by Cassia Leo
“That emotional manipulation. I know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, and takes another sip of tea. “Maybe we should discuss something else. You know, I was talking to your cousin Ian the other day about his girlfriend and I told him that saying. Do you remember the one I’m talking about? Bhālōbāsi yakhana pārō, kālakē pratiśruti dē'ōẏā haẏani.”
I down the rest of my whiskey and sit back on the sofa as I realize I won’t be getting any advice from my mother today. “Mum, you know my Bengali is beyond rusty. What does that mean?”
“It means: Love when you can, tomorrow is not promised. And it’s not Bengali. It’s an old Sanskrit saying.” She looks to my father. “You know there’s eighty-six different ways to say love in Sanskrit and only one way to say it in English.”
“Probably because if you’re English there’s only one meaning: pain,” I grumble.
“Oh, stop it,” she chides me. “You should be grateful if love has come into your life. And I will leave it at that. I have to go. I have dough rising.”
“Are you making naan?” I ask, the memory of my mother’s amazing garlic naan making me homesick.
“Goodbye, darling,” she says, ending the call without answering my question, making certain she leaves me with her parting thoughts on love.
Unfortunately, I’m not in love with Alice, so my mum’s wisdom does nothing to ease my worries about the situation I’ve gotten myself into.
Alice and I barely know each other.
Unless you count the fact that, through Edward, she’s essentially already seen me naked many more times than I care to admit or imagine. And there’s no denying the way she reminds me so much of Priya, the last and only girl I’ve ever loved.
But I can’t be in love with a woman I’ve only known for a fortnight.
A woman I’ve worked closely with.
A woman I’ve hand-fed.
A woman I’ve kissed.
A woman I’ve slept with.
A woman whose honor I defended…against my own brother...in public.
I curse so loudly, my neighbor in the flat next door pounds on the wall between us, but I can’t be bothered to apologize. My mind is focused on one thing only. A single question. A question with an answer that could complicate my life beyond measure.
Am I really in love with Alice?
Chapter 13
ALICE
It’s been almost a week since we kissed in Ethan’s office, and I’ve arrived early to work three times in the hopes of catching him alone again. Working in the front of the house, I hardly ever see the inside of the kitchen where Ethan spends all his time. I’ve tried sneaking in there to breathe in the hectic atmosphere I miss so much. But every time I steal away, I run into Ollie, who wants to know why I’m not manning the reception desk.
I told myself this morning, when I left forty-five minutes earlier than necessary, that this would be the last time I try to catch Ethan alone. But fate smiles down on me when I find him in his office, moving sticky notes around on the whiteboard he uses for tracking projects.
“Are you busy?” I ask. “I can come back later.”
Please tell me I can come back later.
He whips his head around. “Alice…” His voice trails off as a smile spreads across his handsome face. “Aren’t you a tad early for your shift?”
I glance at the clock on the wall as if I’m unaware what time it is. “Just a few minutes, I think.”
“Well, that actually works out, because you’re just the person I wanted to see.”
“Really?” I reply, feigning surprise.
“Yes, I have something very important to discuss with you. Please shut the door.”
I try not to look too excited by his request as I turn around to close it behind me. But I wonder if the way I shut the door very slowly, so as not to call attention to the sound it makes, gives away my not-so-secret desires. As stealthily as I can, I twist the locking mechanism. When I turn around, Ethan is right in front of me.
His eyes are blazing with hunger. I gasp as he grabs my face and presses his lips to mine. His kiss ravages me. There’s an intoxicating urgency to it, yet it still feels methodical and precise, like every tilt of his head and brush of his tongue is meant to hit a different pleasure center.
My knees turn to jelly as his tongue slides in and out of my mouth in a suggestive way. I reach up to grab fistfuls of his dark hair to steady myself as his teeth nip at my bruised lips. He takes this as an invitation for his hands to caress their way down my body, one grasping my neck as his other hand squeezes my breast.
“Oh, God,” I moan the words against his mouth as his thumb brushes the fabric over my hardened nipple.
“We have to be quiet,” he whispers as his hand cups my breast.
“I thought we had to discuss something very important,” I murmur as his lips land on my jaw.
He licks my skin, tracing a line to my ear, and whispers, “We should discuss how much I want to be inside you right now.”
The throbbing between my legs turns into a deep ache. “How… How much is that?”
His hand slides away from my breast, moving down my waist, over the small of my back, and lands on my ass. He pulls me closer as he presses his hips against mine, allowing me to feel how much he wants to be inside me.
“That much, huh?” I whisper breathlessly.
His teeth scrape over my earlobe and I whimper, the sound making the bulge in his pants twitch. “More than you can possibly imagine,” he growls softly. “I want to do things to your body no respectful gentleman should ever do to a woman.”
“Please tell me you’re not a respectful gentleman,” I beg.
He laughs as he kisses his way back to my mouth. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
The serious implication behind his words takes me by surprise. He must sense my shock, as he quickly corrects himself.
“In here. I’ll be whatever you want me to be in here.”
My stomach drops as I turn my face away from his and my hands drop to my sides.
He leans his head back to get a better look at my face, and he immediately recognizes his mistake. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
I nod as searing disappointment burns inside me. “Sure.”
He lets go of me and takes a step back, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to think of something to say. “I’m not using you, Alice.”
I remember the words Minka spoke to me a few weeks ago, when she was trying to persuade me to take the job at Forked: That little creep was using you to compensate for his shortcomings.
She was speaking of Edward at the time.
But Ethan and Edward are twins.
“I should get to work,” I mutter, straightening the wrinkles in my T-shirt left by Ethan’s hands.
I turn to face the door and his chest presses against my back as I begin to turn the lock. “What are you doing?”
His breath tickles my ear as he leans in and whispers, “I promise I won’t hurt you the way he did.”
My shoulders relax as I let out the breath I was holding. “Forgive me if I’ll have to see that before I believe it.”
Before I can turn the door handle, he spins me around and fixes me with an intense glare. “Let’s start now,” he says, and my mind conjures up filthy images of whatever it is he wants to start. “I promised you if things went well on opening night, we’d put you in the kitchen. And I’m hearing a lot of great feedback.”
“Really?” I say.
I don’t add that I’ve been purposely avoiding social media. I don’t want to know what people are saying about Ethan tossing Edward out on his ass.
He looks confused. “You haven’t looked at the reviews yet?”
I wince at his words. “I’m not much of a googler.”
“You’re not the least bit curious to see what people are saying about what happened with Edward on opening night?”
I let out a sigh. “I saw it happen. I don’t really care what anyone thinks.”
“You saw that?”
I smile sheepishly. “I may have peeked through the staff door.”
“Did you hear what we were saying?” he asks, a note of dread in his voice.
“Only when Edward got all loud and huffy. That brought back pleasant memories,” I remark.
He definitely appears relieved by my response.
“Why? Is there something you didn’t want me to hear?”
“No. He was just being himself. You know Edward, always whinging about nonsense,” he says, taking a step back, his gaze sliding down the length of my body as he seems to ponder other more appealing topics. “Back to what I was saying. I’ll need a few days to rearrange schedules, but we can switch you to half-time hostess, half-time sous chef trainee next week.”
I swallow hard as I suddenly remember I haven’t cooked in a professional setting in roughly seven months. “Already?”
He looks confused. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“I do!” I reply hastily. “It’s just, I thought you might start me on the line or something. I didn’t expect to go straight to sous chef.”
“Sous chef trainee,” he corrects me.
I bristle at the clarification. “Are you implying I won’t be paid while I’m being trained?”
He smiles at my question. “Why? Would you rather be paid in something other than money?”
I roll my eyes. “If you’d rather pay me in diamonds and pearls, I won’t complain.”
He steps forward, closing the gap between us as he reaches up to run the tip of his finger along my collar bone. “Pearls? Like a pearl necklace?”
“Actually,” I say, my mouth going dry as his finger traces a line down the middle of my chest, stopping at the button of my jeans, “a paycheck is…fine.”
His hand lingers on my waist as his lips hover over mine. “Paycheck it is,” he murmurs as he hooks his finger in my waistband and yanks me toward him so I can feel the hard ridge in his pants. “We can negotiate your perks package later,” he says with a strong emphasis on the word package.
I draw in a stuttered breath. “Be prepared to capitulate to my demands, because you’d better believe I’ll be bringing the heat.”
He chuckles and his breath tickles the hairs near my ears. “Is that so?” he says, his palm sweeping across my skin as he slides his hand into my jeans. “Well, I’m packing some pretty serious heat myself.” He watches me hungrily as his finger finds my sensitive spot and I let out a soft whimper. “I have a feeling you’ll be the one submitting to my demands.”
I grab onto his shoulders for support as he gently massages my swollen clit. “Okay,” I whisper, my resolve melting into a puddle in my panties.
“Okay?” he says, pausing the movement of his finger.
I nod desperately. “Yes. Yes, we can do it your way,” I reply, eager to say whatever it takes to get him to keep going.
“Yes? Yes…what?”
My eyes widen as his finger slides inside me. “Yes…please?”
He smiles as he uses my slick arousal to stroke my hard pearl. “Close.”
I moan softly, then I gasp with frustration as his finger pauses again. “Yes, please…” I mutter almost to myself a few times before it finally dawns on me. “Yes, Chef!”
He lets out a sexy laugh at my enthusiasm. “That’s better,” he says as his finger resumes gliding in slow circles over my flesh.
“Oh, my God,” I gasp as the muscles in my legs and my core begin to twitch.
“Not God,” he reminds me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as his finger strokes my tender bud. “Yes, Chef!” I cry out, the intensity of the orgasm rendering me incapable of caring about the volume of my exultations. “Yes! Yes! Ye-eeeesssss, Chef!”
He chuckles softly and wraps his arms around my waist to catch me as I collapse into him. I allow him to pull me onto his lap as he takes a seat in the chair by his desk. Resting my head on his shoulder, I mold my body to his as he presses his lips to my damp forehead.
I inhale the calming scent of his skin for a few minutes until my breathing has slowed. “I should get to work,” I say, though I have no desire to leave the comfort of Ethan’s arms. And, oddly, I also have no fears about whether he wants me to get up.
What is this man doing to me?
He makes me feel like a completely different person. In the few weeks we’ve known each other, he’s helped me stop apologizing for who I am while also teaching me to let go of my rigidity. I’m unsure if I should be grateful for this or if I should be afraid I’m molding myself into someone I’m not.
He loosens his hold on me, so I can stand up, and the expression in his eyes appears as conflicted as the thoughts in my mind. “I’ll leave first, then you can come out in a few minutes.”
I nod in agreement as I rise to my feet on slightly wobbly legs. “Ethan?”
He turns to me as his hand reaches for the door handle. “Yes?”
I point at the hand sanitizer dispenser affixed to the wall next to the door frame.
He dispenses a few foamy pumps into his palm. “I knew that thing would come in handy.”
I shake my head at the awful pun as he exits the office, then I collapse into the chair Ethan just vacated. It’s still warm and smells of him. Pulling my feet onto the seat, I hug my knees to my chest and smile as I wait for my turn to leave the office.
After I’ve replayed the feeling of Ethan’s touch in my mind at least a dozen times, I open the door slowly and peek out into the corridor. It’s empty.
Slipping out into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway, I quietly close the office door behind me. But when I turn around to head to the front of the house, Ollie is standing outside the break room, watching me.
She looks confused as she glances between me and the staff door. “I thought I saw Ethan head toward the bar. Were you alone in his office?”
I shake my head adamantly. “No, I was just…checking to see if he was in there,” I say, both impressed and ashamed by my ability to lie so readily. “Nope. Not there.”
Ollie nods and, still looking a bit skeptical, heads for the staff door. “Ethan just informed me you’re starting in the kitchen next week.”
I follow her into the dining room. “Yeah, he said it’ll be part-time, while I’m training.”
“Training for what?”
I turn my head at the sound of Sandro’s voice on my right. I want to answer his question, but the sight of Mario—and Ethan standing next to him—makes the words catch in my throat.
Mario’s shoulder-length hair is pulled back in the usual low ponytail, and he’s wearing a customary scowl on his long, angular face.
Ethan doesn’t hesitate. “She’s doubling with you starting next week,” he says to Mario, his tone uncharacteristically leaving no room for negotiation.
The rigidity in Ethan’s words is not lost on Mario. “So, I don’t have any say in this?”
Ethan’s face is impassive, almost bored, as he replies, “You can say whatever you’d like, but it won’t change anything. This is the condition I agreed to when I hired Alice. If you have a problem with it, I’m sure Shanice would be happy to double with her instead.” He and Mario engage in a brief staring contest before Ethan speaks again. “We good?”
Mario glances in my direction, then he nods. “Yes, Chef.”
They resume their discussion about a new bourbon cocktail to compliment the wood-fired Tomahawk steak, which has become a fast favorite of Forked’s clientele. I’m tempted to join them, to soak up as much knowledge as I can before I start training next week. But Ollie wants to discuss the day’s specials and wine selections.
As Ollie talks about the various preparations we’ll be offering for today’s monkfish, I steal occasional glances in Ethan’s direction. His arms are crossed over his chest as he chats with Sandro and Mario. I wonder if he’s thinking about what we did in h
is office.
As if he can read my mind, he glances in my direction as he dips his middle finger into a shot glass of bourbon, which Sandro has just offered to him. Ethan slips the finger inside his mouth, and his eyes close as he savors the fiery liquid.
Suddenly, the world is moving in slow motion.
My face flushes with heat at the look of pure pleasure as a grin spreads across his face. He nods slowly as he opens his eyes and licks his lips. Sandro and Mario appear pleased with Ethan’s reaction to the bourbon. My eyes widen as Sandro reaches for the shot.
And, suddenly, time is now moving way too fast as I realize Sandro is going to touch the glass.
I open my mouth to shout a warning. Thankfully, I don’t manage to get any sound out before Ethan pours the shot of bourbon into his mouth and pretends to accidentally drop the glass on the floor, preventing Sandro from touching it.
I clutch my chest with relief at the sound of Ethan’s sexy laughter as he kneels to clean up the mess.
“Alice?”
“Yeah,” I mutter dreamily as I turn my attention back to Ollie.
She narrows her eyes as her gaze flits back and forth between Ethan and me. “Are you and Ethan…?”
I hope I appear as shocked as I would feel if this were a lie. “What? Are you crazy?”
Ollie flashes me a knowing smile and my stomach drops.
“We’re not. I swear we’re not.”
“Sure,” Ollie says, winking conspiratorially.
The relief I felt a moment ago is washed away by a flood of panic. “Please don’t say anything to Mario.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Do you really think I’d discuss someone else’s sex life with Mario? Please don’t offend me like that.”
I let out an enormous sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
But Ollie doesn’t look quite as relieved as I am. “I’m not the one you have to worry about,” she says, nodding toward the bar.
Warner has joined the other three men. I’m not certain, but it appears as if he’s holding a cell phone in the air as he looks directly at me.
“What is he doing?” I ask almost to myself.