stirred his palate.
Was that a hint of rum accenting the vanilla, or the other way around? He was pretty certain that there was rice involved, somehow mimicking the texture of ice cream.
All in all, he found the experience incredibly enjoyable. So enjoyable that he took another taste, and then another.
Before he realized it, the parfait glass was empty and he was craving more.
This definitely belonged on the menu, he thought. Tonight, if they had enough of the ingredients to produce this on a large scale. If not, then tomorrow night for sure.
It needed a name, he thought, wondering ifEnrique had come up with one. Most likely, knowing the man, he had. Marcos had never known the chef to be unprepared in any department.
On the small, outside chance that the exceedingly creative chef had neglected to christen his new creation, Marcos thought a moment. As if inspired, a name popped up in his mind.
Heavenly Sin.
It seemed appropriate because, while he didnât doubt that the dessert was sinfully caloric, tasting it was pure heaven.
Abandoning the parfait glass on his desk, Marcos left the office and went into the kitchen.
Enrique was there, frying something in one of the larger pans. The high flame beneath it was hissing and sizzling as pats of butter swiftly dissolved, ready to enhance whatever he dropped into the pan next.
âThat was fantastic,â Marcos cried, striding toward the chef.
Enrique looked over toward him, a quizzical look on his face.
âThat dessert you left in my officeâsheer genius,â Marcos enthused. âDo you have a name for it yet? Most likely you do,â he said, answering his own question. âWhat do you call it?â
âWendyâs,â the chef said simply, a very amused smile on his thin lips.
Marcos stared at the man, a little dumbfounded, as well as confused.
Was Enrique saying that heâd named that wondrous dessert after the Fortune girl?
âI donât understand. Why would you call it Wendyâs?â Marcos wanted to know.
âBecause Iâm the one who made it,â said the soft Southern drawl coming from behind him.
Chapter Six
W endy.
The slight whiff of the perfume she always seemed to wear announced her presence in the vicinity even before he heard that annoyingly lyrical Southern drawl of hers.
Marcos turned to face her. âYou made the dessert.â It was not a question so much as a statement of disbelief.
âYes.â
Separated by a couple of feet, Marcos studied her for a long moment. Her gaze met his, blatantly re turning his stare. Marcos frowned, doing his best to look distant and unapproachable, mainly because he would have preferred being neither. And that, as faras he was concerned, was totally unacceptable. After all, he was her boss, not to mention that he was older than she was and that they came from two totally different worlds. His people had to work for everything they had, hers had been born with silver spoons in their mouths. Anything he might have even vaguely entertained was doomed before it ever unfoldedâhe just had to make certain that it didnât even try. The best way he knew how to do that was to make her want to quit.
âAll right,â Marcos allowed gamely, âyou made this.â If it was to appear as an insert on the menu tonight, he needed to give credit where it was due. âSo what cookbook did you get it from?â
Her shoulders seemed to square themselves and he had the distinct impression that he was in the presence of a soldier prepared to go off into battle.
An unbidden shiver of anticipation went through him. He didnât bother exploring why.
âI didnât,â Wendy informed him with just a touch of pride in her voice.
Frustrated, Marcos dropped his kid-gloved treatment. âYouâre actually standing there, telling me that you just came up with this dessert today.â
âIf thatâs what youâre asking me,â Wendy
Was that a hint of rum accenting the vanilla, or the other way around? He was pretty certain that there was rice involved, somehow mimicking the texture of ice cream.
All in all, he found the experience incredibly enjoyable. So enjoyable that he took another taste, and then another.
Before he realized it, the parfait glass was empty and he was craving more.
This definitely belonged on the menu, he thought. Tonight, if they had enough of the ingredients to produce this on a large scale. If not, then tomorrow night for sure.
It needed a name, he thought, wondering ifEnrique had come up with one. Most likely, knowing the man, he had. Marcos had never known the chef to be unprepared in any department.
On the small, outside chance that the exceedingly creative chef had neglected to christen his new creation, Marcos thought a moment. As if inspired, a name popped up in his mind.
Heavenly Sin.
It seemed appropriate because, while he didnât doubt that the dessert was sinfully caloric, tasting it was pure heaven.
Abandoning the parfait glass on his desk, Marcos left the office and went into the kitchen.
Enrique was there, frying something in one of the larger pans. The high flame beneath it was hissing and sizzling as pats of butter swiftly dissolved, ready to enhance whatever he dropped into the pan next.
âThat was fantastic,â Marcos cried, striding toward the chef.
Enrique looked over toward him, a quizzical look on his face.
âThat dessert you left in my officeâsheer genius,â Marcos enthused. âDo you have a name for it yet? Most likely you do,â he said, answering his own question. âWhat do you call it?â
âWendyâs,â the chef said simply, a very amused smile on his thin lips.
Marcos stared at the man, a little dumbfounded, as well as confused.
Was Enrique saying that heâd named that wondrous dessert after the Fortune girl?
âI donât understand. Why would you call it Wendyâs?â Marcos wanted to know.
âBecause Iâm the one who made it,â said the soft Southern drawl coming from behind him.
Chapter Six
W endy.
The slight whiff of the perfume she always seemed to wear announced her presence in the vicinity even before he heard that annoyingly lyrical Southern drawl of hers.
Marcos turned to face her. âYou made the dessert.â It was not a question so much as a statement of disbelief.
âYes.â
Separated by a couple of feet, Marcos studied her for a long moment. Her gaze met his, blatantly re turning his stare. Marcos frowned, doing his best to look distant and unapproachable, mainly because he would have preferred being neither. And that, as faras he was concerned, was totally unacceptable. After all, he was her boss, not to mention that he was older than she was and that they came from two totally different worlds. His people had to work for everything they had, hers had been born with silver spoons in their mouths. Anything he might have even vaguely entertained was doomed before it ever unfoldedâhe just had to make certain that it didnât even try. The best way he knew how to do that was to make her want to quit.
âAll right,â Marcos allowed gamely, âyou made this.â If it was to appear as an insert on the menu tonight, he needed to give credit where it was due. âSo what cookbook did you get it from?â
Her shoulders seemed to square themselves and he had the distinct impression that he was in the presence of a soldier prepared to go off into battle.
An unbidden shiver of anticipation went through him. He didnât bother exploring why.
âI didnât,â Wendy informed him with just a touch of pride in her voice.
Frustrated, Marcos dropped his kid-gloved treatment. âYouâre actually standing there, telling me that you just came up with this dessert today.â
âIf thatâs what youâre asking me,â Wendy
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