Guilty Pleasures (13 page)

“I know you're upset,” Nick started. “So I want to explain a few things….”

“Shh,” she said, and glanced out at the darkened floor. “It's a beautiful restaurant, isn't it, Nick?”

He looked with her, and she could sense that he was puzzled, but he didn't want to show it. “Beautiful,” he said, but when she looked at him, he was staring at her.

She warmed under his gaze. “I helped paint the
walls. I picked out all the furniture,” she said. “We had a limited budget, but it was
fun.
I fell in love with this place, Nick. I don't know that you'll ever understand how much this means to me.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to insult it. I wasn't trying—”

“I know,” she said, cutting him off again. “I know what you were trying to do.”

He got off the barstool, and leaned forward, enveloping her in his arms. “If we've got no choice, then we're going to do it…and I'll do my damnedest to help you win.”

“This isn't about winning,” she said, nudging him away. “This isn't about the competition.”

She saw a ghost of nervousness cross his face. “It's about us, then?”

She nodded.

He seemed to steel himself. “I…”

She held a hand up to his lips, and she felt the faint brush of his mouth in a gentle kiss as his eyes closed.

Then she stood up, and she undid the belt of her trenchcoat, letting the whole thing drop to the floor. She was wearing a black teddy, black garter, stockings and black high heels.

“You may be wondering why I asked you here tonight,” she said with a small grin as his eyes bulged.

“Um, yes,” Nick said, in a strangled whisper. “Although suddenly I'm in no rush.”

“I wanted to show you how much I cared about this restaurant. How important it was to me.” She
smiled. “And then show you how much I care about you.”

He stood there, silent for a moment, and she saw emotions rush across his face…confusion, need, a sort of fragile happiness.

She opened her arms, and he reached for her.

“Mari,” he growled against her skin, and she kissed him hungrily, feeling his hands stroke over the silk that covered her body, the slippery sensation making her hot. “I need you. I thought…”

“I know. I know,” she whispered back. “I want to be with you. Now. Here.”

He pulled away enough to look at her, then he undid his own coat and dropped it to the floor next to hers.

She closed her eyes as he ran his hands over her breasts, circling the sensitive nipples as she leaned back against the bar. She gripped at his forearms, feeling warmth and dampness start between her legs. “Nick,” she breathed, rubbing against the denim of his jeans. “Please.”

He sucked at her neck, and the slight pain of his kiss mingled with the pleasures of his touch. Her breathing accelerated and she brought one leg to rest on his hip, brushing herself against the erection she felt, long and hard. She let out a low moan as his hands moved lower, brushing at her clitoris through the silk. She felt the cloth move slick between her legs.

She had left a condom on the bar, and with trembling hands, she undid the button fly of his jeans, un
zipping him slowly, enjoying the way his eyes closed. She nudged him to rest on the nearby barstool. She undid the snap on his boxers, and his erection emerged, hot and hard. She leaned down, letting her hair tickle him and relishing the moan he responded with.
This is what I wanted,
she thought. She took him in her mouth, taking as much of him in as she could, licking with abandon as she felt his hands bunch in her hair. She could feel his hips rock against her kiss, and after long moments, he tugged her away.

“Put it on,” he said, his eyes bright gold in the light of the spotlight they were both in.

She smiled and sheathed him with the condom, then turned and leaned against the bar, shooting him a look over her shoulder.

He paused for a minute. “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

She held onto the bar as he walked behind her, pushing the thin strap of the teddy out of the way and gently pressing two fingers against her vagina. She arched her back as he felt her, stroking, stretching her slightly. She felt desire pulsing through her in waves. When he pressed against her, entering her with his cock, the brush of denim against the back of her thighs was enough to drive her crazy. He was hard and long and filled her completely, holding her breasts as he lowered her along his penis, pushing upward against her, sandwiching her to the bar.

“Nick,” she breathed, as she felt the friction of him in a new way, one that excited her. She pushed against him as he rose to meet her, her breasts feeling heavy
and hot as his hands played with her nipples. He pressed heated kisses on the back of her neck and shoulders, nipping at her until she thought she'd go mad with it. He plunged into her, and she bucked against him, breathing in harsh, panting breaths.

“Unh…yes…” he said, and he reached down with one hand to stroke along her clitoris, hitting her with a pleasure so close to pain it was overwhelming. They were mad with desire, moving as one in the spotlight of the darkened restaurant, pushing against each other as if they could by will alone become one person, one body.

“Nick, faster,” she said, backing against him, the arch of her back and the press of her breasts against his hands almost forcing her to collapse.

He did as requested, and she felt the length of him withdraw almost completely, then ram home as one hand continued to stroke her breasts, the other her clit. She felt the stirrings of orgasm start up for her, and she cried out, bending like a bow against him.
“Nick!”

“Yes,”
he yelled, and she felt him push against her, hard, causing her orgasm to echo and multiply. She shivered against him as she felt him empty himself into her, with a long, shuddering release.

They stood there for a second, propped against the bar, still joined, still feeling the sensual aftershocks. Her heart felt like it was ready to explode with what she was feeling.

“I love you, Nick,” she said, in the silence that followed.

He didn't respond out loud, and for a second, her heart stilled, preparing for pain. Then he kissed her shoulders, easing out of her, and turned her around.

His eyes glowed.

“Take me home with you,” he said. “And let me show you how I feel.”

She smiled, and nodded, kissing him.

C
OULD THIS BE ANY MORE
of a disaster?

Mari surveyed the kitchen, where it looked like Nick and the line cooks were all about to pull out knives and either battle each other with them, or fall on them and try to preserve their dignity. After her announcement—and subsequent explanation—about entering the Internationale competition, the crew and Nick agreed that they would work extra hours before work and on their Mondays off, trying to prep a menu and practice putting it together. The competition was now a little more than a month away.

She looked at the wreck of a rack-of-lamb in the middle station, the raging argument between Tiny and Nick, Paulo's heated discussion about the spicing of soup with Juan, and Zooey all but crying over the collapse of the soufflé she'd been experimenting with for a dessert.

Mari would have done better to set the kitchen on fire… But Jack MacDonald, or maybe the new owner, would be the one collecting the insurance, so
that
didn't help, either.

She knew she was pressuring herself, because she knew they didn't just have to be better than the
rest…they had to be
stellar.
She and Nick were black sheep in the snow-white culinary community, and that would be a hard prejudice to beat.

Right now, they'd probably throw us out.

She heard a knocking at the door. Nobody else heard over the chaos, and Mari sighed. “I'll get it,” she said.

She made her way through the infighting to the back door, opening it. It took her a second to register who was there, but when she did, she felt a smile burst across her face.
“Leon!”

She threw a hug around her mentor. Suddenly, the tension of the morning—of the past two weeks—melted away. “I'm so glad to see you,” she said, feeling the slight welling of tears despite her grin.

“I can see that,” Leon said, in his dry, sardonic way. She could still hear the faint European accent that flavored his words. “Good God. Are these chefs, or a herd of elephants?”

“I'm
telling
you,” Nick said to Tiny, “if we're going to do the lamb, we're going to need to get faster on those cuts!”

“And I'm tellin'
you,
” Tiny said, growling and plunking the knife down on the cutting board. “You ain't gonna
get
faster than that!”

Leon looked at Mari, and she cringed. “I see you're working on the Internationale menu,” he said mildly, although the quirk of his eyebrow reminded her of school—just before he told a student to shape up, as she recalled. He walked over to the confrontation.

Nick took a look at Leon as he took a pause in
yelling with Tiny, looked away, then did a double take. “Leon?” he said, aghast. “I didn't know you were coming here!”

“Obviously.” Leon's disapproval spoke volumes. He looked at the racks of lamb Tiny was systematically working on. “You're doing these French style, yes?”

Tiny nodded, still glaring at Nick. “Wonderboy here thinks I'm not going fast enough.”

“If I might try?” Leon said, still in that mild voice.

Mari knew what was coming, and sidled up to the station to watch.

Tiny took a step back, taking in Leon's suit and fancy manner of speech. He gave a gesture of permission. “Whatever blows your hair back, pal.”

Leon's lips quirked at the statement. He picked up Tiny's knife, frowning at the edge and taking a moment to sharpen it. Tiny rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, Nick,” he muttered. “This is
much
faster.”

Nick never stopped staring at Leon.

Leon closed his eyes for a moment, lamb in front of him, knife in hand. Then he got to work, quick slashes of the knife quickly stripping meat from the bones. With amazing rapidity, he had the lamb racked and “Frenched,” the bones interlaced until they looked like a thatched roof.

“Not a neat job,” Leon said critically, and Mari almost laughed at the look of astonishment on Tiny's face. “All the same…I think you'll find the technique a little, ah,
quicker.
”

“So you're, what, Superchef?” Tiny said, goggling at the perfectly presented lamb.

“I prefer the Lone Line Cook,” Victor said, only the glint in his eyes betraying his sense of humor. “Off searching for kitchens in desperate need of my aid. And from the looks of you people, I seem to have arrived just in time.”

Tiny, Zooey, Paulo and Juan were all staring now, at the strange older man with the dry smile and the lightning-fast knife. Nick smiled, hitching his thumbs on the top of his apron. “Leon. It's damned good to see you, old man.”

“It's painful to see you,” Leon said sharply, and Nick's grin broadened. “Did you forget
everything
I taught you?”

“No,” Nick shot back, winking. “Just ignored it.”

Leon tried glaring at him, but the smile and laugh won out. “A month to Internationale, your kitchen in a state of anarchy…and you still have time to mouth off.”

Nick shrugged, but Mari could see the concern in his eyes. “You know we're going to compete, huh?”

“Mari called me and asked for my advice,” Leon said, and although his voice was gruff, Mari could tell the warmth beneath the words. “The thought of my two favorite students in one of the most difficult culinary competitions in the world, without any of my input, was completely unacceptable. So I thought I'd butt in…in a consulting capacity, naturally.”

Mari studied Nick's face. Ever since she'd seduced him at the bar, he'd thrown himself into prepping for
the competition. They would go back to her place after a fourteen-hour day, sometimes ending with a quick bout of sex, always collapsing to sleep in each other's arms until the following morning. They hadn't spoken of his doubts or her declaration since, but she got the feeling that his dedication to the competition was, in a sense, a declaration back. So she wasn't sure how he would feel about her recruiting their school mentor…no matter how badly they were doing.

Nick frowned at first, then his gaze traveled around the kitchen, stopping on the soup, the lamb, Zooey's pancake-flat dessert.

“If you've got the time,” Nick said, “I think we're open to suggestions.”

Leon's eyes brightened, even though his expression didn't change. “Well. Why don't you show me the menu you've got?”

An hour later, Mari was popping aspirin and Nick was still scowling.

“Internationale isn't some state fair,” Leon was saying, in his chef-as-drill-instructor voice. “What are you trying to say with these dishes?”

“It's called a sensual feast,” Nick muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “So we want to offer as broad a palette of flavors as possible.”

“That's not planning. That's shock value,” Leon said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You know,” Tiny said, “I kinda thought that myself, but didn't want to say anything.”

“So what are you saying?” Mari said. “We have to scrap
everything?
”

“Not quite,” Leon said. “You just need to make it tighter. You need something to tie it all together.”

Nick was growling now.

Leon shook his head. He looked at Tiny, Paulo, Juan and Zooey. “You haven't competed before, have you?”

They shook their heads. They were giving Leon the same deference that Mari had seen on the faces of every first-year student that had ever passed through Leon's cooking class.
He's right,
Mari thought, frowning.

“Tell you what,” he said to Nick and Mari. “You two obviously need to work on this menu more. I've seen what you can do…the menu you've got for this restaurant is bold, exciting, and innovative. Whatever you did for that, you've got to do ten times as much for this. I want you two to go work on the menu.” He turned to the rest of the crew. “In the meantime, I'm going to be teaching
you
lot some tricks of the trade. Before I'm done with you, you'll be more than ready to compete in Internationale…or anything else you decide to attempt.”

Mari could have sworn they almost saluted him. She muffled a laugh.

“Take yourselves off, then,” Leon said, his brow furrowing. “Be back by, say, seven. I'll take you to dinner myself. We'll see what you can come up with…and we'll talk strategy. Out!”

Nick looked at Mari, and she could tell he was feeling the same way…like a recalcitrant student, being told to go off and think about what she'd done. Nick
took her hand, missing Leon's look of surprise. “C'mon, then,” Nick whispered. “Let's see if we can't…ah, do what we did to come up with the first menu. Only ten times as much.”

Mari smiled slowly. “Well,” she said, looking away from Leon's querying gaze, “I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try.”

 

N
ICK STRETCHED OUT
on Mari's bed. He was more comfortable in it now than he was in his own bed…although any bed that Mari was in seemed like home, by this point.

She loves me.

She stretched out next to him, her hair loose. “I don't think that this is what Leon meant, exactly, do you?” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Well, he
did
say to do the same thing we did when we came up with the restaurant menu,” Nick argued, stroking the back of Mari's neck and relishing her responding smile. “So it's not like we're ignoring his instructions.”

“Small distinction,” she said. “We're being
naughty.
”

He laughed, rolling her onto her back and nibbling at her neck. “So. Last time, we kicked around a couple of ideas, had sex like crazed rabbits, and…
voila.
” He wiggled his eyebrows. “So…what do you think? More of the same?”

He moved in to kiss her a little more seriously, and although his heart was in it, his body protested. After two weeks of backbreaking work, one part of his body
was willing, but he hated to admit it…the rest of his muscles were weak. Well, maybe not
weak,
his masculine pride protested. But definitely
sore.

When Mari laughed beneath his lips, he pulled away. “Tickle?”

“No,” she said, giggling. “It's just…”

He hovered over her. “What?”

“Nick, love, I'm tired as all hell.”

He burst into laughter, rolling onto his back. The two of them chuckled until they were breathless. Mari wiped at the tears that trickled from her eyes.

“I never thought I'd say that. Especially not about you,” Mari said, gasping slightly. She trailed her fingers down his bare chest before resting her chin on it. “But man, these past few weeks have been a bear.”

“I know, I know,” Nick said, enjoying the viewpoint of her face gazing at his, the weight of her. He curved an arm around her, stroking absently at her soft skin. “I know I've only been at your restaurant for a few months….”

Mari closed her eyes for a minute. “Hmm. Four months now.”

“Really?” He pushed the hair out of her eyes, brushing his fingertips along her jaw line after he tucked the stray strands behind her ear. “It just seems like longer, you know? Seems like…”

He didn't finish the sentence, but got the feeling she understood.

It seems like we've been together for a long, long time.

She nodded, kissing his abdomen. “You know, when I first met you, I thought…”

He tilted his head up, “Don't tell me. ‘Who is this gorgeous, godlike man, and how can I get him in my bed?'”

“No,” she replied, poking him in the ribs. “I thought, here comes trouble.” She grinned. “The ‘gorgeous-must-jump-him' part came later.”

“I see.” He pulled her until she was resting on top of him. “And do you still think I'm trouble?”

She nodded, and her violet gaze was warm, tender. “Yeah. But you're worth it.”

“It's because of the sex, isn't it?” Nick said, meaning to joke. But for a second, he searched her face.

She loves me.

The weird thing was, he hadn't the foggiest idea
why.

They'd had a chemistry so combustible it ought to carry a warning label. He knew himself—he had more than a streak of arrogance, what had been called a brutal ambition, a tendency to be bullheaded. He wasn't expressive. He wasn't sensitive. He wasn't really what any of those women's magazines said a woman wanted for anything other than a one-night stand.

She was staring at him, and he tried to play it off. “I mean, I pride myself on being creative in bed and all, so if you
are
in it just for the sex, hey, I don't think I can blame you….”

“You know something? The sex is great, don't get
me wrong. Beyond great.” She looked thoughtful. “But what really got me was the food.”

“Huh?” Her answer floored him. “You mean…you love me because I'm good at my job?”

She leaned down and kissed him, and he could feel the tremors of laughter shaking her ribcage. When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled.

“No, you idiot,” she said. “Not how you cook. How much you love food.”

“Doesn't everyone?”

“Not everyone,” she said, and rolled off of him, staring at the ceiling. He propped himself up on one arm, and contented himself with stroking the spot where her hip met her leg. “My parents don't love food like that. They never really understood why I did. They'd say things like, ‘Mari, why are you getting so involved in this? It's just
food.
' Like I was some bizarre sort of obsessive-compulsive. Like getting into culinary school was just something people who couldn't manage getting into a real college did.”

He shook his head, wanting to beat up the shortsighted people who obviously missed what was most special about their beautiful daughter. “Well. They sound pretty…”
Cruel.
He went for the safer description, one that would make her smile rather than remind her of the past. “Square.”