by Chloe Cole
“I’m impressed by your familiarity with spices. Are you in the business?”
Her heart fluttered, as if trapped, trying to escape from a cage. Did he somehow know she was a critic? She hoped not. Her review needed to be uninfluenced by a chef trying to impress her with his best dishes.
Looking into his eyes, finding only sincere curiosity, she breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know.
Saffron shook her head. Journalism was a far cry from cooking. “As much as I love to eat, I’m afraid I don’t have the talent.”
“Ah. Then you at least need to keep someone around who does.”
“Is that an offer?” Sounded like one.
He leaned forward. “Do you want it to be?”
“What would you do if I said yes?”
“Make sure it happened.”
Well damn.
“When?” Her voice quavered.
“Now.”
Saffron went bug-eyed. Surely she was reading more into this than he was implying. Her eyes narrowed into a hard squint. “You’re going to cook for me?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
His beautiful mouth curved into a mischievous grin. “Is there something else you’re expecting?”
“Well...you kind of made it seem…like maybe…”
“Maybe?” August asked.
Okay, was he teasing or was he serious?
August graced the covers of dining magazines and the few times she’d seen a more personal view of him, there had never been someone standing at his side. She thought she was cute—thank you very much—but who knew whether he found her the least bit attractive?
Then again, she was sure he’d been flirting earlier.
Sure of it.
“We are talking about your food, right?” Saffron fished. “What else could you have to offer?”
Besides the gorgeous body. The seductive voice. The amazing skill of his hands, if his food was any testament.
“Lots.” His voice dipped low, the reverb sending a ripple of awareness up her spine.
Oh yeah. He was still flirting.
Saffron feigned indifference, never mind how her pulse surged. Her fingers toyed with the tablecloth’s lace border, as if she found it more interesting than the man in front of her or their conversation. As if.
“Like what?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me something first.”
Already her heart raced, her mouth parting of its own accord. Damp palms testified to nerves singing their excitement. When August slid out of the booth and crossed to her side, everything and everyone else in the restaurant faded away from her consciousness.
Dropping to a knee beside her, August slid one warm hand over hers. “Before we go any further, I should let you know that my staff tells me that you may be here under false pretenses.”
It took the power of the universe to keep from jerking free of his grip. Throat tightening, she pushed out a reply. “Really?” Smooth. The one-word response came out in an octave designed to make dogs around the country start howling.
“Really.” He extended his index finger and a slow, deliberate circling of his skin against hers brought every ounce of concentration zeroing to that spot. “Any idea why that might be?”
She swallowed. “Not a clue. Wh-what did they say?”
A riot of goose bumps traveled up her arm as his finger trailed higher. “Nothing in particular. A little speculation here and there.” Back and forth. Teasing. Lines of sensual heat etched into her skin. “You said earlier you weren’t in the business.”
“I’m n-not.” So hard to think!
“One hundred percent positive, you’re not?”
“Certain.” A whisper.
“Work for a restaurant or a chef in any capacity?”
“N—” The word died when August lifted her hand to his mouth, allowing his lips to continue the blazing trail his finger had formed. Her bare knuckles had never received so much attention before.
And she really, really liked it.
His voice rumbled against her skin. “Good.”
Clear blue eyes became too intense to stare into, so Saffron shifted her own gaze away. Nothing could stop her from enjoying the sensation of his mouth, though. “So can I take it, Chef, that you have more than food to show me?”
He pressed another kiss to her fingers. When his mouth closed over the tip of one and he applied gentle suction, Saffron whimpered. Certain she came a hairbreadth’s away from melting into a puddle, she splayed her other hand flat against the booth to keep her body from collapsing.
The world around them came back in a rush as someone cleared her throat loudly, depositing two plates at the same time. August nipped the tip of her finger, but stopped running his tongue over it. Damn it.
“Your salads, Chef,” said the waitress. Saffron glanced at her in time to catch the frowning, tightly pressed lips and hands balled on hips. “Will you be dining here or should I have a table a little more intimate prepared?”
Okay, ouch.
Saffron’s face must have lit into a dozen different shades of red. Whether August took the woman’s words for the barb they were probably meant to be, Saffron couldn’t tell. A quick look at the rest of the dining room proved they’d managed to catch the attention of a large number of people. Some looked as disgusted as the waitress sounded; others, thankfully, seemed more amused. If August noticed—or cared—she couldn’t tell.
“You know, Vicky, that’s actually a pretty good idea.”
“Excuse me?” Saffron asked, at the same time Vicky gasped.
“Ask Edmond to make everything to go. Miss Burton and I will be dining out tonight, instead. This is too public for what I have in mind.”
“Hey, wait just a—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish as August’s hand tightened around hers. “Beg pardon, Madame. I am too presumptuous.” Every once in a while she caught hint of a European accent and now proved one of those times. No, she did not want him to think she would be an easy one-night stand, but when that accent came out to play, a rigid spine went limp. “Would I able to interest you in a more intimate dining experience…in my home?”
Holy hell, breathe!
She had a story to finish. A review to write.
She also had an insanely hot man inviting her back to his place, where dinner may or may not be eaten.
If she stayed, she might get the food she’d come here specifically to taste. Four months of waiting, over; her editor, happy. Maybe there’d be a boost in subscribers to her column and renewed interest.
If she went however, the food became a maybe, but the sexual drought she’d been suffering through would come to an abrupt halt. No one had to spell it out for her. Despite the moment’s hesitation earlier, fractured self-confidence pieced itself together. If she went with August now, she’d find herself under him and in his arms, in no time. The way his mouth moved over her hand, tasting and teasing, sampling just her fingers until she felt every sensual touch through her toes suggested—no, guaranteed—August had more on his mind than food.
The restaurant buzzed with frenetic energy behind him, but when she looked at August, raw sexual need stared back at her. Walking out of his place on such a busy night couldn’t be easy for him, but he’d made the offer.
All she had to do was accept.
Which was more important right now: the review or the promise of an amazing night to come?
Chapter Three
“And you’re certain about this?” Saffron asked.
“Never more,” he replied.
She hesitated and for a split-second, the certainty she’d be turning him down bombarded him, but then she reached for her purse. “Then lead the way.”
August held out his hand and watched as she exited the booth. Her breasts swayed with the movement. It probably made him an asshole to watch them, but he didn’t bother hiding his automatic smile as he did. Nice curves, ass, legs and breasts. A playground just waiting
for him.
As he stood back, allowing her to proceed first, he swallowed a lump in his throat. Saffron’s back brushed against his hand and the urge to run his fingers across her skin rode him hard. He’d bet money it would be softer than butter. Way softer. The first chance he got, he’d test that theory with not just his fingertips, but with lips and tongue too.
Almost forgetting she trailed behind them, he said to Vicky, “Please have someone deliver our meal. Edmond knows to where.”
“That’ll take longer, you know.”
“No worries,” he said almost beneath his breath. The longer the better, truthfully. Many ideas filled his mind on how to entertain Saffron in the meanwhile.
Ahead of him, Saffron moved like liquid silver, her lush hair swinging low against her back just above where his fingers itched to be. He loved that she wore it down, allowing the slight curls at the end to provide all the styling it needed. She possessed the kind of hair perfect for threading his fingers into. Maybe he’d end up wrapping those silken strands around his hand as he filled her from behind with his cock, stroking in and out of the velvet-lined walls of her pussy.
His cock thumped now. The very thought of her soft body beneath his made it difficult to leave the restaurant without attracting some unwanted attention to his enthusiastic lower anatomy.
“August?”
Saffron’s smooth voice snapped him out of his musings. With a slight grimace, August had a sinking feeling she might have somehow read his licentious thoughts. After a quick replay in his mind, he realized he’d missed something she’d said. “Sorry?”
Smiling, she slowed until they walked side-by-side. “I was saying you never did tell me the name of the herb on the scallops.”
That conversation seemed a lifetime ago. Back when he thought she worked for Brun. Then, he’d been hesitant to list ingredients, but now it seemed harmless enough. “The herb is called savory. This variety is only available in summer. I chose it because it’s sweet, yet bold. Purists insist it’s best for meats, but to me, it gives seafood a certain j’ne sais quoi. A kind of refreshing quality.”
“No wonder I didn’t recognize it. Not something you hear about every day, but it harmonizes with the rest of the ingredients as if they came out of a box that way. Not that I’d ever believe anything you made came out of a box, but you know what I mean. They’re perfect together.”
They pushed through a crowd waiting to be seated and proceeded out the restaurant’s doors. Outside, he led her down the alley toward the employee’s parking lot. A few seconds of silence passed as he marveled at his luck on meeting her tonight. At the fortune of having a kitchen staff he could leave without notice, knowing they’d continue without him, not missing a beat in providing excellent service.
Their footsteps, almost hypnotic in quality, echoed against the cool evening air. Red-bricked buildings surrounding them on both sides, forcing gusts of breeze to plow into them as they walked. August maneuvered himself closer, allowing his body to take the brunt. He held out his elbow, offering his arm. When Saffron took it, burrowing her body a little against his, he considered it a bonus.
“A lot of my cooking is about instinct. About listening to the ingredients speak to each other. Other times, it’s a tugging deep inside that compels you to do something a little different from what you’d been taught. Just trying things out to see if there’s a possibility they could work together. Like you said, harmonize.” August shrugged down at her. “Ever have something trigger an idea so strong you have to act on it right there and then?”
Her gaze flitted to his lips and back up. A quick glance, but he’d caught it. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been that impulsive.”
His chin brushed his shoulder as he spoke to her and Saffron pressed even closer to catch his words over the roaring wind. Their bodies huddled close together brought them almost within kissing distance. Close, but not nearly close enough. He said, “It’s how I operate. I see an herb, or a piece of meat, or even a vegetable and I get this idea in my head. Can’t sleep, can’t think about anything else until I give it the attention it’s crying for.”
“Must be hell on your concentration.”
“You have no idea. I can’t think of anything,”—he leaned closer—“else.”
Their steps slowed until now, they came to a stop. Saffron’s chin tilted toward him, giving August all the encouragement he needed. Throwing professionalism and caution to the wind, he decided to go for it.
His fingers threaded into her chestnut locks at the same time his mouth captured hers. A single step and he twisted, bringing their bodies together. Soft curves and ample breasts were temptations that almost lured his hands away from less prurient places, but those lips claimed his mind.
Hot damn, she tasted sweet. August swept his tongue deeper inside, hunger for this woman driving him to taste her further. She parted her lips willingly, moaning into the kiss with unabashed fervor. He leaned forward, aching to feel her breasts pressed against him, frustrated too many layers of clothing separated their bodies.
It was hell keeping his hands above her shoulders, so he twisted his fingers, letting those silken strands of hair trap him in place. If he did what his body wanted—what it commanded—she’d find herself spread before him against the wall, dress bunched around her waist, restaurant guests and other passersby be damned.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hot and heavy for a woman within minutes of meeting her, but right now he could focus on nothing else. He wanted Saffron. Wanted her bad.
“Wait, August,” she gasped. He stilled, but her lips walked over his. Brushed with the most delicate of touches. She trembled. Inhaled before exhaling a long, shuddering breath. “Oh dear, my head’s spinning.”
He wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or flattered.
Pulling back, he let the curly ends of her hair unravel from his hands. August stilled, breathed hard, trying like hell not to take in the subtle scent of vanilla coming from her, but his body betrayed him. “I’m sorry. That was rather impulsive.”
“Please don’t think I didn’t enjoy it,” Saffron hastened to add. Those beautiful brown eyes were wide, her luscious lips still moist. “I did…oh God, did I.”
“But I’m moving too fast.” He should have known better. This was too wonderful and sexy and much.
“No, that’s not it.” She looked away. “Not really.”
His heart leapt.
“But?” August had to hear what got in the way of being with this woman. For some reason, she held herself back. If he had any control of removing the barrier, he’d shatter it within minutes.
Saffron gave him a shy glance. Then her gaze moved to the buildings on either side of them. “I don’t know...I think there’s something I should tell you…”
“Like what?” As much as he tried to focus on what she had to say, August kept looking at her lips. At how full they’d become after he’d tasted them. How plump and moist. “Christ above,” he muttered and dove in again.
Saffron moaned when he parted her lips with his tongue, sweeping in to find the still lingering remnants of wine. Her soft hand crept beneath the uniform jacket, finding the t-shirt he habitually wore underneath. August could have groaned with frustration. He needed her hands on his bare skin or, if she insisted on staying on the covered parts of him, at least moving lower a centimeter or so. Still, she trailed her fingers over the tightness of his abdomen, heedless to the riot of sensation brewing within.
“That’s what you are,” he murmured. Their lips brushing.
“Hmm?”
“An urge. A desire. I look at you and I know what to do. What needs to be done.”
“Oh? Are you comparing me to one of your creations?”
Those heavenly lips continued to dance over his as they talked. Her tongue teased along his mouth in between words. Despite the crowds they’d pushed through to get outside, no one walked the alley now to intrude in this private time.
; “No,” August replied, “but you inspire me.”
A light laugh. “To do what?”
“This.” He claimed her lips again, need spiraling through him until he knew nothing else. It was senseless and reckless to ravage her like a drunken prom date, but he could no more help himself than he could help the urge to breathe.
He groaned when she tilted her hips forward, brushing against the erection straining to break free of his trousers. “I’d have to agree. You do seem…inspired,” Saffron teased.
“Keep that up and you’ll find out first hand just how impulsive—and creative—I can be on short notice.”
“You started this, Chef. I’m just following your lead.”
August glanced from side to side at the deserted alleyway, thankful again they were the only occupants.
He lifted his hand to the side of her face, letting his thumb stroke over the soft curve of her jaw. Saffron tilted her head, giving his hand access to smooth over the skin of her neck, before tracing the dip at the neckline of her dress. He watched her eyes smolder as he followed the stretch of the black material, which kept her breasts almost completely covered. Her breathing changed as he stroked his fingers, back and forth, clothing to skin and then to clothing again. So very close to slipping beneath the dress to play with her bare breast beneath.
“August,” she whispered so softly he leaned his ear next to her mouth to hear her. The pace of her breathing had increased, each gentle exhale kissing his face.
“Yes, Madame?”
“You’re teasing me.”
He let his finger glide down her cleavage, then lower to the soft curves of her belly. She drew in her breath sharply when he lowered his hand to the hem of her skirt, before letting that same hand slip beneath it to ride her leg. “Yes, Madame, I am.”
August leaned closer, ever mindful of their appearance and the potential approach of any pedestrians. Just because luck served them now didn’t mean it would last.