Since publication of her article a month earlier, The Cookhouse had expanded dinner service to three nights a week to accommodate the swarm of new customers. Even so, Cookie now had to turn down more reservations than she accepted.
Eric had hired a pastry chef, another waitress, and more kitchen help. The demand for private catering and cooking classes had skyrocketed. At long last, not only was his business in the black, it was flourishing.
Eric’s success was his own doing, Lina knew, the result of the sweat and faith he’d invested in his dream. All she’d done was bring a unique culinary gem to the public’s attention.
“I wasn’t nervous.” He kept his eyes on the slab of beef on his cutting board and the razor-sharp knife he wielded. “A healthy shot of adrenaline to keep me pumped, maybe. Tell you the truth, I kind of got off on the pressure.”
Eric had appeared on “The Today Show” that morning, demonstrating how to make blackened mahimahi while engaging in witty repartee with the show’s hosts.
“Wish you could teach me how to do that,” Lina said. “Get off on the pressure, I mean, not cut steak. I appeared on ‘Good Morning America’ last year, and I was so nervous beforehand, I lost my breakfast.”
“And you didn’t even have a bluefish eating your clothes at the time.” Finished with the steak, he wrapped it and placed it in a refrigerator.
“You were so calm and in control.”
He shrugged. “I just relaxed and did what I do best.”
“Right.” If Eric had done what he did best, the show wouldn’t have made it past the network censors.
“You were so cool, Eric,” Deirdre gushed as her nimble fingers shaped the last loaf and placed it on a cornmeal-dusted cooking sheet. “All my girlfriends are in lust with you. My mom recorded the show and we all watched it after school. They kept making me rewind it.”
Tommy had already tidied up and was now sliding the loaves into the hot oven. “I knew there was a reason I wanted to be a chef. Nothing like the sight of a man in an apron to drive the girls wild.”
“Mmm, jailbait.” Eric wagged his eyebrows obscenely as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Tell the little darlings to line up in the parking lot.”
Deirdre giggled, “No kidding, they’d do it.”
Drying his hands, Eric said, “Listen, I need you guys to run out and get me two bunches of cilantro and a half pound of habanero peppers.”
After Deirdre and Tommy left, Lina asked, “What do you need cilantro and habaneros for?”
“For this.” He took her into his arms and kissed her until her knees melted and her toes turned numb. When he finally relinquished her mouth, he had to steady her so she wouldn’t topple.
She touched her tongue to her tingling lips. “Mmm. Hot and spicy. I see what you mean.”
His hands stroked down her back and over her bottom. “I had to get those kids out of here on some pretext. Now I’ll have to add a Tex-Mex dish to tonight’s menu.”
She aimed for her most woebegone sigh. “All of Deirdre’s friends are in lust with you. How can a dried-up old hag like me possibly complete with a gaggle of hormonally crazed sixteen-year-olds?”
“Is this where I’m supposed to assure you that you have more sex appeal than a truckload of perky adolescents?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Only if you value your habaneros.”
“I wouldn’t trade you for two truckloads of perky adolescents. How’s that?”
“Well...”
“Two truckloads of perky adolescents and a harem of sex-starved, kohl-eyed odalisques trained in the sensual arts.”
“Hey, I’ve got a few sensual arts up my sleeve.”
“So I’ve noticed. But they’re nowhere near your sleeve.”
He tipped her chin up for another slow, deep kiss that had the top of her head splintering and rearranging itself. Eagerly she abandoned herself to Chef Reid’s own proficiency in the sensual arts, grateful for the loving bond they shared. And more than grateful for these few stolen moments together.
The last four months had been a time of wonder and discovery. Every day she learned something new about the remarkable man she’d fallen in love with. She’d also become close to Eric’s sons. She’d taken Daniel to two Star Trek exhibits in Manhattan, at the Museum of Natural History’s Hayden Planetarium and at the Museum of Television and Radio. And she spent just as much time with his brother, who was patiently teaching her to make everything from homemade pasta to Key lime pie. The four of them had spent more than one evening in couch-potato mode, simply relaxing with a video and a bowl of popcorn.
The boys might have been born with identical genes, but they had distinct personalities, and Lina loved them both. When she was with them, she experienced an unaccustomed sense of completion. If she ever had to say good-bye to Daniel and Adam for good, there’d be an empty place in her soul that could never be filled.
She knew Eric was becoming impatient with the need to keep their relationship under wraps. He’d tried on several occasions to arrange some sort of outing, and she’d shot down each attempt. Even something as seemingly innocuous as a trip to the beach or a sporting event was out of the question. He’d expressed frustration that his sons had been on more dates with her than he had.
Lina broke the kiss to smile up into his warm brown eyes. Their lips touched once more, a light, tantalizing caress. She groaned.
“I know,” he murmured, reading her mind. “Me, too.”
She chuckled. “Think you can hold out till Sunday?” An entire night together. A rare and wonderful treat. The boys would be staying overnight with cousins.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well, there are all those sixteen-year-olds leaving drool marks on Deirdre’s TV screen.”
“Still fishing for shameless flattery?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” He treated her to another thorough, shamelessly flattering kiss while his hands roved like bloodhounds on the scent, tenaciously seeking buttons, zippers, and gaps in her claret-colored suit—a short skirt and snug, short jacket.
She tore her mouth from his. “This is—oh!” She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand from under her skirt.
“You don’t like that?” His other hand took up the cause, raising the skirt to her waist.
“I—you know I do, but—Eric!” She wriggled, trying to dislodge the hand that had slid inside the back of her bikini panties. He pressed closer and his erection thumped against her belly.
“But what?” he mumbled into her ear as he caressed her bottom. She whimpered at the pang of raw desire that shot through her.
She managed, “We—we shouldn’t.”
“Sure we should. Haven’t you ever made love somewhere different, somewhere downright wacky?”
“With Steve, wacky meant switching sides in bed.” She glanced at the open doorway. “Deirdre and Tommy will be back soon.”
“Relax.” He pushed the lavender lace panties down her hips. “They’ll be gone another eight minutes at least.”
She clutched at her undies. “Eight minutes!”
He checked his watch. “Maybe six.”
“Anyone can just walk right in.”
“I’m not expecting anyone.” He pried her white-knuckled fingers off the lace and pulled the panties down. “And anyway, I can always claim this is a new cooking class—Lust Versus Gluttony, the Sinner’s Dilemma. Excellent toe cleavage,” he pronounced, removing her strappy high-heeled sling-backs and tossing the scrap of lace aside, leaving her naked from the waist down.
“Six minutes?” she fretted.
“Maybe four.” He backed her up against a steel barstool and lifted her onto it, kneeing her legs apart. The shock of the cold metal on her bare bottom made her yelp. Swiftly he unbuttoned her jacket, appearing pleased to find nothing but her lavender lace bra underneath. He released the front clasp and spread open the bra to look at her.
She’d never felt more exposed, sitting there before him under
the bright fluorescent lights with her clothing in disarray. Along with the feeling of vulnerability came a primitive hunger that had her squirming in silent invitation.
He cupped her breast in his callused fingers and lowered his mouth to her stiff nipple. The brush of his lips was as soft as a butterfly’s wing. She sighed and arched into him as he dropped gentle kisses on the burning tip. The first delicate flick of his tongue made her jump, and she pulled him closer. “Eric, please...!”
He surprised her by keeping his pants zipped, instead reaching behind her to the butcher block, where bottles of flavored syrups were lined up. He uncapped one and held it under her nose. Vanilla.
Her eyes widened. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Vanilla’s a highly underrated flavor, don’t you think?” He tipped a drop onto his finger and smoothed it on her moist nipple. “Makes sweet things taste even better.” He licked the syrup off her with long, voluptuous strokes as if she were an ice cream cone in August. Breathless, she curled her fingers into his hair and clung to him. He repeated the treatment on her other nipple until she gasped, “Eric, I can’t stand it. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
In response he knelt in front of her, tossed her knees over his shoulders, and drizzled the vanilla syrup between her legs. She gasped at the astonishing sensation, lost her balance on the barstool, and fell backward with a shriek. Flailing with her arms, she managed to grab the butcher block behind her.
Seemingly oblivious, Eric leaned forward and began to satisfy his sweet tooth. She could only hold on to the butcher block for dear life while his strong, lithe tongue searched out every drop of syrup. She groaned as her body soared toward climax, her eyes fixed on the open doorway.
“How long—till they—get back?” she panted, the muscles in her outflung arms quivering with strain.
She felt more than saw him turn his wrist to look at his watch. Silence.
“Eric?”
His voice was a hot buzz against her drenched flesh. “We’ll hear them enter the building.”
At that moment her body detonated and the Vienna Boys’ Choir could have tramped through the kitchen for all she cared. Before her orgasm had subsided, he stood and drove into her, pulling her back up to a sitting position. She wound her arms and legs around him.
He grinned. “You don’t mind a quickie, do you? Under the circumstances?” He rammed into her hard and fast, and immediately she started to come again. With an exultant shout, he joined her, spilling himself in waves of heat she felt deep within.
Her hammering pulses nearly drowned out the sound of the outer door opening. Eric stifled her sharp gasp with his palm even as he withdrew from her and zipped up.
Shaking violently, she slid off the barstool, yanking at her skirt. Eric swiftly buttoned her jacket, leaving the bra unfastened.
“They only had one bunch of cilantro left,” Deirdre called on her way through the gallery.
Eric shoved Lina’s panties in the freezer and struck a nonchalant pose.
“My shoes!” she hissed.
He jumped to attention and located them just as Deirdre and Tommy sailed through the door.
Eric gestured triumphantly with the shoes. “Didn’t I tell you that super glue works fast?” He tried to jiggle a spiked heel. “Good as new!”
Chapter Fifteen
Using the keys Lina had given him, Eric unlocked her apartment door. He had about a half hour before she’d return from her regular kick-boxing class, more than enough time to sneak in to her apartment, leave her birthday present, and sneak back out again. He chuckled to himself.
Today was her birthday. Naturally he couldn’t celebrate with her tonight, Saturday being the busiest night at The Cookhouse. Thus he’d driven into Forest Hills at noon to leave a little surprise. Inside the breast pocket of his black leather bomber jacket was a slim, beautifully wrapped gift box: a sapphire and diamond bracelet. To match her eyes.
He opened the door and nearly jumped out of his skin at the vicious barking that greeted him from somewhere in the vicinity of Lina’s bedroom. Automatically he double-checked the number on the apartment door.
As he closed the door a large gray Weimaraner charged down the hallway and skidded to a halt at the entrance to the foyer, its nails clacking on the oak floor. The dog was barrel-chested and wasp-waisted, with a short, smooth coat and floppy ears. A ridge of hair rose menacingly on the back of the its neck as it bared its teeth and growled.
Were Lina and Joy pet-sitting for someone? If they were, he knew nothing about it.
Eric felt his own hackles rise. Never breaking eye contact with the animal, he reached for the Victoria’s Secret catalog he’d spied on a pile of mail on a side table. He rolled it into a tube as he slowly started down the hall to Lina’s bedroom. His canine escort snarled with increasing ferocity while keeping a wary eye on the makeshift snout smacker clutched in Eric’s fist.
With his hand on the knob of Lina’s closed bedroom door, he heard something that froze him on the spot. A man’s voice, raised in exasperation.
“Percy, stop barking at Mommy. What took you so long, Zanny my love?”
Eric’s fingers tightened painfully on the faceted glass doorknob. He stopped breathing as his pulse thrummed in his ears, nearly as loud as the fresh burst of rapid-fire barking. The sound of his master’s voice had apparently imbued the animal with renewed courage.
“Shut up, Percy,” Eric commanded in a low, pack-leader rumble. The dog quieted with a whimper and dropped to its haunches. It raised a paw.
He turned the knob and swung the door open, his gaze automatically homing in on Lina’s bed. The man sprawled between her yellow sheets in a side-lounging come-hither pose was handsome, with curly black hair and a trim beard.
He was also stark naked. The sheet was draped low enough on his hip to leave no question on that score.
Eric absorbed all this in the split second it took the man to bolt upright, yank the sheet to his waist, and demand, “Who the hell are you?”
Just the biggest fool who ever lived, he silently answered, nearly trembling with fury and the pain of betrayal.
Percy ambled in, tail wagging, and found a spot on the carpet that suited him. He turned three tight circles and settled down with a contented sigh.
The man’s pale eyes widened as he took in the rolled-up catalog being crushed in Eric’s fist. His arms flew into a defensive posture. “I’m a gree—black belt! Tae kwon do.”
“Save it, Steve.” Eric tossed the catalog on the bed.
The man flinched but swiftly regained his composure when it became clear he was in no danger from the wrinkled lingerie catalog. It took a moment for Eric’s use of his name to register. His eyes narrowed.
So Eric’s guess had been right. This was Steve. The ex-husband. The man Lina had sworn she wasn’t involved with.
For a year and a half he’d consciously repressed the memory of walking in on Ruth, naked in bed with her onetime lover. Now his late wife’s treachery returned with gut-wrenching force.
Steve glanced at the framed picture on Lina’s night table—a full-length shot of a grinning Eric flambéing pears and cherries in The Cookhouse kitchen. It was one of the photos used in the Bon Vivant article.
When Steve looked at his visitor once more, it was clear he’d put two and two together. His features settled into a nasty sneer. Apparently it had finally dawned on him that his occupation of his ex-wife’s bed gave him an intrinsic advantage. With leisurely ease he propped the pillows against the brass headboard and settled back.
Percy appeared to follow the unspoken exchange, his golden eyes flicking between the two men while the rest of him remained perfectly still.
Yep, that’s me, the world’s biggest fool, Eric thought. Deaf, dumb, and blind. With the emphasis on dumb. Without a word, he turned and let himself out of Lina’s apartment for the last time.
*
“Get up!” Lina landed a stinging slap on Steve’s bare rump as he la
y peacefully snoring on her bed. Her ex-husband yelped and lurched to full wakefulness. He blinked sleepily and smiled.
“Zanny my love—”
“Don’t you `Zanny my love’ me. What the hell are you doing here?”
Percy rose and stretched, then came over to stick his nose in her crotch. She pushed him away. Steve smiled that arrogant smile of his—Lord, how had she put up with it for so many years?—and rubbed his butt where a pink handprint had begun to form. “Your tastes have gotten kinkier, I see.”
She had to restrain herself from choking him. “Who gave you permission to—to—?” Sputtering with rage, she gestured at her rumpled bed.
My God, he was waiting for me! she thought. He thinks all he has to do is park himself between my sheets and I’ll–
“Get out,” she repeated. “This instant.” She noticed the crumpled Victoria’s Secret catalog at the foot of the bed. Good grief, the man had no shame.
With a frown of perplexity Steve swung his legs off the bed. He seemed in no hurry to comply with her order.
“Put your clothes on.” She gathered his things from the carpet and hurled them at him.
He found his briefs and jerked them on, his face twisted into an angry scowl. “Must be that time of the month, huh?” He reached for his socks.
No, it isn’t, as a matter of fact. If it were, I wouldn’t need that cute little test kit I just bought at the drugstore.
“You don’t get it, do you?” She planted her hands on her hips and watched her ex-husband step into his neatly pressed khaki slacks. Fury slowed her words and heightened her enunciation. “This is my home.” She jabbed a finger at her chest. “My home. You have no right to barge in—”
“For your information, I did not ‘barge in.’” He pulled on his undershirt and tucked it into his pants. “I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d be friendly and say hi. The super let me in. Rocky. Helluva guy. Flashed some ID and told him I’m your brother.” He chortled at his own ingenuity.
She knew that wasn’t all he’d flashed. Slip ole Rocky a nice crisp twenty and you could tell him Steve was her grandmother. She’d deal with the super later. “What made you think you could pull a stunt like this?”
Too Darn Hot Page 13