Master Chef

by Danielle Berggren

  I shook my head. The idea of going to France or, hell, anywhere was tempting, but... “You’re spending too much money on me.”

  He growled, “Ms. Delaware, I told you to stop worrying about that.”

  “I can’t help it,” I murmured. “You don’t have to spend money on me. I would love you even if you were penniless.”

  He seemed to sag in his spot, deflating a little. “What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

  He let out a shaky laugh. “I was a little worried.”

  “About what?”

  “That you only said you loved me when you were in shock.” He rose from his seat and bent over the bed, brushing my lips with his. The kiss was gentle because it had to be. I was too hurt for much else.

  I smiled up at him. “Of course I love you,” I whispered. “I was just too afraid to say it earlier. I think I’ve loved you for a while now.”

  He rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. I did the same, and we stayed like that for a while. The typical hospital noises flowed over us. So close, I could only smell him, the deep forest green that seemed to cling to his skin. It was like everything else melted away, unimportant.

  “I love you, Veronica Delaware,” he whispered, his breath hot against my face. “You’re mine, and I love you.”

  I smiled and raised a hand to his neck. The cast on my wrist was heavy and cumbersome, but I could trace my fingers along his warm skin and the stubble of his jaw. “I know,” I said. “I love you, too. I’m yours.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Veronica

  Eight months later...

  “Ms. Delaware, you have robbed me,” Mr. Simmons moaned as he swallowed the last bite the beignets. “All of my best people are with you.”

  I grinned at him, “Don’t worry. When Poisson opens its doors again next week, everyone will go flooding back to you.”

  He shook his head. He seemed to have grown taller since the fire. After the initial shock of the loss, he had risen to the challenge. Poisson was being rebuilt. “Better than ever,” he had said. “Everything state of the art.” He had even taken the time to learn more about French cuisine, and felt confident in taking a greater role in the kitchen.

  Ethan stepped up beside me and slid an arm around my waist. “You haven’t lost all of us, Mr. Simmons.”

  “No, and I thank you,” he sighed. “I don’t know if I could find another chef of your caliber who does not already hold a position.”

  “Well, I didn’t give him much choice,” I teased. “There’s only room for one head chef in my kitchen and Ethan is a grump.”

  He squeezed my waist. “That I am.”

  Mr. Simmons laughed, the skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m happy for you, Ms. Delaware. A good man, this time, and a wonderful new café. You are the star of the city.”

  I looked around my little corner restaurant and felt a swell of pride. Fiona caught my eye and waved at me from the open kitchen, “Are you going to sweet talk the customers all day or come back here and get to work?” She called.

  I grinned at her and gave Ethan a quick kiss on the cheek, “Be good.”

  He smiled, “I always am.” His eyes held a promise, and I shivered.

  Even now, almost a year later, he was still able to affect me like that. Just a light touch, a look, a smile, and I was weak in the knees.

  I went back to the kitchen, smiling at the other patrons as I went. Julio and Esteban were off for the day, but the kitchen sometimes felt the best when it was just my friend and I. We were popular, for now, but the San Francisco food crowd was a fickle mistress. I had poured every penny of my settlement with the insurance claim and subsequent sale of the gutted condo to help fund this place. What was left of it after I paid back my relatives. All my eggs were in one basket.

  Fiona went to work on the chocolate mousse for table six while I put the finishing touches on the French onion soup, torching the gruyere to the top and setting the clay bowl aside under the warmer before the other dish was ready.

  Fiona and I moved around the kitchen with a practiced ease, creating and serving in turns. Mr. Simmons left with a wave and a healthy tip, but Ethan stayed. He almost always did, his nose in a book and a cup of coffee at his left hand.

  His arms bore some scarring still from where Dicky had dug into him, and there was a thin scar along his forehead from the knife wound, but it just made his already beautiful face even more so.

  All of my marks had faded, though when Ethan and I vacationed in France I had still been rather colorful. Every photo of me was on my left side so that the bruises did not mar my memories of a beautiful trip. By the time we returned, a month later, I only had a little yellow left, but none of that had mattered. I had never eaten so well or felt as free as we had on that trip. France was a magical place, and the food had been incredible.

  The police said that we were lucky. They could have had guns. Ethan, Esteban and Julio could have arrived minutes later. There were a lot of could-haves and might-have-been and ‘you are so lucky’, but none of them understood—I was happy. At peace.

  Jason and his accomplices were in prison. He had been taking some kind of experimental new drug—something like methamphetamines but worse—which had increased his paranoia and led to the kidnapping. The trial and sentencing had happened in record time. His celebrity had done little to shield him. A very public, quick divorce and the severing of ties between him and his record company made sure that he was hung out to dry. Coupled with the fact that Ethan and I had made a rather photogenic pair of victims, and the city cried out for blood.

  But none of that mattered.

  Ethan loved me. I loved him.

  I realized, now, that the love I had thought I had felt for Jason was nothing more than infatuated obsession. I know now that he was a master manipulator. He played the strings of love easy enough, but he did not know the true meaning, and I had never felt it.

  With Ethan, there was a certainty, bone-deep. I wanted to be with him, and he with me. We would do anything for one another.

  Fiona and I began to pack up for the day. Café Liberté was open from five in the morning until three in the afternoon to make the most of the Financial District location. I had my evenings and weekends back.

  I wasn’t looking forward to Ethan going back to work. I would miss our trips to Point Reyes, and our nights at Secret or at home.

  I waited while Fiona caught a cab to take her home, Ethan by my side. Her engagement ring flashed in the sun. She hung it about her neck while she worked, afraid to damage it while cooking.

  We waved to her and headed back home. Another reason for liking my new restaurant, besides being my own boss for the first time in my life? I could walk to work.

  Ethan took my hand as we strode the sidewalks. “I’m very proud of you,” he said. “The café is quite the success.”

  I squeezed his fingers. “Thank you. But what are you going to do once you go back to work? You won’t be able to act as my bodyguard anymore.”

  He smiled and raised our clasped hands to lay a kiss across my knuckles. “I’ll hire a new one.”

  “Will not.”

  “Will so.”

  I bumped my hip against him, “Ethan Craymore, you are forbidden from hiring a bodyguard to protect me. I’m fine. Jason’s locked up, and even his fans are sending in letters apologizing for his actions. I live and work in a nice area.”

  He grunted and opened the door to the lobby for me, ushering me inside with a hand to the small of my back. “You should make sure Julio or Esteban are with you during opening and close, then.”

  “No, I won’t. Julio is enjoying mornings with his family, and Esteban only works three days a week. The rest he’s going to work at Poisson once it opens up again.” I frowned and leaned against the wall of the elevator, hands at my hips. “I mean it, Ethan, no hired thug. I don’t want to scare my customers away.”

  He smiled, “Alright. I was only half-joking.”
r />   I stuck my tongue out at him and he pressed against me, his forehead resting against mine, “Careful now, Ms. Delaware. I have other uses for that tongue.”

  I blushed and he laughed again. “Stop it,” I said. “There are cameras in the elevator.”

  “Are there?” He asked, his tone mild. He ran his hands up my ribs and over my breasts, cupping them. “I hadn’t noticed. Are you sure?”

  I pushed at his hands, but he didn’t budge. Oh, well, I tried. “I’m sure,” I murmured. I met his lips with mine. As much as I was exasperated with his over-protectiveness at times, I was going to miss seeing him at work every day. The sight of him there was enough to drive me to distraction, but it was a good thing. It made the end of the day all the sweeter.

  We broke the kiss as the elevator stopped at our floor. Ethan pushed a strand of my unruly hair behind my ear. It popped back out again, but he didn’t seem to notice, his gaze intent on me. “You still blush just as much as the day we first met,” he said, awe apparent in his voice.

  I grinned and pushed away from the wall, taking his hand and leading him to the apartment. “Enough about that. Come on.”

  “Why, Veronica, one would think you have something salacious in mind,” he said, but he followed along willing enough.

  We had just made it in the door and I had dropped my bag on the little table when he pressed me up against the wall again, his hands gripping my wrists and pressing them over my head. My breath caught. He moved so that one hand pinned both wrists and moved the other down my bare arm until he came to the buttons at the top of my shirt.

  I felt my breathing become heavy, warmth spreading between my legs. “I smell like the kitchen,” I breathed. “You should let me get cleaned up.”

  He didn’t smile, his gaze intent on me. “No,” he said. “Shower later.”

  He undid the buttons of my blouse, exposing my bare stomach, his hand spread out against it. He pressed and I gasped, just that one motion enough to spread the fire radiating from my depths. His hand moved up to cup one breast through the lace of my bra, finding the nipple through the fabric and tugging.

  I arched against him and felt him hard through his jeans. He groaned and crushed his mouth against mine, his breath hot and sweet. His hand flew down and plunged beneath my pants and underwear, finding me hot and slick. I moaned, opening my mouth to his tongue as his fingers began to play with my clit, rubbing back and forth slow and teasing.

  Will I ever stop wanting him this much? I wondered, but soon all coherent thought fled.

  Ethan released my wrists and pulled his hand out of my pants, running his palms down to my ass and lifting me. I squeaked and wrapped my arms and legs around him. He carried me to the bedroom, still kissing me. I was half-afraid he would smack into something and we would fall to the ground, but his skillful lips and tongue kept that thought from taking root.

  I ran my hands through his hair and tugged. He growled deep in his throat and I smiled against the kiss.

  Ethan threw me onto the bed, eliciting another squeal from my lips. He crawled onto the bed and tore off my clothes, throwing them to the side. He pressed me up against the headboard and kissed me, his hand roaming down to stroke my pussy. “God,” he said when he had broken away. “You’re always so wet for me, baby.”

  I moaned against the onslaught of his fingers and reached for him through his jeans. He moved away and I whimpered. “No,” he said, his voice that low, commanding tone that he got when he was in a particular mood. “Not now.”

  He thrust two fingers into me and I cried out, gripping his shoulders as I shuddered. “Oh, please,” I whispered. “Just there. Please.”

  He smiled and worked his fingers within me, thrusting and curling them in just the right place. I could feel my orgasm building within me, my body shaking. I ran my nails down his back, gasping. “Are you close, my love?” He whispered, his breath tickling my ear. “Do you want to come?”

  He thrust still harder and I shuddered, legs widening. “Yes,” I whimpered. “Yes, please, I’m close.”

  He slammed his fingers into me once more, and then removed them. I whined, my body trying to curl around the pleasure that had been building up to nothing. “Not yet,” he murmured.

  “I swear that’s your favorite thing to tell me in bed,” I grumbled.

  He laughed, “You love it.”

  I tried to stay angry, but he was right. The anticipation, the build, and denial over and over, had given me the biggest, most mind-shattering orgasms of my life.

  Ethan moved off the bed and grabbed something out of his nightstand. I rolled my head over to look as he crawled back, trailing a bundle of black straps. “Give me your hands,” he said. “And don’t forget the rules.”

  I smiled, “Yes, sir.”

  He took my wrists and bound one with a padded manacle, then threaded the attached strap through the headboard before securing my other wrist. More straps dangled and he drew these down to attach cuffs to each ankle. He pulled on an adjustment strap and my leg was drawn up into the air. He smiled at my wide-eyed look and adjusted the other one until I was open and exposed to him, legs wide and both openings bare.

  “How does that feel, Veronica?”

  I nodded, “I like it so far, sir.”

  He ran a hand up the back of my thighs and moved off the bed again. He opened the door to the playroom and was away for a time, then emerged with two toys and a bottle of lubricant. He came to the side of the bed and began to lube up the first one, “You’re not allowed to come until I say so,” he reminded me.

  He knelt beside me and teased my opening with the vibrator. It was thicker than our usual, and he was careful to slide only a bit of it in at a time before pulling out and sliding in a little more. By the time it was inserted, I could feel a bead of sweat trickle down the side of my neck. I gasped when he turned it on, the vibration low and steady.

  Then he began to tease my other opening, stroking in and out with a gentle caress of his fingers. I moaned, watching him as I knew he wanted me to, and his orange-flecked eyes seemed to swirl with storm clouds. He pressed deep and I arched my back, mouth open in a silent cry. He withdrew his finger and something hard and unyielding pressed there. It was a little cold, but he had warmed it up with his other hand.

  Ethan pressed it in, and I squirmed as I was stretched further and further. We had worked up to the plugs that were his size after much care and training. What would have hurt months ago made me gasp with pleasure now, spreading my legs wide as the bonds would let me, thrusting up to meet the plug.

  When it was sheathed inside of me, I almost came undone. If he touched the vibrator in my other channel or grazed my clit, I would have tumbled over the edge regardless of his rules. As it was, I sucked in a breath and bore down on the sensation, tamping it down as much as I could. I whimpered and his eyes darkened still more, a sensuous smile curving those perfect lips.

  “Now stay here, and don’t come,” he said, smiling. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

  “Wait—what?” I gasped, my body still suspended near orgasm. “No, sir, please, don’t go.”

  He shook his head and left without another word.

  I whimpered to myself and closed my eyes, but that just made the sensations stronger. The vibrator was on its lowest setting, but having it and the plug was pushing the limits of my control even this soon.

  I heard the shower start in the next room and groaned. The straps were spaced too far apart by the headboard for me to reach over and undo them, and even though my ankles were close I could not reach them.

  Ethan started humming. Bastard, I thought, and even my internal monolog seemed breathy. My body started to shake, wanting the release that was promised by the devices, but I swallowed back the urge to give in.

  The act of being pleasured without giving way to orgasm is one of intense concentration. If I let my mind wander or slip, the pleasure would crash over me in an instant. I took a deep breath, and then another, focusing on
his command. Don’t come, I thought, don’t do it. I took another deep breath.

  I did this for what felt like an hour before Ethan returned, toweling off his hair and grinning. “Why, hello,” he said. “And did you come?”

  I shook my head, still concentrating on my breathing. I knew my body was slick with sweat, my limbs shaking. “No, sir, I didn’t come.”

  Ethan dropped the towel to the floor and came to the bed, kneeling between my spread legs. “Veronica,” he said. “Look at me.”

  I looked at him, my gaze out of focus. He was naked and still damp from the shower, and the sight of him almost sent me into convulsions of wanting. The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile and he reached down, touching the vibrator, pushing it further in. I arched my back, lips parted. “Beg for it, Veronica,” he whispered, his eyes darkening with knowledge. “Beg and I’ll give you leave to come.”

  He started to work the vibrator in and out of me, his motions gentle. I whimpered. “Please, sir, let me come.”

  He shook his head, “You can do better than that.”

  His motions quickened minutely, and I shook. “Sir, please, I want to come so bad. I need to come, sir, please.”

  “Better,” he murmured, pulling the vibrator almost all the way out of me before thrusting it back in. “Again.”

  “I’ll do anything, sir,” I panted, my hips rising to meet his motions. He was fucking me with the vibrator, almost like how it would feel if it were his own cock between my legs. I tensed around the plug and shuddered. “Please, sir, I’ll do anything, anything, just let me come.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he whispered. He pulled the vibrator out and moved over me, plunging his cock in without another word. He claimed my mouth, his hips pinioning over me. I cried out against his lips and he broke away enough to say, “Come. Come now.”

  I came. I came apart.