He lowered his mouth to my ear, teeth sinking into my earlobe pleasurably before he growled in a husky, sexy tone. “You are the best.”
Desire seared through me. I went up on tiptoe, lightly brushing my lips across his, but the look in his eyes, while simmering with desire, held something more urgent.
It was time.
I glanced toward Deema and Aqsa, my heart twisting. I’d miss those two, but hopefully not for long. Jutuk promised that once we got to the Bardaga, he and his brethren would come up with a plan to liberate every single female from the Baron’s harem. If I wasn’t already head over heels for the guy, that one promise would have tipped me over the edge.
Jutuk dropped his arm from my waist, his large, warm hand curling around my own. The plan was simple. We would leave the kitchen through the hatch in the storage room and make our way to the docking area, where Jala had a skiff waiting for us.
Fifteen minutes.
In fifteen minutes, we’d be on our way to the Bardaga and my friends. We just needed an excuse to cover our trip to the storage room first.
“Ladies.” My voice trembled, and I cleared my throat before continuing. “I’ll be in the storage room. Remember, we have to prepare breakfast in the morning, and I need to inventory the pantry. A chef’s work is never done.”
Deema turned from the door, giving Jutuk and me the once over. Her saucy grin said plainly she expected us to use our time in the storage room for more pleasurable pursuits than counting eggs. Once her attention returned to the dining room, Jutuk and I moved quietly toward the back of the kitchen. Jutuk swung the door open, the faint, earthy scent of root vegetables assaulting my nose when a loud squawk turned my attention back to the kitchen.
Deema and Aqsa cowered together fearfully, considering the two huge, pale, horned guards that entered the kitchen.
The larger of the two surveyed the space with piercing green eyes, his gaze finally landing on me.
“The Duke wishes an audience with the chef.”
Shit!
I glanced at Jutuk, worried the interruption would throw our timetable out of whack. I watched a muscle twitch in his jawline, signaling his aggravation. Even so, he gave the guards a gracious nod.
“It is an honor to be requested by the Duke.” Jutuk gently patted my bottom to urge me forward. He smiled, but his expression carried a message. He could not accompany me. I’d have to face the Duke on my own.
I’d cooked for presidents, celebrities, and even a king and queen. This wasn’t the first time I’d met royalty. So why did my stomach flip as I moved toward the doorway? Not nervousness, but all out fear, like I expected the guards to drag me into thedining room and behead me on the spot because the Duke face planted in his angel food cake. Of course, the fact that Jutuk let the guards take me from his side without a fuss should have clued me about the lack of danger.
“My lady.” The smaller of the two held an arm out for me, which eased my trepidation somewhat.I glanced at Jutuk and at his faint nod, slipped my hand onto the guard’s arm.
Flanked on either side by the enormous guards, we stepped from the kitchen, moving through a short corridor and into the dining room.
It was like stepping into Tavern on the Green during dinner rush. The room was enormous, three times the size of my largest restaurant. Finery appointed the decoration, silky tablecloths along with plates and utensils that appeared carved from gleaming stone. The sounds of utensils clinking against dinnerware were comforting, even with the addition of an errant slurp here and there.
For a moment, no one noticed my entry. Then everything stilled. Not even the sound of breathing was discernable for a moment before the room exploded with thunderous applause.
Startled, I stumbled, bumping into the larger guard. I glanced up to find him gazing at me. His lips curved into a faint smile.
“The Duke, my lady.”
He directed my attention toward the front of the room, to a table set upon a dais several feet higher than the floor. Recognizing the Duke was easy. He wore silver slacks and a tunic, with a dark blue sash across his shoulder that was pinned with several heavily jeweled metals. Even seated, I could tell he was tall, with pale skin, platinum hair, and piercing blue eyes. The strange pearlescent horns protruding from just above his temples did little to quell his overall attractiveness or theconfidence and power he exuded. Behind him stood four guards, even larger than the two that flanked me.
At the Duke’s side, Baron Oappo rose to his feet, thumping his chest proudly, signaling for quiet.
“May I introduce my human chef, Pearl. My greatest acquisition.”
It might be my imagination, but it seemed like a faint frown crossed the Duke’s face at Oappo calling me anacquisition. The downturn in his expression didn’t last long, replaced by a dazzling, wide smile. Duke Ako rose to his feet—I was right, he was tall—and lifted his glass in my direction.
“My compliments to the chef. This is the most delicious food I have ever tasted.” His voice was deep and a little rough, like gravel topped with a dollop of honey and drenched with sincerity. His adulation helped me relax.
“Thank you,” I replied, sinking into a pitiful excuse for a curtsey. I’d only attempted the formal greeting once previously when meeting Prince William and Princess Kate at a state dinner.I’d sucked at it then, too.
“Pray tell me, what do you call this wonderful concoction?”
The Duke lifted a bowl that appeared licked clean.
