In honor of Pi Day ;)
I need to write out an actual recipe for this tarte! A little excerpt from one of Philippe’s early encounters with Magalie, over “pie”, in THE CHOCOLATE KISS:
[Magalie] looked slowly toward him, as if waking from a pleasant dream.
And jerked, her spoon smearing chocolate over the edge of the pan.
“Allow me.” Philippe couldn’t help himself. The tarte was only one step from him. He grabbed a tissue out of a box as the only thing in her kitchen remotely approximating a professional’s white towels, and he wiped the edge of her pan. One clean sweep, all the way around, getting rid of not only the smear but also those damn crumbs.
He might have yielded to the urge to grab the spoon and smooth that chocolate out properly, except that she looked as if she might hit him with it. He rubbed the dusting of greenish crumbs between his fingers and looked into her furious eyes.
All trace of her smile was gone. She was practically hexing him with her gaze alone. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
His step to the tarte had brought their bodies together: his biceps to her shoulder, his hip to her ribs, his thigh to her hip. There was no space for her to give him in this tiny kitchen. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t have backed up a step even if there was. It drove him mad with arousal, her inability to back up.
“Is that apricot?” On an unlit burner behind the chocolat chaud was an orange mixture that looked and smelled suspiciously like fresh-made apricot jam.
Apricots. The green crumbs of ground pistachios. She had made a pistachio crust. With an apricot filling. The exact flavors in the Désir she had refused a week ago.
Had she been thinking about it? A vindictive smile curled his mouth. Had she regretted what she had refused, until she tried to do something with those flavors herself?
If she had, she was outraged to have him discover it. “What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing—in my kitchen? Get out!”
Excitement kicked through him. He shouldn’t have interfered in her kitchen, that was unarguably true. The most basic etiquette. But now that he had, now that their bodies were touching and she was so mad, he felt an almost irresistible desire to crowd her some more and see what she would do. It unfurled in him, prickling inside him with claws, taunting him into action…