by Tami Lund
She’d been avoiding the kitchen all evening, mostly because of the conversation she and Connor had earlier in the day, when he informed her he needed to go back to Detroit soon. He had indicated it was a temporary visit, but something in his demeanor had been off. She suspected he was lying, although she did not understand why. Was he planning to leave for good? If so, why? Was it her? Had he grown bored so quickly?
She knew she should not have mixed business with pleasure, should not have slept with him that first night, but damn, it had been so long since she’d been with a man, any man. And Connor was ten times the man anyone she’d ever dated before had been. She doubted anyone would blame her for what she’d done. Certainly not any of the women packed into her restaurant tonight. Hell, they’d probably give her a round of applause, would likely toast her for her smart choice.
Except it hadn’t really been smart, had it? He was just the sort of man her brother was forever warning her about. Into one-night stands—or multiple night stands—and nothing more. No emotional involvement, no thought of forever.
Not like her. Hell she’d been envisioning a fall wedding, the ceremony out on the restaurant lawn with the bayou in the background. Just like her brother and Kennedy had done, but she figured they wouldn’t mind. And Papaw would have been thrilled, if he were still alive, that two of his grandchildren had chosen the family restaurant as the backdrop to their weddings.
Well, at least one grandchild had. Emily Kate, on the other hand, was never getting married, not ever. She had a feeling no man would ever live up to the level of expectation Connor had created, so it was best not to bother trying.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. The scene was one of controlled chaos, just as a well-run kitchen should be during a Saturday evening rush. Servers filed in and out constantly; bus boys rushed to clear the next table so someone else could sit and eat; the dishwasher constantly replenished dishes, flatware, and glassware; the bartender stuck her head in the door and shouted that she needed another case of Abita, pronto.
In the middle of it all, Connor stood near the grill, calling out orders, directing traffic, managing the process, and cooking. She could not fathom how he did it all and still looked calm and cool and oh-so-delicious.
When she stepped into the room, he turned, spotted her, and winked. Then he bent his head near Pedro, who was at least four inches shorter, whispered something, and then strode toward Emily Kate.
“How’s it going out there?” he asked as he used the towel he pulled from his chef’s coat to wipe off his forehead.
“Good. Great. The wait is up to two hours. And no one minds waiting.”
“Is that normal for a Saturday evening?”
“Not remotely. Sometimes there’s a half-hour, occasionally forty-five-minute wait. But this? Never.” She shook her head.
“Must be my crawfish pie,” he said with a grin. “Pedro’s going to owe me twenty bucks.”
Emily Kate shook her head again. “Actually, it’s you. They are here for you.”
Connor blinked, looking confused.
She gestured at his person. “You’re the ‘hot new chef in town.’ The ladies are all swooning. Every age, even older than Kennedy’s mom. Even little girls. You’re like the latest pop star. And it’s not just women out there, either. There are plenty of couples, and just as many single guys, apparently having figured out where all the single ladies in town have decided to gather. It’s crazy.”
“Really?” Connor, dang him, looked positively delighted by this news. He stepped past her and peeked out the window in one of the swinging doors.
“Huh,” he said as he took in the sight. “There are a lot of women out there. Maybe I should go make the rounds.”
In a spurt of jealousy that shocked even herself, she grabbed the front of his chef’s coat and hauled him close, so they were just about nose to nose. “You had better not even think about picking up any of those women out there, mister.”
Connor laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. “Relax, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m going home with you tonight, remember?”
She watched him walk out the door and then proceed to make his way around the restaurant, talking, flirting, teasing, and generally making an already happy crowd damn near ecstatic. He was so good at this, she felt a pang, not of jealousy but loss. At some undefined point, he would leave, and this would all be left up to her again. She’d never commanded a two-hour wait at her restaurant before. And she never would again—not without Connor.
• • •
By the time the last guest left and Emily Kate flipped the switch to darken the OPEN sign next to the entrance, she had determined she and Connor needed to talk. All evening, she’d wavered back and forth on her belief that he was going to leave her. But either way, she needed to know. She wanted him to tell her the truth.
She waited until the servers left and they were alone in the building. She flipped off the lights in the dining room and pushed through the swinging door leading to the kitchen.
Connor stood in front of the shiny aluminum countertop on which they’d almost had sex last night. Half a stick of butter, a smattering of chocolate chips, and two cookie sheets with rows of small, white ceramic ramekin bowls sat on the counter. He stirred a concoction in a large stainless steel bowl, and as she watched, he paused, dipped his finger, and then sucked what looked like melted chocolate into his mouth. Her eyes widened, and her ovaries gave a little jump. He lifted his gaze, caught her watching, and grinned.
“Hey. Come try this.” He grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the bowl, then held it up in invitation. Emily Kate automatically walked across the kitchen, unable to resist a man clearly in his element, utterly happy with life and his place in it. Why couldn’t he stay so they could share this experience every day, every night?
Before she could ask the question out loud, he raised the spoon to her lips. She sucked the bowl of the spoon into her mouth and the sweet taste of melted chocolate unlike anything she had ever tasted before exploded on her tongue.
“Oh my goodness,” she said when he pulled the spoon away. She could hear the breathiness in her own voice. Thoughts of demanding they talk about his impending trip flew from her mind. All she could think about was Connor. And chocolate.
“Good, huh?” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
“Orgasmic,” she responded before she could catch herself.
He glanced at the chocolate concoction in the bowl. “Really?”
“Really. What is it? Can I have more?”
“It’s called chocolate molten cake, and hell yes, you can have more.” He dipped his finger into the chocolate and lifted it to her mouth. She sucked it in, hard. His eyes widened, and her knees wobbled.
“Holy hell,” he whispered. He dipped his finger into the bowl again, but instead of letting her have another taste, he smeared the chocolate onto her chest, above the neckline of her dress.
“Hey,” she protested.
He grinned, that adorable, crooked grin that had hooked her in the first place, before dipping his head and licking. “Mmm. Southern girls taste even better when they’re covered in chocolate.”
She giggled and braced her hands on the counter while he licked every savory drop and then thrust his tongue into her cleavage before pulling away. Even under his chef’s coat, she could see the bulge in his pants.
“Stay there,” he ordered, and then he quickly and efficiently cleaned the mess on the counter, putting away everything except the bowl of chocolate. The last thing he did was cover it with aluminum foil. “Okay, let’s go.” He grabbed the bowl, snagged her hand, and tugged her toward the door.
When they reached her house, he ushered her up the stairs before him, and goosed her backside more than once by the time they reached the deck surrounding the living area of the house. She was at the top before she realized they hadn’t had to exercise any special care climbing the steps, because Connor had replaced
all the rotting boards. She should make it a point to thank him again.
Blanco greeted them as they tumbled into the house, glaring and swishing his tail, clearly unhappy that it had taken so long to get home and feed him.
“Can’t have this,” Connor said, holding the bowl to the side as if he expected the cat to take it out of his hands.
She headed to the pantry, where she stored the cat food, glad for the minor distraction to help clear the fog of lust from her brain, at least somewhat. The man really was temptation walking, and as much as she’d like to take advantage of what he offered, she also wanted to know the facts. How much longer did they have together? How long would he be gone? Could he look her in the eye and promise to return?
Once Blanco’s dish was full, she turned around, opened her mouth to ask those very questions, and then snapped it shut again. Connor leaned against the counter, the bowl uncovered, his finger positioned over the top, dripping chocolaty goodness.
“Come here,” he said, beckoning her with the pointer finger of his other hand. Unable to resist, she all but glided across the kitchen to be closer to him. “Strip.”
“What?”
He motioned with the hand that wasn’t dripping chocolate. “Strip. Unless you want to ruin that dress. I like that dress, though, so take it off.”
“Connor, first we should—”
“Please?” He wore that lopsided grin, there was a twinkle in his eye, and chocolate dripped from his finger. Forget the confectioner’s concoction in the bowl, she wanted to taste him. Her determination to talk first went out the window as she watched him lift the chocolate-covered finger to his mouth and suck greedily.
“Oh ...”
“Yes,” he said, the word a promise. Not necessarily the promise she had determined she wanted, but at the moment, this was certainly something she needed. They could talk afterward, under the cloak of darkness, while they lay in bed, sated and exhausted. It was often easiest to have difficult conversations under those circumstances, anyway.
“It’s not nearly as good as it was when I licked it off your chest,” Connor commented, shattering what little resolve she had left. She tugged her dress over her head and tossed it to the side before reaching for the clasp on her bra and getting rid of it, too.
“Those, too.” He nodded at her pelvis. “They’re cute, but they’re in the way.”
She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pushed them down until they dropped to her ankles.
“Much, much better,” Connor said approvingly. He picked up the bowl and began a slow perusal around her body, dipping his finger into the chocolate and then swiping it over her skin as he walked. Across her cheek, along her neck, covering each breast, down her belly, and on her thighs and butt cheeks. She shivered but wasn’t the least bit cold.
He placed the bowl on the counter and licked her cheek. She held him at arm’s length with her hand on his chest. “What about you? Aren’t you overdressed for this sort of activity?”
Connor looked down at himself, as if he’d forgotten he was even wearing clothes. “Maybe,” he said, and he pulled his shirt over his head.
“Keep going,” she suggested when he reached for her again. He arched his brows but obligingly unhooked his belt and shed his shorts. “And ...”
“If I take off these boxers, I’m not going to be able to hold off long enough to lick all this chocolate off you,” he protested. “As it is, I’m barely hanging on here.”
“This was your idea,” she pointed out.
He lunged for her. “I know.” Lick. “So damn tasty.” Another swipe of his tongue over her neck. Emily Kate lifted her hair out of his way. “This definitely needs to go on the menu.”
She made a strangled noise when he licked his way to her left breast and sucked the nipple into his mouth. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she managed to say between gasps. “I’m afraid this might kill some of our older customers.”
He chuckled and worked his way to her right breast. His hand slid through the chocolate on her belly, his sticky fingers trailing down over her pelvis until he dipped into the wet folds at the apex of her thighs. Emily Kate moaned and threw her head back, dropping her hair and reaching for the counter so she could use it to help her remain upright.
Blanco meowed, and she opened her eyes to watch him stalk out of the room, his tail held stiffly in the air. He was clearly displeased with their activities. Emily Kate sure as hell wasn’t. She shifted her gaze to Connor, who was slowly dropping to his knees in front of her, licking his way from her breasts to her thighs.
“Oh, God,” she said on a moan.
“I know. Delicious. Perfect.” He grasped her hips and twisted her around so she faced away from him. His tongue rasped across her buttock, and she cried out, feeling suddenly desperate for release.
“Connor.” His name was a moan. Her knees wobbled. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could remain standing.
He turned her back around so she faced him and held tightly to her hips as he leaned in and licked at searing hot nerve endings. She automatically spread her legs and clutched the edge of the counter. He licked again, his tongue delving into her folds, tickling at her opening. She fell back against the counter, needing it to help keep her standing, as her legs were no longer functioning properly.
He shifted closer, moving his hands so he could spread her folds. He first licked them clean of all chocolate and juices, and then he used his expert tongue to press inside her, going so deep, she wondered if he weren’t part snake. But she hardly had a moment to dwell on it; within seconds, she was shuddering through her first orgasm of the night. She knew without a doubt it was only the first. She had that much faith in Connor’s abilities.
When he pulled away, he moved his hands to her legs and let her slide down to the floor, pulling her into his lap before she hit the tile. His erection pressed into her backside. She draped her arms over his shoulders and lay her head against his chest.
“Oh. My.”
He held her with one arm while reaching for his shorts with the other. She lay in his arms as he extracted a foil packet from his pocket.
“You carry condoms around in your shorts?”
“After that night at the restaurant when I thought I was going to explode, hell yes.”
She closed her eyes, sighing with contentment.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Not falling asleep,” she assured him. “Just momentarily lost the ability to move, that’s all.”
He shifted her to the side and struggled to push his boxers down over his legs.
“We can go to the bedroom,” she commented.
“I can’t wait,” he said, and he quickly sheathed himself and pulled her back into his lap. With her legs wrapped around his hips, he grabbed her waist and pushed her down, impaling her and groaning loudly.
“Goddamn it. You feel so good. So much better than that chocolate.”
“I don’t know,” she said, moving her hands to his shoulders and clinging to him as he guided her up and down. “That chocolate was pretty amazing.”
“Not ... as ... amazing ... as ... you,” he said in between thrusts. “Fuck!” As if he’d lost all semblance of control, he began pumping with an urgency she hadn’t yet experienced with him. Her second orgasm began to swell, but before she found another release, he swore again, and pulled her down into his lap, his entire body stiffening as he came. After a few moments, his grip on her waist loosened and he leaned back against the cupboards, sighing with obvious contentment.
“As fabulous as that was, I hope you have enough energy for at least one more round,” she commented after a few moments of silence. Blanco reappeared in the room, padded over, and sniffed at a smudge of chocolate on her leg before flipping his tail in the air and stalking out again.
“You have high expectations.” He lifted her to her feet and then stood himself, disposing of the condo
m in the trash before sweeping her into his arms and carrying her through the house to the master bathroom, where he gently sat her in the tub and ran a bath.
“Join me?” she asked coyly as she leaned back against the tub and let the steamy water soothe the pleasurable ache between her thighs.
“In a minute,” he promised, and then he disappeared from the room and reappeared a moment later with a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hands.
“What are we celebrating?” she asked as he expertly popped the cork and filled each glass with bubbling liquid.
“You,” Connor said simply, and he touched the rim of his glass to hers before taking a deep drink.
Emily Kate drank as well and then chuckled. “It isn’t all me,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, and he was utterly serious. “It really is.”
He climbed into the tub, settling himself behind her and pulling her back to rest against his chest.
“I can’t take that credit,” she said after a moment. “The restaurant has never been as popular as it is now that you are there.”
“This isn’t about the restaurant,” he said.
“Then maybe we should toast to us,” she suggested. This could be the perfect time to bring up his impending trip. “Speaking of ...”
“I just want to pleasure you. I want you to know what you do to me.” He placed his hand on her knee and then slid it up and squeezed her thigh.
“Connor, you do the same things to me. Everything. All of this. That’s why—” He cupped her chin and gently turned her face so he could kiss her lips. His tongue thrust into her mouth, swept around and tangled with hers, demanding she participate as their mouths made love. She supposed she should be irritated that he wouldn’t allow her to say her piece, but really, was this distraction so bad?
Not at all.
He broke the kiss to refill their glasses, palming her breast and skimming his thumb over the nipple. She sucked in a breath and dug her nails into his legs, squeezing her thighs together as zings of pleasure shot through her system.
“We’re going to try our damnedest to make love all night tonight, okay?” he asked, as he lifted his glass and drank, while he continued to knead her breast.