Under Her Clothes
When Colby St. James dresses like a man to prove she can succeed in the male-dominated world of professional cooking, she never expects to fall for the handsome chef who will decide her fate. They agree that nothing that happens after hours will affect Colby's chances in the competition and begin a secret affair.It’s been years since Dominic Fevre felt a sexual attraction toward another man. He thought he’d put that stage of his life behind him when he focused everything on his career.But something about Colby St. James makes him want to break all his own rules…
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When Colby St. James dresses like a man to prove she can succeed in the male-dominated world of professional cooking, she never expects to fall for the handsome chef who will decide her fate. They agree that nothing that happens after hours will affect Colbyâs chances in the competition and begin a secret affair.
Itâs been years since Dominic Fevre felt a sexual attraction toward another man. He thought heâd put that stage of his life behind him when he focused everything on his career. But something about Colby St. James makes him want to break all his own rules...
Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon
Louisa Edwards worked as a restaurant reviewer, a waitress and behind the counter at a bakery before she decided to unite her lifelong passions for romance novels and food by writing contemporary romances full of smokinâ hot chefs, independent women and original recipes. She currently lives in Austin with her husband and two terriers. She is also the author of the Sanctuary Island series under the pseudonym Lily Everett. You can find more about Louisa and her books at louisaedwards.com.
Under Her Clothes
Louisa Edwards
Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon
For Ann Leslie Tuttle, this storyâs unfailingly smart, kind, classy and open-minded editor.
Contents
Colby turned back the cuffs on her clean white chefâs jacket to expose the tattoo of an antique silver serving spoon on her left forearm and resisted the urge to adjust the rolled-up athletic socks tucked down the front of her pants.
The intricate swirls of the spoonâs inked handle, crisscrossed with old burn marks and a wickedly curved knife scar, would bolster her cred in any restaurant kitchen in New York. Giving away the fact that the only bulge in her checked pants was cotton instead of cock? Would not.
No big deal, she reminded herself as the 6 train lurched to a stop at the Seventy-Seventh Street station. Just another one-on-one interview in just another kitchen with just another arrogant misogynist of a head chef.Youâve done this a hundred times.Man up.
Colbyâs snort was swallowed by the hydraulic hiss of the doors opening. Man up? Thatâs exactly what she intended to do.
Because no matter what mantra she repeated as part of the pep talk sheâd been using since she started fending for herself at sixteen, this was definitely not just any old job in any old kitchen. Scoring this gig at Maison de Ville would prove, once and for all, that she was every bit as talented as any male chef whoâd been promoted over her.
Hustling across the platform and up the stairs into the chill brilliance of autumn in New York, Colby shoved her way through the mob of early-morning commuters still yawning into their blue paper coffee cups. She glanced up and down Lexington Avenue to orient herselfâthe Upper East Side of Manhattan was so not her hoodâand caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the glass of a shop window. Superimposed on the clear surface separating the fur-clad mannequins from the street, a stranger stared back at Colby.
She lifted her hand to the side of her head, watching as the boyish reflection copied the motion, fingertips brushing across the soft bristles of buzzed hair. Colby had intended to shave off every single strand, but Grant had flatly refused. Once he quit trying to talk Colby out of this stunt, heâd argued that leaving a fall of dark gold across the top of her head would be enough to change her look from feminine to androgynousâand since she was never going to pass for übermasculine, androgyny was her best bet. Hence, the tousled fall of longer blond hair along the crest of her skull.
Because nothing said âtake me and my kick-ass knife skills seriouslyâ like a Mohawk.
Grinning at the young guy mirrored in the window, Colby straightened her shoulders and took off for the restaurant. The sound of her best friendâs voice in her head reminded her to butch up her walk. Confidence was key.
One thing Colby had never lacked was confidence. Supporting herself independently since the age of sixteen would do that for a girl. And sheâd been practicing for this daring social experiment of professional cross-dressing practically her entire adult life.
A woman in a high-end restaurant kitchen worked hard to be âone of the guys,â or she didnât work at all. Colby was luckyâshe was tall and lean, without any of those distracting curves at the bust and hips that wouldâve made it even harder for her to blend in with the other chefs on the line. Sheâd despaired over her flat chest as a preteen, but now she was grateful not to have to bind her breasts like some ingenue in a Shakespeare play.
