Devour Me: An Alpha Beds a Virgin Dirty Chef Romance

by Adele Hart

  I flop on my bed and scroll through the pictures of Ripley. There is Ripley at the beach, and oh my God, his abs are delectable. There is Ripley at a conference, and his suit is impeccable. Ripley skiing. Ripley surfing. Ripley cooking. That is the sexiest of them all because he is in his element, and power and confidence radiates from every pore.

  I squeeze my thighs together trying to quench the achy feeling that throbs between them. If I’m this worked up looking at his pictures, what am I going to do with him face to face?

  Three

  Ripley

  I pace the baggage claim area holding up a sign that says Madison Leclerc. I say a silent prayer that the woman has some cooking skills, preferably pastry skills. With a name like Leclerc, it’s possible she’s French-trained.

  People come down the escalator in waves, and with each group that ropes down the moving staircase, I raise the sign high above my head. At six-foot-three, it’s not hard to be seen. I scan the crowd, not sure who I’m looking for. All I know is she’s on the five o’clock flight from Los Angeles.

  By the time the third group comes and goes, I am ready to give up. I don’t have time for this shit, but my sister is the philanthropist in the family and conned me into giving one of my coveted classes away for a fundraiser. ‘Full package’ is what she said, which meant flight, room, board, class and airport pick up.

  Another group rounds the corner and I raise my arms again. I search the faces for some recognition. A brunette turns the corner and stumbles onto the escalator. She grabs the handrail to right herself. I can’t take my eyes off her, not because she’s clumsy, but because she’s perfect. Her hair hangs over her shoulders and falls on top of the nicest set of tits I’ve seen in years. I know this because she’s wearing a low-cut blouse, and after her near-fall, her breasts spill out like an offering from the gods.

  A small child behind her pushes forward and sends her off balance again. She rocks to and fro then lurches forward. All I can see is her falling in slow motion. I drop the sign and run forward determined to save her from imminent doom.

  I push back several people as I run up the down escalator. I’m two steps below her and nearly to the bottom of the escalator when she falls forward into me. My hands wrap around her ass as she plants her face in the center of my chest, and with an oomph, I land on the floor beneath the most stunning woman on earth. Her hair curtains my face while her body blankets mine. Nothing has felt this amazing. The woman smells like cinnamon and sugar. What could be more perfect?

  “Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry.” She squirms on top of me, but I hold tight to that delicious ass. If we weren’t in the middle of a major thoroughfare and people didn’t have to step over us, I would have laid there for days with her in my hands.

  Reluctantly, I sit up, rolling her with me. When I help her upright, she takes one look at me and her knees buckle again. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, holy hotdogs.” She rises unsteadily. “You’re him.”

  It wasn’t a question, but more of a statement.

  “I’m who?”

  “You’re… you’re…” Her balance wavers again, and I put my hands on her shoulders to steady her.

  “I’m Ripley, and you’re clumsy.”

  Her beautiful mouth opens, and it is all I can do to not bend over and kiss her. I stare at her tongue, which is a beautiful slick pink and imagine it wrapped around my thick cock.

  “I’m not clumsy,” she says with exasperation.

  “Bullshit, I watched you from the top of the escalator and it was a shit show from the beginning. You almost face-planted at the top. You wobbled halfway down and then some kid gave you the final push. If not for me, you’d be on your way to the emergency room.” I look her over thoroughly. Mostly because I like what I see, but also because I want to make sure my next statement is accurate. “Instead, you’re in one piece, and you have me to thank for that.”

  She runs her hands down her body as if checking the validity of my statement. A blush rises to her cheeks, and she looks up at me from beneath her lashes. “You’re right. Thank you.” She picks up her purse and jacket and inspects them both. The sleeve of her coat is torn. “I thought so.”

  “You thought what?” I know I shouldn’t be standing here talking to her when I have a guest to pick up, but I can’t help myself.

  These are the moments when I want to throttle my sister. I could be getting this woman’s number and we could be on our first date in ten minutes, and she could be in my bed by tonight, but no, I have to pick up some woman named Madison who probably looks like a boy in ponytails.

  Generally, the people who attend my classes are too thin and shouldn’t be trusted. I always go with the adage, never trust a skinny cook. How could you trust someone who doesn’t enjoy the fruits of their labor?

  She rubs her hand over her jacket. An expensive jacket for sure. “It got caught, and when I yanked it loose… you saw what happened.” Tiny down feathers float to the ground from the tear in the sleeve.

  “As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” I have to get this woman’s name and number before I leave. “Where are you staying?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s…” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a piece of paper. “It’s called the Sonnenalp.”

  My life just got infinitely better because that hotel is next door to my bakery and culinary school. I’ll make a point to see this woman again—soon. “What’s your name?”

  She looks at me like I’ve sprouted a second nose. “I’m Madison Leclerc.”

  Never in my life have I been knocked to my knees, but knowing this woman is my student for the next week jolts me. “You’re… her.”

  She pastes on a smile that seems less than genuine and holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ripley Stark. I’m your new student.”

  The air leaves my lungs while I stare at her. She is perfection and by the end of this week, she’ll be mine.

  Four

  Maddy

  Malcolm isn’t going to believe me when I tell him I fell for Ripley—literally. I can still feel the heat of his body against mine, and the grip of his hands on my bottom. Oh, that grip made my lady parts sing—loud.

  “I’ve got luggage.”

  “Let’s get it then.” He presses his hand to my lower back, and I swear my slacks disintegrate. I’ve never been with a man who makes me feel naked with a look or a touch, but each time those silvery blue eyes stare at me I’m stripped bare.

  “Thanks for picking me up. I know you must be busy.” We go to carousel five and wait until my bag comes out of the chute. I point to the black suitcase as soon as it appears.

  He picks it up like it weighs nothing. “You pack light.”

  I try to grab the bag from him but he shakes his head.

  “I’m from California. I wasn’t sure what to pack, so I figured I’d pack light and pick up what I need while I am here.”

  He looks down at the arm of my torn jacket. “You’ll need to get that repaired or replaced. It’s cold outside, and the forecast is calling for more of the same.”

  “Just my luck.” I follow him out the automatic doors and across the street to short term parking. He leads me down a row to a black Escalade.

  “This is me.” The taillights flash, and the gate pops open. He lifts my suitcase into the back and helps me to the front. “Are you hungry?” He looks down at my body as if a missed meal would hurt me. Men generally think of me as too much, but the way Ripley looks at me makes me feel like I’m just enough.

  “It’s a two hour ride, right?” I look at my watch, it was just after five thirty, too early for dinner. “I will be when we get to Vail.”

  He shuts the door and rounds the back of the SUV to the driver’s side and hops in. He’s on his phone. “Yes, two for seven thirty.” He starts the engine and we are on our way. “I’ve made reservations for dinner. If you're a foodie, you’ll love this place.”

  How am I supposed to dine with this man when I can
hardly rub two brain cells together in his presence? “The hotel has a restaurant. I can get something there or order room service.” The last thing I want to be is a burden. “You have to be busy and I don’t want to monopolize your time.”

  He turns toward me and raises a brow. “Are you going to be difficult?”

  I squirm in my seat because he’s looking at me again. “What? No. I’m trying to be considerate.”

  “Let’s outline some rules first. While you’re here, I run the show. You do as I ask or tell you. Is that clear?”

  I watch his profile. He’s perfect in every way. He wields power and control like a whip, and although I’ve never been the type to submit, I want to with this man.

  I lower my head. “Yes. It’s clear.”

  “Tell me about yourself, Madison.” His hands grip the steering wheel with the same force he did my bottom, and I’m jealous of the steering wheel. Lord knows I’m not his type, but for that one moment when I was on top of him and his hands were on me, everything in the world was right.

  What I won’t tell him is that I’ve been acting like a stalker looking at every picture of him on the Internet for the last week. He’s a regular celebrity in Vail. The bad boy who can’t be caught is how one article describes him. Every weekend he’s got some model or movie star hugging onto his arm, and here I am fantasizing about him. He’s a man I’ll never have. That’s why I’m single at twenty-five and a virgin. Mom says I set my standards too high. I disagree. My only prerequisite is a pulse. Without one there’s nothing to work with. I also want them to want me for me, not my money or position. That was the problem with Anthony Bale. He wanted my trust fund more than me.

  He clears his throat. “Did you hear me?”

  I shake my head to clear the image of his hands all over my body and the past hurts to my heart. “Yes. There’s not much to tell.” There isn’t, really. What do I say, I’m a trust fund baby, and I’m bored? No, I’m definitely not going there.

  “Start with what brings you here to Vail for a cooking class.”

  “It was a gift. Someone felt I could use a distraction.” That isn’t a lie. Malcolm directed me to eat pastries and look at Ripley all day. He is sure to be a distraction. “It’s a dream come true. I have a passion for pastries.” I pull my jacket across my lap to hide the evidence of my sweet tooth. A few feathers float through the air.

  “This is an advanced class. Do you have any baking experience?”

  I think back to the cupcakes I baked in high school. “Yes.” I’m an overachiever, so there’s no way I’ll fall behind in class even if I have to hire myself a tutor.

  “Good. There are four others in this class. It’s easier when the skill levels are close.”

  My stomach twists and turns until I feel sick. I’m not a chef. I can beat an egg, and I make a pretty good butter-cream icing, but that’s the extent of my baking experience. Obviously, tonight I’ll be spending a good deal of time on my Kindle reading about the basics of baking.

  “Tell me about you.”

  “I’m a chef. I was trained in Paris. I moved to Colorado from New York because I love blue skies and white snow.”

  I look out the window at the mountains ahead of us. The peaks are white and sun drops a hint of orange across the range. It’s like a painting, and I wish could capture this sunset and put it on canvas.

  “I’ve never been here.” I travel the world. I’ve been to every tropical island known to man. I’ve dined with notables and volunteered in Africa, but sitting in this car with this man will no doubt be the highlight of my life. Pretty sad that my life can be summed up in a few words—twenty-five-year-old virgin with no prospects.

  “You’re going to love it. I’ll make sure you do.” His tongue slips out of his mouth to wet his lips, and I can’t take my eyes off them. I wonder what they would feel like pressed against mine. Kissing is one thing I have plenty of experience in, everything else, not so much.

  “I’m excited.” That is an understatement. My underwear is wet and my insides coil with need. Change of plans tonight. I have to take care of the ache between my thighs first, and then I can read about baking. Or, maybe if I pull out a Julia Child cookbook and stare at her picture long enough it will kill any desire I have left inside me. That seems to be the way to go. Julia Child it is. I look back to Ripley to get my fill.

  “I love the small class atmosphere. It gives me time for one-on-ones with each student.”

  The way he says ‘one-on-one’ makes my skin heat. It brings thoughts to my head that have no place being there. Ripley and me in the kitchen. Ripley and me by the mixer. Ripley and me against the refrigerator. Ripley and me on the counter. Focus. “So it’s it like a private lesson?” I hope he didn’t hear the want in my voice.

  “Yes, I guess those moments are. It’s just you and I in a room with four strangers. Sounds kinky, but maybe that’s your thing.” He gives me a quick glance as if gauging my reaction.

  Of course my face heats, and I’m pretty sure it’s blotchy and red. “No, I mean… I have no idea. Oh hellcats. What I mean is…” Flustered I look out the window at the trees passing by. We’ve gone from miles of flatlands to a mountain road without me even noticing the change in scenery, all because I can’t take my eyes off him. “I don’t know what I mean.”

  “Hellcats? How old are you?”

  That’s condescending. “I’m twenty-five, and I don’t swear because I work with children, and I don’t want to be a bad influence.” The truth is I have an obsessive personality, and I’m positive I’d like the way some of those words roll off my tongue. Once I start it would be hard to quit. It’s the same with pastries and shoe shopping. I have an entire closet dedicated to shoes, and a rear end dedicated to pastries.

  “You’re a teacher?” The surprise in his voice hurts me. Did he think I wasn’t qualified to be a teacher?

  “No, I help with an after school program.”

  He reaches his long arm into the back seat and grabs two bottles of water. “Drink this. The altitude will get to you if you don’t stay hydrated.” He hands me the bottle and our fingers touch, sending an electric pulse racing through me. “What do you do with the kids?”

  I unscrew the cap and drink deep. It’s probably single digits outside and yet I’m burning up. The water cools my insides while the cold glass pressed to my cheek helps with my outsides.

  “I teach art. That’s my major. Lack of funding makes it near impossible for kids to get supplies and the schools are dropping art programs in favor of additional core classes. It’s a shame because all work and no play makes everyone dull.”

  “I love to play.” His voice takes on a sexy, slow-flowing, dark Karo syrup quality that makes me think we’re talking about two different kinds of play. “I donate my time as well, volunteering in the summer kids programs. I teach a kids culinary and nutrition class.”

  That surprises me because Ripley doesn’t look like the kind of guy who gives anything. I stare at the dashboard clock and realize we’ve been in the car for over an hour, but it seems like minutes. “I did some research on you.” It was a tiny confession. “You have several restaurants, and properties. Why teach? Generally, men like you aren’t real givers.” It didn’t make sense to me why this man would subject himself to teaching classes when his life is already full. I teach to fill my life. What is his excuse?

  “Men like me? What does that mean?” A tinge of agitation colors his voice. “I’m a huge advocate for learning. I believe if you have a skill you should share it.”

  “You’re right.” I sit up taller because he’s speaking my language. “Sharing is a skill we’re supposed to master in kindergarten.”

  “I think most kids master it, and then let the skill slip as time goes by. Talents should be shared freely.”

  I shouldn’t ask, but I have to know. For a man of means he charges a fortune for these classes, and I wonder why? “Aren’t you being hypocritical? You talk about sharing and then charge a fortune
for this class.” I looked it up on the Internet. There was a two-year waiting list and it costs five grand to take.

  He pulls off the highway and onto a two-lane road. “Aren’t you? I don’t see you donating your gift to the underprivileged. Surely you don’t plan to make pastries for a living. I don’t know anything about you, but I do know your luggage is Tumi and your coat is Bogner. Both brands are rarely seen on discount racks or in the closets of the poor. So wouldn’t this class have been better suited for someone with less means?”

  “I’ll have you know this trip was a gift from a friend. Someone who doesn’t notice whether I’m wearing Kate Spade or K-Mart.” This was his gift to me and there was no way I wasn’t coming.

  We pull in front of the hotel, and I feel more angry than hungry. “I’ll have to pass on dinner. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Really? You’re going to beg off dinner because I bruised your ego? Maybe you didn’t learn what you needed in kindergarten.”

  I gasp out loud. “How dare you. I learned plenty in kindergarten, like the best-looking boys are always idiots. Take you for instance. You look nice, you seem nice, but you’re not nice. Like you said, you don’t know me. For all you know, I could have been gifted this coat and luggage too.”

  “It’s possible. Not probable.”

  “Can you be certain?”

  “This is all I’m certain of Madison Leclerc. You drive me crazy in ways I don’t understand. One minute I want to spank your ass for thinking you know me. The next I want to shut your beautiful mouth with my cock and show you who I am. Anything beyond that, I haven’t got a clue.”

  He opens the door leaving me sitting there with my jaw hanging to my chest. A cold breeze whips through the car when the trunk area opens. The valet pulls on my door and I’m so stunned, I fall out and land on my butt.