by S. M. West
My heart stutters as the captivating brunette walks by. Like a magnet, my body straightens and pivots in her direction.
“Olivia,” Blondie calls as she tugs the brunette’s arm, forcing her to stop, though she does so hesitantly. Olivia. Deep, fawn-colored eyes, wild and wide, erratically dart around the room like she’s seeking an escape route. As if sensing my gaze, she regards me with an almost laser-sharp focus.
There’s a subtle shift in her demeanor, the rise and fall of her chest slowing as a lively glint appears in her eyes. As she bites her bottom lip, I wonder if she’s struggling with an attraction to me. My cock twitches and I can’t deny that I like the idea of affecting her in such a way.
Her big eyes possess me, dark like chocolate and deep, so deep, almost bottomless. She truly is enchanting. Blondie says something to her that goes unanswered. Our connection doesn’t waver. Eyes locked; it’s just us, her and me. We’re oblivious to anything around us.
The order window is designed to limit contact with the patrons. Until this moment, I’ve always been grateful for it. Now, I want to destroy the wall, knock it down into a pile of rubble at our feet so there’s nothing between us. I want to see all of her.
“I’m Erin,” Ballsy says seductively, extending her hand through the window. My urge is to be rude and ignore her, but reluctantly I peel my gaze from Olivia, shaking Erin’s hand, giving what I’m sure is a weak and unconvincing smile.
In less than a beat I let go of Erin’s hand, my gaze whirling back to the object of my desire. Taking Olivia’s hand I warmly say, “I’m Sam, and you are?” Even though I know her name, I want an excuse to hear her voice.
“Olivia,” she responds. Her voice is smooth, sweet, and poised. Still clasping her slender hand, my thumb lightly caresses the inside of her silky wrist. Tingles shoot from my chest straight to my groin, and my balls tighten and ache with want.
Olivia returns the gesture with a touch of her own. Her thumb grazes the top of my hand. Back and forth, several times. Tender. Neither of us pulls away.
Erin clears her throat and Olivia regards her with what looks like a question. The women share a brief and silent yet loaded exchange. What the hell it means, I have no clue, but more than likely it has something to do with me.
With Erin’s shrug of indifference, Olivia gently tugs her hand out of my hold and nibbles on her plum-colored bottom lip. What I’d give to taste her. “And this is Tamsin,” she says, bringing her friend forward.
“Hi Tamsin.” Extending my hand, I smile. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Sam Beaulieu.”
Tamsin blushes. “Hi Sam.”
Erin huffs, “Can I get a selfie with you?”
“Ah sorry, no selfies.” Next to autographs, selfies are the most requested. I now refuse them after my image was inserted into an uncompromising picture that went viral.
“Aw, seriously?” Olivia says with a frown. Her light tone suggests her sulky expression is exaggerated, but I’m not sure if she’s working it for me or her friends.
Either way, her pouting lips are lusciously tempting, and thoughts of sucking on her delectable bottom lip continue to assault me as my cock hardens. Sucking in air, I will it down. Focus.
“That would be the best part, proof that we were here. Actually, the best part is the food, second best would be a photo with you,” she professes with a grin. Is she flirting? “You sure you won’t reconsider? Three beautiful women wanting to be with you?” she taunts temptingly.
She is flirting. My heart rate kicks up a notch and taking her lead, my cock stirs again. Down boy. She’s bold and spirited, not brash like Erin. I like a woman with just enough spunk for me to leave me wanting more. With Olivia, I certainly want more.
Although she’s a bit of a conundrum. At first, when Tamsin forced her to stop, she was skittish like an animal caught in a snare. Now, she’s playful, dare I say even enjoying herself. Her eyes twinkle and a ghost of a sly grin teases her mouth.
“Are you sure you won’t take a selfie with us?” Erin seductively pushes with a swift glance in Olivia’s direction. Her suggestion is immediately apparent and while not necessarily wise, I’m no fool. I’m not passing up the chance to touch Olivia.
Glancing between them, two attractive but wildly different women, both waiting for my response. One is sexy and sophisticated, someone I’d like to get to know, and the other is a weird cross between sex kitten and barracuda. Erin seems willing to play any game to get her way.
“Okay, just one. With all of you.” Stepping out of the kitchen, I stand beside Olivia, determined to capitalize on the opportunity to be close to her. Casting her doe eyes at me, her grin falters as she realizes the implication of this impromptu photo. I cautiously wrap my arm around Olivia’s waist. “Is this okay?” My voice is low and husky.
Inhaling, she glances at Erin, who encourages her with a wide smile and a nod. “Of course.” She says it casually, though the rapid thumping of her neck’s pulse point indicates otherwise.
I’m one to talk—my heart’s hammering against my ribcage as her soft, inviting curves meld into my embrace. Her scent is scintillating, spicy like nutmeg or cinnamon with a hint of cocoa—absolutely edible.
Tamsin sidles up to Olivia’s other side and, no surprise, Erin slips in on my vacant left. Wrapping her arms around my middle, Erin tucks herself snugly into the crook of my arm. Hanging limply at my side, my arm doesn’t move. I’m not interested in her. Besides, she’s doing enough for the both of us.
Just another reason I refuse selfies—the proverbial copping a feel. Unfortunately, more times than not, women use the occasion to touch the merchandise. Mind you, I wouldn’t complain if Olivia were taking liberties with my body.
With the click of the phone, I abruptly step out of Erin’s grasp, taking Olivia with me. My fingers tighten on her hip and my cock twitches. Feeling her soft, warm flesh in my grip has me thinking of all the other places my fingers would like to stroke, explore. Gasping, her eyes and pretty pink lips widen, her mouth forming an O.
Heat rises to my cheeks at my forward behavior. Damn, this woman has me blushing. Blushing! Have I ever before? Sure, I’m a take-charge kind of guy, but still, I’ve never been so dominant with a woman I’ve only just met. Surprisingly, Olivia brings out the caveman in me. It’s a new, weird, and exhilarating feeling.
She tenses in my hold, her flustered anxiousness causing shallow, rapid breaths as her cheeks pink and her pupils dilate.
Having crossed some imaginary boundary, she shifts from sassy to anxious. While I’m willing to wager she’s turned on, I also get the feeling she’d take the first opportunity to bolt. I won’t give her the chance.
“Is this your first time at Beaulieu’s?”
“Yes,” Erin rushes to answer. Both Olivia and Tamsin nod. “I’ve been wanting to come for months. The last time I was in Montreal, I didn’t get a chance to eat here.”
Looking at Erin, Olivia takes the opportunity to slip out of my grasp. With one, then two steps, she’s no longer in arm’s reach. Tracking her movement, I’m intent on preventing her from retreating farther. Our eyes connect. She reacts on instinct and halts. “Where are you from?” I direct the question at Olivia.
“Toronto,” Tamsin and Erin say in unison. Olivia remains silent, fidgeting with her arms, folding and unfolding them before clasping her fingers in front of her. She’s not nervous, more likely…restless.
“Ah, how long are you here for?” Again, my question is for Olivia. I wish we were alone.
Having finally found her voice, she says, “We leave Monday morning.”
Her tone is smooth and strong, defying the uneasiness she just displayed. Her deep, penetrating eyes pin me to the spot like an arrow hitting its mark.
With her gaze on me, I impulsively blurt out, “Go to dinner with me.” It’s not a question; it’s a command.
She stares, stunned. I’m as surprised as she is at my invitation. My shock is at voicing my wish, not the request itself—I was ce
rtainly thinking it, but to act on it? To actually ask a patron out? That’s a first for me. This could blow up in my face, six ways from Sunday, and all the possibilities rapidly flash through my mind as I wait for her response.
“Sweet baby J,” Erin spouts with a shrill, almost wicked laugh. “I can’t even.” She raises her hands in the air then quickly drops them, sharp smacking rings out as they hit her thighs. Straightening her spine, she crosses her arms and glowers at Olivia.
The three of us gape at Erin. I’m confused. Tamsin looks upset. Olivia appears shocked, but I’m not sure if that’s because of my question or Erin’s behavior. Erin strikes me as a woman who is used to the attention, but I’m not willing to give it to her. She’s not my concern.
“Olivia,” I strongly prod, desperate for her answer. Preparing for rejection yet hoping for acceptance, I steel my spine. Her eyes swivel in my direction.
Clearing her throat, she pushes her shoulders back, chest out, and it takes everything I have in me to keep my eyes on her face.
“Um, thank you, Sam, but I’m going to have to decline.”
Before I can push the issue, we are interrupted. “Chef,” Marie, my hostess, says. “Sorry to disturb you. May I have a word?”
Without acknowledging her, I eye Olivia with my most determined expression—I’m not giving up. “Ladies, excuse me.”
With short nods, they leave, and Marie informs me that Monsieur Daniel Thibault is here. He’s an acquaintance and a fan. When he discovered I might open another restaurant, he expressed interest in backing me. Now’s my chance to show him what my vision is, and I definitely want to explore this opportunity.
“Lead the way,” I respond, eyes still on Olivia as she speaks to the server. With her table in view, I don a warm smile and extend a strong handshake. “Daniel, welcome to Beaulieu’s. I’m so glad you finally made it.”
The older man adds a forceful yet jovial clap on my back to our handshake. “Sam, it’s good to be here. It’s my daughter’s birthday,” he says, gesturing to the petite lady sitting beside him. “She’s as interested as I am in the culinary world, and I’m treating her to dinner in one of the best restaurants in town. Yasmine, this is Sam Beaulieu, the magnificent chef I was telling you all about.”
The wisp of a woman smiles, her ruby lips a sharp contrast to her fair features and light blonde hair. “Mr. Beaulieu, it’s a pleasure.”
“Pleased to meet you.” I take her hand, and she beams and invites me to join them.
“I’d love to. Unfortunately, the kitchen needs me. Please let me prepare a special meal for you,” I insist. Turning on the charm, I add, “In celebration of your birthday.” Knocking their socks off is my goal. They both eagerly nod. “Excellent. Any allergies or anything you don’t like?”
With another deep belly laugh, Daniel says, “Surprise us, dear boy. We’re adventurous when it comes to food. There’s nothing we don’t like or can’t eat.” Smiling, I consider the limitless possibilities for their meal.
Daniel mentioned he might show and he’s the reason I came in tonight. I couldn’t risk missing him. He’s been to my other, more casual restaurant many times, but I’m looking to open a new one more in line with Beaulieu’s and want him to experience the kind of place and food he could potentially invest in.
Yasmine giggles, placing her hand on top of mine on the table. Her gesture doesn’t completely surprise me. I’ve been in similar situations before—it’s an occupational hazard—but I’m more uncomfortable with her bold move in the presence of her father. Her eyes are dark and suggestive. Looking to Daniel, his eyes are glowing with joy and something like approval. Shit.
“Great, I’ll get started.”
Abruptly removing my hand, I head to the kitchen, and catch Olivia settling the bill. She’s definitely another reason I’m glad I came in tonight.
For a split second, I hesitate, torn between what I want to do and what I need to do. I’ve been networking for months, trying to find the right investor for my new venture since my usual investors have their money tied up right now.
I’ve had a lot of interest, and the celebrity factor certainly helps, but I don’t want just anyone to invest. I need to know who I’m getting into bed with, and while there are contracts to safeguard potential pitfalls in an agreement of this nature, I have friends who’ve gotten into horrible messes because of the wrong investor.
I know Daniel. He’s a successful businessman and has experience investing in restaurants, but I’m having a hard time finding out how those ventures worked out. I need to pursue this with Daniel. I don’t want to lose the opportunity; otherwise I’m back to square one.
Even with that sobering fact, my yearning trumps everything. At the kitchen counter, I beckon Anton, my sous-chef and good friend. There’s no one else I’d pass the reins to.
“I’ll be back in a few. Get started on the amuse-bouche and seafood platter for table three.”
“Certainly, chef.” Friend or not, in the kitchen, I’m in charge, and our friendship is left at the door.
“Bon.”
Swinging to face the dining room, my gaze goes to her table. Olivia is gone.
Olivia
“Ah, shit,” I screech, stumbling, almost snapping my ankle in two.
Old Montreal’s beautiful cobblestoned streets feel like you’re in a quaint European town, but no matter how pretty and romantic, the uneven stones are murder for women in high heels.
We tiptoe gingerly down the well-lit street, very aware of the danger should one of our heels lodge between the stones. It’s as real and as dire as taking my next breath.
“Are you okay?” Sin stops, waiting for me to catch up, and I gratefully latch onto her arm with a shaky breath.
“Yes, barely.” My light laugh belies my unsettled nerves and she joins me. After all, what else are we supposed to do? “How much longer ‘til we reach asphalt or a cab?”
“Soon,” Erin calls from ahead, closer to the upcoming intersection and what looks like smooth road. Not too much longer now, just a few more steps.
“Olivia,” a deep, urgent voice calls from behind.
When I halt abruptly, my heel snags on a stone. Sin and I sway, unsteady, and gasp before turning, the magnificent beauty of Sam Beaulieu’s lightly jogging toward us. His formidable form is backlit by the moon, each stride smooth and confident.
“Eek,” Erin squeals, her voice sounding closer as she gently bumps into my back.
We sway back and forth before we’re able to stabilize our trio. Huddling under a vintage streetlight, we’re mesmerized by the tall, lean man approaching us with a sexy smirk brightening his already handsome face.
“I seriously don’t believe this,” Erin mutters. She’s starting to piss me off. It’s not like I’m pursuing him.
“Ladies, you left without saying goodbye,” he playfully admonishes, holding his hand over his heart like he’s wounded by our callous departure.
“We’re so sorry,” Erin purrs, stepping out from behind me to plant her palm on his forearm.
Sam briefly flicks his eyes to her before shifting to pin them on me, their sea green depths shimmering with something akin to hunger.
“Olivia, can we talk for a moment?”
Fits of giggles erupt from both Sin and Erin. Yes, these are my best friends, although I’m seriously reconsidering that at this moment as the two grown-ass women act like a bunch of star-struck teenagers.
Hanging my head in sheer embarrassment, I mutter, “Would you please leave us alone?”
Sam confidently inches closer to me, then it hits me—my friends’ lame outburst has diverted my attention from the real concern. Sam. I’m wildly turned on by this hot young man standing before me.
Stepping back, out of the circle of light, I’m plunged into darkness. Moving into the same spot I just vacated, his striking frame is illuminated by the fluorescent glow from above, like a spotlight beaming down on the main attraction. If I didn’t know he was a chef, I’d swe
ar he was a model.
“I don’t usually do this,” he says.
“Do what?” I’m confused, my mind reeling and heart battering.
“Chase women.”
I snort. Real attractive, Olivia.
“Is that what you’re doing?” I quirk an eyebrow in question. He nods once, his smile still in place. “Well actually, come to think of it, of course you don’t. They usually fall at your feet,” I sarcastically add at the memory of the evening’s revolving door of women surrounding the kitchen. I bet tonight was an average turnout for him.
“Fall at my feet?” He chuckles, one side of his lips tipping up in amusement. “I must’ve missed that because I don’t remember any women at my feet. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have forgotten that.”
“I guess we see things differently,” I quip. “What do you want, Sam?”
“I want you to go out with me.”
Didn’t he get the hint? I shot him down in the restaurant.
Damn, he’s beautiful. He could have anyone—so why me? I’m not chopped liver, but I’m past my prime—although they say forty is the new thirty, whoever the hell ‘they’ are. I’ve got two children, stretch marks, and less than perky breasts.
“I live in Toronto,” I say, stupidly blurting out the first inane rebuttal that springs to mind.
“I know, you already said that, but you’re still here tomorrow, right? Have dinner with me then.” His voice is a rumble, low and sexy, stirring sensations deep in my core.
“Why?”
“Because I want to get to know you.”
“Why?” I sound like an echo chamber.
“Because I like you, and something tells me I’m going to like you even more once I get to know you.” His smile is blinding, especially those panty-wetting dimples.
“I’m forty-two,” I boldly announce, trying to thwart his lunacy. I fully expect him to nod and walk away. He doesn’t; instead his iridescent eyes remain fixed on me, darkening and growing hungrier by the second.
I’m wildly flattered by his attention and I’ll definitely pull this moment out when I need an ego boost or some inspiration for my spank bank, but he’s way too young. I’m too old. I’m not a cougar. Never will be.