Flambé: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Flambé Series Book 1)

by Elle Berlin

  “Connor!” she warns, and I lash my cock through her wicked slickness, making her buck and crow. I kiss her neck, softly teasing, licking salt and mint from her skin.

  “Let me be clear, Arie.” I rake my teeth down her throat. “If you come behind my bar, then this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to make you beg. Every—”

  I push inside her.

  “Single—”

  Her mouth drops open as my cock parts her.

  “Night.”

  She gasps—slick and tight—as I plow all the way to the hilt, pushing deeper and deeper, her hands clinging to my neck.

  “You can keep pretending you don’t want this …” I pull out slowly, watching her tongue wet her lips at my wicked withdrawal. “But there are consequences if you’re going to brush your ass up against my cock all night,” I growl into her ear. “You hear me?” I push back into her slightly, making her pussy slick and her breath grovel. “You come behind my bar again, then you’d better know exactly what my cock is going to do in retaliation!”

  I thrust hard and she cries out—shocked, excited.

  I don’t give her a chance to decide if she likes it, holding her sturdy against the wall as I start to pound—fucking her hard. Arie mumbles and whimpers, her ass smacking against the wall with my rhythm. My cock getting thicker and more powerful as I plow and her legs limber and open further, surrendering to my hot assault. Her hands turn wild, raking down my back, pushing my pants down, grabbing my ass.

  “Harder! Oh God!” She clutches and gasps and lets me take control, pounding her closer and closer to orgasm. “Connor! Oh, Connor!” My name is like a prayer, coiling hot and rabid inside her. “I’m going to live behind that bar if you’re going to fuck me like this each night!”

  I drive harder, my body slicking with the inertia, and her whole body starts to shake. She clenches and fists and lets go—gives in to me. She stops trying to control everything and her whole body starts to pulse as she moans loud from her throat, giving in to the building pleasure.

  “That’s it, Arie,” I pant against her ear. “Give in and feel me.”

  Her mouth finds mine, moaning and whimpering as she racks and clutches and grasps, turning raw and animal. She isn’t fighting against me. She’s surrendering, as her whole body—her cunt, her arms, her thighs—start spasming. It’s a tidal wave of sensation, and suddenly I’m coming too—fast and hard—our mouths fused and gasping. Even when I think she should be done, she continues to writhe and pump and cry out.

  The room stinks of us. It stinks of sweat and sex and my cock pumping her hard against the tiny patch of wall in her office. There’s no open widow, nowhere for the smell to go, as we both clutch and fuck and come.

  When Arie finally goes limp, my suit and skin are drenched with our sweat. I wrap my arms around her and take all of her weight, lifting her off from the wall and moving us slowly toward the loveseat. Still inside her, I sit down carefully, my back against the cushions with her curled and straddled in my lap. She looks down at me hazy-eyed, her plum lips swollen and panting, her lipstick smeared and the threads of her ruby hair sticking to her bare shoulders.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I say as she leans forward to rest her forehead against me, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. My hands run up her spine, feeling her skin through the open laces of the corset, counting the bones of her vertebrae. “You’re one hell of a fuck, boss,” I say to release the tension and she smiles against my lips, kissing me softly.

  “Connor,” she breathes against my mouth, pulling back. “You realize this is a problem.”

  “Well …” I shrug, still holding her. “I’m pretty sure Simon heard all of that.”

  “Oh shit,” she buries her head in my shoulder, the smell of us still raw and perfect.

  I think about how Simon found us out back when Arie was having a panic attack. And now this. “Well,” I start, “we can’t exactly put the cat back in the bag, if you know what I mean.”

  “If I don’t fire you, he damn well is going to.”

  “Arie.” I pull her face back to mine and kiss her softly. “Stop worrying about everything. It’s your restaurant. Nobody has to fire anyone.”

  “This is a problem.”

  “You knew that when you hired me.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Arie, just stop.” I kiss her so hard she can’t say anything, and after a moment she softens into me, releasing whatever fear is in her skin and mind. And for the next few minutes, she stops trying to prove something, to herself, to the world, to me, to whomever the fire is meant to keep in line. For the next few minutes—and maybe it’s all we will get—but for the next few minutes it’s just us, together, breathing and perfect.

  And for the first time in a long time I realize, this, this is what I want.

  31

  Arie

  Connor leaves out the back and I find Simon on the front patio looking out over the bay. He’s captured by something dark beyond the horizon, and despite the fact that tonight went well, there’s so much that feels uncertain.

  The wind has picked up. It grabs my red hair and whips it like flames as I walk up to him.

  “Do you remember a couple weeks ago?” I start, leaning against the railing next to Simon and easing into this conversation. “The night when you told me to go out and get laid? When I was biting everyone’s head off and you told me—”

  “I remember,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on the black pinch of the horizon, his posture far away.

  “That night was Connor,” I admit, tapping my fingernails against the railing nervously. “I met him before Hamblin, before the Gin n’ Lava, before we hired him. He was a stranger, and in a weird twist of luck he was the guy Hamblin cinched this deal on.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that the second we walked into the Gin n’ Lava?” Simon adjusts his glasses before looking at me.

  “I told you it was a bad idea,” I defend, a chill from the wind running across my skin.

  “That’s not the same and you know it.” Simon turns sharply, his eyes dark behind his black rimmed glasses. I’ve once again disappointed him.

  “Would it have mattered?” I ask sincerely. “All you could see was the fact that Connor didn’t take my shit and that he could mix a drink like a fucking god.”

  “Which he can,” Simon interjects, a fact Simon wants to make sure I don’t forget.

  “Yes, he can,” I agree, trying to salvage this. “But you didn’t want to hear me that night. All you heard was Hamblin. Hamblin said this is the guy, he’s the only option, and that was the end of the story. Even if I told you I slept with Connor a second time after we saw him at the Gin n’ Lava, you probably still would’ve hired him the next morning.”

  “Jesus, Arie, you didn’t!” Simon scowls, and I shake my head, annoyed.

  “I was convincing him not to show up the next morning. But then you threw your little temper tantrum and gave me an ultimatum: hire Connor or you walk. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Talk to me, dammit! Tell me what was going on.”

  “So, you’re telling me that if I’d explained the situation,” I press, leaning in toward Simon, “you would’ve gone back to Hamblin and said, ‘Sorry, wrong guy!’ Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Simon scowls before turning away to stare at the city lights, a thousand golden windows against the darkened sky.

  “Exactly!” I point at his silent admission. “Lecture and shame me all you want, but he’d still be here in this mess.”

  “You’re his boss!” Simon scowls, buttoning and unbuttoning his suitcoat. “You should know better!”

  “Yes, thank you, I know that.” I snap back. “And I thought I could handle it but—”

  “Oh, I heard you handle it.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about—”

  “Where else has this happened?” Simon snips, pointing at me. “Do I need to disinfect the entire restaurant?”

  “Wow.
” I match his stand-offish position, annoyed now. “You want to call the health department while you’re at it? Maybe the shame police. Or maybe your own pity party of Arie’s-getting-laid and I’m—”

  “You can’t fuck your employee!” Simon’s hands are in the air now, exacerbated. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “I know that!”

  “Then what the hell just happened in your office?”

  “I don’t know!” I yell back, frustrated. “It just—”

  “Don’t tell me it just happened.” Simon snaps, folding his arms and insulted.

  “Look,” I scramble. “Whenever we’re around each other it’s like everything gets turned up to a thousand, okay? And it’s not just the sexual chemistry, it’s the fact that we are at each other’s throats all the time, and every comment he makes is intent on getting me riled, and you know I can’t back down when someone does that. It’s like you lit a match in the kitchen and expected me not to play with it.”

  “Right, so I’m supposed to treat you like a child?”

  “But then sometimes he’s just fine,” I continue, ignoring his comment. “He can be nice actually, which is even weirder, because I don’t know what to do with that. Nice just makes me … anxious.”

  Simon’s face whitens. “So, you’re telling me this is more than just a hot fuck in the back room that you’re going to forget about? You actually have feelings for him?”

  “No!” I clip out, but Simon shakes his head.

  “No?” Simon asks, not buying it. “So, when he’s nice, it freaks you out, but that’s nothing?” He tilts his head like I ought to be adding this up myself. “And he also seems to be able to talk you down from a panic attack like it’s nobody’s business, but that’s nothing too, right? You want me to believe this is just cocks and pheromones?”

  “I don’t know!” I hiss at him, my hands suddenly trembling. Thinking about how Connor held me in my office just moments ago has me upended, and mostly because of how comfortable and right it felt. “I—I don’t know what’s going on with us, okay?” I smooth down my skirt. “It was—is—hot sex. And of course, I know we should knock it off because we work together, but I see him every day and he just gets under my skin, and—”

  “This is really simple,” Simon interrupts. “Go out and fuck someone else.”

  “What?”

  Simon shrugs. “You heard me. The Arie I know from college wouldn’t think twice about any of this. She’d find someone else and get it out of her system.”

  I stare at him, surprised. Simon’s far more of a romantic than I am, which makes his comment extra harsh. “Are you serious?”

  “No, are you serious?” Simon points at me with his eyebrows high. “The fact that you even balked at that suggestion means more is going on between you and Connor than banging each other into tomorrow.”

  “It’s not—”

  “It is!” Simon frowns. “Which means this is a really big problem.”

  “You’re blowing this out of—”

  “Am I?” Simon narrows his eyes. “What happens if you two break up? Huh?”

  “We aren’t together!” I throw my hands in the air. This went from ‘he’s kinda nice’ to ‘where should I send the wedding invitations’ in less than two seconds.

  “Are you seriously going to be able to watch him flirt with women all night, every night? Is jealous Arie going to make a scene?”

  “I’ll be fine!”

  “Is he going to be okay with watching you be the seductress that you are?”

  “We’re adults, thank you.”

  “You two were about to kill each other at the bar tonight—don’t think I didn’t notice. Or the wait staff for that matter. What was that? Foreplay?” He points to the back of the restaurant. “Is every night going to be a prelude to the two of you knocking all the books off the shelves of your office?”

  “Oh my gosh!” I wag my fists at him, furious. “What the hell do you want from me, Simon? I’m bloody human.”

  “I don’t want you to be a liability for this restaurant! That’s what!”

  “So, what do you expect me to do? Huh?” I grip the railing, at my wits end. “Fire him? Fire myself? What if I’m in love with him?”

  Simon does a double take and curses. “Are you kidding?” His eyes get wider at my silence. “Are you in love with him?”

  “No!”

  “Jesus! Then why would you even suggest it?”

  “I don’t know! I just—” I roll my fingers into fists and turn toward the ocean. “Maybe I just need to see if this is something. And then, what do I do if it is?”

  Simon’s face falls, quieting, torn between being my business partner and my best friend. He steps back and takes a deep breath, letting that comment sit in the air between us.

  “Fuck,” he says quietly, looking over the railing at the beach below us. “Just … fuck.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, wrapping my arms over my chest and rubbing my shoulders. The night air is thick with salt and uncertainty and I wish I could have one thing be simple and clear.

  “Well,” Simon says after a minute. “I guess you’re going to have to figure out how this plays out. What happens if it is something and what happens if it isn’t.”

  “Okay,” I say softly, not looking at him, but knowing he’s right. I can’t keep winging this and pretending I have it under control. For someone who always wants everything to go exactly as she’s planned, I keep letting Connor pull the rug out from under me again and again.

  “And no more sex in the restaurant!” Simon asserts. “Ever! Got it?” I look at Simon and I can tell he’s trying to keep it together and give me some space.

  “Yes, of course. Not a problem.”

  Simon shakes his head and starts heading toward the elevators. “Please just make this work long enough to get through the Grand Opening. Hamblin is going be here, and I don’t want the two of you giving him any reason to think twice about his investment.”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Arie!” His eyes are a warning. “I’m not kidding.”

  “I know! I know. I promise. Pinky swear.” I hold up my finger like a child and Simon looks at it sadly, not hooking his finger in mine. “I do promise.” I echo, dropping my hand.

  “See you tomorrow,” he says, walking away.

  I know I need to get my head out of my own ass and focus on what matters, what’s really at stake: this restaurant, my partner, keeping us in business.

  Connor is fun—more than fun—and maybe, he’s more than that. But right now, “more than that” is completely irrelevant.

  I have to keep my head in the game.

  32

  Connor

  I walk into Voss Associates and my stomach churns at the familiar smell of cardboard and filing cabinets. My neck tightens, imagining my father walking out the large oak door of his office and going off on some tirade about money and politics. He’s not here, of course;zzz3 this is Ned’s branch. I can’t even remember the last time my dad came out to Hawaii to check on the business, yet my nerves can’t shake the feeling that my parents are embedded in every inch of this place: their names on the door, on the pens, on the hand sanitizer in the bathroom.

  “Connor?” Ned’s secretary, Judy, looks up from the reception desk by the door. She reminds me of Sally Field, sweet and midwestern, but determined. “Do you have an appointment with your brother?”

  “No, I don’t.” I rap my hand on the desktop. “Judy, I know I should’ve called. By any chance is he here or…”

  “Sorry, he’s been at the courthouse all morning.” Judy answers, but as I turn to leave, she lifts her finger to say it isn’t hopeless. “You know he did say he’d be back after lunch, after he ran by the airport. Do you want to wait in his office?” Judy smiles, gesturing to Ned’s closed door. The damn thing is just as large and overwrought as my father’s, making me shake my head and pull the black envelope out of my pocket.

  “
No, there’s no need to do that,” I say, flipping over the envelope and looking at the scribble of gold letters that say Flambé. “I wanted to drop off this invitation to the opening and chat with him about …” I trail off and shrug, handing Judy the envelope. She acts like I’ve handed her a box of expensive chocolates, running her fingers excitedly over the satin envelope. “Please tell him to bring a date,” I continue. “Or—well, he can call me if he has any questions.”

  Judy nods, enamored by the embossed calligraphy. “Is this the new place you work at?”

  “Yes,” I nod. “It’s our grand opening. I just thought Ned would, you know …”

  “It looks fancy!” Judy practically giggles. “I had no idea.” Her eyes flare as she looks up, giving me the impression that fancy is not how Ned described what I’ve been up to.

  “It’s a one-of-a-kind,” I agree. “If you want to come sometime, I can get you a table.”

  “Really?” Judy lights up, still stroking the invitation like she might hide it under her desk and keep it.

  “Absolutely,” I nod. “Please make sure he gets that.”

  “Of course.” Judy nods. “Oh, and before you go, did Ned tell you about—” But then she catches herself like she’s gotten ahead of herself. “You know what, never mind.” She waves a hand in front of her face like I should forget it. “He’ll call you on his own time.”

  “About?”

  Judy lifts up the envelope and smiles. “I’ll make sure he gets this, Connor. It was lovely for you to stop by.”

  From her sudden change in tune, I know something’s up. Something she knows about that I don’t. I nod curtly and leave, eyeing the sleek and modern architecture as I walk out, all of it imposing and too loud, too perfect and calculated with no room for invention or creativity.

  When I’m outside and heading down the boardwalk, I’m able to breathe again, the weight of that office far behind me. What is Judy not telling me? And what the hell does Mason think Ned gave up when he bailed me out? I can’t get Mason’s disappointed frown out of my mind, the way he looked at me last night and the spit in his tone. It’s been a nagging thorn in my side all day. Ned and I talk, but we don’t talk. Ned’s always waist-deep in work, which is his preference. If something important was up he’d tell me about it, wouldn’t he?