Irresistible You by Lynne Connolly

Chapter One

    Elise looked up from her nearly untouched plate to meet her friend’s disappointed gaze. “That was the worst gourmet meal I’ve ever had.”
    “Girard’s’’ owned by the new, hot chef on the scene, specialised in fresh produce cooked well, but this being a two Michelin star establishment, the presentation was akin to a work of art. At least they didn’t write the menu in French. So old school.
    Maybe this dish was just not to her personal taste. Rich flavours, foie gras with duck. She took a sip of the water, which was all she drank during a meal. Maybe she hadn’t cleared her mouth properly after the first course and some of the bay flavouring had lingered.
    She tried again. Mashed potato and carrot. Beautifully cooked, vilely flavoured. Could she detect cinnamon in the potato? Awful. The balance was all wrong. She put her fork down with a clatter that turned heads. People sitting at nearby tables stared, then returned to their own meals.
    Was the chef playing with them, or was this really the new, exciting face of haut cuisine? It seemed odd, because she’d been here before in what was best described as a non-official capacity, she’d eaten really well. And that had been leftovers.
    Oh God, what could she say in her review?
    She didn’t have to ask Maya what she thought of her salmon, because Maya did the same thing—pushed the plate aside virtually untouched.
    The waiter arrived to collect the plates, and while she definitely noticed, she didn’t say anything, but asked if they wanted dessert. Elise knew she should, but rattled, ordered the safest thing on the menu, a chocolate concoction.
    It didn’t help. “Life of Bliss’ wasn’t as blissful as she remembered. Perhaps, in the circumstances when she’d first had it, that had coloured her opinion. Yes, probably. But at least it was edible. What was the chef thinking?
    “The amuse-bouches were good,” Maya pointed out. She was right. The tiny morsels of tasters and mouth-cleansers served between the courses had been delectable.
    The maître d’ swanned over to their table.
    Elise met the woman’s black, unemotional gaze. “M’sieu wonders if you’d like to inspect the kitchens.”
    “He asks every guest if they want to see the kitchens?”
    The maître’s lips quirked in what threatened to become a smile. “If they wish it. It was our pleasure to serve you. Would you like coffee here, or in the kitchen?”
    What Elise wanted was to get this over with. “The kitchen, please.”
    They followed the woman’s elegant black-clad back through the big double doors into the hive of activity. The evening was winding down and what must have been pandemonium earlier was merely frenetic activity now.
    Her gaze inevitably went to the large, imposing figure of Remy Girard, chef extraordinaire, standing in the middle of the kitchen at his station, watching everyone with eyes of hard, grey steel. His dark hair was swept back from his face, the ends curling in the kitchen’s heat.
    He looked around as if she’d called to him, and their gazes clashed. A lazy smile curled his full lips and he moved, strolling over to where they stood, as if he’d just spent an evening at leisure, instead of presiding over one of the most fastidious teams in all haut cuisine. Fastidious, because he had made it so.
    Beside her, Maya gave an almost soundless groan. “I never realised he was so gorgeous.”
    “I did,” Elise said.
    “He looks great on TV, but hot damn…! You’ve met him before?”
    She suppressed her smile at the memory. “At an art gallery. One of those champagne-and-buy-my-daub things.”
    Maya didn’t appear interested in the art, any more than Elise had been. When Remy reached them, she held out her hand first. “I’m Maya Hancock and this is Elise Davis.”
    He shook Maya’s hand and smiled. When Remy smiled, he changed his expression completely, from stern taskmaster to cheeky boy, a transformation that startled and fascinated most