Taste: A Bad Boy Chef Romance

by Natalie Knight

  This room is filled with the most impressive culinary group of people ever gathered in a single room.

  I get the sense that something big is coming.

  A waiter comes by and offers me a glass of champagne. I thank him and take a sip. I recognize the variety right away. It's Champagne Collet Brut Art Deco. One of my favorites. Did Palmer know that?

  I take another sip and am overcome with the flavors of raspberry and apricot, and even candied lemon peel. Everything about it is perfect.

  "Can I have your attention please, everyone," Palmer says, and my eyes dart to the front of the dining room.

  "First, I want to thank each and every one of you for being here tonight—even my most outspoken critics."

  Palmer looks directly at Percy as he says this and I hear some low murmurs in the crowd.

  He continues, "I have a very special evening planned tonight."

  "This should be good," Kate whispers into my ear. She promised to join me tonight, and I'm glad she came. If she didn't, I'm not sure I would've been able to muster the courage to come here alone.

  "I'm excited to present a dish to you this evening that I've worked long and hard on," Palmer says to the crowd. He then lifts the silver lid off of a dish and everyone's necks are craning to get a good look at it.

  "Tonight I present to you a Bodacious Bucatini Bolognese with heirloom tomatoes," he says, and the entire dining room erupts in applause.

  I hear whispers from the table next to me. "I didn't know he had a dish like this," one woman says.

  And my heart sinks. It's sinking faster than the Titanic.

  I've been tricked. Again.

  If I weren't already so emotionally spent, I'd cry. But I can't even cry right now because that emotion has turned into anger.

  I'm angry and shocked.

  He adapted my grandmother's secret recipe and he invited me here tonight to rub it in my face and use it as his own.

  My face is hotter than a campfire. "I told you," I say to Kate. "I never should've come here tonight. This was a huge mistake."

  Kate doesn't say anything, but instead tenderly places her hand on top of mine.

  Waiters are bringing this dish to every table and diners are smiling. Critics are taking notes and their faces tell me just how impressed they are.

  I'm astonished as I look around the dining room.

  I've never felt so bad in my life. There's this blackness in the pit of my stomach. It's like I don't want to die, but I don't exactly want to live, and I feel lonely … but I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to crawl into my bed and hide away from the world.

  I feel lost. I'm disgusted with myself. My limbs feel heavy, like they're weighed down with lead anchors. It feels like I'm on a bus and I'm ringing to signal the driver to stop because all I want to do is get off this ride, but the bus just keeps going, and all I can do is watch the world move by through the windows.

  I think I've hit an all-time low.

  Great. Just when I thought I wasn't going to cry, I feel hot tears well up behind my eyelids and they're threatening to spill over.

  I beg my body to not betray me like this. I can't cry. Not now. Not in front of this crowd. I gather my purse and turn to Kate.

  "I'm sorry, but I have to leave."

  But just as I'm about to stand up, Palmer makes another announcement.

  And it's so surprising that I'm frozen to my seat.

  Chapter 34

  Palmer

  There are murmurs circulating through the crowd and my heart is beating so fast, I feel as if I might die right here, in front of the world's most powerful culinary critics.

  That would be embarrassing.

  I tell myself to breath. Just breathe. Everything is going to be OK.

  I hear a song play in my head:

  "Everything's gonna be alright, everything's gonna be okay."

  Right. It's now or never.

  This is the moment I've been waiting for.

  "I'm glad you are all enjoying this dish, but I have a confession to make," I say to the room, and every table goes silent. I'm talking silent enough to hear a fly land on a napkin. Every single set of eyes is now fixed on me.

  "I invited you here tonight to help me surprise Chef Nicole," I say, and everyone is turning in their seats, looking for her. She seems genuinely surprised.

  "You see … one night she cooked this most amazing dish for me. It transported me to another time and place. A place of her ancestors. It was authentic, and so full of depth of flavor, and love, and creativity … and it told a story. More than that, it showed her genius as a fellow chef. I was planning to surprise her with this new dish tonight."

  There are now murmurs rumbling through the room again, but I continue on.

  "This new dish was supposed to be a blend of my style and hers … a collaboration, if you will."

  My eye's lock on Nicole's and I can't decipher what she's thinking. But she still seems to be in a state of shock.

  "I did this as a way to say that I love her—I love this woman—and sometimes different things come together, combine, and become something beautiful."

  Now Nicole's holding one hand to her mouth and she's crying. Even from this distance, I can see the tears streaking down her cheeks.

  The entire room is clapping.

  "Bravo—congratulations!" I hear the crowd shout. But I raise my hand to silence them.

  "Please don't clap for me," I say. "Clap for Nicole. Congratulate her instead because she's the only reason I managed to do something like this. She has elevated the way I approach cooking and my own cuisine."

  The crowd grows louder. The clapping has now reached a fever pitch and everyone is on their feet, and is turning to Nicole.

  I watch as the major food critics approach her table. Rachel Smith reaches her first.

  "It's an honor," she says to Nicole. "I'd like to talk to you about a potential book deal. I think we could create a best selling cook book together."

  Nicole is speechless. She's beaming from ear to ear. Then Francis Ball and Joe March approach her, showering her with accolades, and I can tell this all feels so surreal to her.

  It's as if she's trying to pinch herself, to ensure it isn't just a dream.

  I walk to her table and reach my hand out toward her. She takes my hand in hers and I pull her to her feet. As soon as she's standing, I pull her into my arms, and embrace her in a tight hug. God it feels so good to hold her again.

  It's been so long without her. Too long. And I never want that to happen again.

  I don't think I could be without her.

  I look directly into her eyes. "I love you," I say.

  "I love you too," she says, her lips curling into a smile.

  There's a new sparkle in her eyes, and I realize that I'm happy. Truly happy. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life.

  You know the feeling you get when you come home and your dog is excited to see you? He's so excited that his tail is wagging so hard it's knocking things off the coffee table and he's running up to you and licking you and making all sorts of excited puppy noises and so you pet him and smile and feel content?

  Well, it's like that. The rest of the world dissolves and takes a backseat to Nicole … to my happiness.

  Nicole drags one hand to my cheek, tenderly cupping it. "I have a secret for you too," she says.

  "And what's that?"

  "I went behind your back and saw your doctor."

  "You did what?" I say, looking into her eyes. Why would she do that? I told her about that in strict confidence. She knows I didn't want to get a second opinion.

  "Before you get mad," she says, "you're an idiot."

  "What?"

  "You're an idiot because you were worried for nothing," she smiles. "The scans were wrong. You're not gonna die."

  "Well aren’t you full of surprises," I say.

  She brings her lips to mine, and as soon as I taste her sweet lips, an electric current travels down my spine
.

  "I want you, Palmer," she says. "I want you … now."

  Chapter 35

  Nicole

  I’ve never been this happy in my entire life.

  More than just happiness, there’s also love as well.

  For the first time in my life, I’m ready to share everything I have with another person. It doesn’t matter what—a recipe, my heart, my body…everything I have, now belongs to Palmer as well.

  I don’t even hear anyone. The whole place is completely packed, and everyone is looking at us, but I just don’t care. I’m looking into his deep blue eyes, and everything I care about seems to live in that gaze of his.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispers, grabbing my hand and offering me one of his heart-melting smiles.

  “Where to?” I ask him, even though I don’t care about the where. I just want to be alone with him.

  “Have you ever ridden a bike before?” he asks me, that devious grin of his on his lips. I shake my head, biting down on my lip as I remember that roaring bike he drove to my restaurant that one night, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity to hesitate. “Come,” he tells me.

  With his hand on mine, he drags me out of the dining room and into the kitchen.

  “Brit, The Pearl on Park is yours for the night,” he tells one of the women in there. He grabs two helmets and his jacket, all of it sitting on a counter at the end of the room, and then guides me toward a corridor that leads to a service door. We’re in the building hall now, and we make our way toward the elevator at the end of it.

  He presses the button on the wall, and a fraction of a second later the doors swing open to allow us in.

  “I love you,” I tell him, my heart beating so fast it feels as if it’s about to explode. “I love you so much.”

  “So do I,” he tells me, and then he’s on me. He pushes me back against the elevator door, crushing his mouth against mine, and I surrender to the most intense kiss of my life. My heart melts as I feel the tip of his tongue running between the crevice between my lips, and I simply rest my hands on his waist.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have doubted –”

  “Shh,” he silences me, placing one finger over my lips. “No need for that,” he continues, and that’s when the doors slide open once more. We walk out into the lobby, and a few seconds later we’re in the street, the coldness of the night making my skin prickle.

  “Here,” he says, handing me his leather jacket. I try to protest, but he just forces me to wear it. Then, gently, he places one of the helmets over my head. “Ready?” he asks me, leading the way toward a bike parked around the corner. He swings one leg over it, and then fishes a key out of his pocket and revs up the engine, its roar cutting through the night.

  Hesitantly, I climb on the back of the bike, and a few moments later we’re already cruising down the streets, my arms wrapped around his chest.

  Right now, I hear nothing but the roar of the engine and the thumping of my own heart. I keep my arms tight around him, and not because I’m afraid of falling, but because I don’t want to let go.

  We drive toward his apartment building, and the moment he parks his bike it takes us only a few minutes to get inside his apartment. The moment I hear the door closing behind me, I simply push myself up against him and go on tiptoes, my lips looking for his.

  “I need you,” I tell him, the words tumbling out from my lips like honey and silk.

  “Not as much as I need you,” he replies, taking his hands to my shoulders and pushing off the jacket down my arms. “I need my girl,” he continues, sweeping me off my feet and carrying me toward the couch in the center of the living room.

  I rest my hand on top of his and, looking into his eyes, I realize just how much I need him. I need him now, and when I say now, I mean right now. I slide myself over to him, closing the gap between us, and place my hand right on his crotch. In two heartbeats, I feel his cock hardening under my fingers, straining against the fabric of his pants. Smiling, I curl my fingers around his thick shape and press hard on it.

  “You can’t wait, huh?” He says, echoing my own thoughts as he places one hand on my knee and slides it up until it meets the hem of my dress. I shiver softly at his touch, the sting of desire striking me at point blank.

  “No, I can’t," I tell him, squeezing his cock more harshly than I probably should. I just can’t help myself.

  “That makes two of us…” He whispers at me, a wicked grin dawning on his lips, “I’m just like you: I can’t wait.” With that, he slides his hand under my dress and only stops when he has his fingers pressed tight against my pussy. I grow wet in a fraction of a second, my thong dampening immediately. Biting on my lower lip, I let an expression of desire take over my face and lean into him, crushing my mouth against his.

  Forcing his tongue past my lips, he pushes it inside of my mouth and runs it in soft gentle circles around my own. We start slow and tenderly, but our kiss quickly degenerates into wildness: we start to kiss as if we are possessed and, really, we are. We are possessed by lust and love; and above all, we are possessed by happiness.

  As we kiss, Palmer presses his hand harder against my pussy and, with a quick flick of his fingers, he pushes my thong to the side. I pant as I feel his index finger brushing against my pussy lips and, when he presses it over my clit, I go completely mad and nibble at his bottom lip, pulling it back with my teeth.

  Taking one hand to my hair, he yanks on it and, at the same time, slides his finger all the way inside of my pussy. I press my legs together, trapping his hand in place, and he pushes his finger even deeper inside of me, his fingertip rubbing against my G-spot. As he touches me there, the gentle flames of pleasure and desire start raging and raging, turning my mind into a furnace.

  “I’m going to fuck you right here,” he says, hunger in his voice, “I can’t wait. I really can’t, Nicole.”

  “That’s all I need to know,” I say, my voice quivering as he rubs his fingertip against my G-spot. Flicking his wrist, he starts to move his finger in and out of my pussy, always pushing it all the way in until it’s touching that sweet hidden spot in my body.

  Anxiety rushing through my veins, I start to stroke him over his pants and then, not satisfied with it, I unbuckle his belt with trembling fingers. Tugging on his pants, I force the zipper to go down and, moving fast, I slide my hand under his boxer briefs and grab his thick mast. My skin prickles as I feel his warmness, his shaft pulsing against my fingers, and I start to move my hand up and down at a furious pace.

  Throwing my head back against the headrest, I grit my teeth and hiss furiously, my pussy clenching around his fingers. He feels me on the verge, and so he presses his fingertips tighter against my G-spot - just like that, I come undone. I have to clench my teeth in order not to scream, all the muscles in my body twitching as if I’ve just been shocked.

  “God!” I moan in a low tone, opening my eyes and looking at him with anticipation and pleasure flickering in my eyes.

  “Shh,” he whispers, sliding his fingers out of me. “We’re just getting started,” he continues, taking his fingers to my mouth and brushing them over my lips. Without even knowing what I’m doing, I part my lips and allow him to slide his fingers inside of my mouth and, as he pulls them back, I suck them dry. My own flavor and scent hits me at once, coating my tongue and making my head spin.

  Moving like a wild animal, I lean into him and, pulling his boxer briefs down, I grab his cock and point it straight at my mouth. I place my lips against his tip, lapping at it with my tongue, and then just push my mouth down until I feel my lips touching the skin around the base of his cock.

  I hold my position there until my lungs are screaming for air, and only then do I move back. As my lips are around his glans again, I start to bob my head up and down his cock, sucking him as fiercely as is humanly possible. I’m not sucking or blowing him - what I’m doing is devouring him. He likes to say that my pussy is delicious, but let me tell yo
u this: if there’s anything delicious in this world, it’s his cock. Swear to God, I could suck on it for hours and hours.

  I suck on him hard and, if he didn’t grab me by the hair and forced me to stop, I would just keep going until he came in my mouth. As it is, he pushes my head back - but I simply can’t control myself. If I can’t have him in my mouth, then I need him in my pussy.

  Moving with cat-like movements I climb on top of him, spreading my legs and straddling him. Before he can even react, I grab at his cock and angle it upward; with my other hand, I flick my thong to the side and push his tip against my wetness. He holds me by the hips as I try to ease myself down; then, grinning, he only allows me to rub my pussy with the tip of his cock. He’s torturing me, and loving every single second of it.

  “Please,” I moan, repeating the word over and over again until he finally surrenders to me. Easing up the pressure on my hips, he allows me to go down and, just like that, I impale myself on his cock, his shaft sliding easily inside of my pussy.

  I start to sway my hips like a mad woman, placing my arms over his shoulders as I ride him. He places his hands on my ass, hiking my dress up to my waist. As I keep on rocking my hips, he pushes the string of thong that covers my ass to the side, and starts to brush one fingertip along my crack. I go even faster, riding as if tomorrow will never come. I tremble and shiver, my skin prickling as I feel his touch, and a deep moan climbs up my throat.

  “Oh, God…” I moan, and his fingers start digging into my ass cheeks. I close my eyes, enjoying the moment as the movement of my body matches his rhythm, electricity crackling inside my mind.

  I’m moaning hard, and I don’t even care if everyone in the building can hear us. I’m no longer that same Nicole, the one that was always coy and shy around men. The Nicole that didn’t care about dating, and lived to work. That Nicole has…grown.

  “I’m going to… I’m going to…” I start to say, but I don’t even manage to finish my sentence. Clenching my ass cheeks and gritting my teeth, I feel my pussy tightening around his shaft and I come. I take my hands to his chest and, completely out of control, I grab at the fabric of his shirt and pull as hard as I can. His buttons pop out, and I even feel the fabric tearing under my hands, but I don’t care - all that I want is to feel is naked skin under the open palm of my hands. Ripping his shirt open, I press my hands on his firm pectorals and dig my fingernails into it, hard enough to draw blood, and just keep him riding as I come my brains out.