Malcolm didn’t have a lot going for him. He wasn’t one of the blessed, or one of the beautiful. He didn’t have many talents. He was, however, a damn good chef. He worked hard and he insisted on perfection -- not just from himself but also from everyone else in his kitchen. And if that made others miserable, that was just too damn bad. If one couldn’t live up to expectations then one didn’t belong at Burgeon Manor.<br><br>Darien on the other hand, was everything Malcolm envied, hated, and secretly fantasized over. Lean, slim, with a smile that could melt ice and enough charm to woo demons, Darien surprised Malcolm by showing not only interest but also attraction. Which only meant one thing as far as Malcolm was concerned: Darien had to be playing some kind of game. There was no way that a rock god like Darien Flint could have honest feelings for someone like him.<br><br>Yet the more Darien tries to know him, the more Malcolm feels himself being drawn into the lie.

Rockabye

“I will need crusts. No sense whipping whites if we’re not going to make pie. Prep!”


“Candied leaves, please. Green. Perhaps mint? No, rose. I want rose leaves. And lemon slices. The candy, not the fruit. Raspberry compote as well.”


He stopped, caught Darien’s eye. “And why am I waiting for you to start moving?”


It shouldn’t have been fun. That hadn’t been the point. Malcolm had intended to send Darien back to his room with his tail between his legs and his head hung in shame. But Darien had an unnatural ability to let Malcolm’s snide remarks and impatience slide off him like water off a duck’s back. It hadn’t taken long for Darien to realize that if he caught Malcolm’s eye and grinned just so, the look had a way of tumbling Malcolm into a quick fit of stuttering awkwardness. It wasn’t just that Darien was cute either. It was that Darien was trying to be cute. For him. To amuse him.


Chapter 10