Helping herself to another drink and one of the last remaining onion and cheese tartlets, she was cornered by Janice.
‘Ah, there you are, Morgan. I’ve been looking for you everywhere ...’
Still buzzing from her unexpected fuck, Morgan barely heard a word of Janice’s complaint about the extra work she’d had to do in preparation for that morning’s show, accommodating Zachary Klein’s dietary demands. She could have thanked the woman for inadvertently pushing her and Scott into each other’s arms. Now came the small matter of behaving as though the whole thing had never happened.
Chapter Six
‘AND SO WE BOTH agreed it would be better if it didn’t happen again.’
Morgan wasn’t sure quite why she was confessing to Carrie all the details of what had taken place at the party. She only knew she had to talk to someone about it, and Carrie had always proved herself to be nothing less than discreet when it came to the subject of Morgan’s love life. Having replayed the scene in Lucinda Leeson’s study over and over in her mind for a good 24 hours after it happened, she finally rang Carrie telling her she needed to see her, and was she free for afternoon tea? Now she sat in Carrie’s small, welcoming living room, revealing how it felt to be naked and in Scott’s arms, flushed with the heat of sudden, urgent sex.
Whatever the response she’d been expecting when she came to the end of her story, it wasn’t the look of disbelief that crossed her best friend’s face.
‘Are you completely mad? If what you told me isn’t an exaggeration, you’ve just had some of the best sex of your life and yet you’ve got no intention of going back for more.’
‘Don’t forget, this is Scott Harley we’re talking about. The man who gets a kick out of bawling out his kitchen assistants in front of everyone. The man who sulks if he isn’t the constant centre of attention. Why would I want to get involved with someone like that?’
In the kitchen, the kettle whistled as it came to the boil. Carrie rose from the couch, stretching the legs she’d had curled beneath her as she sat, and went to make a fresh pot of coffee. As she left, she shot a parting statement over her shoulder. ‘You know, for someone who still claims to hate Scott Harley with a passion, your eyes light up every time you talk about him, like you can’t wait to see him again.’
Morgan digested those words while she waited for Carrie to return with the coffee. If this was anyone but herself they were talking about, she’d be priding Carrie on her judgement. Her friend was one of the most perceptive people she knew. But she’d never met Scott, and until she saw what he was really like, she couldn’t really grasp the truth of the situation. Not that there was any likelihood of that happening in the near future.
Carrie’s voice cut into her reverie. ‘Actually, it’s funny we should be discussing Scott Harley again.’ Her emphasis on the word was subtle but pointed. ‘Because I have a surprise for you.’
‘Really?’ Morgan’s interest was piqued.
Carrie refilled their coffee cups, and cut herself a second slice of the lemon drizzle cake Morgan had baked in advance of their impromptu afternoon tea, before continuing. ‘You remember I told you Claire won one of the sealed bids at that charity dinner she went to a couple of weeks ago?’ Claire was the editor of the magazine Carrie worked for. Morgan had never met her, but Carrie always spoke highly of the woman. ‘Well, she can’t use the prize now because her husband’s whisked her away on a second honeymoon, so she passed it on to me because she knows it’s my birthday next week. And you’re never going to believe what it is. Dinner for two at the chef’s table in The Ludgate Chop House. It’s going to be a real treat. The man himself will be cooking for us.’
‘Well, I’ve tasted Scott’s food on the show enough times to know you’re really going to enjoy –’ Morgan broke off as she realised what Carrie had said. ‘What do you mean, cooking for us?’
‘I did think about asking Josh to come with me, but it’s a tradition for the two of us to go out on my birthday. What was it last year, cocktails at the Llama Lounge? And the year before that, gourmet burgers at that place in Seven Dials?’ Carrie’s grin was undiluted wickedness. ‘To be honest, I just want to see the look on Scott Harley’s face when you walk into his kitchen. And I know you’re not going to turn me down, because there’s nothing sexier than being fed by a man you really have the hots for, is there?’
Morgan very nearly backed out of dinner at the Chop House, her hand reaching for the phone to dial Carrie and tell her she was terribly sorry, but she’d come down with a 48-hour bug and why didn’t Josh take her place instead? But she couldn’t let her best friend down on her birthday, and anyway, she’d always been a terrible liar.
Looking in the mirror, fixing her peridot choker around her neck even though she couldn’t have said why she needed the boost that came from wearing her lucky piece of jewellery, Morgan felt butterflies fluttering anxiously in her belly.
What do you have to be nervous about? she chided herself. It’s only Scott. It’s not like you don’t see him almost every day of the week. And yes, you might be on his turf for once, rather than the neutral setting of the Cook’s Treats production office, but you’re a big girl. You can take care of yourself.
She wouldn’t have needed the pep talk if it hadn’t been for the fact the last week had been one of the most difficult of her life. Nothing had prepared her for the moment when she’d walked into the office and seen Scott for the first time since the night of the party. Even though they’d both made it clear there’d be no acknowledgement of what had happened between them, she couldn’t stop herself hoping for some word, some little gesture that would let her know their lovemaking had meant something to him. Instead, he treated her the same way he always had in the office, with friendliness and professional courtesy. It was exactly what she’d wanted from him, so why did it leave her feeling so hollow inside?
To make things worse, the tension between them, which she’d hoped would dissipate after Scott fucked her, was stronger than ever. It might have made for good television, but she knew she needed a proper resolution to the situation. She’d thought sleeping with Scott once would be enough to get him out of her system, but she’d been wrong.
Spritzing herself with perfume before checking her reflection one last time, Morgan went to wait for the taxi she’d ordered to take her to the restaurant, determined not to let thoughts of what might have been spoil her evening with Carrie.
When the waiter brought the Gray party through to the chef’s table, Scott’s heart missed a beat. He didn’t recognise the petite blonde with the long, luscious legs emerging from the hem of a daringly short blue crushed velvet dress, but her dining companion was all too familiar. Morgan Jones, looking as alluring as he’d ever seen her. Her hair tumbled down over her creamy shoulders, left almost bare by the thin straps of her floor-length black dress. Strong boning in the bodice supported her amazing breasts, pushing them together and forming a cleavage he could happily lose himself in, and a slit almost all the way to her thigh offered glimpses of her bare legs, glistening with some silky body oil, as she walked. Classy, sophisticated and unbelievably fuckable, she was a million miles from the frumpy girl in ill-fitting jogging gear he’d publicly criticised so long ago, and his cock stirred in his checked chef’s trousers at the sight of her.
His first instinct was to sweep the place settings from the table, lay Morgan down on the crisp white cloth and bury his face between her beautiful tits. He didn’t care that her friend would be watching on in astonishment, as well as the entire kitchen staff. Fucking her in the heart of his restaurant would be the most outrageous thing he’d ever done, but right now, he wanted her more than he ever had.
Was she wearing anything beneath that carefully engineered dress, or would he pull the zip down to discover she was braless beneath it? He pictured her in nothing but damp lace panties that he would simply tear from her body, not wanting any impediment to the moment when he buried his mouth between her legs. He hadn’t taste
d her pussy the night he’d fucked her at the party; there hadn’t been time. But he knew when he did, it would be as sweet and juicy as the ripest peach he’d ever served up to diners, so delicious he wouldn’t be able to stop himself lapping up every drop of her juice.
And when he’d driven her to the brink of orgasm with his tongue, he’d spread her thighs and drive his cock into her wet, clutching channel, fucking her till her heels drummed against the table and she cried out in ecstasy, while all around them his staff looked on, so turned on they were stroking themselves through their chef’s whites …
With an effort, he forced himself to focus on the reality of the scene in front of him, rather than the reality. As waiters rushed in and out to pick up orders or return empty plates and various chefs shouted orders to their assistants or called for meals to be plated up, Morgan sat in the still eye of this culinary hurricane, awaiting his attention.
Scott hesitated for a long moment before going over and talked the two women through the menu for the evening. He hadn’t been able to tell anyone what happened at Lucinda’s party, much as he’d wanted to. Usually, he’d have bragged about his latest conquest to Chris, who’d been happily married for the last six years and never showed the slightest trace of envy when Scott talked about the actresses and lingerie models he’d slept with. But talking about Morgan meant dragging up emotions he didn’t feel comfortable discussing. So used to women he could fuck and forget about, he’d woken the morning after the party and caught himself reaching out to feel Morgan’s soft, voluptuous body in bed beside him, before remembering she hadn’t even made it as far as his home.
What stopped him from admitting that, for the first time since he’d split from Sasha, he wanted more than just a one-night stand? Pride? Fear of losing his independence – or, worse, that Morgan would reject him? She’d been ice-cool to him in rehearsals all week, so maybe he didn’t mean anything to her after all. Though there was something about the way she kept her head turned as he approached the table, not wanting to meet his gaze, that made him wonder whether she too was struggling to conceal her real feelings.
Get over yourself, Harley, he told himself. Or just admit you fucked up.
He did neither. Instead, he greeted Morgan and her companion with a broad smile. ‘Good evening, ladies. Welcome to the Chop House. Let me explain how the tasting menu works …’
In the short interval between seeing Morgan walk into his kitchen and launching into his usual spiel about his special tasting menu, he’d already decided what he’d be cooking for her, even though he never revealed his choices until they arrived at the table, to offer his diners the element of surprise. He’d start with roasted red pepper and tomato soup, topped with a wild mushroom foam. In turn, that would be followed by ravioli of lobster and scallop, served with a delicate fennel-infused sauce, tender Welsh lamb with a leek and potato puree and seasonal vegetables and, for dessert, gingerbread soufflé, served with malted milk ice cream. Each course, should the women wish it, would be perfectly matched by the restaurant’s sommelier to a wine that would compliment it in terms of richness and flavour.
The waiter arrived with glasses of prosecco for Morgan and her friend, who she’d introduced as Carrie. He waited till Scott finished his speech before setting them down.
‘Well, I’m really looking forward to what you’re going to cook for us,’ Carrie said. ‘What do you think, Morgan?’
Morgan sipped her drink before replying. Scott couldn’t help wondering why he found it so important that she be impressed by the sight of him working in his natural environment, given that she was hardly a stranger to his style of cooking.
‘I’m sure Scott’s going to astonish me,’ she said, her eyes meeting Scott’s for the briefest moment before looking away, giving him no time to decipher the emotions they conveyed. ‘He always does.’
Stepping on to the pavement outside the Chop House, Morgan found the coolness of the autumn evening a sharp contrast to the steamy warmth of the restaurant’s kitchen. Pulling her black velvet wrap a little tighter around her shoulders, she hoped she and Carrie wouldn’t have to wait too long for a taxi. At that moment, a sleek black cab turned the corner, its yellow “FOR HIRE” light blazing. Carrie stuck out a hand to flag it down.
It hadn’t taken much for Carrie to persuade Morgan to go back to her house for a nightcap. Taxi drivers were notoriously reluctant to ferry late-night passengers south of the River Thames for fear of not picking up a return fare to make the journey worthwhile. Morgan knew she ran the risk of falling asleep on Carrie’s sofa in all her finery, but at this moment that was not an unwelcome prospect.
The two women climbed into the back of the taxi. Carrie gave her address to the driver and he set off in the direction of West Hampstead, the streets quiet at this late hour.
Seat belt safely buckled, Carrie relaxed back against the padded leather seat with a sigh. ‘I think that was probably the best meal I’ve eaten in my entire life. Oh, that ice cream – and those little truffles that came with coffee ...’
‘You and your sweet tooth. ‘Morgan grinned. ‘But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’
‘Meaning you didn’t?’ Carrie sat up sharply.
‘I didn’t say that.’ Morgan shifted in her seat. ‘You’re right, the food was delicious. But Scott’s such a fantastic cook, I always knew it was going to be. And he runs his kitchen much more professionally than you’d expect from some of his TV appearances.’
‘Which you must know are edited to make him look like a complete tyrant,’ Carrie pointed out. ‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I don’t know. I – I just felt a bit awkward around Scott, that’s all. Did he seem distant to you?’
‘Well, why would you be asking me a question like that, if you really didn’t care about the man? And for what it’s worth, no, I don’t think he was being distant at all. He was cooking for sixty covers in one of the busiest kitchens in London, so of course that was going to be his top priority. But he gave us as much attention as he could and he talked us through all the dishes when they arrived – which I suspect is something the waiter would normally do, so I think we were getting special treatment there.’
Morgan stared out of the window as the taxi sped past the vast Gothic façade of St Pancras station. This should have been Carrie’s evening, yet she’d somehow managed to turn the focus back to her growing obsession with Scott, and she couldn’t help feeling guilty. ‘I’m sorry, Carrie,’ she blurted out, ‘I’ll shut up about him now, I promise.’
‘I’ll believe that when it happens,’ Carrie retorted, not unkindly. ‘But if you want my opinion, I watched Scott Harley all evening and the man is crazy about you.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘The way he looks at you, the softness in his tone when he speaks to you, even when he’s barking out instructions to everyone else in the room … And he can’t stop finding excuses to touch your hand or brush your hair away from your face. If you ask me, he wants to be with you every bit as much as you want to be with him. But the problem is you’re both so damn stubborn, neither one of you is going to do anything about it. You’ve made this ridiculous pact that you’re not going to mix business with pleasure, but trust me, becoming a couple doesn’t have to change anything about the way you work together.’
The way Carrie outlined the situation, it all sounded so simple. All she had to do was tell Scott how she really felt about him, and hope he reciprocated her feelings, just as Carrie claimed he would. But she suspected it might prove a heck of a lot more difficult than it sounded.
Chapter Seven
IT WAS RONNI WHO came up with the idea of filming Cook’s Treats in Scott’s home. Spending three weeks with the show as an intern, Ronni was studying for a post-graduate qualification in television journalism, and struck Morgan as fiercely ambitious. She arrived at every production meeting with a long list of suggestions, and was determined to get at least one of them on air before she had to return to her course.
Plans were already being drawn up for the shows to be broadcast over the Christmas period. These would be pre-recorded a couple of weeks in advance, meaning the crew could have some well deserved time off to spend with their families, and in previous years they’d been filmed on the usual set. Ronni, inevitably, had thought of a change to the format.
‘Why don’t you produce them on location?’ she asked.
‘Did you have anywhere in mind?’ Lucinda replied.
‘Well, I did have a couple of ideas …’ Ronni consulted her extensive sheaf of notes. ‘You could maybe go down to The Ludgate Chop House, let the cameras take a behind-the-scenes look at what Scott does when he’s in the kitchen.’
Scott vetoed that idea with a curt shake of the head. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. You’ve no idea of the mayhem it would cause, trying to fit a film crew in the kitchen when we’re working.’
‘And it could be viewed as a breach of the rules on product placement,’ Lucinda added. ‘Some people might see it as a plug for the restaurant. Any other suggestions?’
Ronni glanced back at her notepad. ‘In that case, how about filming in the presenters’ actual kitchen?’
‘Now that I like,’ Lucinda said, before either Morgan or Scott had the chance to interject. ‘And I think the viewers would love it, too. Seeing Scott preparing one of his gourmet meals at home, it’ll make them realise how easy it would be for them to do the same thing. We can do one show from Scott’s place and the other from Morgan’s. Smart thinking, Ronni.’
Lucinda moved on smoothly to the subject of whether they should book guests for those shows or simply repeat a couple of the best interviews from the series so far, leaving Morgan to wonder just what she’d been let in for.
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