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

“Could you put it up closer to the staff?” Malcolm was asked before he was given a grin. “Just not to close to the photographer. You know how bitchy they can get if you impose on their space.”


Malcolm smiled and nodded even though he actually had no idea how bitchy said persons could get. He could imagine though. Probably about as bitchy as a head chef in a busy kitchen.


“Can I get a little more, Darien?” Malcolm heard the photographer say and the name caused a flinch that worked its way into an entire body shudder. An incomprehensible murmur replied but the tone was unmistakable. As was the rush of pain that accompanied it.


“I’ll just leave this here,” Malcolm said to the bodyguard.


“Up front a little more, if you could,” the man insisted. “Just past the screen, please?”


Malcolm released the cart. “You could—”


Chapter 23