More Than a Mission - Caridad Pineiro [10]
When she walked away, Elizabeth faced him, clearly annoyed. “She’s just learning,” she explained, defending the younger woman.
Aidan held up his hands to ward off further comment. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just came for some supplies.”
Elizabeth accepted his apology and gracefully motioned with her hands to the spacious and orderly kitchen. “Well while you’re here, I may as well lay out the rules for this area. One—don’t annoy the chefs and two—don’t touch the chefs’ knives. You’ve already broken rule one.”
Great. He’d pissed her off. As for her knives…“Your knives being—”
She slipped past him to go to one of the work tables. On its surface was a cylindrical leather pouch tied with a ribbon of leather. He followed Elizabeth and watched as she nimbly undid the tie, grabbed one side of the pouch and with a quick toss, unfurled it to reveal a collection of about a dozen different blades. “My knives,” she said and held her hand out to emphasize the point.
Before he could say anything else, she whipped one large knife from its holder and with a batonlike twirl of the handle through her fingers, she then slipped the blade into a holder on the belt riding low on her hips. A practiced move done with ease. Too much ease, he thought, replaying in his mind how quickly she had taken the knife—one that was easily about eight inches long—and gracefully maneuvered it onto her belt.
Had she gutted Mitch with as much skill?
He bit back his anger and said, “Neat trick. Where did you learn it?” Even as he said that, he was reaching for another knife, but she slapped his hand away.
“Remember—Don’t touch the knives. As for where—in cooking school,” she explained, one hand resting on the table near the pouch, the other just above the knife at her belt. Her hip was cocked to one side, like a gunslinger ready to draw. He wondered if she was getting ready to use the knife on him. If he had pushed too far.
When he met her gaze—that sherry-colored, drown-in-me gaze—he realized she was almost testing him. Seeing if he’d follow the rules she’d laid down, as if thinking he wouldn’t or that maybe he was the kind of guy who liked to touch—and not just knives. Her jaw was set in a determined little jut, confirming his read wasn’t all that wrong. “I get it, Elizabeth. Don’t touch.”
Elizabeth nodded and realized that Aidan had gotten the dual message in her words. It both pleased and disappointed, but she told herself not to be disappointed since Aidan was just passing through.
“Glad you get it. It will keep things simpler. Do you want to see where the wines are kept?” She motioned to an old wooden door, made from a few hand-hewn planks, at the far side of the kitchen.
He gave her the go-ahead curtly. “May as well get it over with. I can collect my supplies later.”
Elizabeth walked to the door, which led down into the cellar, Aidan close behind her. She opened it, flipped a switch on the wall, and then went down the flight of stairs to a large space that ran beneath the entire restaurant. As she reached the bottom step, she pointed to the far wall where a series of racks held her collection of wines. “We keep the stock first by color and then by region. Whites closest to the floor where it’s cooler. Reds along the top.”
She continued walking, too conscious of Aidan behind her, but as they moved to the racks, it wasn’t the wine that seemed to get his attention.
“What’s that?” he asked and as she turned to look at him, she realized he was looking at the far side of the cellar, where there was a home gym, boxing bag, mat, lockers and a safe.
“A gym. You’re welcome to use it during the hours the restaurant isn’t serving meals. The equipment is too noisy otherwise.”
A hard look came to his face, but he schooled it and gestured with his hand to the racks of wine. “Anything I can’t touch down here?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “While all the wines are excellent vintages, they’re generally moderately priced. No sense gouging the customers.”
He walked to one of the racks, ran