by Gow, Kailin
“And a chef was born.”
“I have to admit I’d been bitten by the cooking bug. Everyone there gushed over the quality of the meal and I knew I wanted to feel that sense of victory again.”
Taryn looked at him and noticed for the first time the man he really was. She’d heard so much talk about him… how tough and brutal he could be, how unforgiving. Many rumors circulated about the number of sous-chefs he’d fired, all for minor offenses.
But as she looked at him now, she saw the little boy who’d found a passion thanks to the loving hand of a sweet old woman he called Nana. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe he was just one of those horribly misunderstood celebrities.
She looked into his brilliant blue eyes, eyes made all the more intense by the dark waves of hair that framed his face. As much as she enjoyed the thought of ending up in his bed, she was pleased with this side of him. Maybe it was for the best.
Chapter 3
The week continued with the same leisurely and casual pace as that quiet and intimate lunch. Taryn and Errol discovered each others’ little quirks, their strange idiosyncrasies and one or two neurosis.
Errol had an almost military discipline when it came to keeping his kitchen clean. No sooner was a dish no longer needed that it was cleaned, dried and put away. Taryn tended to leave things lying around until her space was a tad crowded then she would rush to clean everything at once, something Errol told her to correct.
“I know,” she had said. “Clean as you go. My mom has told me often enough.”
Errol counted out every chop as he cut any vegetable, while Taryn always chimed one potato, two potato.
As they worked on a variation of a gazpacho, Taryn leaned against the counter and looked at Errol. “What’s your take on molecular cooking?”
“A silly, modern trend.”
“Did you ever try it?”
“No, but I’ve tasted the results of a few who have. Either they didn’t have the technique down or the desired result was not what I want when I sit down to a meal.”
“So, I guess then that we won’t be touching on that in class.”
“Not in my class.” He threw three zucchinis into a food processor and pressed the button until they were pureed.
“Tomorrow, right?”
“Yep. You ready?”
“I’ve been ready for the past week. I’ve been ready from the very moment I learned I’d been accepted here.”
“You know, the Institute must have seen real talent in you. Few applicants are accepted.”
“I know,” she gushed.
The next day, Taryn sat front and center in the class of eighteen.
“Today,” Errol said after everyone had introduced themselves to the class, “we’re going to start with a basic run through of different cuts of beef; which cuts to use in soups, which to grill, and which to roast.”
With the help of a PowerPoint presentation, he showed the class the various cuts and gave examples of the best ways to prepare each.
“When preparing a sauce to accompany this cut, what base can you start with?” Errol asked.
“A roux,” Taryn said as she shot her hand into the air.
“Interesting, Taryn…. And how would you prepare your roux?”
“I heat up a saucepan and melt a few tablespoons of butter then add the same amount of flour. Then it’s just a matter of adding a sufficient amount of liquid, like a really strong tea.”
He nodded his acceptance of her answer. “How many of you have attempted to string up a top blade chuck roast?”
A few students tentatively raised their hands, including Taryn.
“How many of you have prepared a rack of lamb?”
Again a few tentative hands rose.
“Okay, so I’m going to have you guys pair up. We’re going to put a few quick skills to the test.”
Taryn turned to the fair haired young man beside her. His eyes lit up when he noticed she was looking his way.
“Henri, right?” she said as she remembered his introduction.
“Oui,” he said. “Yes. We work together, no? Umm… Taryn.”
She instantly fell in love with his French accent and his charming manner. Though she estimated he was a year or two younger than her, he seemed strong and capable. “That’d be great, and you can call me Taryn.”
“Very good, Taryn. You have la passion for cuisine like me,” Henri said as the remainder of the students tried to find suitable companions.
“I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”
“Just like me. I come from a small town. A bit far from Paris. I think my father would have preferred I stay on the farm and tend to his herd of cows. Thankfully my mother had bigger plans for me.”
“I hope your father wasn’t too upset.”
“He wanted me to stay, but I think, deep down, he’s happy for me.”
The class finally settled down and Errol shouted out a series of demands, all to be precisely executed within the shortest amount of time. Several students seemed completely befuddled by the string of requests, while others cursed at their inability to execute properly.
“A mirepoix,” Errol called out.
Taryn grabbed a handful of carrots and celery while Henri reached for the onion. They chopped madly for sixty seconds then tossed everything into a hot saucepan.
Grinning, they silently congratulated one another. They finished every task first while one other pair was often a close second. On more than one occasion, Taryn caught their glare of open disdain.
“I don’t think they like us,” Henri noted as Errol barked out another order.
Taryn began trimming the cut of beef they’d been assigned. “I didn’t come here to be liked,” she said with a shrug.
“I think I’m going to like working with you,” Henri said with a playful grin.
“Good,” she said. “I like working with you, too.”
“Tomorrow we’ll take a look at haute cuisine terminology.” Errols words sounded unusually harsh. “I thought we could by-pass that, but seeing the looks on your faces when I mentioned a few terms today, I’ve reconsidered.”
Chapter 4
Errol watched Taryn and Henri with keen interest. While he tried to make it look like it was their work he scrutinized, he became aware of staring at Taryn on more than one occasion and quickly averted his gaze.
Her skilled hands impressed him, working with surprising dexterity and speedy precision, but it was the warm and engaging smile she offered Henri that continually caught his attention, stirring something hot and possessive in him.
As soon as they’d paired up, Errol had mentally gone through the young man’s résumé. From the region of Pays de la Loire, Henri Boisjoli was the son of a dairy farmer… hardly competition for a top chef.
Forcing himself to scan the room, he nonetheless brought a fleeting glance back to Taryn before continuing his scan. Every pair of students cleaned up their stations and prepared to leave. When he heard Taryn laugh, he turned to her and was surprised to see Henri, the innocent young man from the country, brushing a wisp of long blond hair off Taryn’s face.
Affection already gleamed in the young man’s eyes.
As the students waved goodbye and filed out of the class, Errol couldn’t help but wonder how much time Taryn would spend with the boy. Was she going to her next class with him? Would they have lunch? Dinner?
He shoved the speculation and questions aside until he arrived home later that night. As he pushed the key into the lock he wondered if she’d be there. Perhaps Henri had invited her out for a drink, or a bite to eat.
Did he care? Really? She was just a… He inhaled deeply and reminded himself who he was. He could have any woman. Yes… but he wanted this one. He desired this one.
On opening the door he was flooded with an unusual wave of relief as he heard Taryn humming in the kitchen.
“Don’t look,” she called out with childish glee. “I’m trying something new.”
“Well, it certainly smells good.”
“I hope you didn’t eat yet.”
“Of course not. It’s only six-thirty.”
“I went to the wine store you brought me to,” she said as she emerged from the kitchen and met him in the living area. She offered him a glass of red wine. “I thought you might like this one; Chateau du Pape..”
He took a sip, rolled it around in his mouth a moment then swallowed. “A very good choice. And what will you be serving with it?” He looked her over, taking in her casual and relaxed attire that suited her to perfection.
At the institute, students were asked to wear a white chef’s jacket to every class; an overcoat that hid any attribution a young woman might have. It pleasured him to now see Taryn in snug yoga pants and a teal tank top that hugged her breasts in a full, well-rounded manner. Her long blond hair was pulled off her face in a neat ponytail. Without a trace of make-up, her face was the picture of clean, fresh beauty. She was breathtaking, a natural beauty, who didn’t seem to know how gorgeous she was.
“I had an idea for a hot and spicy take on a rack of lamb,” she called over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen.
“Are my classes already inspiring you?” He absent-mindedly rolled the wine around in the glass while his eyes remained steadfastly on her exiting buttocks…perfectly round, soft, and tight. He felt his jeans tightening in front as he imagined running his hands over them, grabbing them and holding them while he rammed hard into her.
“Actually it’s Henri who gave me the idea… you know, the guy I paired up with.”
Errol frowned and set the glass of wine on the table. With an unhappy pout pursing his lips, he cracked his knuckles.
“You know, he first gives the impression of being some country bumpkin who doesn’t know squat about haute cuisine, or any cuisine for that matter, but, when you take a minute to talk to him, he really knows what he’s talking about.”
“That’s nice,” Errol muttered.
“Dinner should be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll hop into the shower then.”
“Perfect.”
Under the hot running water, Errol tried to scrub off the uneasy sense of insecurity that engulfed him.
He closed his eyes and imagined her, nude, her firm breasts glowing under thick, creamy lather. Droplets trickled down to her navel and onward between her thighs. A thin line of fine blond hair indicated the heated passage he longed to lose himself in.
There was something fiery about her; something hidden behind the innocent, wide eyes. He’d seen it in her frown when he’d released her that first night; the wanting; the desire. Her delicious lips had remained parted in hunger long after he’d left her side.
As he lathered his torso, his hand brushed against the hard-on that cried out for release. Tempted to take a firm grip, to envision Taryn’s body against his as he pumped out his need to touch her again, he reached for the faucet and cooled the water.
When his body had thoroughly chilled, he shut the water and patted himself dry. As he returned to his room to dress, he debated whether to dress like the professional he was or to entice Taryn with something more alluring; snug but casual sweatpants that hung low on his hips.
Enticement won.
He looked at his nude torso and imagined her lips on his skin, her tongue licking every ridge of his stomach and while heading down to take him into her mouth. His penis hardened thinking how she would first suck shyly and then hard, vigorously, running her teeth over his sensitive tip. “God, I want you bad,” he groaned as he pulled a tight white t-shirt over his head. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“Perfect timing,” Taryn exclaimed as he entered the dining room.
The table was beautifully set. The silver candelabra his grandmother had given him; the one he had never used, now sat in the center of the table with three long tapered candles that glowed with romantic promise. His finest china was laid out, as was his flatware.
“If your meal is as good as this table looks, I think I’m going to enjoy having you in my home even more.” He narrowed his eyes appreciatively at her blushing cheeks and flushed chest.
“I was afraid you might not take too well to my cooking my own dishes.” She sat down facing him then looked down at herself. “Oh, I forgot to change. This is such an elegant meal, I can’t just…”
“You look perfect. I like this laid back look.”
“Well, in that case.” She raised her glass. “Bon appetit.”
“Bon appetit.”
Taryn looked apprehensively at him as he sliced through the lamb and took his first might.
“The verdict?” she said when he remained silent.
He cocked an impressed brow. “Interesting. Is that cumin I taste?”
“It is.”
“And a hint of… what is that?” He took another bite. “Cinnamon?”
“Could be,” she said with a pleased and teasing grin.
“It’s not something I would have ever thought to try, but… it works. Congratulations.”
“I’m happy you like it.”
Throughout dinner, they spoke of the upcoming classes and the cookbook that she’d be working on. While he managed to speak clearly enough about his culinary intentions, his mind was far from the kitchen. Repeatedly, his gaze dipped into the valley of her breasts and he was mesmerized by the thought of seeing her completely nude, feeling her soft heated skin against his, her wet folds touching his hardness like a kiss. She’d be as sweet as she looked, but with a touch of spice that seemed to heat up every part of his body. The combination of innocent and sexy was intoxicating to him, especially the hint of defiance in her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she despised him, but was humoring him to get ahead. Whatever it was, he wanted to possess her, own her, make her his. His erection harden just thinking about having her naked in his bed, while his mouth worked on her most delicious core. Errol’s face darkened with desire as he stared heatedly at her. He would be damned if he didn’t fuck her tonight.
When she picked up a bone and ravenously sucked on the tip, he nearly dropped his glass of wine. Her lips, perfectly puckered, perfectly sensuous, perfectly set to take him in and… Oh, how delicious it would be.
As wonderful as the meal was, he set his fork down and leaned back with his glass of wine and watched her. One by one, she took each of the four bones on her plate and cleaned them off, picking daintily at the remaining meat with her long slender fingers before sucking the juices off.
He tried to catch her gaze. Did she have any idea the effect she had on him? For all appearances, she seemed oblivious. Her appetite was reserved to the food on her plate and not the hungry man sitting in front of her.
She set her fork down and looked at him. “Without wanting to sound pretentious, I have to admit I impress myself.”
“And with good reason. It was a bold move, but the contradiction of flavors was perfectly balanced.” He reached out to take her hand. “Looks like I made the right choice it taking you on to test my recipes. You won’t have any trouble finding flaws or miscalculations. You’ll probably even improve many of them.”
She cocked a brow. “Will I get credit?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Really? I was being facetious.”
“I might be a pretentious and arrogant bastard when I need to be, but I know how to give credit where credit is due. I might even include this very meal in my book… if that’s okay with you.”
“Okay? It’s more than okay. It’s fabulous. Wait until I tell my mother. My own recipe, my own creation in a book as prestigious as yours.”
His hand remained over hers and he was dismayed by the lack of physical reaction from her. She didn’t grip his fingers or show any sign of welcoming more of his touch. Cool and aloof, she pulled away, stood and cleared the dishes. Did she not have any desire for him?
“Wait until you see what I concocted for dessert.”
She returned a minute later. “
These are caramelized tangerine slices on a bed of a secret crunchy cereal mix, drizzled with a buttery citrus coulis.”
“Humm,” he mumbled as he chewed on his first bite. “An interesting touch of saltiness that embraces that tartness of the tangerine. Excellent.”
Errol was genuinely impressed by the creative boldness of the young woman in front of him so much so that he finished off the evening sitting back and enjoying Taryn’s culinary creations, relegating his sexual urges to another day.
Taryn’s lack of response tonight puzzled him, yet frustrated him. He was ready to show this innocent beauty all the pleasures her body could take, but instead, her passion was for the culinary dishes she created tonight. He was proud of her bold choices, but frustrated. He didn’t want a woman in his bed, who did not want to be there. Yet, he was so certain, she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
*****
The weeks’ classes were a blur of knife skills, storing methods and the preparation of dough and sauces. Every day, Errol was surprised and impressed by Taryn’s keen palate and her ability to see what few students saw. She was focused on her studies, and as serious as the most promising students already working professionally at prestigious restaurants were.
Her questions were always straight to the point and her answers articulate.
But what caught his attention was the simple beauty she brought to his class every day. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, nor could he help wanting to get close to her and touch her when he could. While many of the other young female students, and even a few males, tried desperately to gain his attention, his eyes constantly returned to Taryn who continued living under his roof, so close yet so far away. Her sudden indifference to him frustrated him, yet he bid his time. He savored the challenge she posed, knowing when the time came for him to make her his, it would be worth it.
More often than not, her eyes were on Henri, smiling, affectionate and kind. She often helped him where he fumbled, but Errol had to admit, the young man from the countryside had talent, if not a certain boyish charm.