by J. L. Beck
He holds the door for me, and I have to squint against the dark ambiance smudging my vision after the bright sun. When my eyes finally adjust, I blink a few times. White-covered empty tables pepper the elegant room in perfectly spaced increments. A mahogany bar lines the back wall, giving the entire place a sophisticated atmosphere. Waiters stand in a long line, each one bowing in turn. No customers occupy any of the seats. It’s five P.M., still early, but not early enough for the place to be cleared out.
A man in a chef’s coat rushes from the kitchen, holding out his hand in anticipation of shaking. “Ah, welcome, welcome!” he says in a thick Italian accent. A bushy beard coats his olive skin. He grips Colby’s hand with extra fervor, and then turns to me. “And you must be Liliana.” He brings my hand to his lips and plants a delicate kiss.
My eyes fly to Colby, who stands there rigid beside me, and a bolt of something like guilt shoots through me.
Two waiters hold out chef’s coats to each of us. I squint at Colby in confusion.
“Put it on.” He shrugs his arms into his own coat. “We’re getting a private cooking lesson from Giorgio himself.”
My mouth parts and a tiny little gasp escapes. “What? How?” Emotion piles in my throat, making it difficult to swallow. “I mean, I know how.” The answer to that question is simply dollar signs. “But why?” Why did he set this up for me?
He combs his bangs out of his eyes with long, slender fingers. “I know it’s not a full education, but this will look great on your resumé.”
“And I’ve promised to give you a personal recommendation to the culinary institute of your choosing,” Giorgio adds.
My pupils swim as I study Colby, checking for some kind of catch. A hidden camera, waiting in the wings. An audience laughing at my expense. But it’s just the two of us, in this empty room, standing within the nicest gesture anyone has ever done for me.
Without thinking, I throw my arms around Colby. My fingers interlock around his neck and I bury my head in his shoulder, breathing in the musky cologne he must have applied before getting into the limo. My heart is so full that it almost feels like this dream is in my grasp. Even though being a chef was never my dream at all before I started this job. But it could be. In another life, this could be my everything.
My whole body buzzes as we follow Chef Giorgio into the immaculate kitchen. The stainless steel counter tops and appliances give the place an industrial feel. Colby watches me like a proud Papa as I chop onions and carrots with perfect technique and vigor after following Giorgio’s clear instructions.
“Watch out,” Giorgio says. “The girl has a way with a knife.”
“That’s not all I have a way with,” I blurt before I can stop myself. Colby’s brows shoot way up at my insinuation and I have to look away to prevent him from seeing the blush creeping across my cheeks. God, I have to stop flirting. The tap tap tap of my knife hitting the cutting board covers the thump of my heart.
“Cooking,” Giorgio says with the kind of passion that makes everyone in the room clamp their mouths shut. “It’s science. It’s innate. It’s love.” He presses the tips of his fingers together and kisses them, then yanks them away from his mouth with the force of a baseball pitch.
His words seep into me, burrowing into my soul. My veins dance and I watch with wide eyes as he makes a rue from butter and flour, then adds it to a pan where beef stock is reducing with red wine. Savory scents make my stomach gurgle. I hover over my own pan and stir with the same kind of gusto as Giorgio. When I glance over at Colby, the sight pulls at the core of me. He stares at his pot in utter concentration, his brow furrowing at the stubborn clumps that refuse to smooth out despite the urgent swirls of his spoon. I gently nudge him out of the way with my hip and work my stirring magic on his pot, using short but powerful strokes to whip the mixture into submission. He can only stare at me, mouth parted.
I ace nearly every lesson Giorgio throws at me. Only a few days ago I could barely make eggs and now I’m making a decadent Italian meal people pay hundreds of dollars for. I beam with pride after Giorgio tastes my dish and gives me the greatest compliment I could have received: a kiss of his fingertips. When Colby and I finally sit down to eat our creations at a dimly lit table for two, it’s like an orgasm in my mouth. After each bite, I moan and gasp and wish it lasted longer.
Colby laughs at my reaction. “I guess you’re enjoying yourself as much as I am.”
I pause with my red wine glass tipped against my lips. His words thunder through me with the force of a lightning bolt. “You’re—you’re enjoying yourself?” Something in my chest tingles with this news.
He sputters, back peddling. “I mean, yeah. Who wouldn’t have a great time being taught how to cook by one of the greatest chefs in the world?” He stalls by taking a swallow of his own wine. “And I learned a very valuable lesson today.” His eyes meet mine with a kind of intensity that makes me blush. “I made an excellent decision when I decided to hire a personal chef.”
My stomach does a little flip. There’s a part of me that buzzes in excitement over his insinuation that the excellent decision is more about hiring me than a hiring a chef in general. His decision was excellent. For me. For the brooch.
Giorgio finishes the meal with the most amazing chocolate panna cotta that nearly makes me melt in a puddle in my seat. He sends me out the door with an autographed cookbook and a million ideas to try for tomorrow’s meals.
Exhaust fumes curl into the night air from Colby’s limo idling in front of the entrance. Darkness coats the backdrop, shrouding all the swaying palm trees in mystery. A fat moon hovers low in the sky, as if it’s sneaking up on us conspiratorially. Like a gentleman, he opens the back door for me, but I don’t want this night to end. Not now. Not yet. Instead, I brush right past him and circle to the driver’s door. I knock on the window with my knuckles, the staccato sound echoing in the night air.
“What are you doing?” Colby shouts to me. Wind snatches his hair and blows the strands into his eyes.
Leo, the driver, rolls down the window, and I lean forward, curling my fingers over the edge of the glass. I keep my voice low as I whisper the address of my thank you gift to Colby. Leo nods. I can’t keep the smug smile off my face when I finally join Colby inside the leather seats. This time we sit side by side, instead of on opposite rows, as if, like yesterday, we’re equals.
“What did you tell him?” There’s a hint of curtness in his voice as he squints at me.
“You had a surprise for me. Now it’s my turn to surprise you.”
That shuts him up. He turns toward the window, watching streetlights whip by into streaks instead of circles.
After a few minutes, the limo crunches over the gravel parking lot of the seediest bar in the Miami greater area. Girls in low cut tops and even shorter skirts stand in a long bouncer line, intermixed with guys wearing the uniform of all guys in bars: button down shirts, low slung jeans, and a fat wallet to pay for drinks. The neon lights blink on and off, showcasing the words Monkey Joe’s before hiding them from view. Bright street lamps flood harsh light that illuminates the building’s weaknesses: chipped bricks, faded graffiti that was too stubborn to rub off completely, and a stain too red to be anything else but blood.
Colby tilts his head at me, swallowing hard. “And we’re here because…?”
“Because we’re going to have fun.” I kick open the door, which seems appropriate in a place like this. “You told me it’s been way too long since you went out. And in my opinion, there’s nothing better than a dive bar with loud music and a bunch of strangers with the same goal: to have a damn good time.” I grab his hand before he can answer and tug him out of the car.
He wobbles on the pebbles that shift and slide beneath his feet before getting his bearings, but he doesn’t protest as I lead him toward the back of the line.
He reaches for his wallet. “I’m sure I could persuade the bouncer to let—”
“Nope.” I plant my feet at the back
of the line. “We’re doing this old school tonight.”
He rakes his hand through his hair. “Okay.”
It takes twenty minutes to get to the front and the entire time, Colby looks more and more skeptical, darting his head around, checking to make sure the limo hasn’t abandoned us even though Leo was the one who choice this place upon my direction to find us a bar we could let loose at. When it’s finally our turn, I can’t tell if the breath Colby sucks in is out of relief or trepidation. The bouncer demands five-dollar co-pays.
“Sorry, what? Did you say fifty?” Colby opens his wallet.
“Nah, man. Five. Each,” the bouncer says in an annoyed way, as if Colby may not have enough to fork over ten big ones.
Colby hands over a ten-dollar bill reluctantly, as if he still doesn’t trust that the price of admission to this place is the same as a latte or two at Starbucks. I push him inside before he can question the bouncer again.
The place swells with heat and bodies packed tightly together. Most of the light stems from the back lit bar counter and the liquor glowing blue on the shelves. The heavy bass of a Rihanna song hits me right in the gut, each pump of the guitar becoming a part of my body. People slam into us with no regard for personal space. Not in a place like this.
Colby clutches onto my hand tightly.
I rise on tiptoes and pull his ear to my lips. “Drink?”
“God yes.”
We weave through the crowd, and Colby follows my lead as I push to make a path as if I’m sweeping away low branches on a forest hike. When we reach the bar, he leans far forward toward the bartender. “Hennessy on the rocks with—”
I press my fingers to his lips. “We’re in a dive bar. Tonight we drink like the locals.” I jut my chin toward the watered down well drinks in every girl’s hand. “Two lemon drop shots and two Long Island Iced Teas,” I tell the bartender.
“You’re joking, right?”
“These drinks have the most bang for your buck when you’re broke. A shot of straight vodka, followed by a well drink made with four different liquors. Nothing better.”
“Other than a bottle of six hundred dollar wine like we had at dinner tonight.”
I nearly choke on my tongue at that news, but ignore it when the bartender slides two small glasses filled with clear liquid and two lemons wobbling on a napkin. I lift my glass. “To a night to remember.”
He taps his glass against mine. “I already can’t forget.”
The liquid stings as it slides down my throat. I fight against squeezing my eyes and puckering my mouth, instead reaching for the lemon and biting down to let the citrus wash away the sharp taste of the alcohol. When the iced teas arrive, I suck down a few gulps for extra measure. Colby pays for our drinks and leaves a tip that makes the bartender’s eyes bug out at his generosity.
He swivels toward me. “You’re amazing, you know.”
I sputter at this random comment, trying hard not to blush. “I mean, obviously. But what in particular amazes you?”
He steps toward me, standing so close, his breath blows my hair dancing around my shoulders. “Tonight. How much you’ve improved in only a short time. How happy you were cooking.”
“I was also happy with the eating part.” I bring my straw to my lips and glance up at him beneath my eyelashes, sipping in a seductive way. “You were happy too, I noticed.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a breath. “And that’s what amazes me too. Despite everything going on with my mom“—His chin quivers—“You managed to do exactly what I needed.”
The song changes to the new one from Lady Gaga. Our gazes swim, locked on each other.
“I know what else you need.” I suck down my iced tea and throw my hands in the air. Colby does the same, then steps toward me as I wiggle my hips to the beats of the song. He makes no move to dance.
“I thought you wanted to have fun?” I lift my brow.
“I do.” He steps closer to me, his body heat radiating. He wears an almost animalistic gaze as his hungry eyes meet mine.
Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the latent desire pulsing in my core, but I throw my arms around his neck and coax his body into movement. “Are you having fun yet?” I whisper against his neck.
“Getting warmer.” He clutches my waist and the room disappears. The whole world disappears. The only thing that’s left is his hands on me and the heat swirling in my veins.
We rock together to the beat and with each revolution of our hips, our bodies move even closer. His knee slides between my legs. My cheek presses against his. Our torsos interlock. I can feel his pulse zipping beneath my fingers and I know he can hear the audible moan I let out when he trails his hands up my sides. Fire and warmth radiate from his touch. “How about now?”
“Not quite there yet.” His memorizing gaze traps me, rendering me powerless against the tingles that ignite beneath his forbidden fingers. I clutch desperately at the back of his shirt, clinging on for dear life. We sway to the music, but there’s a different kind of dizziness blotting out all thought except one: closer. I need him closer.
There’s a desperate ache between my legs that’s almost unbearable.
God, this is wrong. This is so damn wrong.
But damn, it feels so right.
6
We stumble up to his back entrance, giggling and clutching at each other. Our hands haven’t left each other’s bodies in some capacity since we started dancing, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Colby tonight, it’s that he’s a perfect gentleman. A frustratingly perfect gentleman. Though it’s probably a good thing he didn’t try to kiss me. I would have had to stop him. I can’t kiss the guy I’m planning to screw over.
A dim porch light illuminates the two keypads resting beside his door, the ones that Galina shielded her hand in front of to prevent me from getting a glimpse, but Colby doesn’t take such precautions. He punches in his entry code in full view and does the same with the alarm code. 0330. 0719. The numbers stick to my tongue like peanut butter and I repeat them over and over like a mantra until they’re engraved in my brain, a part of me now. I don’t need to snoop when he’s home. Now I can have full reign of searching his house as soon as he’s out.
That thought sends a little thrill through me.
Ever since the dance, there’s been an electric connection crackling between us, a spark that blazes through me, growing hotter and hotter. Neither of us dares to speak, as if words might put voice to what we shouldn’t be feeling. Or thinking. Or doing. There’s a spell in the air and we can’t risk breaking it.
Inside his house, the only light comes from beneath the cabinets in the kitchen. Sounds magnify in the darkness, turning my beating heart into the detonation of a bomb. My keys glint on the countertop where I’d left them earlier. Colby follows my gaze to where they rest.
“I can’t drive,” I whisper. There’s something about this moment that warrants secrecy. Discretion. “Not like this.” I press a palm to my swimming head, but I’m not sure it’s the alcohol making me dizzy.
“I know.” He stands so close, his breath sends my hair dancing. A thousand goose bumps pop along my skin.
“Could your driver take me home?” I force the words out despite every cell in my body screaming in protest. I need to leave. Before I do something stupid.
“No.” He steps even closer until my back hits the edge of the table. His arms press against either side of me, palms down on the surface, trapping me in his embrace. His lips graze against my ear, so balmy and close, my veins ache. “Stay.”
My hands come up and press against his chest but stop short of pushing him away. “I can’t.” Instead I trail my fingers down the defined pecs that he hides beneath those pesky things called shirts. “I—“
Colby brushes his lips against my ear in a tantalizing way that makes my breathing quicken. He sweeps his tongue along my jaw, releasing a jolt of desire that shocks through me with the force of a lightning bolt.
&nb
sp; “We can’t.” I scramble for the back of his shirt, running my fingers along the hot skin of his lower back.
“I know.” His lips hover against mine, teasingly, driving me insane.
I arch upward as hot need bursts through me, making me shudder. Everything inside me cries out for his touch. “We shouldn’t,” I whisper again, more to remind myself than him. His only obstacle is that he’s my boss. Mine is that I plan to rob him blind. This is wrong, illicit, forbidden.
Forbidden.
The word pulls me up short. It should be a showstopper. Instead it only makes me moan with desire.
“You don’t sound convinced.” He tugs at the hem of my skirt, scooping the fabric up up up my leg. His fingers continue their trail, heading right toward the source of all heat in my body. The spot between my legs pulses with anticipation.
I press against him harder, closer. “Convince me.”
He plunges his lips against mine in a fierce kiss that leaves me breathless. His mouth is hot and hungry, kissing me with no abandon. A fluttering sensation shocks through me, making me gasp.
The kiss grows hot and fierce, our mouths moving in unison while our hands roam along the contours of each other’s bodies. His fingers press against me over my panties, rubbing and stroking and getting me hot and desperate until he backtracks.
“Don’t stop!” I gasp out.
“I’ll take that as you being convinced,” he whispers.
His palms slide along my legs, then my torso, before leaving a trail of tingles along my bare arms, and my eyes fall shut to savor the glorious sensation. His mouth descends to my neck, sucking and lighting up the nerve endings there with glorious strokes of his tongue. I gasp, gripping him tighter.
When he removes my clothes, he makes sure to dance his fingertips and tongue over every inch of skin he exposes. My nipples harden as he sucks each one into his mouth and forces out the gasp I’ve been trying to hold onto. My head falls back, eyelids descending shut while I lose myself in the incredible swirl of sensation radiating from the tip of his tongue. A deep groan rips from my lips as the throb at my core swells with insistence.