by Cora Brent
“Maybe,” I said slowly, “you need something more practical than a hero.”
Melanie watched me slide a pizza peel under the raw pie and then expertly deposit it into the mouth of the oven. The fire was stronger than it ought to be. I’d need to keep an eye on the pizza, or it would burn.
“More practical than a hero?” she repeated.
I faced her. “That’s right.”
“And I suppose you have a suggestion.”
I hung the pizza peel on a hook and took a step in her direction. “One or two.”
Melanie licked her lips. “Tell me.”
I looked her in the eye. “I’d rather show you.”
Her blue eyes widened, and her breath hitched, just enough for me to notice. “Then show me,” she said without a waver.
Those were bold words from her. But she knew as well as I did that this little dance we’d been spinning through was coming to an end. After weeks of holding back, her words were all I needed to hear to let go.
Two more steps and I was close enough to touch her. When I ran a fingertip along the delicate line of her jaw, she shut her eyes and exhaled raggedly.
Without saying a word, I eased around behind her and closed in, inhaling the heat of her body. She didn’t resist at all when I turned her around until she was facing the counter. I slid my arms around her waist. If either of us had spoken right then, the spell might have been broken, but she said nothing, not even when I pressed my chest against her back.
When I pushed her hair aside, she leaned into me with a sexy moan, and I responded by grinding my hips against her ass. She gasped a little, and I pushed against her harder, more insistently. I wanted her to feel it, to know what being this close to her was doing to me. And I didn’t give a hot damn about manners or ethics or whether there would be any consequences from fucking my own employee in the middle of the kitchen.
My palms brazenly cupped her breasts, my thumbs rolling over the outline of her nipples. She liked that, shuddering and breathing the words “Oh my god,” as her head rolled back against my shoulder. I wished I could see the look on her face now that I had my hands all over her gorgeous tits. They’d been stalking my dreams since the day she walked her prissy heels into my restaurant, and soon they were going to be mine. Very, very soon. But I was going to play with her for a little while first.
My mouth was right next to her ear. “The first lesson, Melanie, is that you’ve got to work the dough. So work it hard, and don’t stop until I let you.” I flicked my tongue out, tasting her hot neck. Then I sucked her skin, hard enough to leave a mark.
“Stick to the rhythm,” I demanded, my hands gripping her hips so I could make her move the way I wanted. “Don’t stop until I let you.”
Melanie was good at following orders. She kneaded the dough, pushing and pressing with both hands and shifting her body in rhythmic perfection just as I’d told her to. I rocked against her, straining and grinding. At this rate I’d cream my damn pants from all the friction. I had to grit my teeth in the struggle not to shove those tight jeans down to her ankles and get to work.
“Harder,” I growled, flattening my palms against her belly and moving in time. I knew she had to feel how hard I was, and I was dying to offer her more. Judging by her heavy breathing, she had to be so damn ready that she ached.
When I made my move, it was sudden. My right hand dove between her legs and she gasped out my name. “Dominic!”
“Shh,” I warned. “Keep working.”
My thumb grazed the zipper of her jeans, and I teased her, rubbing my thumb up and down, wondering how much of this I could take before I ripped away every barrier and got what I needed.
She stopped messing with the dough. She was melting right into me, hardly able to keep standing. I cupped her in my hand, and she arched into my touch almost ferociously. Then my searching fingers found the cleft at her center, and she let out a raw moan.
“Dom,” she gasped while my fingers worked her without mercy. “Oh god, Dom, please.”
I teased her ruthlessly. I knew she wanted more, wanted my fingers inside of her, was quaking at the thought of taking my cock deep. I’d make her tell me. She’d beg for it before we were done tonight.
“Fuck, I need you,” I growled, knowing I couldn’t wait much longer. I needed to get inside. I needed to get everything.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, rocking back and forth hard against my hand, rubbing her ass against my cock with so much intensity I didn’t know how I’d go another ten seconds without losing it.
Then she came. Just like that. With my hand between her legs and her ass pushed against my cock and our clothes still on. She cried out and she trembled as the spasms gripped her and she only kept standing because I held her up.
There was a mirror across the room, and I caught a glimpse of the two of us. The sight of her flushed face and wild hair as she leaned against my chest, trying to catch her breath was the stuff of every epic fuck fantasy I’d been trying not to have since she entered my life. I couldn’t wait to see that look on her face again from a more creative angle. Her soft, full lips were slightly parted, and I just stared at her mouth. Hot damn, I was going to make good use of that mouth.
“You’re beautiful,” I told her in a husky voice.
Melanie turned her head and looked up at me. She smiled, and suddenly I was a little ashamed. I wanted to give her a hell of a lot more than a cheap orgasm in the middle of a dirty kitchen.
I didn’t have time to tell her that, though, because the chime over the front door rang and a voice called out. “Dom?”
Melanie’s smile dissolved.
“Shit,” I hissed, and we backed away from each other so fast it was like we were two teens who’d been caught messing around in the basement. When Gio entered the kitchen, Melanie was standing at the sink with the water running, and I was rolling out dough, trying to will my boner away by thinking about highway roadkill.
“Hey,” I said mildly as my brother looked around with a frown.
“What’s going on?” he asked with an odd tone to his voice.
“Just cleaning up,” I said brightly.
Gio gave me a flat stare. “Looks like you’re cooking, not cleaning.”
“Oh yeah, I promised Melanie I’d make her a pie to go. Speaking of which, I’m sure it’s ready.”
I grabbed a flat box from a stack that Tim had folded earlier and set it on the counter. The pizza was done to perfection. In one fluid movement I removed it with the pizza peel and set it inside the pie box.
“Here you go, Melanie,” I said, closing the lid. I wondered if my voice sounded as weird as I felt. I could feel Gio’s eyes on me. He hadn’t moved since he’d walked into the kitchen.
Melanie turned off the water and carefully dried her hands on a nearby towel. Her hair was still a little disordered, and the pink flush hadn’t left her cheeks. But she’d brushed all the telltale flour off her clothes, and she even managed to smile as if she hadn’t just climaxed in front of the prep counter a minute ago.
“Thank you, Dominic,” she said, and reached out to take the pizza. She glanced over at Gio, but my brother was still watching me.
Melanie swallowed, and I could see the uncertainty in her eyes. It made me feel like a prick, a predatory prick. I was worse than just an asshole who couldn’t maintain an appropriate distance from the employee who’d been working her ass off to help make my restaurant a success.
Somehow the sight of Gio had woken me up to reality. I was being selfish starting something with Melanie while knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to build something real with her. I was too haunted by old ghosts and too driven by regret and ambition to concentrate on anything but the restaurant. Melanie would wind up being juggled among all the other priorities in my life, and she was worth so much more than that. If I cared about her at all, I would stop this thing in its tracks.
“You have the morning off tomorrow,” I told her. “Just like the rest of the Espo
2 staff.”
Her eyebrows knitted together, and the hand holding the pizza box wilted a little. “I’ll still be over at Espo 1 tomorrow evening. You know that some of the staff will be getting in some last-minute training for Friday’s opening, and I promised I’d be there for them.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be here all day, though, so I’ll see you Friday. Thanks for sticking around to help clean up.”
Melanie’s face fell. She wasn’t happy with me. I wasn’t happy with me either.
“Okay,” she said, nodding and avoiding my eyes. “I’m just going to grab my purse from the office.”
An uncomfortable silence reigned as soon as Melanie left the room. I cleared my throat.
“I thought you weren’t coming back tonight,” I said to Gio.
He raised an eyebrow. “Tara and the baby are asleep. I felt shitty about needing to cut out of here early, so I figured I’d make up for it by handling whatever cleanup work was left.”
“You really didn’t have to. I’ve got it covered.”
“Do you?” he muttered.
Melanie returned, pizza box in one hand, purse in the other. “Well,” she said, a little too brightly, “good night, gentlemen.”
“Night, Melanie,” Gio said. “Good job all around.”
Melanie smiled and then turned to me, but instead of saying anything, I just kind of lamely saluted. I wasn’t sure what I wished harder for, that I was leaving with her or that I’d never crossed that forbidden line tonight.
Either wish was futile at this point. As the door chime sounded again, signaling Melanie’s departure, something occurred to me that made me feel even worse about what had gone down. I hadn’t even kissed her.
Why the hell hadn’t I kissed her?
But there was no time to dwell on that because there was something more immediate to worry about. Now that we were really alone, I had no choice but to face Gio.
When questions of conscience arose, Gio was the touchstone. Gio could level me with a knowing look when he chose to. As he stood there in the kitchen doorway with a scowl on his face, I could read his disapproval without him saying a word. But he spoke anyway, summing up his censure with one soft question to let me know that I hadn’t fooled him one bit.
“Really, Dom?” he sighed, and then went to work stacking plates.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MELANIE
What was the protocol for facing your boss after you came on his hand?
In the hour after I left Dominic, I brooded over the question in my living room and finally solved the dilemma with three beers and the pizza Dominic had handed me before hustling me out the door. As I licked my fingers clean with no regard for etiquette, I understood that I hadn’t actually solved anything at all, but I felt good and buzzed—so at least that was something to be grateful for.
When I first got home, a small part of me listened for a knock on the door or a text on my phone, but I wasn’t surprised neither ever came. Dominic Esposito was as enigmatic as a deep-space wormhole, and I’d just hurt my head trying to figure out his next move.
My hand flew to my lower belly, and my face grew hot as I remembered the way I’d shamelessly leaned into his touch and dissolved into a wanton puddle of lust.
Ever since the day we met, I’d felt the electric spark of attraction. But in spite of the long looks and the flirtatious banter, we’d never done a thing. In some ways that was a relief. I liked my job, and nothing good was bound to come out of banging the boss.
Yet there were times when a single glance from that man would make me forget my own goddamn name. And tonight when Dominic looked my way and said, “Come over here,” I was a goner.
“Boy, did I come,” I muttered to my listening cats, wincing a little over the memory of how ninety seconds of groping had released a climactic tidal wave that left my legs shaking. Dominic could have taken whatever he wanted, and I would have given it all up eagerly. There was no telling how many different ways and in how many creative positions we would have christened the kitchen of Espo 2 if Gio hadn’t walked in. Thank god Gio had called out his arrival. I had time to dart over to the sink and brush the flour off my boobs by the time he entered the room. I was sure he didn’t suspect a thing. The alternative was too mortifying to consider.
Releasing an exasperated groan, I tossed a chenille couch pillow across the room. The cats abandoned me and chased the pillow, attacking the fluffy aggressor in kill mode.
I watched my pets trying to murder the pillow for a few minutes, then dove into my purse to grab my phone. Maybe calling someone would help me mull over all the Dominic-related angst that was keeping me here on the couch in fetal position. It was nearly midnight, but Lucy had always been a night owl.
“Hey, Mel,” said my sister, and I envied the easy tone in her voice. Lucy probably wouldn’t be foolish enough to fantasize endlessly about her hot boss and then dry hump his left hand.
“Hey, Luce,” I said, trying to sound just as breezy and unconcerned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately. After a lifetime of sisterhood, Lucy had developed a sixth sense where my moods were concerned.
“Everything’s great,” I told her.
“Is it? You don’t usually call this late.”
“I swear, everything is great. My job is great. The restaurant is opening in two days. Did I tell you that? We had an event tonight, and it was great. Here on the home front, the cats are great. Oh, and the weather is great. And then there’s my boss. He’s really great.”
“What’s wrong with your boss?” Lucy asked. “Are you drunk?”
“A little. And nothing’s wrong with him. Well, either of them. I have two bosses. I might have mentioned that. Anyway, they’re brothers. Dominic’s the one I work with more these days. And he’s really great. Well, I think he is. He sure looks great. He’s got great hands. Not that they’ve ever been on me. His hands I mean.” I hiccuped loudly.
“MELANIE!” The howl on Lucy’s end was probably enough to injure the eardrums of half of San Francisco. “Did you fuck your boss?”
“What? No.” I hiccuped again.
“Oh my god. You did. Wait, I thought you said Dominic was a joyless, ornery douche nozzle.”
“I did? I said that?” I tried to remember, but my head felt a little foggy.
“Never mind,” she laughed. “A good body doesn’t need a happy personality, I guess, and you’re more than overdue for some fun. I’m just surprised because I didn’t figure you’d opt to dip your quill in the office ink.”
“I don’t have a quill,” I grumbled. “In fact I think I might be the ink in that metaphor.”
Lucy whooped. “So you did fuck him!”
“No! Now dammit, stop being so crass.”
“Then start feeding me details.”
So I took a steadying breath and starting talking.
The dough. The flour. My hands. His hands.
All of it.
My sister let out a low whistle. “So what happens now?”
I pulled my knees up to my chest. “I don’t know. Hell, I guess it would be better if we just forgot about that awkward interlude and moved on.”
She snorted. “Bullshit.”
“Is that a Zelda Fitzgerald quote?” I asked, knowing my sister’s fondness for the iconic 1920s flapper.
“No, it’s a Lucy Cruz quote. You need to talk to him, Mel.”
“Well, I kind of have to talk to him, Luce. I work for him.”
Lucy was quiet for moment. “Look, kiddo, I’m going to be square with you. Once I watched you make a big mistake in the aftermath of another kind of heartbreak. And then, after everything went wrong with James, you kind of retreated from the world with only your cats for company.”
“That’s not true,” I objected. “I’ve gone out plenty.”
“Really? When?”
“Well, a little more than a year ago, I dated this narcissistic guy named Kyle for like seven weeks. Oh, and I recently went out t
o dinner with a former coworker who tried to molest me at my front door. On second thought, it seems I might be better off just staying on the sidelines of the dating pool for the rest of the decade. I really don’t seem to be a very good swimmer.”
Lucy chuckled softly. “It’s okay to admit that you’re lonely, Mel. But don’t shy away from giving anyone a chance just because you’re afraid of getting hurt again. I don’t know whether this Dominic guy is right for you, but you’ll never know either if you don’t put yourself out there instead of just getting by every day. Don’t close yourself off. Don’t just live. Love first, and live incidentally.”
“Ah,” I said, “now that is a Zelda quote.”
“Naturally.”
After talking to my sister, I felt better, braver, empowered. I imagined the bold blood of trailblazing women coursing through my veins, and I decided that I should just drive down to the restaurant. He’d likely still be there, because Dominic Esposito didn’t need time off for sleeping or fun or anything else.
He worked.
And worked.
And then he worked some more.
So I’d bust right through the doors of Espo 2, confront him in all his smoldering, brooding glory, and say in a clear, confident voice, “Dominic, I think about you. I don’t care that you’re my boss. I want you. And I know that you want me too.”
“You’re right, Melanie,” he would say with a dangerously sexy smirk, “I want you so bad I can’t fucking think straight.”
Then he would drop his pizza peel, strip off his shirt, and carry me into the office to have his way with me on the wide mahogany desk where I processed payroll and brainstormed marketing campaigns.
I could see it all as if it had already happened. I jumped to my feet with a plan to hunt down my keys and get out the door before I had a chance to think twice. Then I sat down again because I was more than halfway drunk and didn’t want to commit a crime.
“How about you guys drive?” I asked the cats, but they’d become bored with me and curled up together on the offending chenille pillow I’d tossed across the room earlier.