I finish mine and pour myself another.
"What do you mean?"
"I went to work for a county hospital where the preemies weren't born to parents who sat with them in the nursery. Most of the babies were delivered to women who were drug dependent. Some of them were even in jail. There weren't enough nurses to give them the attention they so desperately needed. There wasn't a day last year that I didn't lose at least one patient. I know it's part of the job..." she stares off again and the bleakness in her eyes makes me want to put her in my lap and hug her. She sighs, deep and long, and shakes her head. "Two months ago, we had a woman back in with her second preemie. She had been clean when her pregnancy started, but at her twenty-week appointment, she tested positive for narcotics. When that happens, in Maryland, anyway, they immediately refer to CPS and in her case, when the baby was born three months early, the state took custody,"
"Wow, that's so awful," I say feeling like more inadequate words had never been spoken. But it’s all I could offer.
"Yeah, for everyone, " she says. "Mom got out of rehab a month later and came back to the hospital. Armed." She says grimly.
My stomach drops.
"What happened?"
"She shot me, then herself," she murmurs, and my eyes nearly bug out of my head.
"She shot you?" I gawk at her.
"Yes," she says simply before she stands up. She pulls up her top and shows me a jagged, pink scar that mars the otherwise flawless skin across her ribs.
"Holy shit.” All I can do is stare at the scar.
"Yeah," she runs her fingers over the scar absently. "It wasn't a serious injury. I was lucky she didn't have better aim,” she says and then sits back down. “But after that, I couldn't go back into the hospital. I took a month off. I knew I couldn’t ever go back. I want to practice medicine, but it felt more like trying to stem a gushing artery. I felt like a failure, a quitter. But I needed to leave. I resigned. I started looking for a place where I could clear my head and hide from the world.” She glances around my kitchen. "So, here I am."
"Where's your family?" I ask her in awe of how calm she is.
"My parents live in Newport News, Virginia. They were thrilled when I quit. They never wanted me to practice medicine. It's not what the daughter of socialites does. I couldn't go home. No one understood. My boyfriend said I was being dramatic," she says and a wave of disappointment rushes over me.
"Where's he?" I ask even though I don't really want to know.
"In Maryland. We broke up. Or at least I broke up with him. He thinks I'm going to come to my senses and come home."
"Are you?" I ask a little kernel of hope lodges itself into my chest.
"Nope. We were together for six years and walking away from him was easier than walking away from my job. I suppose I'll always love him, but..."
"But..." I prompt, desperate to know what she's going to add.
"He's not the one. At least not for me." Relief replaces my worry, and I nod in very false sympathy.
"That's too bad," I say.
"No. He cheated on me constantly," she shrugs.
"Well, he's a fool," I state the obvious.
"I guess," she says as if she's not sure. "I didn't find out until a few months before the...incident. He asked me to work it out. He told me the women didn't mean anything to him. It meant something to me. I don't know why I stayed as long as I did, but after everything happened and he called me dramatic, walking away wasn't hard at all."
"I'm sure he's kicking himself," I say.
"Maybe. But it doesn't matter. It shouldn't take losing someone to know you want to be with them. I think he'd do it all over again. He didn't want to be my man. He just wanted me to be his girl."
"I know a lot of men like that. Want to possess a woman, but don't want to give her as good as they get," I say thinking about all of the guys I'd met since I started being a celebrity chef.
"What about you?" she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.
"What about me?" I ask purposely, evading her question. My dating record was nothing to write home about.
"You single?"
"Yeah, I was kind of married to my job. I worked a lot. I didn't have more than the casual fling. At least not since culinary school. I just..." I try to think of how to be honest without sounding like a total douche. "I was holding out for something special. Someone who loves life. Someone who wants more than just money and fame. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. But it's not why I became a chef. I didn't handle things the right way when I left, but I felt like I was drowning. I hated the way I made those young chefs feel," I admit. I've never said this to anyone, but every time I think about the show, I cringe.
"Why? Were you harder on them than they deserved?" she asks with genuine interest.
"No. Culinary school was brutal, but it wasn't televised. No one saw me get reamed for my mistakes. One of the guys I kicked out of the kitchen gave up cooking. I was sick to my stomach when I heard. I just couldn't do it anymore. I hated cooking. The people who ate my food only seemed interested in finding fault with it or bragging about eating at my restaurant. I've enjoyed this meal more than any other I've cooked in over three years. I loved watching you eat it."
She flushes.
"Really? Well I loved that you watched me eat it. In fact, I'm loving this whole afternoon," she says with a smile that is just bordering on seductive.
"Me, too. I think we should make this a standing date. Lunch, with champagne. Every day."
"I like the sound of that," she says and leans forward.
I lean across the table and grab her hand. Her eyes fly to mine wide with surprise and then.
"I want to kiss you, Franchesca. In the worst way. Like I've never wanted to kiss anyone. I know this sounds totally insane seeing how we met this morning."
She squeezes my hand back. "I've been watching you for a week," she confesses. My mouth goes dry, and it takes herculean effort not to hurdle across the table and kiss her right then. Her eyes are locked on mine. There's no blushing, no coy glances. I fucking love it. "My attraction might be a little more advanced than yours. I didn't expect you to be so damn nice. And easy to talk to. I want you..."
"I want you, too. But...are you sure this isn't the champagne talking?" I ask and glance pointedly at the nearly empty bottle.
"Maybe," she says her gaze never leaving mine, the heat in her eyes never dimming."But it's only saying what I've been thinking since the first time I saw your running up your walk way."
"Fuck," I groan. "Really?"
"Yes, really." She nods and then she lifts out of her chair, leans over the table so that we're nearly nose to nose.
And then she says, "Let's add fucking to our list of lunch time activities, shall we?"
Four
FRANCHESCA
* * *
I can't believe I just said that, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I'm glad I did. His eyes go from heated to blazing. Before I can wonder if maybe I've been overzealous, he growls and cups the back of my neck and kisses me. His mouth is like nothing I've ever felt before. Yet, at the same time, I know his touch. The sigh that leaves me is one of relief and happiness. My lips have dreamed of a kiss like this. I have dreamed of a kiss like this. I thought it was the stuff of fairy tales and romance novels.
Now, it's happening to me, and all I can think is that I'll never be the same. Nothing could compare to this. I run my hands up his broad, strong shoulders and hold on for dear life. His tongue sweeps my bottom lip and open for him. As soon as our tongues touch, the kiss changes.
It becomes hungry and desperate. In the periphery of my awareness, I hear the crash of glass and the thud of silverware hitting the floor. Then he's lifting me off my feet and laying me on the table.
"Franchesca, your lips. They’re the most delicious thing I've ever tasted," he murmurs as his mouth leaves trails across my cheek.
"Oh, Max..." I sigh when his lips close over m
y ear lobe and then fasten to my neck. My thighs spread, and he nestles between them. Our bodies fit like they are two halves of the same whole and when I feel the hot, hardness of his erection pressing into the throbbing core of my body, I groan. His lips hover over mine; the champagne on his breath makes me giddy and sends a streak of excitement through my entire body.
"Say my name again, Franchesca," he commands with a short, sharp thrust of his hips that presses the head of his cock into my clit.
"Max," I half sob, and suddenly I feel a desperate need to feel his skin on mine.
I start o tear at his shirt, "Baby, please..." I moan mindlessly.
"You don't have to ask for anything, Franchesca," He lifts off and pulls it all of the way off with one hand and yanks my tank top down in one swift tug that takes my bra with it. His blazing blue eyes burn a path over my body. I'm normally so self conscious about my double Ds but right now, I hope he never stops looking at them.
"You're so fucking sexy," he says and for emphasis, he bites his fist. Any other time I might have laughed, but watching his teeth sink into his fingers makes my entire body jealous.
"Bite me like that," I whisper, and his eyes drop to half mast. He leans over me, brushes my hair out of the way and nips my shoulder. I shudder, and my core feels like it's made up of nothing but molten liquid.
He bites and kisses his way down my body until he gets to my breasts. He cups them both and stares.
"These are going to be my after lunch snack. In between the salmon and dessert..." He says and swipes my already rigid nipples with his thumbs.
My body is quivering, my chest is heaving and yet, I find the presence of mind to ask, "There’s dessert?"
"Yes, for me, anyway," he says and flicks the tip of tongue over my right nipple.
"Hmmm?" I ask not even sure what he's talking about.
"After I'm done with my snack, I'm going to fuck you. Then, I'm going to eat your pussy for dessert," his voice full of sinful promises and nearly palpable need.
"Oh my God. Yes, all of that. I want all of that..." I croon into the crown of his head while his hot mouth covers my nipple and starts to suck and bite until it feels like he's pulling a string between it and my pussy. Every suck draws the tension tighter and tighter. I let go of his head and reach between us to unbutton my shorts.
"Do you have a condom?" I ask him.
"Do I need one?" he says after releasing my swollen, pulsing nipple from his mouth.
"Don't you?" I say, surprised and turned on by his question.
"Fuck no," he murmurs, and I look down to find his very serious eyes on my face. "I want to fuck you bare so badly. I want to feel you creaming on my cock. Are you on birth control?"
"Yes, I am. I've never had sex without a condom," I tell him.
"Me neither," he says and leans up to kiss me. His lips are swollen and warm from the attention he paid my nipples.
He hooks his fingers on either side of my shorts and yanks them down.
"Fuck me, Franchesca. Your panties are so fucking sexy. I might need to skip straight to dessert.”
He drops to his knees in front of my perch on the table and puts his face between my legs and breathes in.
"Fucking ambrosia," he whispers before he covers me with his mouth. My back arches, and he grabs my thighs and drapes them over his shoulders. He sucks me through my panties before he pulls them aside. "So fucking pretty and wet," he says before he runs his tongue from my clit to the puckered entrance between my ass cheeks
I cry out and then scream when he moves his mouth to my clit and sucks it gently between his lips. He puts two of his thick fingers inside me and starts to fuck me while his mouth devastates me from the inside out. My orgasm is cresting, and I'm calling his name when surges to his feet and presses into me. There's a delicious burn as I spread to accommodate the thick head of his cock, but my soaking wet pussy makes slide feel like heaven.
"Oh, my fucking God," I hiss when he pulls out after only entering me half way. "Please don't tease me. Fuck me."
"If I fuck you like I want, I might hurt you. Let me take my time."
"Hurt me. I want to feel you every time I stand up or sit down for the next week," I demand.
He groans and grips my hips in a punishing grasp. Then he slams into me so hard the entire table moves.
"Ah. Ohhhhh, Oh...." is all I can manage. His face is a fierce mask of determination, and I'm so turned on by it I feel a surge of moisture between my thighs.
"Fuck, Franchesca, this pussy. I thought eating it was heaven, but being inside you feels like being born again," he grunts before he drops his head to my shoulder wraps his arms around my waist and starts pounding me in earnest.
The orgasm that was building breaks with a blinding intensity that forces my eyes shut.
"Max," I wail his name and press my face to the side of his and hold on while his hips starts to move even more erratically, and I feel the spurts of his release as it fills me, spills out of me, runs down the crack of my ass coating me in the delicious essence of us.
I fall back onto the table, taking him with me. We lie in a heap of shallow, quick, deliciously exhausted breaths for a few minutes before we fall apart.
I stare at the ceiling and try to reconcile what I just did with who I've been my whole life. I've never had sex on a first date, much less fucked a man I met hours earlier without a condom on his dining room table.
But, I've never been so wildly attracted to a man as I am to Max. I slide my gaze over to him and find him watching me.
We stare at each other or a few seconds. Our gazes are searching. I wonder for a split second if he's feeling regret or he’s worried I'll read more into what we just did than was there. But I push that away. He's looking at me like he never wants to stop. I know what passed between us, what's lying between us now, is mutual and rare. "What are you thinking?" I ask him softly.
"When's your birthday?" he responds, and I snort a surprised laugh before we both dissolve into laughter.
I wipe tears from my eyes and go willingly when he pulls me by the waist to him. I snuggle my head into his shoulder and marvel at how easy it is to be with him. There is no awkwardness. I feel happy, in a way I haven't in so long. He trails his fingers up my bare arms and says, "Tell me all the stuff I can only know from you telling me," he says.
"As opposed to?" I ask and press a kiss to bare chest and snuggle even deeper into the crook of his shoulder.
"As opposed to the things I can tell just from looking at you and talking to you." He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I think I've found paradise in this man's arms.
"Like what?" I drawl while I trace circles on the hard planes of his chest.
"You're smart and passionate. Idealistic yet, grounded. You’re unwilling to settle for anything less than being happy. You’re sexy as fuck but not the slightest bit vain, and you take pleasure things just for the sake of enjoying them. No motives, no pretense." He says all of this without pausing to think.
My heart swells to hear him describe me exactly as I view myself. I was with Tad for six years, and he didn't know half of those things about me.
"And when I'm inside of you, it feels as good as cooking used to," he adds.
I throw my arm around his waist, press my cheek to his chest and snuggle as close as I can before I start to speak. "I was born June fifth nineteen eighty-six to Valentina Falisetti and Gerardo Parisi. Both of them are from Naples and came here to expand my father's family's soft drink distribution business. I’m an only child.”
‘I can’t even imagine,” he says and the rumble of voice, combined with the soft thumping of his heart against my face, is more soothing than anything I can remember experiencing.
“It was lonely sometimes, but I was so used to it, when my cousins came to visit, it only took a day before I was ready for them to go back home,”
He chuckles and strokes my back while I continue. “I wear a size ten dress and a size seven and a half shoe. My right foot
is slightly bigger than my left foot. I love all food except for liver and sometimes eggs make me queasy," I tell him.
He laughs and turns us so we're lying on our sides, facing each other.
"That's all good to know," he says before he leans down to kiss me softly.
"Okay, you tell me,” I prompt when our lips pull apart.
"I was born January sixth nineteen eighty-eight," I gasp and my eyes widen.
"What?" he asks completely befuddled.
“I'm older than you," I press.
"And?"
"The man is supposed to be older!" I tell him, shocked that he doesn't know this.
"Well, I'm supposed to be living in Los Angeles. You're supposed to be living in Maryland. How about we agree that what's supposed to be, is. That we're right where we should be. This feels too right for anything else." He says and brushes my hair off my forehead.
"Well, I was just kidding, but now, I can add something to the list of things I already know about you."
He huffs out a laugh. "This should be good."
"It'll be better than good,” I assure him. “ You're a romantic… compassionate. You've got a great sense of humor and you're not too proud to apologize. You're observant, a great cook and you make me feel beautiful."
His eyes soften. "I hope it's not just me that makes you feel that way. I hope you've always known it. Beauty comes from within, and it just makes what's visible to the naked eye even more stunning."
My heart races at his words. Excitement, nerves, glee all infuse my being, and I am so happy I could scream.
"I can't believe this is happening," I tell him.
"Believe it," he says.
"I was born to Jane and Allen Edwards in a small town in outside Medellin. I have three brothers and a baby sister. I expect her to show up here any day. I haven't been home in months, and we're very close. I love food, but I love music even more I think. If I could have played an instrument or carried a tune, music would have been what I did with my life.”
“I’m five feet and eleven inches tall and like my clothes tailored to fit so I don't wear a standard size. My feet are size twelve, and I sleep on the left side. I love the water, and I love the sun."
Beach Reads Page 2