Kitchen Gods Box Set

by Beth Bolden

  “Move,” Evan hissed and so Miles pushed back his own pleasure and focused on the man in front of him. The man he loved.

  Maybe Evan couldn’t accept the words yet, but he could accept this.

  Miles set as powerful of a rhythm as he dared, his gasps echoing Evan’s as he thrust. It was almost too much as Evan started to push back, to demand more, greedy and perfect, his cock thrusting into Evan’s curled hand, his ass taking everything Miles was giving and demanding more.

  Evan let out a long, drawn-out moan, louder than Miles had even dreamt, and came into his hand. Miles barely had a moment to enjoy the clench of his body before he fell off the cliff too, fingers digging into Evan’s skin as he orgasmed.

  For a half moment, Miles didn’t move. It was impossible, but he still wanted to stay like this forever. He’d never felt closer to Evan.

  “Here,” Evan said in a small, hesitant voice, reaching over and handing his underwear to Miles, so he could clean up.

  The very last thing Miles wanted was for Evan to decide this had also been a mistake. So he carefully pulled out, and smoothed a reassuring hand down Evan’s back.

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

  Evan was sitting on the edge of the bed when he returned, and he wordlessly took the warm, damp cloth Miles handed him.

  “Thank you,” he said. “But I think I might just take a shower. Is that okay?”

  Miles wasn’t going to stop him. He might have wanted to join him, but he also wasn’t sure he could keep standing another moment. The bed was calling to him. “Sure, of course. I’m just going to lie down.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Evan echoed.

  * * *

  The shower went on and on, and Miles lay in bed, wondering if everything really was okay. Was Evan going to come back to bed emotionally restrained again? Was he going to say, with his actions and not his words, that they’d made another mistake?

  Miles squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that wouldn’t happen. He’d never really been in love before, but he was pretty sure being in love alone sucked. He didn’t want to know what that felt like.

  Finally the shower shut off, and Miles watched as Evan came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist.

  “This is a nice place,” he said as he rummaged in his bag. “The water pressure is excellent.”

  Was this what they’d been reduced to? Talking about water pressure? Miles dreaded what subject Evan would bring up next; whatever it was probably making very clear to Miles that he needed space.

  But instead, Evan climbed in bed after pulling on a pair of clean briefs, and to Miles’ shock, laid his head on his bare chest.

  They were quiet for a while, Miles trying to absorb what was happening, Evan probably trying not to freak out.

  Finally Evan spoke, in a quiet voice, just as hesitant as he’d been after sex. “Is this okay?”

  “More than okay. I love it,” Miles said. I love you.

  Evan took a deep, unsteady breath, and said, “I’m not good at this.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not sure I am either,” Miles confessed.

  “You’re better than you think,” Evan said wryly.

  “It matters to me that you know I care about you,” Miles said carefully.

  A sigh. “I know,” Evan said.

  “This is probably the wrong time,” he continued. “But I should tell you, so I’m going to.” He took another deep breath. “My parents died when I was two. I don’t really remember them. I lived in ten foster homes. The last one, I was there for three years. I moved out when I turned eighteen. I didn’t look back.”

  Miles’ fingers gripped Evan’s damp skin. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “I’m not good at letting other people control me,” Evan said, and the unspoken end of that sentence was, because too many people controlled me before.

  “I’m not going to control you,” Miles promised. “And if I ever do, feel free to slap me.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” Evan said, his voice was growing drowsy. Miles realized that this was all part of letting down his emotional guard, and that staying the night was part of it. That trusting Miles enough to touch him like this was another. They had come so far from those first distrustful days, and Miles could only hope that when they returned to LA, he could convince Reed of that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Miles had never understood why people committed themselves and their hearts by falling in love. It had always seemed like a very risky proposition with a lot to lose and very little to gain.

  But somehow, the morning was better when he and Evan woke up together, both smiling bashfully, and the sun brighter as they sat on the hill by the Castello di Amorosa and nibbled at meat and cheese that Miles had spent too much money for at Dean & Deluca.

  Even the champagne was more effervescent on his tongue as they did a tasting at Domaine Carneros.

  He’d gone to bed almost certain that Evan would wake up and the emotional wall blocking Miles out would be back in place, but to his own surprise, he’d watched the whole day as Evan worked to keep it down.

  Miles could tell that it didn’t come naturally, but his heart was nearly bursting at how hard Evan was trying to make things work between them. They would probably never be able to avoid a power struggle—even for a laid-back guy, Miles had difficulty relinquishing control, which he knew was a bad habit he’d picked up in the restaurant kitchens he’d worked in—but there could be spice in a little day-to-day friction.

  The most important thing was that Evan understood that Miles was in this for the duration. He was done cutting and running; he was done pretending anything other than this partnership had been life-altering.

  But even through the great afternoon, Miles had wondered in the back of his mind about what Evan had insisted last night.

  There was no way that Xander felt that way about him and he’d somehow missed it. Miles knew he wasn’t the most observant person in the world, especially about relationships, but surely Xander couldn’t have liked him that way without Miles realizing. They’d lived and worked together for years.

  It was impossible.

  And yet Miles couldn’t dismiss it completely. Not because he was at all tempted to ditch Evan for Xander—but because it didn’t feel right to come up here and flaunt his new relationship, all while his friend was hurting.

  He needed to know. So he kissed Evan goodbye at the hotel, told him to take a long soak in the tub, said he’d be back before they needed to leave for dinner, and headed to Terroir to confront Xander before the dinner service started.

  * * *

  “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be blinding the whole Valley with your annoying PDA?” Xander sneered as he added finishing touches to the sauces at his station.

  He had a magic touch with sauces that even Bastian Aquino didn’t have—not that the head chef ever would have admitted that. But Xander had been doing the sauces very early on in his tenure at Terroir and that only could mean one thing.

  “Come in the dining room in a few hours, and I’m sure we could oblige you,” Miles said. He wasn’t technically supposed to be in the kitchens since he didn’t work here anymore, but he’d left on good terms, and he didn’t think anyone would kick him out. Maybe.

  He shoved his hands in his black pants. “Why are you so angry?” he asked Xander point blank, because he needed to make this quick before anyone saw him, and also because he was sick of fucking around. Love had definitely shown him how vital it was to value what was really important.

  “Nature? Habit? Preference?” Xander paused. “Take your pick, and then get out of this kitchen. You don’t work here anymore.”

  “Here’s the thing, Xander, you’re not mad at everyone like you’re mad at me. And it’s new, since I left. So what’s the deal? You’re angry I moved on and left Napa? Left Terroir?”

  Xander’s aborted, angry hand movements told Miles only part of the story. He needed to
know why Xander was so pissed.

  “You’ve always been free to do whatever the fuck you wanted,” Xander said.

  “It was all me, you know that right? I was bored as fuck here, you know that, I know you do.” Miles didn’t like how defensive he sounded but maybe he was feeling guiltier than he liked over Xander’s anger.

  Xander’s feelings weren’t entirely his problem, but maybe they were a little his fault.

  “Not everything is about you.” Xander’s knife flew over a bundle of chives. Then basil. Then Italian parsley. He was just about finished with the sauces, and then the dinner service would begin. Xander was an asshole, but he was a punctual asshole.

  In five minutes, the line would be crowded with chefs. Miles tried not to panic and threw his Hail Mary pass. “Evan said that you were in love with me, and that’s why you were angry I left.”

  Xander’s eyes flew to his, shocked and belligerent. But he didn’t deny it. “Evan is a nosy bastard. That might seem cute now, but you’ll get sick of it. You can’t take high maintenance and he’s the King of High Maintenance Land.”

  “Are you?”

  Xander slapped his knife down on his cutting board, sifting tiny circles of chives onto the floor. “Why does it matter?”

  Miles was torn between strangling him and hugging him. “It matters.”

  “I wasn’t in love with you, you egotistical bastard. Did I think . . . maybe? Maybe once or twice? Sure.” Xander furiously stirred the mustard sauce he’d made his own since starting at Terroir. Miles had seen him make it a thousand times since they’d met, and it occurred to him suddenly that he wouldn’t ever see him make it again.

  And even though leaving this place had felt easy and like the right thing to do, emotion suddenly strangled him.

  “Life is about change, Xander,” Miles said softly, when he thought he could speak without embarrassing himself. “And we would have been a flaming disaster. You know that too.”

  “And?” Xander snapped. “It’s not like you and Prince Charming have had an easy go of it so far.”

  “No, but we’re getting there.” He paused. “Xander, please. Don’t hate me. In six months or six years, you’re going to realize that you’re done here too, and you’ll leave.”

  “Maybe.” Xander’s testy tone had faded a little. Not much, but enough to give Miles hope.

  “I know you’re not going to be happy making Bastian Aquino’s sauces for him your entire career. You’re too talented for that, and you know it.”

  “I do.” Xander stirred basil into another saucepan, and Miles realized with a pang that he didn’t even know this sauce. It had been invented since he’d been gone. And that hurt more than he could have dreamt.

  “Moving on is hard, but it’s worth it. There’s a whole life you can experience when you open your eyes.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to be up here, pining after your sorry ass.” But Xander flashed a bright, quicksilver smile and it was enough that Miles knew he’d done the right thing coming here and talking to him.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” Miles retorted fondly. “It’s not that good of an ass.”

  Xander chuckled. “Get out of here before Aquino sees you and does something terrible.”

  “Throws me out?” Miles asked.

  “No, forces you back into an apron.”

  * * *

  “Did you go talk to Xander?” Evan asked, forcing his voice to remain light and casual. He shouldn’t care if Miles had gone to talk to his friend; it had been the right thing to do to clear the air. It had just been impossible for Evan to think of the conversation without the very slightest waver of concern.

  Miles and Xander had known each other for years. Xander was a great chef, talented and intense, probably the sort of person that Miles had always imagined he’d end up with.

  He definitely couldn’t have foretold that he’d end up falling for someone like Evan.

  Even Evan, who’d secretly been harboring a little crush after spending so many hours watching Pastry by Miles, couldn’t have predicted it. It still felt very new and like a significant bump could derail it.

  Of course, if the last three weeks hadn’t stopped it from happening, then he should consider their relationship inevitable.

  “I talked to him, yeah. Everything’s good,” Miles said, sitting on the bed next to Evan, resting a hand on his knee casually like it didn’t still cause fireworks to explode under Evan’s skin. He was never going to get used to touching so casually; each touch still felt momentous and important.

  Evan told himself that it was in Miles’ nature to share less and his own to be inquisitive. He still couldn’t help himself from asking, “Did he admit to it?”

  “Not exactly. But I think he’ll be okay.”

  Evan felt like a terrible person for not caring if Xander would be okay. Of course Miles did; Evan still felt too threatened to be so selfless.

  “What are we doing for dinner?” Evan asked brightly, changing the subject. The last thing Miles needed was to find out that he felt unsure still, especially unsure about Xander. Especially because Miles himself had given Evan zero reasons to be concerned.

  It wasn’t Miles’ fault that Evan was, and would probably be for some time to come, a neurotic, insecure mess.

  “I want to take you somewhere special,” Miles said, his soulful gaze making Evan’s heartbeat skip.

  “You know,” he giggled a little self-consciously, “I never imagined you were such a romantic.”

  Miles smiled. “Oh, yeah, you did. You dreamed about it.”

  This was so completely accurate Evan blushed.

  “Does that mean you’re going to let me spoil you?” Miles asked.

  “Spoiled how?” Evan told himself firmly not to be apprehensive because wasn’t that what every lonely, miserable boy of twelve that nobody gave two shits about dreamed about? Someone making an effort? Someone trying to impress them even if it wasn’t particularly hard?

  Why then was it so hard for Evan to accept?

  If Evan had ever been able to open up to a therapist—and he had tried but therapists wanted you to talk about yourself and he never could—he was sure they would have been able to tell him why. As it was, Evan had his suspicions.

  “I’m going to take you to the best restaurant in Napa,” Miles said.

  Evan had a sudden, horrified thought that he knew exactly what Miles meant. “You’re taking me to Terroir.”

  Miles blushed. “I did say the best restaurant in Napa.”

  “I’m not sure your ego is going to fit through the doorway,” Evan teased. It was easier to poke fun than to face what Miles was trying to do.

  He couldn’t think about it without his hand trembling, so he reached over and gripped Miles’ hand hard.

  “You’re gonna love it,” Miles promised, eyes soft, like he knew exactly what had Evan reaching for him like a lifeline.

  It would have been so natural for Evan to just say back, “I love you,” because he was pretty damn sure he did. Miles had hardly made a secret of his own feelings, but they still felt so inexplicable to Evan.

  Evan kissed him instead, hard and hot, both a promise for later and as a replacement for everything he couldn’t say. Yet, he swore to himself, but even Evan didn’t have a clue when he’d be able to.

  * * *

  If Evan had imagined that they might be treated any differently because Miles had worked at Terroir, he was incredibly wrong.

  From what he could see, the same excruciatingly perfect service was given to every guest as they checked in at the gracious patio that served as the open-air waiting room. Vines dripping with grapes wrapped around the wood beams, arcing over their heads as they waited for their table to be ready.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” Miles asked.

  If going to wine tastings had been intimidating, it was nothing compared to standing at the entrance to the throne room of American dining. Did he want a glass of wine? Evan thought he
needed one if he was going to make it through without breaking into a sweat or declaring loudly that he wasn’t worthy.

  “Sure,” Evan said.

  Miles was only at the bar for a second, and of course, he got the best service, because the bartender’s eyes lit up when they spotted him. He returned with two flutes of sparkling wine.

  “Cheers,” he said, tapping Evan’s glass with his own. “To the best weekend I’ve ever spent.”

  “You mean, the part where we weren’t being insulted by your old roommates?” Evan teased, enjoying the light that heated in Miles’ eyes. He knew exactly which parts those were. Making love in the hotel room. Feeding each other bits of fresh bread in the meadow this morning, making out in the grass and not feeling the tiniest bit ashamed if anyone saw.

  “I mean the part where I got to meet the relaxed you,” Miles said.

  Evan froze. How could he have forgotten Reed’s admonishment as they left?

  “Though,” Miles continued thoughtfully, “I really like all the parts of you. Even the part that shoots daggers out of his eyes at me.”

  “You like that part?” Evan asked incredulously.

  Miles’ gaze took on a conspiratorial glint. “I love that part. It’s sexy as hell knowing you want to kick my ass and that you will if I take a step out of line.”

  Something unwound in Evan at Miles’ words. There had been a tiny kernel of doubt that had wondered if he would have to be on his best behavior from now on. If he would have to be the sweet, relaxed Evan all the time. Because there was no chance in hell of that happening.

  “Don’t worry,” Miles said casually, “you know I love you.”

  Evan was torn between the eye-dagger-shooting thing or just dumping his champagne all over Miles’ sharp black button-down, but then the designer-clad hostess approached, telling them their table was ready.

  Their table wasn’t on the patio, which from the reading Evan had done was considered a prime spot, but it was still near a huge bank of windows that overlooked the valley.