Spicy Shades of Her (Wild Epic)

Lilith's POV

“Do you taste as good as your food... Chef?”

The question caught me off guard the instant I stepped out of the black town car. My heels sank into the gravel driveway as fierce Pacific winds whipped my thin sundress against my thighs, pressing the fabric indecently between my legs.

I froze, my fingers still wrapped around the car door as I turned toward the voice.

Leaning against the massive entrance of the cliffside mansion, as though he owned not just the house but the entire ocean stretching behind it, was one of the Carl brothers. Tall. Dark-haired. Devastating.

His brown shirt hung open at the collar, revealing the hard lines of his broad, well-built chest that looked like it had spent years under the discipline of heavy dumbbells. A slow, sinful smirk curved his lips as his grey eyes raked down my body with shameless hunger, lingering on my mouth, my breasts.

I swallowed hard and slammed the taxi door shut, tightening my grip on my phone.

“Hey, miss.”

The driver leaned out of his window. I turned to him sharply, ignoring the man standing a few feet away and his naughty question.

“Thank you,” I said with a polite smile before grabbing my insulated ingredient box and the small duffel bag holding a weekend's worth of clothes.

The driver gave me a quick nod before pulling away. I turned back to find him standing right in front of me, one hand tucked casually into his pocket, the other stretched toward my bags in a silent offer to help.

For a few seconds, I simply stared.

Up close, he was even more overwhelming with a raw confidence that seemed to thin the air around us.

"Julian," he said with a smug smile. "J.N. If you're lucky."

Julian Carl—the second Carl brother. Everything I'd read about him on social media painted him as an arrogant playboy. Standing in front of him, I could confidently say they hadn't exaggerated.

I gave a faint nod. "Lilith Bennett."

I handed him the ingredient box. His fingers brushed against mine as he grasped it, lingering just long enough to make my pulse spike. I slipped my hand away.

A smile escaped his lips—a damned sinful smile.

I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders. "Can I just get to work?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the flutter growing in my chest. "I've got a lot on today's menu.”

"Oh, my bad."

He turned toward the entrance, carrying my insulated box as though he'd already decided I would be following him.

And, with little choice, I did.

$15,000 for a single weekend booking still didn't f*el real. It was the kind of f*e private chefs only dreamed about. Even now, I could hardly believe it's happening.

We stepped into a grand foyer that looked more like the lobby of a luxury hotel than someone's home. Marble floors gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier, while floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with afternoon light. We crossed an expansive sitting room furnished with elegant cream sofas and polished dark wood before climbing a sweeping staircase.

The house seemed endless. Corridor after corridor stretched ahead of us, lined with paintings of the brothers, until Julian finally stopped in front of a large door and pushed it open.

"This will be your room for the weekend."

I stepped inside, taking in the room—almost as large as my apartment in Woodland Hills. A king-sized bed sat in the center beneath a modern chandelier. One wall was entirely glass, overlooking the ocean in the distance, while another held a sleek fireplace and a sitting area.

Julian followed me in, setting my ingredient box carefully on a nearby table before closing the door behind him.

"Bathroom's through there," he said, pointing toward another door. "Freshen up, change into whatever you need, then meet me downstairs. I'll show you the kitchen."

I nodded quietly.

"My brothers stepped out for games. They'll be back shortly."

"Oh."

"The first meal has to be ready before they return or few minutes after they do." His tone became more matter-of-fact. "Especially Damien. He doesn't joke about meal timing."

"Understood," I replied, my voice softer than I'd intended.

I waited, hoping he’d leave now, so I could change into my cooking shorts, throw on my apron, tie my hair up...

But instead of heading for the door, he started walking toward me—slow, deliberate steps that quickened my heartbeat. Every instinct in me screamed back away! But my feet refused to move.

When he stopped, barely an inch separated us.

He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I meant every bit of what I asked you earlier.”

My eyes widened.

Before I could form a reply, he pulled back with that faint, sinful smirk, gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and walked out.

I stood frozen, staring blankly as his filthy opening question echoed in my head. ‘Do you taste as good as your food?’

What the hell does he mean by that?

I let out a quick breath.

Maybe I should've stuck to my old routine—preparing the meals in my kitchen and sending them over with my delivery rider.

My first time accepting an in-person weekend booking with the Carl brothers, and one of them had already left me completely out of my depth.

God only knew what the other two would be like.

After a quick wash and change into my work clothes, I headed downstairs, somehow managing to find my way. The moment I stepped into the sitting room, I stopped in my tracks.

Another man stood there, absently twirling his car keys while talking on the phone. Slightly taller than Julian, he wore a relaxed black T-shirt, his brown hair falling carelessly across his forehead. There was something effortlessly warm about his smile—dangerously easy to like.

They're back already? I wondered.

As if sensing my presence, his gaze snapped to mine. Without breaking eye contact, he ended the call abruptly.

“Hey… Chef Lilith?” He flashed a smug grin and walked straight toward me.

“Oh—yes,” I stammered.

He closed the distance between us and reached out to straighten the strap of my apron without asking. The casual touch stole my breath.

"You look nervous," he teased. "Are you?"

"N-No. I'm not," I lied.

"Alright." He smiled. "I'm Theo. I'm sure you've already met Julian."

"Mm."

Theo Carl—the youngest and last Carl brother. The family's infamous obsessive lover boy, a talented yet arrogant artist. Rumor had it he'd dumped his girlfriend of six years because she'd laughed too hard at another man's joke. How funny.

"Uhmm... Julian was supposed to show me the kitchen." I said.

Theo's grin widened. "He's busy right now. So, let me do the honors, chef Lilith."

"Oh.. okay."

With a slight tilt of his head, he motioned for me to follow. I fell into step beside him as he led me to a breathtaking kitchen fitted with top-of-the-line appliances, a massive double-door refrigerator, and cabinets stocked to perfection.

“Everything you'd be needing is here,” he said, gesturing around the kitchen. “Except those special, sumptuous ingredients of yours. I'd love to taste.”

“Oh... okay, thanks,” I said anyway, though there was more to the way he said it.

"Yeah”

"You got back earlier than expected,” I said with a small smile. So far, Theo seemed a little less intense than Julian.

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Damien lost a snooker match to some amateur. He's been in a mood.”

His gaze lingered on me before he slowly circled where I stood, openly taking me in.

“And.” he said with a grin. “I was actually going to say you look even more beautiful in person.”

“Thank you,” I replied, resisting the urge to let my eyes wander over him the way his had over me. I'd just decided he was better than Julian... but maybe I'd judged too soon.

“Theo, please go help with the boards.” A deep, gravelly voice came from the doorway.

I turned sharply.

Another sinfully sculpted man stood there with a bottle of water in one hand. His hazel eyes moved slowly over me despite the apron.

Theo brushed past him with a wink in my direction, but the newcomer never took his eyes off me.

“Lilith...” He drawled as he approached. “Damien. It’s my pleasure.” He extended his hand.

And finally, I got to meet the eldest of the Carl brothers, reputed to be the richest, most arrogant, and most commanding.

I swallowed hard and slipped my hand into his. His grip lingered longer than necessary, warm and possessive.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips slowly, and my pulse slammed against my throat.

I was here for one weekend only to cook for three billionaire brothers. Nothing more.

But the way all three of them had looked at me made one thing chillingly obvious; they hadn't hired me just for my cooking.

I was part of the menu.