Cravings

by Liz Everly

  ALSO BY LIZ EVERLY

  Saffron Nights

  Cravings

  LIZ EVERLY

  eKENSINGTON

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  ALSO BY LIZ EVERLY

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND NOTES

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright Page

  Dedicated to Chef Will, my favorite chocolatier, and to Eric, my husband, who has an insatiable sweet tooth.

  Chapter 1

  “What do you mean he’s not here?” Sanj said to the hotel clerk.

  “I’m sorry, sir. He’s checked in to his room. But he is not here,” she said. “I’m sure he will be along.”

  He was supposed to meet Jackson here. Jackson was a reliable kinda guy. The hair on Sanj’s neck pricked at him. Was Jackson okay? And where was Maeve? What mischief could they possibly stir up in Ecuador? Sanj shook it off.

  Jackson and Maeve were here working on a cookbook together. Sometimes the two of them lost themselves in their work. The only time Jackson had ever stood him up was work-related, when he couldn’t pull himself away. He’d never even stood Sanj up for a woman. And Jackson had been quite the womanizer. Had been.

  “Sir, might I suggest you refresh yourself in Sparkles,” the clerk said. “I will leave a message for your friend.”

  “Thank you,” he said. A hotel bar and restaurant named Sparkles? In Guayaquil, the largest port city in this country? Nah, he needed to get outside and walk around a bit to find a decent meal. Maybe some good seafood.

  But as he walked outside, a wall of sauna-like heat hit him. He glanced around at the busy street, hoping to find a place not far from the hotel. He passed a pristine fountain, its pool clear and cool. He resisted the urge to disrobe and make a spectacle of himself in the public fountain. His linen clothing clung to him. As an Indian man, he knew heat—but this heat hit him hard.

  He sighed—tomorrow, the beach—with or without Jackson and Maeve. He walked until he spotted a yellow building that looked like an eatery.

  When he walked into the tiny dark, smoke-filled establishment, Cocina de Sol, he blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness. Was it a restaurant? A bar? He didn’t know. It was blessedly cool and he smelled seafood.

  “English?” A host approached him.

  Sanj nodded, pleased to find the menu had translations on it. His Spanish sucked, even after all the years he studied it.

  After he found a seat and ordered a beer and lemon-spiced shrimp, he spotted a white woman in the dark-skinned crowd. She stood at the bar, her alabaster face an absorbing beacon, emerging through the curls of smoke.

  She towered over the other women and most of the men in the place. And, although her hair was dark, it was not her natural color. Pale, with the skin of a goddess, she almost shimmered. Where had he seen her before? Her large but heavy-lidded eyes met his gaze and she nodded, with a sultry smile. He smiled back at her. Two foreigners in this place? Traveling frequently gave one the nose to sniff another out.

  The waiter brought his beer.

  “Gracias,” Sanj said.

  He sat back in his chair. Not wanting to think about the last time he’d been with a woman, he shifted his weight and tried to think of something else. Just one look at the woman made his balls tighten—what, was he eighteen again? For a man of his age, his reaction to the woman was, well, unseemly. And she headed his way. He drew in a breath.

  She walked with the bearing of a dancer, tall, slinky, confident. “May I join you?” she asked. British. Londoner. East Side?

  “Please do,” Sanj said.

  She caught the attention of the server, who brought her a drink.

  “I’m Mary,” she said, with lips shaped like an old-fashioned doll’s lips, turned up and thick. He imagined sliding himself right into them. Calm down, Sanj.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand.

  Her deep brown eyes scanned him in a delightful, smoldering sweep. Message received.

  Sanj’s mouth curled into his polite nice-to-meet-you smile. “Sanj. I’ve just gotten into town.”

  “Indian?” she asked, after sipping her cocktail.

  He bit his lip and looked away for a moment. This woman oozed sex. He was quite unsure what to do with himself.

  He nodded. “You?”

  “American, but I grew up in London, of course,” she said. “But I’ve been here awhile. What brings you here?”

  “Business,” Sanj said. Not true, but she didn’t need to know that.

  She didn’t need to know that his friends were the famous American husband-and-wife cookbook team here investigating cacao plantations to write a cookbook centered on chocolate. They’d invited him here because they were ready for a break.

  “You know we always need a little Sanj during our vacations,” Maeve had said to him on the phone a few weeks back.

  But he suspected another reason for the invitation. He didn’t need their pity—and he was here to prove it. Fuck Jennifer. As he watched the stunning woman sitting here sipping her drink, he knew he was going to be just fine.

  “Cacao?” Mary asked him.

  He nodded. “Sort of.”

  “I get it. You don’t want to tell me too much. Okay. It’s kind of tricky in these parts,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” he said, trying not to stare at her breasts. But they poked out of the red sundress she wore. A Vera Wang dress, he noted. His sister owned the exact dress. His eyes wanted to rest there, but he resisted. He’d developed a breast weakness. Jackson had teased him that he should get some help.

  An indecent fantasy flash of Mary’s naked breasts played in his mind. What did they look like underneath that expensive dress? Did they have big nipples? Were they as round as they appeared?

  He crossed his legs. Get a grip, man.

  Her jaw tensed as if she were keeping a delightful secret. Those full lips, one dimple on the left side, and tiny scar across her cheek. Sexy.

  “I mean you don’t want people to know you’ve got money. But I can smell it
on you,” she said, leaning forward, pressing her breasts together to reveal more cleavage.

  He laughed. And tried not to watch the white orbs poking out. Prostitute, he thought. That has to be it. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve never paid for companionship. And I never will.”

  She sat back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “You underestimate me, sir.”

  “Are you saying you’re not a prostitute? C’mon,” he said, as the server brought a plate of hot steaming shrimp. The smell made him salivate. Hunger moved through his body. Then he took a bite of the shrimp, so fresh and tender it almost brought him to tears. Remembering his manners, he gestured for her to have some. The plate was piled high.

  “No, thanks, and I’m not a prostitute,” she said. She gave an odd, beleaguered smile, one that faded before fully realized. “Why would you assume that?”

  Sanj shrugged and swallowed his bite of shrimp. “So what do you want with me?”

  “Company,” she said. “It can be lonely here. Not many people even speak English, you know?”

  She lifted the glass to those lips and sipped her drink.

  “What brings you here?” he asked, trying to keep his eyes from her breasts—and her turned-up, mischievous mouth. Focus on the shrimp, he told himself, or you’ll be so hard you won’t be able to walk out of here.

  “I’m looking for an old friend,” she said. “I heard she was in town.”

  Sanj finished his beer, suddenly exhausted, overcome by jet lag.

  “Another one, sir?” The server appeared as if on cue.

  “No thanks,” Sanj said, turning back to the last of his juicy shrimp. He’d eaten too quickly, like a starving man. The shrimp was so good—and he’d eaten too much horrible airplane and airport food. He could go for dessert, but suddenly thought of bed. He needed it. What time would it be in India? What time zone was he in now? Oh bother, between the exhaustion and the beautiful woman, he could not think clearly at all. He gestured for the check.

  “Well, good luck with that,” he said. “Look, maybe we will see you around.”

  “We?”

  “I’m here meeting some friends, too,” Sanj said. “I’ve gotta tell you I need to get going. Jet lag and all that.”

  “Please,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go.”

  Chapter 2

  She messed up. She was not as beautiful or as young as she used to be. Men had always been putty in her hands. This guy was different. He had her pegged for a sex worker immediately—would she never be able to be anything else? God knows, she wanted to be shed of it.

  Though she still hated the word “prostitute.” It seemed so nondescript for the services she once offered her clients. And it really was. Her talents were specific.

  She tried to play it cool while letting Sanj know of her interest. She failed. She knew how to come on to them as a pro, not as a woman. And it had been years since she had to approach a man in any way. Sam sent clients her way. Her reputation grew so that she was sought out. In any case, she felt like a teenager, trying to figure out her way again.

  When he walked into the place, Sanj resembled a dark god and moved with the cocksure arrogance of Indian gentry. She knew it—she’d been to India, knew its men. His large black eyes pulled at her. The strong jawline, the rough unshaven face, framed by waves of black shiny hair, begged for biting.

  Damn, she preferred her men dark, just like her chocolate and her coffee.

  “What do you mean don’t go?” he asked.

  What could she tell him to make sure she was safe? That he was safe? Could she tell him the truth? And Mary? Seriously? She couldn’t come up with a better name? But Sasha was such a distinctive name. How could she be sure he wouldn’t know her after she told him her name?

  What could she do? She couldn’t let him go. She was attracted to him, yes, but she also needed his help, if only just for one night.

  “Sanj,” she said after a moment. “Might we chat outside of this place?”

  “I’m so tired,” he said. “You are beautiful and I’m sure you’re worth every penny. But tonight . . .”

  “I told you I’m not a prostitute,” Sasha said with a hushed voice. “I just need to speak to you outside.”

  He paid his bill and stood up. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  He possessed a chiseled hand, with gorgeous long fingers that she inexplicably wanted to pull to her mouth. What was it about this man’s hands? She hadn’t felt this warm—genuinely—toward a man since, since, well, since Paul died two years ago.

  Sasha braced herself for the sweltering heat as she heaved her bag over her shoulder. They walked out onto the busy, colorful streets.

  He stopped walking and faced her. “Mary, what’s going on?”

  She pulled him off to a corner. “Sanj, I need a place to stay tonight.”

  He cocked his head. “What is this about?”

  “I’m sort of, um, broke. Between jobs,” she said. “I don’t want to be on the street tonight. And until I find my friend . . .”

  She flung her arms wide and shrugged. His forehead creased.

  Ironic. A couple of years ago, she had more money than sense. And more drugs. Along with the love of an incredible man. Now gone. Everything was gone. Except her sobriety, and her budding integrity.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, turning to walk away.

  Sasha grabbed him, hard. He freed himself easily from her grip.

  “Do you think I’m an idiot? What kind of scam are you working?” he asked, his voice low but forceful.

  “No scam. Please. You have to believe me. I do have some money I could give you,” she said. She tried, but she couldn’t hide the desperation creeping from her stomach to her lips. “I just don’t want to register anywhere.”

  His head cocked as he leaned forward, an expression of suspicion came over his face.

  “So are you hiding from someone?” Sanj asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. And he’s dangerous.” Her voice cracked. Jesus, what was wrong with her? Why was she blurting her personal information out to this guy? “That’s why I need to find my friend. She needs to know . . . I’m still alive and . . . please. I’m sure she will take care of this when I find her. I just need to get off these streets one night. I beg you!”

  She blinked away a tear, but another one escaped. She didn’t plan on getting this emotional. How embarrassing. How desperate had she become? She swallowed. Hard.

  “God, I just want a bath, a bed, and, and—”

  “Okay, okay,” Sanj said, putting his arms on her shoulder. “You can come back to my suite with me. There’s an empty bed in an empty room. It’s yours.”

  Sasha gathered herself and breathed.

  “Thank you,” she said, falling into his arms. Safety. Warmth. Heat.

  “Not that I would not want to share a bed with you,” he said, holding her, then pulling away, soaking her in with his eyes. “I’m exhausted and need to get some rest. Jet lag, I’m sure. Just my luck. A hot woman shows up wanting to stay with me and I feel like shit.”

  She slipped her arm through his as they walked toward his hotel. She sniffed. So attractive. But did he just call her hot?

  “There’s always tomorrow,” she said, reaching into her bag for a tissue. The slowly creeping sunset—crimson, purple, fire-orange—played out over the river.

  Chapter 3

  After checking in with the security guards, then with the desk one more time about Jackson and Maeve and finding them still out, Sanj and Mary slipped into the elevator. He imagined Jackson’s face if he discovered Sanj had a woman in his suite. Now that Sanj saw her in the light, he saw some age—or was it weariness? He guessed she was in her mid-thirties, about his age. Her scar appeared more prominent now, along with crinkles in the corner of her eyes and wisdom in their depth. Not that she still wasn’t incredibly attractive.

  Not only was she older than he had thought, but she was also a good bit dustier. She’d been on t
he road a while, he imagined. What kind of a man was after her? A pimp? An ex-lover?

  Taking her to his suite wasn’t a smart thing for him to do. But he couldn’t bear a woman alone, afraid, and in danger in a place like Ecuador. If he could help, he would. One simply did not turn away from a woman in need.

  “So,” Sanj said as they walked down the corridor to his suite. “You are trying to start a new life? Here? Of all places?”

  “I know it seems like an odd place for a woman to start fresh. But I’m a woman of compulsions. Most of them are not so good,” she said, laughing. She had a pleasing, throaty laugh. “But one of my passions is chocolate.”

  He stopped. “Chocolate?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Isn’t this a good place to learn about it?”

  “Yes, well,” Sanj said. He fumbled with his card key. Damn things. He much preferred a real key. “They grow the cacao here, of course, but if you want to study chocolate, why not Paris? Why this place?”

  “I want to study it from the ground up, see how it grows, learn the process inside and out and then move on to processing and finishing and one day, perhaps a shop of my own,” she said with a dreamy note in her voice.

  Impressive. So many chocolatiers knew nothing about the crops and the processing of cacao. They knew only what they learned in books. Or from another chocolatier at some fancy pastry or cooking school.

  Sanj practiced research and medicine in India, but food was his passion—and if he had to choose one food to make and enjoy, it would be pastry. He’d taken many vacations to Paris, where he’d taken classes from some of the world’s greatest pastry chefs.

  He slid his key into the door and opened it.

  “Lovely quarters,” she said, walking into the foyer of his suite. “Where shall I put this?” She held up her frayed bag.

  “The bedroom is upstairs,” he said, leading her into a huge living area, complete with a bar and kitchen. A glass wall offered a view over the bay, luminous from the city lights and boats.

  “This is bloody brilliant,” she said. “What a view.”

  “I love to travel,” Sanj said. “But I do like to travel in comfort.”