and I just made.
“You sit back and watch the magic unfold,” he says with a brilliant smile.
“That’s it?” Maggie asks, looking between us. “Isn’t there promotional stuff? And press events?”
Franklin shrugs. “Not my specialty. Faye will be in touch with next steps. But for now, drink champagne, and enjoy your time away from the camera. I’m no psychic, but if I had to wager a guess, the cameras will be back before you know it.”
That is the kind of comment I love to hear. Pride swells in my chest and after a single deep breath, I feel thirty pounds lighter.
The crew leaves after a round of drinks and I’m locking up after them while Maggie shuffles off to the back room. She returns a minute later as I’m walking back to the main kitchen. I do a double take when I spot her wearing nothing but a tiny black apron with the words “Fuck me, I’m the chef,” on it.
“Do you remember this one?” The innocence on her face is lost when I see the wicked gleam of flirtation in her eyes.
“Um.” It’s all I can manage as she twirls, revealing her naked body beneath the apron. “It didn’t look quite so—bare—the last time you wore it.” I grin and start to move faster toward her.
She bites down on her bottom lip and puts her hands on her waist. “That’s right. You said this apron wasn’t part of the dress code. Should I take it off?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” I get to her just as she starts to reach behind her to unknot the fabric, and I pick her up at the waist and set her against the island behind her. “You wouldn’t want your boss to complain that you’re a walking false advertisement, would you?”
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “No, sir. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble.”
I can’t help my grin. “Oh, you’ve been in trouble since the day you stepped foot in here, Ma’am.” My nose brushes against hers as I figure out how I’m going to take my time with her like usual. I’m so wound up already from wrapping the show. The way she’s looking in that apron isn’t helping matters at all.
She smiles as if she can read my mind and pulls a stool out from under the counter, then slides it out to me. “Have a seat, Sir.”
I chuckle and obey, her command sexy as fuck with the added rasp in her tone. Sounds like someone is just as worked up as I am over production completing. Now she’s eyeing me like a tiger on the prowl. When she steps in between my thighs, I can’t help myself. My hands slide around her body and grab her perfect ass. I rub them gently, savoring the velvety soft skin while my erection fights against my jeans.
I blink up at her while I spread her cheeks and squeeze. Yeah, I’m not going to last long. “What are you going to do to me?”
She smiles softly and