by Allie Burton
“Security? Insurance purposes? Potential lawsuits?” Her mind searched for a reason to use cameras in the kitchen and not tell anyone.
Anyone but Michael.
What the hell? Why would Parker tell him and not her?
Approaching her with caution, Michael held up his hands in calm-down motion. He sat beside her on the bed, the mattress giving with his weight. “They’re filming a reality cooking show.”
The spinning in her head stopped and reversed. The agony thrust in and out, a knife sawing inside her guts. Her mouth formed to ask a question and three came out. “What? Who? Why?”
“It’s being filmed by my television network.” He spoke in dulcet tones, trying not to express emotion. His twitching fingers gave him away. He was nervous, afraid of whatever else he had to share. “That’s why I was brought in as head chef. That’s why you didn’t get the position.”
The facts presented as slaps. First one side of her cheek, then the other. The stinging sensation traveled across her entire body. “And you agreed?”
His eyes flashed. Redness rose from his neck and onto his cheeks. “I didn’t fully understand. I was tricked, like you.”
Repulsion rocked her body. Shaking her head violently, she got to her feet and stared with horror. “I wasn’t tricked into anything. I didn’t agree to anything.”
She could sue the network and the footage would never see the light of day. Footage of her kissing him, footage of her flirting, footage of him berating her actions. The images slammed into her. And tonight…just now…
He jumped to his feet, agitation on his face. “The new employee contracts you signed had the information about the reality show in fine print.” He grabbed for her hand and missed, because she jerked away. “You agreed to the reality show when you signed the contract about the remodel.”
Rubbing her arms, she staggered toward the desk. She placed her palms on the wooden surface trying to connect with reality. “Parker closed the restaurant during busy season so the cameras could be hidden.”
“Correct.” Michael’s hand landed on her arm. “Parker and I are the only ones aware of the cameras.”
“Don’t.” She shook him off and moved toward the couch and coffee table. She didn’t want his comfort. She wanted truth. The entire truth.
She spun around. “Why would Parker agree to such a thing?” Had he been tricked, too?
“He got a new kitchen out of the deal. The network paid for the remodel.” Michael’s eyebrows drew together. He seemed to know more than he was saying.
Doubt dug deep. “That’s the entire truth?” She didn’t want any more secrets between them. “You wanted to talk to me, tell me everything, so explain.”
He shifted on his feet, avoiding her. “All the secrets aren’t mine to tell.”
Crossing her arms, she glared. “You’re not getting off that easy.” She whipped her arm out and pointed. “You knew about the cameras in the kitchen, and yet you made out with me. You berated me, and the staff, making us look incompetent.”
“No.” He clasped his hands together, prayer-like. Instead of praying he appeared to be controlling his actions. “You’re the best, so I figured I could pick on you the most. This way I’d be the jerk.”
“Why do you want to be a jerk on national television?”
“So no one else looks bad.” His gaze dropped to the ground.
His sacrifice soothed her riled temper, although not completely. There had to be more. More reasons, more secrets. “Why else are you doing this?”
“Parker is having financial difficulties. He believes this show could be the lodge’s salvation.” Michael appeared embarrassed to divulge the hotel owner’s secrets.
She perched on the couch, her nerves on edge. This was classic. Everyone won except her, and the rest of the kitchen staff. “Castle Ridge Lodge will become known.”
“Known for what? Good food or high drama?”
Her muscles tightened and she surveyed the area. “Where else are the cameras?”
“Kitchen, a few of the more public hallways.” He stared at the painting of idyllic mountains above her head. “My office.”
Her stomach carved out a big hole she wanted to disappear into. So, not only had they recorded video of their kiss, they’d recorded the foot massage he’d given her. And their fight about Sam.
“Your office?” The question was more of an accusation. Michael had made a fool of her. The foot massage and kiss might’ve been a ploy to boost his hunky-chef career.
“I’m sorry, Isabel.” He sounded sincere, and she wanted to believe. He had stopped the kitchen action from going any further.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, and I’m sorry you got involved in this.” He tentatively placed a hand on her knee. “I’m sorry I forget myself whenever you’re around. You drive me to distraction. Make me forget my purpose for being here.”
His confession about forgetting himself because of her would normally send shivers of ecstasy through her, but the seriousness of the conversation made her plain cold. “You didn’t want to be involved in a reality show? It’s what you do.”
“No.” His vehemence smashed into her in a crash of shock and awe. “I cook on television. I demonstrate how to cook.” He grasped her knee a little too tight, as if trying to control his anger. “This is different. I didn’t realize the show’s intent when I signed.”
She grabbed hold of his hand, wanting him to explain, already wanting to forgive him. “Tell me.”
Grimacing, he swiveled to move himself onto the couch next to her. He kept hold of her hand. “I thought the network was producing a show about re-launching a successful restaurant. I had this idea… Never mind now.” He squeezed her hand in a comforting gesture, not punishment. “Helping The Heights reopen would get me out of L.A. for a while and let me spend time with Danielle and Bri before the wedding.”
“You wanted to leave L.A.?”
“For a while.” Not permanently.
He jerked his head in what she took to be a nod. “The reason I was so strict at the beginning was because I wanted the kitchen to run perfectly. Perfectly boring.” He flopped back against the couch. “The producer wasn’t happy. He’s threatening to keep me here until he gets the results he wants for the reality show.”
Her mind zigged and zagged. Michael had to stay until this producer was happy with the show’s drama, even though he didn’t want to. Drama like unsanitary conditions in the kitchen, or a jerky boss. “I can’t believe the producer can do that.”
“I’ve got a new agent going over the terms. She says there aren’t a lot of options.”
Served him right. He’d been part of setting up her and her team. And yet, he was sorry. He’d been tricked, too. She was having a hard time holding on to her anger.
“I’m sorry for you, too. For all the kitchen staff who are unknowing pawns.” He shifted his body on the couch and stared into her eyes. “There’s a secrecy clause in my contract. Now I’ve told you, the network can take me to court in California.”
Sympathy calmed any lingering anger and resentment. He was dealing with more than opening a restaurant.
His face cleared, and he grinned a relieved, what-the-hell smile. “You know what, I don’t care. It feels good to share this with someone.”
She was glad he’d shared with her. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I appreciate it after everything I’ve put you through.” He took hold of her hand and wove his fingers between hers.
She should pull away, not enjoy his comfort. Their hands stayed intertwined. Who was she kidding? She wanted more than his hand inside her.
He brought their paired hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. His compassionate-caring gesture flowed through her bloodstream and crested on a wave of warmth. “Running a professional kitchen isn’t going to draw the ratings the network wants. The producer is going to find a way to stir up trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
�
�I thought if I yelled today and pretended to be a total jerk the producer would be happy and not mess with us.” He tilted toward her and gave her a chaste kiss on the mouth. “I’m sorry.”
She shouldn’t let him kiss her. It wasn’t a real kiss, though. It was an I’m-sorry kiss. And she wanted his apology. Her brain scrambled. The kiss was so simple she hungered for more. “Was he? Happy, I mean?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him about it today.” He traced a finger across her cheek, sending shimmers of delight through her body.
She tried to keep control, but her body arched toward him, wanting to pick up where they’d left off in the kitchen. Her body had a mind of its own, knowing what it wanted, what it needed.
She tried to focus on the conversation. “What if you continue to yell at me?”
His finger twirled around her ear, near the sensitive spot. “Will it work?”
Quivering, she arched her neck. She was tired of fighting her needs. What would a kiss hurt?
“It will be our,” she kissed him on the right corner of his mouth, “little,” she kissed him on the left corner of his mouth, “secret.” Or three little kisses. She relished the idea of sharing secrets with him.
“You don’t do anything wrong.” His gentle smile tugged at her heart making the pace pick up.
“You want me to be bad?” She arched a brow, thinking of the bad things she’d enjoy doing to him right now. “I can be bad.”
“We’re not talking about cooking, are we?” His voice reverberated with raw huskiness.
She slanted into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, throwing away caution. “Oh, I’m talking about cooking.”
Chapter Seventeen
Flames flared through Michael when Isabel wrapped her arms around him. Her hand traveled the length of him, making his hips float off the couch. They weren’t cooking, they were steaming. Steaming hot.
The gentle scrape of her nails along his crotch changed the steam to fire and dragged a moan from between his lips. He wished he wasn’t wearing pants.
“There aren’t any cameras in here?”
“Hell, no.” He’d asked and confirmed the information several times. He’d searched the walls, furniture, and decorations himself. This was his private place, his home while he was here. The word home tickled in his brain. Was Castle Ridge home?
Her fingers reached down again and he stilled her hand. “I want to pleasure you.”
“You will.”
“Ladies first.” His mouth landed on hers and attacked her lips.
Their tongues brushed and teased and then danced. He tried to control himself, control the passion, take his time and pleasure her. She deserved all the pleasure after what had happened in the kitchen in front of the cameras. This wasn’t for the cameras or for him. This was only for Isabel.
His hand edged the bottom of her skirt. He knew the skirt wasn’t practical for the kitchen. For now, in this moment, he could appreciate how it displayed her legs and gave him easy access. He lifted the skirt higher, running his hands along her inner thigh.
She shivered in his arms.
“Do you want me to go higher?” His tease caused his need for her to build.
Her back arched, and she pushed forward, bumping his body, making him harder. Larger. Swollen. How he wanted to plunge into her depths and release. He wouldn’t. Not yet.
“Higher.” She moaned. Her hands dug into his shoulder blades.
Shifting position, he pressed his clothed shaft against her through the skirt, right at her center.
Her body shuddered. She was primed and ready. Urgency pulsed through his body and his cock. Excitement sizzled. Even though it was tough, he kept control of himself because he wanted to please her. To make up for the pain he’d caused. He wanted her to feel good.
He buried his face into her neck, his lips skimmed along her skin, and his hand found the edge of her panties. He pressed the heel of his hand against her core and she ground against him.
She was so sensual, so ready. Heat radiated off her. The slickness of her womanhood soaked through the strip of silk.
“You are so wet.” He hooked a finger inside her panties. “So ready.”
“Please.” She bucked against him. “Come inside and play.”
Her invitation almost undid him. Internally, he roared. He wanted to throw her on the bed, come inside, and play. He restrained himself. This was for her.
He slid his finger inside her and her sex clenched around him, drawing him deeper. Making him harder. He pressed his member against her as he pressed his thumb to her clit. The swollen and wet bundle was ready.
A tremor shook her body. Her skin glistened. She rocked against his hand to her own rhythm.
He’d do anything to please her, to bring her to orgasm. “Tell me what you want. What you need.”
He knew what he needed. To sink into her so deep. To feel her sex wrap around him.
“You.”
He shuddered, desperately wanting to give himself to her.
Without removing his finger, he dropped to his knees near the edge of the couch. He put his head under her skirt. Sliding her panties to the side, he blew air on her swollen nib, anticipating her taste.
Another tremor ran through her. Neither one of them would last much longer. He placed his mouth on her. One lick and she shattered.
* * *
Incredible.
Never before had Isabel been so needy, so obsessed, so hot. Never before had she shattered so easily and so completely. So devastatingly.
Shining in the afterglow, she let her wet-linguine-body slide down the couch and into Michaels’s waiting arms. Until he started kissing her neck and her cheek and her mouth again. His kisses were like nothing she’d experienced before. Hot and sensual. Tasty and succulent. Mind-numbing.
Positioning her on the floor, he lay beside her on his side. Fully dressed. She was too exhausted to even the playing field.
He trailed kisses from her chin to her neck to the top of her blouse. He undid one button and placed a kiss on her skin, undid another and kissed, and another and another. The slow, sensual movements hypnotized.
Each press of his lips skittered across her skin and reawakened her pleasured body. Heavy dampness lay between her legs.
He untucked her blouse from her skirt and slipped both garments off. She lay on the floor of his hotel room in bra and panties. And she didn’t care. She only wanted to feel his warmth, feel him on top of her, feel him inside.
Reaching out, she unbuttoned his chef’s coat and pushed the material aside. She pulled his shirt up. “A little help would be nice.”
“I like the idea of you undressing me.” His deep tone rumbled through her, adding to the languidness liquefying her bones.
“If I wasn’t so completely sated, thanks to you,” she kissed him on his lips. “I might be able to get you undressed faster.” She trailed a finger down his bare chest. “Will you help me? Please?”
“I can’t resist your request.” He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
His carved abs and broad shoulders tightened when she splayed her hand on his chest and inched her way to his waist. She unsnapped his pants. “Pants off, too.”
“Jeez, woman. You want me to do all the work.” His playful tone didn’t slow the speed. He yanked his pants down and off. Then, he slipped off her panties.
Striking out with her arm, she pushed his elbow making him fall toward her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down on top. His body warmth electrified.
He placed his knee between her thighs, nudging them farther apart. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
She couldn’t be more sure. “Do you have to ask, after what you just did to me?”
“Good, huh?”
She was too pleased to be disgusted with his ego.
“Do you want more?” His gray eyes glinted with the tease, with temptation.
“Yes, please.”
&nbs
p; After removing her bra, he bent his head and drew a hardened nipple into his mouth. Swirling sensations spiraled from her center, curling around her in a haze of passion. The weakness she’d experienced after her orgasm disappeared, replaced by a hunger, an urgency, to be one with him. Every touch seemed more intense than ever before. Was this because she hadn’t been with anyone else in a while? Or because she was with him?
He sucked harder and she arched toward him, her body letting him know how good every lick and every caress felt. She bucked, feeling an aching void only he could fill. Her heat bumped against his. Like a sweet-tooth craving, she wanted him. His sex twitched against her core, spiking her desire. She didn’t need any more foreplay. She needed play.
“I can’t wait for you much longer.”
He groaned. “I can’t wait, either.”
His hand stretched to the side and he grabbed his pants. He pulled out a foil packet, ripped it open with his teeth, and quickly rolled it over his penis.
Her breath hitched. Her sex spasmed, and she lost control, watching him roll the protective sheath on his large member.
He re-positioned himself over her and his covered tip nudged at her entrance. Anticipation sent renewed shivers along her core. Bracing on his elbows, he entered her in one smooth glide. She pulsed around him, sending flutters through her entire body.
He began to move, setting an unhurried pace. She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to push him faster. He slowed the action, drawing out the ecstasy. Each long pull and thrust doubled the intensity. Her sex clenched around him, making the ride rougher and more fulfilling.
Reaching between them, he found her sensitive flesh and rubbed in time with his strokes. Her breathing came in pants.
His movements picked up the pace. His face flushed and his eyes dilated. His expression in the throes of passion was one of an avenging angel or a conquering god.
He drove her until she only saw pinpricks of light, until her body couldn’t take the building pressure anymore, until she screamed his name. “Mich—!”